Chapter 8: The Clockwork Boy
July 6, 5 AK
Every moment is precious.
This is my rule. My nindo. My 'Will of Fire.'
It burns bright to keep me fueled through the night.
It keeps me punching the log when I am exhausted.
It keeps me sprinting down the track until I can no longer put one foot in front of the other.
It keeps me focused when petty distractions—like mere physical pain—try to tear me off the path.
Nikkei slumped to her butt a few steps away, panting like her dog. Wasabi placed his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath, his chest heaving, setting the soft creamy yellow of his overtunic fluttering.
I paused for a moment. I tossed each of them a couple of ripe cherries, popping a handful into my own mouth before turning back to the training posts.
I like cherries. Quick energy. A burst of flavor to keep me going.
"You shouldn't bend over like that," I observed briefly between chews. "It limits airflow."
I didn't wait for a response before starting my set.
My strikes on the training post were light. Almost taps. Gentle nudgings, even. But they fell as fast as I could push my noodle-weak arms. And that was enough.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Nikkei groaned and let herself topple onto her back.
"Jeez, Hiroki, don't you ever slow down? You did it. You're a Genin now. You can take a moment to chill."
I did not pause in the kata. My words slipped out with every exhale, maintaining an even rhythm. Heavier strikes served to punctuate my rebuttal.
Tap, tap, tap goes the wood.
Tick, tick, tick goes the clock.
"No. I can't. I am still weak."
Strike.
"Strength is life. Weakness is death. If I am dead, my team is dead. If my team is dead, the mission is failed. If we fail the mission, we fail the village."
Strike. Strike.
"If we fail the village, the village dies. And everyone you have ever known, everything you have ever seen, everything you have ever loved, burns."
I finished the set with a snap.
"There is no such thing as 'good enough'. Only 'as good as you can make it'."
Wasabi rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. He stretched to a standing position and pulled a groaning Nikkei up by the hand to join me at the neighboring post.
"You're gonna go bald if you keep stressing out like that."
I took a moment to breathe. I rolled my creaking shoulders loose as he started a kata. I flashed him a wry smile before moving onto throwing practice.
"Just wait till we get our first C-rank."
x-X-x
We fell into our roles easily enough.
Nikkei was close combat. Our heavy hitter. Frontline. Good stamina, strong strikes, capable of taking blows that would shatter my ribcage.
Wasabi was mid-range. He gained a fair bit of skill with ninja wire under Kakashi's tutelage and had a decent-sized chakra reserve—enough for some simple fire Ninjutsu.
I opted for speed. A support position.
My Taijutsu relied heavily on the use of senbon thrown at extreme close range to actually do damage. Death by a thousand pinpricks.
I practiced the Replacement Technique until I could manage it with a single hand sign. I accumulated as many minor Genjutsu as I could; little things to throw off depth perception or induce transient nausea. Trips and traps for the unwary that my teammates could take advantage of.
My reserves were small, so control was paramount.
I practiced every control exercise Kakashi knew. Everything I could think up. Everything I could beg or wheedle from any other ninja—even Uchiha. Sensei grudgingly gifted me a primer on basic Sealing which immediately became my most valuable possession, even though I was unlikely to benefit from it before making Chunin.
The Sharingan was not an instant win button. Especially now, with only a single tomoe lazily orbiting each pupil.
I could copy anything I see easily enough. But being able to regurgitate a perfect replica of a fist strike or fireball is useless without the proper timing that comes with an actual understanding of the technique in question.
This was a lesson Kakashi knew quite well. And one which many Uchiha never bothered to learn.
"Your arms are too short."
I stopped the new kata and folded my hands neatly. I gave Kakashi a mild smile, aiming for polite but apparently missing the mark given the nearly unnoticeable pursing of his lips beneath the mask.
"Is that something I could compensate for?"
He shrugged ambivalently, glancing over at Nikkei and Wasabi's practice spar. Kenji was growing like a weed, and the little dog nipped at Wasabi's heels at just the right time to throw off his next block, earning the boy a painful fist to the gut.
"Maybe. I could show you a little blade work, if you like. That'll take practice too."
My teeth ground painfully behind my placid smile.
Time. Time. Time.
I don't have time.
"Would it be possible to get at least enough understanding that using the style wouldn't be detrimental? In a reasonable amount of time?"
Sensei blinked at me, his absurd hair swaying as he nodded his head slowly.
"With the Sharingan to help… maybe. Hmm. Watch this."
He pulled out a tanto. Checking to see my eyes were on, he flowed through a few simple forms that should mesh reasonably well with the Taijutsu style I had just been practicing.
I nodded slowly as the images embedded themselves indelibly into my memory.
"Can I try?"
My squadmates paused in their spar as I took the short sword from our instructor. I emulated what Kakashi-sensei just showed me. Nikkei's grumpy scowl grew more pronounced as I perfectly mimicked the motions of our teacher—albeit at a much reduced rate.
The center of my forehead creased slightly. I focused on the movements, not merely reproducing what I had seen, but battling an imaginary foe in my mind's eye. Feeling out the changes in momentum. The flow I would need in actual combat.
Block. Dodge. Slash. Deflect. Stab—
"No."
I stopped. I reformed my face into placidity as I handed my instructor back his blade with a nod and smile of thanks.
"I don't think that will work very well for me. The weight is throwing me off a bit, and my current style is focused around speed. Moving that much metal around is impractical unless I can build a lot more muscle mass."
Nikkei blinked in surprise, her ninken barking in amusement. "What? That was plenty fast, what're you talking about?"
I smiled blandly at her.
"I am a glass cannon. Lots of damage, not much for defense. The Uchiha, particularly those with the Sharingan, are all about speed. We don't block hits, we dodge them. In principle, we could use a hard style like the Strong Fist, but we don't have the physical build for it. For the same amount of time invested, I would see a much larger payout from speed training rather than strength and stamina training."
The team Kunoichi grumbled in confusion. "Isn't the Sharingan supposed to make you super great at everything?"
Wasabi snorted and rolled his eyes, wiping away accumulated sweat.
"Memorizing a jutsu isn't nearly as important as knowing when to use it. Just because Hiroki can make the same moves doesn't mean he can use them as well as someone who has practiced them. Think; not every Uchiha uses all the techniques all the time."
I gave my squad a slightly more genuine smile of agreement.
"Just so. At best, the Sharingan is good for learning how to use a move quicker than traditional means. I get more out of practice, but I still need to practice. And having that many tools in your arsenal isn't necessarily a good thing; more than one Uchiha has been killed trying to use a move they just stole and performed without thinking."
I rubbed gently at the itchy spot on the back of my hand and shrugged.
"Practice makes perfect, not a fancy bloodline."
And so we practiced.
We practiced a lot.
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