Training Isn't Always Physical

Murakami had never enjoyed working or training which was primarily the source of his inability to use ninjutsu or taijutsu. Today he came to train, not to fix his weaknesses but just to improve his general abilities. The first step of any training wasn’t to learn fancy techniques, rather it was simply this: basic exercise and skill training. At least that was what it said in an exercise manual he had bought earlier this month. Murakami sighed as he flipped through the rest of the magazine to see what tips he could get out of it.
The first area of business was to build physical endurance and the best way to do so was to work on his cardio. After all physically one’s lungs are the basis of it all without enough oxygen anyone would fail. First Murakami decided to run some laps around the training ground. It was about 1 km in diameter which Murakami thought would be a piece of cake. At first while he was running he found that it was fairly pleasant. The wind was blowing pleasantly in his face cooling him down more than he was heating up. His legs moved steadily up and down carrying him forward. He didn’t feel tired at all, rather he felt great! “Wow” thought Murakami “Why didn’t I do this more often?” For the first thirty minutes of running he felt good about himself. He was optimistic, in fact why not abandon puppetry completely for something else. However at that moment he decided to look behind him to see the progress that he had made, expecting at least ¼ of the lap to be over. To his surprise he was only 100 meters from where he had started. His eyes bulging, Murakami felt on the verge of crying. After all after feeling so good about his accomplishment he had done barely anything at all.
After wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes he instead moved onto the next topic that the advice book had offered: weight training. In the northeast corner of the training fields there were a set of old weights made out of bamboo and blocks of metal. They were covered in cobwebs and looked older than the village itself. However when Bob picked up one of the weights in his hand it seemed sturdy enough. The book said to do 3 set of 10-15 reps to gain the maximum benefit. Hefting one of the smaller dumbbells in his hand he set to work.  1-2-3-4… the reps seemed to fly by and Murakami was in another one of his good moods. Things were proceeding well and he almost felt like he was getting stronger by the minute. Soon enough he had finished the exercise listed in the book. When he turned the dumbbell over to check how much weight he had been lifting it was a measly 5 ounces. Turns out this weight rack was for physical therapy for disabled people. Once again Murakami was on the verge of defeat.
This time however, Murakami had learned a lesson from his experiences. Training wasn’t something that could be accomplished by following another one’s instructions. It was something that needed to be gained oneself through self reflection. Casting aside the exercise magazine Murakami settled down to truly think about what he needed to do to improve. Thinking back to what he had always done, it wasn’t strength that he used rather his wits. “How do I improve my intelligence?” thought Murakami sitting in the dirt cross legged. As he sat there thinking an old villager passed by with a worn Shogi board in his hand. “That’s it!” thought Murakami. Running after the villager Murakami panted “Hey Old Man, do you mind if I play some Shogi with you?”  “I’m just on my way to play Shogi with some old friends of mine, if you’re willing to tag along sure why not?” As they walked along Bob thought of all the times he had played Shog in the past, he was fairly good at it as far as he could remember, at least good enough to beat Grandpa and his fossil friends.
When he arrived at the location however the men and the games they were playing seemed different from the ones he typically played in elementary school. They had strained expressions almost as if trying to see into the future. This place and the people in it seemed to have some almost sacred purpose. Although intimidated by the environment, Murakami wasn’t afraid rather he was a little excited after all the true purpose of his visit wasn’t to fight an easy battle, but rather to train and improve his intelligence. He sat down to his first game against the old man he had met earlier. Expecting it to be a fairly evenly matched battle it was far from that, it was a slaughter. Early on in the game he made the fatal error of devoting too many resources to offense. All of his pieces were focused on taking down the enemy’s king as possible. This tactic seemed to work with his pieces working together smoothly to push through defenses. However, the old man had managed to sneak a couple pieces past his barrage forcing him to withdraw. This play however was a poor allowing the old man to take back just as many pieces that he had lost earlier. In the end, it seemed a close game just as expected. “My, my that was the most exciting game I’ve played in a while” chuckled the old man. “A rematch please” demanded Murakami, assured that if he played more carefully surely the next game would be his.
The next game was as if between two completely different players. The starting roles being completely reversed. Murakami started off playing defensively, moving his pieces to strategic locations, but without dedicating any strong moves to take down the opponent. “I see you’ve chosen a different path this time” smiled the old man “in that case, I’ll make the first move!”. The old man’s offensive was equally ferocious as Murakami’s in the previous game. Murakami smiled as he thought that he would use a similar strategy, to defend and then take the advantage when his opponent made a careless move. However every time that Murakami made a move to take advantage of a perceived weakness it was surprisingly blocked off. Each time Murakami thought “The next time… the next time… WHY ISN’T IT WORKING???” This time the game ended in an absolute defeat with only 3 pieces taken by Murakami throughout the whole of the game.
Murakami swept the pieces off the table, frustrated beyond belief. “I’m done with Shogi today old man” he said turning to leave. Grabbing him by the elbow of his shirt, he asked him “How did I play differently from you?” “Wha-? I don’t care, gloat somewhere else that you beat a kid 1/5^th of your age” retorted Murakami stalking off to leave. “The difference was, I realized what kind of person you were and took advantage of that fact” “You were overconfident and invested too much into one side of playing and thinking, by realizing which of the two strategies you had in mind allowed me to play accordingly.” This statement stopped Murakami in his steps, after all he had only thought of his plays in terms of one way or another. He had to become more multifaceted with enough strategies and traps to stop even the most thoughtful strategist. Turning away with the first genuine smile on his lips that day he realized what he had to do.
Walking through the now abandoned training field past the useless weights and his discarded magazine in the footsteps of his earlier run he reflected on that day. Neither might nor endurance had carried the day for him. Both of those traits had failed him miserably with no usefulness in even daily life. How would those help him to win in an actual battle where others were surely far better trained than he. However, one thing he possessed and one thing he was sure hat he was much better accomplished at was his mind. His ability to manipulate others, see through others, and build traps for others. That was where his true strength lay. After walking for a few minutes he broke into a spring running back to his workshop where pieces of old projects lay around where the smell of poison [bad plot/logic I know] and wood carvings beckoned.
[WC=1423, 7 stats, 1000/1000 Hidden Mist Technique 423 towards its mastery]

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