A stream just outside of town

The lush vegetation that grew ever denser the farther one got outside Kirigakure gave way to just a thick layer of grass, then pebbles as it approached a stream. The other bank had trees right up to the water, but on this side the rocky outcropping prevented the encroaching wild. Up and down the bank of river was a clear strip almost 20 meters wide. Everything seemed more vibrant in the midday sun, especially without a treeline obscuring it as it rose directly overhead. The greens looked more natural, the blue of the water more refreshing.

A sweat stained black compression shirt fluttered down through the air to join a crumpled white hoodie on the top of a small boulder. The young man who had threw it wiped his brow of sweat, jostling his shaggy blonde hair out of the way as he did so.

It wasn't especially hot today, but the training was taking its toll. Hayate had been here for over two hours. The muscles his frame was beginning to show in earnest – some of them recently revealed by the removal of his undershirt – were starting to ache, but weren't close to done yet.

Now that he had graduated the academy and was a genin of Kirigakure, he was allowed to continue his swordsmanship training. It was an honor, and a privilege to be able to practice the art Kiri was known for, many were rejected. …..and it felt like joining the academy all over again, he was once again at the lowest rung. They started with simple forms, to build up the familiarity, strength and speed they would need for advanced jutsu. One of the first things you had to do was to be able to draw your sword smoothly, cleanly, and quickly. All the swordsmanship in the world wouldn't save you if you weren't able to get a sword into your hand.

And thats what sent Hayate not too far outside of town, but far enough off the beaten path where it was unlikely he would be run into. The Swordsmanship school had other classes, it wasn't free all day, and now that he was a genin he didn't want to hang around the academy all day. His grandmother would ….. well he couldn't picture exactly WHAT she would do if he used the carefully cultivated trees in her backyard to practice with, because he couldn't picture being that bold, but he was certain it wouldn't be a path he would want to go down.

Hence he found himself out here, in the middle of nowhere, with the sword his grandfather had given him, repeating the technique over and over until he got it right.

WC 451

The shirtless Hayate held the shuriken flat in his right palm for a moment, giving it short tosses to feel the weight of the metal. He had gotten used to throwing them with his right hand, to keep his left available for whatever other weapon he was wielding at the time, even though now his hands were otherwise unoccupied. He then bent his knees, shifting his feet into a combat stance and putting his left hand on the hilt of the sword that hung from his right hip. From this ready position, he threw the shuriken aimed towards the leaves of a tree at the edge of the clearing about 30 meters away. The sharp metal made a distinctive sound as it rotated, each tip trading off the lead role of cutting through the air one after another in quick succession. With a rustle, it passed through the leaves to stick into the trunk, and four leaves began to fall.

As soon as he saw them, Hayate began his dash. His right hand fell to his scabbard, his left shill on the hilt of the sheathed sword, and he ran all out towards the leaves, chakra infusing his legs and core to help speed him along.

Faster. …. Faster ….

The leaves drifted lower and lower, closing in on the ground as Hayate approached within 15 meters of them, then within ten, then

Soundlessly, the sword sprung from its casing, a blur before the eye, pulled directly out and not even grazing its sheath. The blur passed close to the ground, just narrowly missing the leaves which had landed a fraction of a second before.

“DAMN IT!” Hayate exclaimed, allowing himself some frustration. Sweat glistened off him as his chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths of exertion, quickly becoming normal again. He slowly resheathed his sword, with the metallic sliding that accompanied such an endeavor, and walked over to the tree, picking the shuriken from it among the many, many other scratches where others had landed before.

He made his way back to the area he started, once again taking the the stance. He would have to concentrate his chakra more, have to ask his muscles to push just a bit harder. More than ever he was assured there were no shortcuts. It was pure effort and practice that were what counted, not only in training, but in battle when it mattered. It was still performing when you were cut, bruised, and dead tired.

Again and again, he practiced, inching closer and closer. Hayate allowed himself a short break to kneel at the side of the river, getting his black combat pants a bit wet, and put his hands on the bank, dunking his sandy blonde hair and most of his head into the crystal stream. He pulled his head out, his shagging mane flipping a small amount of water into the air and some on his back, then cupped his hands to draw a drink. When he was done, Hayate leaned back to properly sit on his backside with arms behind him, staring up at the trees on the other bank and the bright sky above that. The land of water was beautiful, and it was his. His and his family's before him and his villages land, a rich history, a hearty and hard people. And now it was up to him to help keep it successful, to make it more successful.

He considered reaching out for his headphones and cassette player, to take a small break, but thought against it. He wouldn't pause long, just enough for his muscles to be able to push at full strength again. Then he would be back to training.

WC 619      TWC 1070

Many tries later, he felt it. As he flew toward the fluttering target, the scenery around Hayate began to melt. His chakra coursed through his body with wild abandon, powering his effort more than mere flesh and bone could ever hope to. Hayate's image stretched out, impossibly long, a trick of the light itself which could barely seem to keep up. The only thing that seemed clear was the leaf itself, and that seemed positively frozen, a picture of absolute focus. Hayate felt he could see every vein in the leaf, every molecule of the plant, as the rest of the scenery buzzed by. His feet seemed to touch the ground not out of the physical necessity to push him along, but as a perfunctory performance, something merely expected of him as his body rushed ahead.

A single grey blur lashed out, the metal of the sword somehow quicker than that of his body. The weapon spared no frills, a straight sword roughly a meter long, of sturdy construction, with finely honed edges on both sides. The metal met the hilt with barely a centimeter of guard around it, and even that quickly tapered into the blue wrapping around the handle, continuing on to a nondescript small round pommel. It was once his grandfathers sword when he was still genin, and Hayates preferred practice implement, and now his very own personal weapon.

The efficiency of the design served him well, as did the care used to keep the edges sharp. The perfectly flat path of the blade let the sword slice through the air with barely a whisper – aside from the faintest noise of a tear, which to observers would be drowned out by the stream. But to Hayate, there was only his body, the sword, and the two separate halves of a leaf. The air following the blade kicked the halves slightly higher than they were a moment ago, when they were one whole, before they settled to the earth.

Panting, he felt the chakra recede from his muscles back into the circulatory system it resided in. The weightless feeling was gone, and he was even more aware than normal of the regular effort his body made in everyday life. He didn't feel slow, per say – he had trained long and hard in preparation of becoming a ninja, and his body was fit – but it was slightly like exiting a moving walkway or escalator onto solid ground.

Catching his breath, he looked around, and then the 15 year old genin allowed a smile to appear on his face. His sword still in his left hand, he fist-pumped the air with his right. Exhilarated, he exclaimed “YEAH!”

True progress. Proof he would succeed. Hayate would not be the name of a weak link in the strong chain of Kirigakure shinobi, a fate his genin exam leader warned him against. Tyler blacks words also cautioned them against resting on their laurels after success, though.

He would try for at least one more leaf, he decided, before he would consider heading home.

WC 513          TWC 1583

In all those hours, just two leaves cut. He reflected, steam rising from the hot bath he was currently submerged in. It had just turned twilight by the time he got the second leaf and returned home. His mother had taken one look at his dirty, sweat drenched exterior and told him he could eat AFTER he got clean. He knew he should be disappointed he didn't get more, that his success rate was so slim, but he was actually proud instead, though he couldn't explain why. Hayate let the heat soothe away the fatigue of the long day he had. His clothes from the day rumbled in the washing machine at the other side of the room.

I wonder what's for dinner He mused absentmindedly, his eyes closed, arms on top of the tub walls, body laid back as far as it could go without his mouth going underwater. He was certainly hungry – chakra use on top of all the physical exercise left a energy deficit that his body was keen to make up for – but the bath was still hot, and he was loath to give up the relaxing heat for the cool air. Whatever it is, I hope it reheats well. His parents were understanding of his enthusiasm after having newly made genin, and he did make it home for dinner MOST nights, so the occasional need to save a plate for a late Hayate didn't cause a fuss or any scolding yet. After all, his mother was an experienced kunoichi in her own right, and they knew the lifestyle well.

Stepping out of the bath, he toweled off and clad himself in a robe. He grabbed the plate from the fridge – curry rice, with more than a subtle hint of spicy peppers – and took it to his room. He sat crosslegged on his bed, resting against the wall, with the plate in his lap – the desk was already taken up with a large sheet of white fabric stained in various placed with oils, upon which rested the sword and shuriken he had taken care to clean and resharpen before his bath. His gaze rested over where the weaponry was, out the tall window the desk was up against, and into the rapidly darkening night sky. He tucked into his food as he stared at the stars already gracing the inky void, pleased with the sense of exhaustion that came with a day of truly hard work and effort, and pictured the future that lay before him.

WC420  TWC 2003

Exiting this here

TWC 2003
claiming 10 stats
claiming 1 D rank jutsu for 1000 (Flicker Movement)
Putting 1000 towards battojutsu quickdraw  [now1000/2000]

Approved.