Kuro watched from the dojo steps as Yoichi planted another post, sweat dripping onto the freshly turned earth. The boy's form had started sloppy, but after the twentieth hole, his movements had found their rhythm. Not perfect, but getting there.
Just like another student, years ago.
"Deeper," Kuro called out. "You want these posts to last."
Yoichi didn't look up. "They'd last fine if you weren't planning to break them."
"Smart kid." Kuro took a sip from his water bottle, wishing it was sake. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the training ground, painting everything in shades of gold and memory.
====
"You're doing it wrong," Kuro had told a younger Shinji, watching him struggle with similar posts. "Let the earth guide you."
"Earth doesn't talk, Sensei." But Shinji's next strike landed true, the post sliding perfectly into place.
"No?" Kuro had grinned. "Listen harder."
Shinji had paused then, head tilted. "I hear... your sake bottle getting empty."
"Brat."
But he'd seen it then - that spark, that perfect blend of talent and determination that came along once in a generation. The way Shinji moved like he was born to fight, born to learn, born to-
===
"Oi, old man." Yoichi's voice snapped him back. "Done with the posts."
Kuro blinked. The training ground had transformed. Twenty posts stood in precise formation, each one perfectly spaced and angled.
"You measured these?" Kuro asked, walking the perimeter.
"Didn't need to." Yoichi stretched, joints popping. "Just felt right."
Just felt right. The same words Shinji had used, all those years ago.
"Something wrong?" Yoichi asked.
"No." Kuro ran a hand along the nearest post. "Just remembering another student who did this."
"Mom?"
"Different one." Kuro turned away. "Get cleaned up. We're done for today."
"That's it?" Yoichi sounded suspicious. "No extra torture?"
"You want more?"
"Hell no." Yoichi grabbed his bag. "See you tomorrow, old man."
Kuro waited until the boy disappeared down the mountain path before sitting heavily on the steps. The setting sun painted the posts in long shadows, like bars across the ground.
===
"Why do we train, Sensei?" Young Shinji had asked once, covered in dirt from a similar day's work.
"To get stronger."
"No." Shinji's eyes had held that intensity, that burning focus that set him apart. "Why do we really train?"
Kuro had considered his answer carefully. "To understand ourselves."
"And once we do?"
"Then we help others understand themselves."
Shinji had nodded, satisfied. "That's why you'll make me your successor someday."
"Pretty confident for a brat who can't even plant posts straight."
But they'd both known he was right. Until-
===
A phone buzzed. Kuro pulled it out, seeing Asami's name on the screen.
"He's got it," Kuro said without preamble.
"The X-factor?"
"Same as Shinji. Maybe more."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken concerns.
"Keep him safe, Kuro." It wasn't a request.
"From what?"
"From ending up like Shinji."
Kuro watched the last light fade from the training ground. "No chance of that. Kid's got something Shinji never had."
"What's that?"
"A mother who'd tear the world apart to protect him." Kuro stood, joints creaking. "And an old drunk who won't make the same mistakes twice."
He hung up before Asami could respond. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new lessons. But for now, he had sake to drink and memories to bury.
The posts stood silent in the gathering dark, waiting for whatever tomorrow would bring. Just like they had years ago, when another prodigy had stood in this same spot, dreaming different dreams.
Some dreams ended in darkness. Others...
Well, that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight was for sake and silence, and remembering when teaching had been simpler.
Before talented students went astray.
Before mothers made impossible requests.
Before posts became more than just wood in the ground.
Kuro pulled out his sake bottle and settled in for a long night of not-thinking. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
And with it, another chance to get it right this time.
===
[With Yoichi]
I dragged myself up the mountain path, muscles still sore from yesterday's post-planting marathon. The morning sun hadn't even cleared the trees yet, but I knew Kuro-sensei would already be there, probably nursing both a hangover and that damn sake bottle.
Sure enough, I found him sitting cross-legged on the dojo steps, eyes closed.
"You're late," he said without opening them.
"Sun's not even up."
"Sun doesn't decide when training starts." He cracked one eye open. "I do."
I dropped my bag. "So what's today? More posts?"
"Nah." He stood up, joints popping loud enough to echo. "Today we start the real work. Strip."
"Excuse me?"
"Not like that, kid. Down to your undershirt. Can't learn Arashi-ryu in a hoodie."
I peeled off my outer layers while he wandered over to the posts we'd planted yesterday. The morning air bit at my skin.
"First lesson," he said, "is Mountain Root. Most important technique you'll ever learn."
"Sounds boring."
"Oh, it is." He grinned. "Stand here."
I moved where he pointed, between four of the posts.
"Now, feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly. Good. This is Iron Horse Stance."
"This is just standing."
"Shut up and hold it."
"For how long?"
"Until I say stop."
I held the stance. One minute passed. Then five. My thighs started burning around minute ten.
"This is stupid," I said through gritted teeth.
"Is it?" Kuro walked around me, adjusting my posture with sharp jabs. "Tell me what you feel."
"My legs wanting to die."
"Deeper than that."
I focused past the burning. Past the shaking in my muscles. There was something else - a weird sense of... connection? Like my feet were sinking into the earth.
"I feel..."
"Yeah?"
"Like I'm being punked by an old man."
He smacked the back of my head. "Smart ass. Hold it another ten minutes."
By minute twenty, I couldn't feel my legs. But that other sensation had grown stronger - like roots spreading from my feet into the ground.
"Now," Kuro said, "try to move me."
"What?"
He stepped in front of me, arms loose at his sides. "Push me over."
I straightened up and shoved his chest. He didn't budge. I tried again, harder. Nothing.
"My turn," he said.
He flicked my forehead with one finger. I flew backward like I'd been hit by a truck, landing hard on my ass.
"What the hell?"
"That," he said, "is Mountain Root. The foundation of Arashi-ryu. Get up, we're doing it again."
"I thought Arashi-ryu was about storms and lightning and cool stuff."
"You want to throw lightning around without a proper foundation?" He helped me up. "That's how you end up breaking yourself. Now, stance."
We spent the next three hours on that damn stance. By the end, I could stay rooted well enough that his forehead flicks only pushed me back a few feet instead of launching me across the yard.
"Not bad," he said finally. "Take five."
I collapsed onto the steps, chugging water. "So when do we get to the actual fighting?"
"When you can hold that stance for two hours without shaking."
"Two hours? That's insane."
"Shinji did it in three days."
The name hung in the air like smoke. I'd heard him mention it yesterday too.
"Who's Shinji?"
Kuro took a long pull from his sake bottle. "Former student."
"Better than mom?"
"Different. Your mother was technical. Precise. Shinji was..." He stared at the posts. "Natural. Like you."
"What happened to him?"
"Made some bad choices." Kuro's voice went flat. "Break's over. Back to stance."
I stood, legs protesting. "You know, normal teachers use actual words to explain things."
"Normal teachers don't have to worry about their students accidentally destroying mountains." He poked my shoulder, adjusting my posture. "Besides, your body needs to learn before your brain. Words just get in the way."
"That makes no sense."
"Neither does your posture. Lower."
We worked until noon, by which point I couldn't feel anything below my waist. Kuro finally called it when I face-planted trying to hold the stance.
"Same time tomorrow," he said as I gathered my things.
"Joy."