The Academy's Training Field No. 2 was Takuma's least favorite place in the world. Even the lush and soft mat of cleanly cut grass that covered the entire field that had given him the best nap of his life and the best sleep he had ever since arriving in the miserable world of shinobis didn't give the place a higher rating in his mind's internal review system.

"Hideaki," Kibe called from his place in the middle of the wide circle formed by his students sitting beside each other in a single line of the perimeter. A tall and wide eleven-year-old got up from his and lumbered his way to the middle of the field like a fat bull. Kibe looked around in the circle before calling, "Takuma."

Takuma, sitting with crossed legs, had an old and frizzy jute rope in his hands. He was working on practicing the sheet bend knot when he heard Kibe call his name out and flinched. He looked up from his lap and found that he hadn't misheard and Kibe was indeed looking at him. And the sight of Hideaki picking his ear made Takuma pull a face.

"Get up, quick," Kibe said, his voice sharp and snippy.

Takuma reluctantly made his way to the center of the circle as he pocketed the length of the rope he had stolen from the side of a shop that was using them to hang potted plants off the ground. Coming to Training Field No. 2 meant that the class was going to practice taijutsu, and sitting in a circle told they were going to spar— and Takuma hated nothing more in the world than taijutsu sparring. Running butt-naked through a street was better than sparring in front of an audience he saw daily.

"Let's start," Kibe said and stepped back near the perimeter.

Takuma saw Hideaki raise his right hand and form the Seal of Confrontation and quickly copied him to do the same. Every taijutsu spar in the academy started with both parties with the Seal of Confrontation; he didn't know its significance, but it just did, and Takuma followed it.

Kibe looked at them for a pause-second before he signaled: "Start!"

Hideaki lazily raised his arms and crossed them over his chest, forming an X. Then straight up charged towards Takuma like a raging bull.

Takuma bit the inside of his cheek as he raised his hands up in guard. There was no academy taijutsu kata that involved crossing arms and charging at the enemy, not even close. And even though Takuma was in no way an expert at Akimichi clan's taijutsu, he was sure there was nothing like this there as well. Hideaki was making fun of him.

It was no secret that Takuma was the weakest in the class at taijutsu (well, at everything), and even those who were weak at taijutsu could wipe the floor with Takuma. Hideaki Akimichi of the clan that prided themselves on their strong bodies could send Takuma to the next year if he wanted to.

Takuma clenched his fists and shrunk his body as he saw Hideaki close in on him. He was supremely tempted to pull a kunai and ram it into Hidekai's face but knew that taking out a weapon would be an open invitation for his opponent to pull out his own weapons— the last thing that Takuma wanted. He had no confidence in blocking or parrying a blade and was no fan of getting himself cut. That was not considering that if he pulled out a kunai, he could get a hit in in the first place. So, he waited until Hideaki was close enough before jumping out of the way. Alas, Hideaki uncrossed his arms and spread them wide, and in doing so, hit Takuma's shoulder with the side of his fist.

It hurt, Takuma winced. He staggered a few steps back before getting his balance back in control. At the same time, Takuma and Hideaki faced each other. Hideaki once again charged at Takuma without his hands crossed. Takuma held his arms up in a boxing guard. Hideaki, despite his size, was faster than Takuma and was inside the latter's personal space in a jiffy. Hideaki made a fist and punched Takuma's guard. Takuma clenched his arms, but Hideaki's punch split his guard and dug into just below the chest.

Takuma didn't feel the pain until his back hit the ground. He coughed; the punch had knocked the air out of him. Takuma was barely ready when he saw the sole of Hideaki's sandal coming down at him and narrowly missed him as he rolled out of the way.

Hideaki humphed as he firmly dug the foot that had missed the stomp and used it to pivot his chunky body and kick Takuma's back with his other leg. "Gah!" Takuma was sent rolling on the ground with a force that he dragged chunks of grass with him.

"Alright, that's it, stop!" Kibe ordered, and Hideaki stepped back, returning to the middle of the encirclement. Takuma stood up with pain both in his front and back and wondered if any of the pain was worth it.

He walked to the center and faced Hideaki. Even though Hideaki hit hard, he was one of the easiest to fight. The Akimichi member was lazy and always wanted to end the fight as soon as possible and would move into disabling the opponent at the quickest, even if his methods to do so were crude. There were others— total pissants— who would drag out the spar; those were the hardest and would sting the most in the aftermath.

"End it," Kibe said.

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Takuma and Hideaki put their hands forward and joined their Seals of Confrontation to form a Seal of Reconciliation that marked the end of every spar in the academy. Takuma had seen it done many times; some did with grace, some looked like they despised each other, and even the thought of touching each other when it wasn't fighting revolted them. But he didn't know what it meant and doubted Hideaki knew either— if he had been told about it before was another matter all along.

Kibe called another pair as Takuma returned to his spot and continued with his knots on his frayed ropes. There was no rest for the wicked... and even less for the weak.

Takuma stood in front of a thick wooden log on the side of a field. The log had several spots that looked like they had been kicked in, so much so that the dark bark had been stripped away, revealing a curve in the light insides. How much did one have to kick and punch to cave in a tree trunk, and how did their limbs not break before? He couldn't imagine.

The sun shone orange over the many training fields littered across the village. Being THE shinobi village of the Hi No Kuni, the Land of Fire, the village had many training fields of various sizes. However, with the number of shinobi active in the village at any time, those fields were in use or reserved by others, and an academy student like Takuma couldn't get in. So, he had to use small make-shift clearings with logs made into unofficial training fields by other people with similar problems. The same people who had kicked in the log.

Takuma traced his finger at the writing made with a kunai over one of the curves in the log. Every curve had a name carved around it, marking the ones who had made it. A common thing perhaps, Takuma didn't know. He had no desire to do the same— who knew if he would be using the same log the next day.

The academy had reserved fields for student use, but Takuma rarely used them. He suffered enough embarrassment during school hours and didn't want any more afterward. So, he used these unofficial fields and would switch around if anyone else was around. He preferred to do his taijutsu kata alone, away from judging eyes.

He began using the log as the heavy bag. It stung every time he hit the tough wood. Apparently, the concept of hitting pads didn't exist in this world, and no protective gear was used during spars. Every punch and kick hurt against the wood.

"You're not going to improve like that, child," a voice sounded out in the silence.

Takuma was in the middle of a kicking kata when he heard the voice. He kicked the log and then lost his balance to the ground. Hurriedly, he turned toward the voice. A gangly old man stood with a slight hunch in his back and dark wrinkled skin from too much time in the sun. Takuma didn't say anything and stared at the old man with a vigilant look in his eyes.

"You're pulling your moves; that's no way to improve," the old man said, pointing his bony finger towards the wood log.

Takuma narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Isn't introducing yourself first before asking for someone else's name a common courtesy?" smiled the old man.

"You talked to me first, so you say your name first," Takuma said. He observed the old man, and one glance at his thin chainmail shirt, the brown vest, and the tapped ankles over shinobi sandals told Takuma that the old man in front of him was a shinobi. 'He's old,' thought Takuma. He hadn't seen such an old man since his arrival half a month ago.

"This humble one goes by the name Kosuke Maruboshi," said Maruboshi and then looked at Takuma expectantly.

"Takuma..."

Maruboshi smiled, accentuating the lines collected through the years on his face. "It's commonplace to go light in training and sparring, but the way you're pulling your moves is inviting a bad habit to creep into your form. You won't be able to tell, but your opponent will see openings to exploit, which they will do mercilessly. You need to be firm and confident when performing your katas."

Takuma frowned, "It hurts if I completely commit to the moves." He was constantly scared that the wood would splinter and stab into his limbs.

"Hurting is necessary if you want to temper your bones and muscles." Muboshi assumed the same kata that Takuma had been practicing before, but unlike Takuma, he looked stable, as if he could maintain the form for hours as easy as standing. "You expect the pain, your fear builds it up in your mind, but when it arrives, you find that it was nowhere near as bad as you thought. Moreover, using the correct form hurts less." He cycled through the katas with a smoothness and a ferocity so unlike a weak old man. "Now, you try it."

Takuma's brows furrowed together. He pursed his lips before asking, "I want to see it again, do it again."

Muboshi complied with a smile and performed a short cycle of basic taijutsu kata. Takuma watched intently. He had seen his classmates, those best in taijutsu in class, and even his layman's eyes could tell they were nowhere as good as Muboshi.

'Well, he's old, obviously a shinobi, and they're academy students; of course, there's going to be a skill difference,' Takuma rolled his eyes at the comparison in his head.

He took a stance and did his best to copy Muboshi. Takuma's imitation was leagues apart; it didn't even look the same. But Takuma felt the difference from before, it was minute, but he could tell from the way his body moved that the movement flowed better, and he felt that if he hit someone now, it would do more damage.

"Good job," Muboshi said before giving further tips. They spent the next half hour together before Muboshi said. "Remember well, young Takuma. Repetition doesn't make one better. It's using repetition to hone one's technique like sharpening a blade against a whetstone."

Takuma nodded and said his thanks to Muboshi, who waved it off and went his merry way, leaving Takuma alone in the field. Takuma watched Muboshi’s back until he disappeared from the field. He was grateful for any little help he could get. He turned towards the wood log and sighed.

Hitting it still hurt.