Word Count Dump [solo,nk]

Now that he was a genin, he had more time to spend on making himself stronger, instead of wasting time on tawdry things like classes. It was a good thing, too, that he had started on the path of physical training rather than chakra training. However, he needed to figure out (and quickly, too) how to use physical energy purely. "Qi", had it been called? First of all, though, he needed something to eat, seeing as it was quite early in the morning. The elders were always blabbing about how a healthy breakfast was important, and he believed them. Gobbling down a quick half of a sandwich, Kozurou headed out to the training grounds, to start his real learning.

As always, it was a misty day. That rarely ever changed in Kirigakure, and far out over the water, he could see where the storm barrier began. The most amazing wall, he thought to himself, and no stone required. Ah! Inspiration. He would file that away in case that fact would allow him to progress his "path". He had less of an appreciation of nature than others did, but that didn't prevent him from gaining insights from things around him. In this particular case, it was the storm barrier. 

When he reached the training ground, he found it empty. Good. Unlike most ninja, Kozurou didn't begin by stretching, or whatever. He sat down, cross legged, and closed his eyes. Very good, he thought, this place was nice and quiet, only the soft lapping of waves in the distance could really be heard. Kozurou breathed in, and felt the energy of his surroundings melt into him. He knew that some physical cultivators called this "qi", and that some ancient tribes called it "raama". Whatever it was, he needed to gain a deeper understanding of it. 

He began by cycling it through his meridians, feeling the effort that was required. His meridians were still too small, and he had no way of changing that. Maybe, he thought, he could develop a physical method of reforging his body. However, such means were not available to him at the moment, as he was simply too weak. Then in that case, he'd have to train himself. Basic motions first, to create a foundation for what was to come afterwards. This was something everyone should know, but sadly, did not. However, he didn't need to care about anyone else. As long as he knew this, his early cultivation dao would go well.

Kozurou stood, sighing as the impurities exited his body. Now, he would use what little energy he had managed to take in, splitting it and using the stamina from his own body, and the physical energy involved. He found it surprisingly easy to isolate the energy within his core and body, which was a good thing. He then stepped toward a dummy, and threw a straight fist attack. Fist... knife hand.... There was something that he was missing here, but he didn't quite know what it was. Well, better to focus on one thing first, he thought to himself.

He stepped forward, and began throwing straight punch after straight punch. As he continued, his comprehension increased, just like any normal person's except somewhat faster. It seemed that this kid had a talent in taijutsu, but his mind wasn't on that at the moment. He was absorbed in his training. He found that he was getting into a strange rhythm, and this was bringing him closer and closer to some strange truth. Was there some kind of basis behind every type of physical attack? Were they all truly separate, or were they the same? 

As he was pondering this, the dummy seemed more and more ready to collapse. Ah, the terrible life of a training dummy. To be pounded on every day by the body parts of youngsters, and eventually, to be thrown away and forgotten. A transient existence indeed, the boy thought to himself. Even moreso than humanity itself. From the time a dummy was created, it was already doomed to be destroyed through some violent method, while human beings at least had the hope of long lives and peacful deaths. Then again, dummies did not has aspirations or goals, and this could be called their greatest curse. 

At any rate, he suddenly felt it.... a roll in the energy within him as he threw his next punch. He thrust forward, and with that one, enhanced qi concentrated punch, he knew that he had found something new, something that he was finally capable of performing with ease. As the punch connected with the dummy's face area, there was a resounding crack as it broke off from its wooden base, and flew across the training ground. As it did so, the cloth that covered its straw interior began to rip away, and the straw within scattered here and there as it flew into the wall. 

Kozurou stood there for a couple of seconds looking at his own fist. Inadequate, he thought to himself, but at least he had gained some basic insights into the nature of closed-fist attacks. Above all else, this was one of the more desirable results. He'd profited from this, so he was at least a little happy with himself. Stretching a bit, he decided to head home, pleased with the results of this training session. A new punching technique, and a clear path toward what he needed to learn next. A punch like this, filled with physical force, could be altered to increase only the power, and not so much the speed, right? Hehehehe... Kozurou had a plan for tomorrow. A slow punch could throw opponents off, and at high power, could be used to intercept incoming attacks. He also needed to work a little on his defense, too. Above all, however, he needed to find a way to reforge his meridians. Without that, he would need much more time to reach the martial peak. The moment he achieved that, he would be powerful.

[WC 1002
requesting 5 stats
1000/1000 for Aerial Strip]

All the books in the world couldn't have prevented Kozurou from going out to the training grounds that very next day. Since he had gained insights on the truth behind taijutsu, he decided to keep going until he reached a bottleneck in his developments. Since he had just started on training, he knew full well that he couldn't just stop and be complacent. He still had quite a ways to go until he could even be called partially adequate. So, what he had now wasn't enough. As such, he now found himself going out to the training grounds again. He was a ninja after all, and this was part of his job.

As he arrived, he once again found it empty. Odd, why did people avoid this place? Oh well, it wasn't like he really minded. He liked the space, and the lack of people trying to take advantage of his insights. His advances were his own, and he'd share them with no one else. He believed, in his selfish heart, that this was the best way to attain enlightenment, and to reach his ideal of the martial peak, to become strong beyond belief, despite his inherent disadvantages in terms of meridian development.

It was with regret that he remembered the sorry state of his chakra system. He'd been to see an old cultivator who lived near the downtown area of Kirigakure, and had received some rather interesting, if discouraging news. Sometime in his past, though he couldn't remember it, the core meridians that had been growing near his core had been disrupted. It was not, as he had previously thought, something congenital, but something far worse: they had been intentionally crippled! As such, they had come to the conclusion that in the past at some point, Kozurou had been attacked by someone with malicious intent. 

Well, he had to make the most of what he had, either way. No need to get butthurt and depressed, when there was still the external cultivation path. There were few among ninja who had managed to attain mastery of it, but Kozurou knew (or at least thought he knew) that if he put his whole heart and soul into the work, he could get there someday. This was the martial path, the road to the Dao, and it was filled with hardship and tribulations. All around him, the world and heavens would gather itself together to stop him, and he had to endure!

Strive!

There, as he was walking to the training grounds, Kozurou promised himself that he'd try his very best. After all, the internal and external paths were not all that different. This was something he had determined after hours of study into different methods of Dao attainment. Sky Dragon method, Coiling Dragon method, Stone Fish method, Weight Crab method..... so on and so forth; they were all related to some natural, martial truth that he had yet to attain, and that he might take decades to realize. He knew full well that he could get there, though.

Now, onto practice. Yesterday, he had thought about something; a closed fist technique, such as the one he had developed yesterday. Something more practical. However, how should he go about creating one? The weakness of closed fist techniques... he had to find what it was first. A true martial artist knew his own techniques inside and out, and if he was to find out the origin of all martial methods, he needed to investigate each and every possible branch first. So, he decided, he would spontaneously start with closed fist techniques. It seemed appropriate, given that it was a simple technique.

Sitting down in his meditation position again, he would adopt a slightly different maneuver than usual. Instead of placing his hands in the traditional lotus method stance, he would spread his arms ever so slightly at an angle, and point downward toward the ground with two fingers on each hand. This was slightly more helpful, as it was a "vulnerable" position to the universe's energy and the world elements and world qi around him. As one might expect, of course, this was the best position of all for contemplating the profound mysteries of "weakness", according to what some called the "Edicts of Death", one of four martial mysteries among the heavens.

As he sat there, he felt the world qi and its elements (of which there were apparently five, though he felt as if there should be more) trickle into him. The flow was, as always, frustratingly slow. Why was he cursed with this ineptitude....? No, those weren't the right thoughts. Since he was a martial artist, the heavens would naturally align against him, as cultivation itself was an affront to the heavens, a method which rebelled against it. So, he had to endure once again. He focused, keeping the word "endure" in his mind, and it helped him to focus and realize just how insignificant he was in the face of the world.

If one were to pass Kozurou by, they would not be able to be recognized by him. He could listen, but not hear. Look, but not see. Touch, but not truly feel, for his soul was sunk into a deep state of analysis. It was almost like he was separated from the world, one might think to themselves should they have seen him sitting there, in meditation. How profound, indeed.

Feeling without perception... this meant that Kozurou wasn't bad at what he was doing at all. So, the kid did have some aptitude... if he could fix his meridians, his talent might shake the world. Of course, along with the power that a person had, he or she would also need the blessing of heaven, earth and man... in other words, luck! As an old martial emperor (basically a really fucking strong martial artist) once said, "One can never have too much luck; ah, ah, lucky junior." They never really found out who he was talking to, but if a martial emperor considered a junior to be "lucky" in any aspect, than that person probably made it pretty far in life.

Now, what exactly was weakness? Kozurou didn't have a clue. He took as much of the energy as he could, and assimilated it and its components, the spiritual and the physical, into his soul, strengthening it. He moved his hands to his front, and began to perform, over and over again, a sequence of thirty nine handseals. While these weren't used to cast any jutsu, a ritualistic repetition of them would cause the user's meditation to become that much more profound and productive. A focusing method, as it were.

As his soul grew slowly in power, Kozurou realized something. It was impossible to define weakness as anything but the antithesis of strength, and even then, it could be used as power. So, in that case, he had to merely find only the weakness of closed fist techniques. Now, this was a little harder. Despite his extensive knowledge, Kozurou wasn't an experienced martial artist. No, indeed, for he was only a little genin. To work harder and become stronger was his dream, but at the moment, he was extremely weak. 

He had observed other martial artists training and practicing before, and knew that this was the path he wanted to take. However, his observations and experience were nowhere near to where he truly wanted to be for this excersize. One might say that he lacked the insights necessary to comprehend the weakness of closed fist techniques. True foundation of weakness..... it was simply too profound and confusing for him! As he absorbed energy, he proceeded to postulate and experiment within the elemental lake of his soul, gaining only minimal ground as he went. Disappointing, to be sure, he thought to himself.

Getting up, he decided to take a small break and work on his body. Now that his soul's capacity had expanded a little through the 39 handseal method, he knew that he was ready for a bit harder work. Stepping up to a dummy, which had an interior that was at least somewhat realistically constructed, he gave it a strong straight to the chest. Hm, he wasn't quite strong enough yet to make it collapse entirely, though he heard the breaking of several wooden struts. His strength needed a little bit of work, he thought to himself, but then afterwards....

As for now, though, he needed to work on speed and precision. Stepping over to a fresh dummy (who changed these things out, anyway? This one was in the same spot as the one he had used yesterday), he eyed it, then stepped forward into a stance, feeling the Dao approaching from a long distance. Ah, the true path.... he'd reach it someday, he knew it. Then, he'd be able to reconstruct his chakra system, and become truly powerful, instead of having to rely solely on his physical methods. Now, that didn't mean physical methods were bad, by any stretch of the imagination. No, indeed, they were strong. 

However, all martial methods were like varieties of tea. Objectively, they were all the same, none stronger than the other. However, dependent on its user, each variety took on a new light, and a new power.... so, one must become well adapted to his or her best martial fit. It made sense to Kozurou, though maybe not to everyone around him. To become good at everything, one must first become strong at one method, so that fusion might become easier. Then, and only then, could one pierce through the heavens.

Although it was a simple fact of life, it was merely a dream, a wild aspiration for the boy right now. As it was, he had enough to worry about. Thrusting his fist forward, he aimed it a little lower than he had done before. There was no response from the dummy, as usual, but he had punched right through the fabric. How unusual, he though. Wasn't this the ribcage.....? No, it wasn't, he realized to himself. This was the diaphragm, the muscle which controlled the compression and inflation of the lungs. Ah, so he had "knocked the wind" out of his hypothetical opponent? This was worth looking into. Even if he missed, he felt that after he gained some comprehensions, he would be able to use this as a simple strong punch on most people. 

Sitting down in the meditation position again, he began to postulate again, running what he had just seen back and forth within his mind and soul, adding variable and taking them away as he went. This was true meditation, like what he had done before, he was inattentive to what was going on around him. All of his effort was focused on this practice.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, angry. Why was he not able to realize his comprehensions? This was embarrassing. Well, he would just have to take another break. He refused to believe that he was at a bottleneck already, so he just needed a small insight, not anything like the "North Sea Revealing the Dao" (it's a reference, don't worry). If he kept trying, he might damage his cultivation base. He had heard stories of similar things; people who flew too close to the sun, so on and so forth. The boy knew better than to make that mistake, of course.

Getting up, he looked out over the water. Out on the sea, he saw a bunch of people on a boat..... fishermen, perhaps? Yes, they were some kind of fishermen. Ah, the laity... how strange their lives were. Even though they were human, they had far less to look forward too than Kozurou did.... or at least, that was what he thought. See, the boy had no comprehension of what a "normal life" was, since his life was so strange and abnormal. At any rate, though, there were fishermen out on the misty sea, which was probably a mistake in the first place.

Casting out their nets, the fishermen suddenly gave out a unified shout. Interesting harmonics, Kozurou thought to himself. That alone could provide a week's worth of meditation material, but not on the closed fist methods and attacks. Maybe later, he thought, filing the sound away in his mind. He knew full well what this meant, though. The fishermen had caught something, and they'd probably be filthy rich for a couple of weeks before drinking it all away. Such disgusting people, he thought to himself, to fall to the dregs of humanity and become alcoholics (no offense to actual alcoholics). 

They brought up a net full of fish, and placed it on a rather dubious looking board on the edge of the boat.... a stupid move? Kozurou almost facpalmed. Really, did they not see what was going to happen? Just as he thought, the board tipped over, using the edge of the boat as a fulcrum point, and dumped the net, fish and all, back into the water. Amazing work, the kid thought to himself sarcastically. Suddenly, his eyes widened. What.... what was this feeling? He played the scene he had just witnessed back and forth in his mind over and over, then rushed back to his spot in the training ground. 

Of course, naturally! He entered the deep meditation state again, and instead of the large net with great momentum, he saw.... a closed fist with great momentum. The weakness of closed fist techniques and high power techniques in general, was the lack of control in comparison to open hand techniques and movement based taijutsu! There had to be a balance and an equilibrium, yes! A balance, a dao between speed and power. The idiotic activities of the drunk fishermen had made the path clear to Kozurou, which he didn't mind. He could get inspiration from nearly anywhere, even in pitch darkness.

Standing up, he smiled, his eyes shining as the impurities escaped his body, a consequence of meditation and purification methods, especially due to the 39 hand seal movement method. He had finally made a breakthrough! He felt a bit exhausted after the meditation, despite the minimal enlargement of his soul and the energy absorption he had done. However, he knew that he had to endure and keep going. This was a martial artist's job, after all. Eyeing another dummy, he knew what he had to do next. 

Stepping over to it, he cupped his fist in the palm of his other hand, and bowed slightly, extending his arms a little bit.

"Maloren-san (tentative nickname), I thank you for your services. May you receive joy and health benefits in heaven." 

Thus speaking, he drove his fist into the dummy. Hmm? Not quite, he thought to himself. Despite the high power of the technique, it did require some precision. Again and again, he slammed his fist into the dummy's abdomen, looking carefully for the response he needed. Through this manifold repetition, he slowly began to realize just how this fist technique worked.

It was not all about power, he realized. There was some restraint required, and some redirection of force, too. After all, to just make a normal straight punch with his strength would result in what he had seen before; the destruction of the dummy entirely. He didn't want to knock the opponent back, he wanted to destroy his interiors, and cripple him for a finishing move. This was the only desirable result at the moment, and no other. Kozurou would settle for nothing else, of course, as he pummeled the dummy over and over again.

He could feel the absorbed natural world qi leeching into his muscles, giving him power and strength, but also making him faster as well. This was good, he thought to himself. Becoming faster was great, since he hadn't been making much progress on that as of late. Now, though, he knew that he could keep up with more and more of his graduating class, which made him happy. Finally, through the use of external methods, he was getting what he deserved. Power, and glory. The true goal of a martial artist....enlightenment, and power. When he had both of these things, only then would he rest happily.

Until then, though, he had to strive. He felt himself aim a little to high, distracted by his own thoughts. Ah, he needed to focus. He blanked his mind, letting the pounding on the dummy tune him out, the rhythm of his own fists sending him into a pseudo meditation state. This was true practice, the act of defying one's own humanity, a true rebellion against the heavens themselves. How wonderful. However, these thoughts were not in Kozurou's head. In fact, none really were. He was in a blank mind state, seeing only his fists, and the hypothetical opponents going down again and again.

Finally, he felt that surge in qi that could only come with true comprehension rush through him again, rolling like a tidal wave into his fist. With a satisfying noise, the dummy folded up into half, and Kozurou sighed in relief, the rationality flooding back into his mind once more. 

"Excellent." This was a truly powerful move.... his fist hurt from the impact, though, and he knew that he needed to increase the durability of his body. Well, regardless, he had done pretty well. This was no longer a mere "first step". If he was able to land this punch on someone of his own tier.... well, they might die. That strike was pretty powerful after all, and only someone who had trained a bit in durability could withstand it, according to his estimations. Euphoric, but exhausted, he picked up and started to make his way home. He needed a shower for all of this, as the meditation had removed impurities from the interior of his body, pushing it to the outside, so now he was covered in sweat and grime. A cultivator pushed away earthly impurities, after all.

[WC 3000
15 stats
3000/3000 to Sucker Punch]

Kozurou had thought about it for a while, and knew what he had to do. He knew that through all the times that people trained and actually broken through a bottleneck, they had one thing in common that he had not yet been through, at least for a while. Indeed, he had been at a bottleneck in his shikotsumyaku training for quite a while, and as such, had not improved in.... well, forever, really. There was something that was holding him back. Something that was preventing him from finding out just how powerful he could be. And he needed to find out what it was. There was a story once, he knew, about a wolf that could not leave his cave. He needed food, and needed to hunt, but could not, because of an unknown terror that appeared whenever he came close to the entrance of the cave. Day after day this went on, and the animal's body began to shrivel until it died of starvation... when what it was afraid of only happened to be its own shadow. Was this the case, too, with Kozai? Was he really being held back by something as... visceral as this? How disgusting.

In that case, there was only one remedy. The missing piece that he had seen in so many others but hadn't even thought of until now: trials. Pain, troubles... tribulations, some would call them. He needed to force himself out of his comfort zone and into the harsh environment of relentless limit training. Within this limit training, he would have to start devising a physical technique to practice first, and then maybe he'd be able to increase his physical energy to manipulate his bones. They didn't require that much chakra, and were more taijutsu techniques anyways. As such, they were much easier for him to learn and perform. But first, body training. He wanted to be able to crush rocks with his bare hands, but at the same time, not wear away the skin. For this, he needed quick, applied strength. It required more than just sheer brawn, since bulk and power was not all there was to combat. In many situations, it was actually a direct disadvantage. It wasn't hard for someone to turn momentum against their opponent. In fact, he postulated that most genin knew this, especially the ones like him who specialized in hand to hand combat.

So, why not just blocking techniques? Kozurou knew that to be hit by attacks wasn't all as bad as people thought it was usually, though there were some exceptions. And the boy knew that he had to be prepared for those exceptions. Looking up at the sky, he found that it was a bit overcast. Better to hurry, he thought to himself. Standing up from where he was sitting cross legged in the middle of the training ground, he raised one of his arms and began to stretch. The feeling of his muscles loosening began to get his heart rate up and his attitude began to improve. Ah, now this was where he belonged. Reaching the peak of martial physical technique. He could not imagine himself at any other task in life; this was the only thing worth doing. Cultivating one's inner power to maximum external benefit.

He thought about the way he had been punted around by the Mizukage. What power, what strength. Surely, he could surpass that with ease at some point. He was already able to punch through drywall, though that was no great feat for a grown man... then again, he was just a boy. He still had his whole life before him. Within that life, though could lie infinite, bright potential, and he had to reach out and take advantage of it. To just let that innate power lie there and atrophy... that would mean failing himself in the ultimate way. No, he had to do better because he knew he could. There was no particular endgame goal; the journey of self improvement was its only reward. To get stronger for the sake of doing so... Kozurou was perhaps the only one who enjoyed taking this kind of path at all. He was certain that if he told other people, they'd consider it strange, so he entered into his training alone, to pursue the path of martial glory.

Kozurou remembered the attack that the Mizukage had sent at him again, then set to work. Simply putting a limb in the way of the attack would soften the blow to the point where it wouldn't do nearly as much damage, though his arm might hurt afterwards. Kozurou remembered, also, the bruising and tissue damage he had sustained. Humiliating, to be sure, but that was how it worked. Right now, he was weak, so it was only expected that the strong would trample over him without a thought. He just needed to endure! Endure, and all would be well. Stengthen his body, mind, and soul as he was doing now, and everything would pass in his favor.

The boy picked up a training dummy on the ground, and tossed it into the air. As he did, he gave it a name. "Larry". Larry was a beautiful flyer, going up into the clouded sky. Hmm... had he tossed it a bit to hard? No, it was just a dummy. He needed the pain, needed the practice with this. If he didn't than his innate potential would never be discovered, and he'd be the shame of his village. Not just that, he'd be a shame to himself, and that was what mattered the most. Better to feel the pain and injury than to face such ignominy. Larry ran out of upward movement and began to accelerate downwards, pulled down by gravity. Raising his forearm upwards, Kozurou braced for impact. And indeed, impact did come, the dummy crashing down onto his ulna. Yeeowch! Kozurou pushed Larry away, shaking his arm in pain. But... he had to keep going. If he stopped now, he'd never make it anywhere.

The pain, he discovered, was only really skin deep. The toughness of his bones and the durability of his flesh made it truly difficult for the throw to really hurt him. If he was going to condition himself, though, he thought as he took hold of Larry again, he should throw it a little slower. This he did, and Larry spun up into the air once more. Odd, dummies weren't supposed to be aerodynamic. It must be that he was just that strong. As Larry began to descend again, Kozurou would bend his knees and shift one of his legs back, adopting a defensive stance. Now the REAL practice would begin. Raising the same forearm, Kozurou braced and received the dummy on his arm. Not bad, he thought. He was getting better at this.

Rubbing his arm a bit, he decided to keep it balanced. Why not try the other arm next, he thought to himself. But first, time to loosen up those muscles in that arm. He raised his left arm, bent it at the elbow, and grasped said elbow with his right hand. Then he tugged, lightly but firmly. It wouldn't do him any good to undergo a training injury. Oooooh! Now that felt pretty good. He would then cross his arm in its entirety over his chest, seize his shoulder, and stretch a little bit more. Alright, not bad. Now he was all limbered up and ready. If he were more muscular and more vain, he's probably go for a bit of the olive oil and the loud shouts of "Oh, yeah, baby!" but he wasn't that kind of person, nor did he have that sort of physique. So, instead, he set about tidying up the dummy, Larry, and getting it ready for its next flight test.


Grabbing the dummy, Larry, with both hands, Kozurou would heave upwards, murmuring a silent eulogy for the dummy in case it decided to suddenly split (which it shouldn't, Kiri dummies had surprisingly thick skins, if you know what I mean), and watched as it sailed into the clouds (figuratively speaking, of course). As it came back down, Kozurou would raise both of his arms this time, and took the full brunt of the impact. Looking down at the dummy that he had thrown to the ground Kozurou muttered "but that's cheating, now isn't it, Larry...". Indeed, using both arms felt like cheating.



But what if he was to do it with a single leg? That wouldn't be too bad, right? Nah, not at all. It'd be tricky, though, as he'd need more time to position before being able to block. That was fine, though, he soon realized, as all that meant was that he'd have to adjust his throwing angle for the dummy. Grasping his ankle and tugging gently upwards toward his posterior, Kozurou began to stretch his legs, loosening them up and getting ready for the exercise to come. Knowing what he did now, it shouldn't be THAT hard.

Grasping the dummy around where a person's waist would normally be, he silently urged the dummy to hold on for just a little bit longer. Then, heaving his muscles, he tossed it into the air, watching as it sailed straight up this time, rather than at a small angle. Then sweeping his leg and reclining on his back, Kozurou brought his knee up to his chest and angled himself slightly, taking on a stance that would minimize as much impact as possible. It was this more than the physical energy that provided such a good defense with this blocking technique.

The dummy began to descend, and Kozurou noticed that there were small rips along its side. Ooh, that wasn't good. With a sinking feeling, he realized that poor Larry was taking quite a bit of abuse. One could say that the dummy had had its ups and downs today. Yes, that was a good pun. At any rate, the boy knew that Larry wouldn't last much longer. After he finished with him today, he should probably put it back and post it up for maintenance to take care of. That would be the best option, or at least so he felt.

The dummy fell onto Kozurou's leg, and the boy realized that in combat, if he could get a block in with his leg, as long as it didn't impact his balance or his positioning negatively, he'd be able to mitigate quite a bit of attack power. This was good, considering who he was and what kind of body he possessed. As a Kaguya, he was a bit tougher than most kids his age, despite having not trained up his endurance as much. He made a mental note to himself NOT to ignore his endurance, since doing so would inevitably result in his demise.

Standing up, he would pat Larry on the shoulder. The dummy had been so cooperative... although he certainly couldn't call the inanimate object "friend", he almost certainly could sympathize with it. Used only to strengthen others without a mind of its own... making up his mind, Kozurou dragged the dummy over to a part of the training ground, where he dug a hole quickly. He was quite strong for a genin at this point, so it was easier for him than one might think. The hole was a bit large, and the boy lowered Larry into it.

"You might not be able to think now, so I can't call you friend. But someday, I'll return to this spot, and somehow, I'll give you the gift of thought. I promise it, unless I die. Terms and conditions apply." With that, Kozurou filled in the hole, leaving barely a trace that there had been any kind of digging there in the first place. Then, after cleaning up, he went home to wash up. It had been a most exhausting day, and he was looking forward to the next. So many things to learn...

[WC 2002
2000 wc toward Taijutsu Block
10 stats]