Kaelen's first week at the academy had been quiet, almost painfully mundane. Observation, note-taking, light training—he kept his sword skills hidden, practiced in secret, and studied chakra theory. He learned quickly. Faster than anyone else, he realized.
But today, something changed.
"Class sparring!" the instructor called, his voice sharp and booming across the courtyard. A group of students cheered; Kaelen's stomach tightened. Sparring. Not with teachers, not yet—but students.
He scanned the circle of participants. Most were average: some had mastered basic taijutsu, a few could throw shuriken with decent accuracy. And then he noticed his opponent: a boy roughly his age, lean, eyes sharp, chakra visible like a faint aura around his fists.
Interesting.
The instructor clapped. "Remember, control your chakra! No serious injuries! Begin!"
The boy lunged first, a flurry of punches and kicks enhanced by chakra. Kaelen sidestepped, feeling the gust of displaced air against his skin. His movements were effortless, almost bored—but precise. With one smooth motion, he drew his sword, its blade catching the sunlight.
Swish.
The boy froze. It wasn't fear, Kaelen realized, but awe. His blade wasn't just fast—it was surgical, cutting a path through the empty space between attacks. Kaelen didn't strike yet. He wanted to see, to measure, to study the flow of his opponent.
The boy attacked again, faster this time, mixing punches with a burst of chakra that propelled him forward. Kaelen's eyes narrowed. He pivoted, letting the blade swipe in a controlled arc. Wood and dust exploded as if struck by wind, and the boy stumbled back, gripping his arm where the edge had grazed—not enough to harm, but enough to shock.
Yes, Kaelen thought. This is how I'll learn the flow of their world.
The boy recovered quickly, attempting a spinning kick enhanced with wind chakra. Kaelen leapt back, his sword slicing a small stone midair, sending shards scattering. Every movement he made was deliberate, calibrated. He wasn't trying to win yet—he was observing, testing, analyzing.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. This was exhilarating. In his old life, war had been brutal, yes—but this… this was pure skill against skill. And Kaelen's power, honed over years as a soldier and sharpened by Mihawk's legacy, flowed naturally, as if the sword had always been part of him.
The sparring match ended not with a decisive strike, but with the instructor's whistle. Kaelen sheathed his sword. The boy looked at him, eyes wide, not with anger but respect.
"You… you're fast," the boy admitted. "How do you move like that?"
Kaelen smiled faintly. "Practice. Observation. And knowing where to strike."
Later, as he walked away from the courtyard, Kaelen felt the familiar thrill of victory—and more importantly, potential. This world had rules, yes, but he was already bending them. Soon, he would not just participate in battles; he would define them.
Tomorrow, he thought, I will push further. I will test the limits of chakra against steel. I will become the strongest swordsman in this world—and no one, not even the Hokage, will forget my name.