Three days.
It shouldn't have been enough time for anything meaningful. Three days was enough to learn the layout of a place, maybe develop a preference for which side of the room you slept on. It was not, by any reasonable measure, enough time to fundamentally alter the way a body moved.
And yet.
Hanzo stood at the edge of the training ground in the early morning quiet and watched Nathan run the shadow steps she had shown him two days ago — the footwork pattern that took most Shinobis the better part of a month to stop thinking about consciously and another month after that to make fluid. He wasn't perfect. The transitions at the sharper angles still carried a fraction too much weight, a slight telegraphing in the hip that an experienced eye would catch. But the bones of it were already there, already settling into his muscle memory with a speed that sat somewhere between impressive and unsettling.
