The morning sun spilled over the tiled roofs of the Takeda estate, painting the training courtyard in shades of gold. The air was crisp, filled with the distant cawing of crows and the steady rhythm of practice swords striking against one another.
Eugene stood at the edge of the field, a wooden bokken in hand. Around him, the sons of retainers and vassals already sparred under the sharp eyes of instructors.
The smell of sweat, dust, and lacquered armor filled his nose. He felt his pulse quicken—not with fear, but anticipation.
[New objective detected: Martial Growth.][Recommended actions: Sword training, spear mastery, archery drills, mounted combat.][Projected outcome: Combat proficiency equal to elite samurai within 3 years (accelerated rate).]
Eugene smirked. "Three years, huh? I'll cut that down to one."
"Takeda Eugene," the gruff voice of Instructor Ito barked. He was a tall, scarred veteran with arms like tree trunks and a gaze sharp enough to split stone. "You're late."
"I apologize, sensei." Eugene bowed politely, though inwardly he thought, Late? I've been here since sunrise, analyzing their footwork. But fine, I'll play along.
Ito tossed him a shinai this time, a bamboo practice sword. "Pair up with Jiro again."
The boy he'd defeated yesterday with a strike to the ribs sneered, already gripping his weapon tightly. Whispers spread among the trainees—some betting Jiro would reclaim his honor, others waiting to see if Eugene's victory had been mere luck.
Eugene raised his shinai lightly, his stance relaxed. The AI overlaid a faint grid across his vision, highlighting Jiro's shoulders, hips, and foot placement.
[Opponent: Morita Jiro. Anger level: high. Anticipated opening strike: downward slash. Probability of overextending: 78%. Counter: sidestep + thrust to chest.]
"Fight!" Ito barked.
Jiro charged with a wild downward strike, exactly as predicted. Eugene shifted a single step to the right, letting the bamboo sword whistle past his shoulder. In the same instant, he lunged, the tip of his shinai driving into Jiro's chest.
The boy collapsed, coughing violently.
The courtyard fell silent again. Eugene exhaled slowly, lowering his weapon."You lead with anger," he said evenly, "and anger blinds you."
Some boys exchanged uneasy glances. Others clenched their teeth in envy. Instructor Ito's eyes narrowed, studying Eugene with the scrutiny of a hawk.
"Again," Ito ordered.
This time Jiro charged more cautiously, feinting to the left before swinging upward. The AI in Eugene's head calculated trajectories faster than any human eye could follow. Eugene parried, twisted his wrist, and struck Jiro across the temple.
The boy toppled once more.
Gasps rippled through the trainees.
Instructor Ito raised a hand. "Enough. Morita, step back. Takeda… you will face me."
The older samurai stepped into the ring, hefting his own shinai. His scarred face betrayed no emotion.
Eugene swallowed hard. He had beaten boys, but Ito was a soldier who had survived countless real battles. Could his AI help him now?
The instructor took his stance, firm and unshakable.
[Opponent: Ito Masaharu. Strength: 9/10. Speed: 7/10. Technique: 9/10. Combat experience: 10/10. Probability of victory: 3%.]
"…Three percent?" Eugene muttered under his breath.
[Correct. However, probability of surviving 30 seconds: 72%. Survive, adapt, learn.]
Eugene inhaled deeply, gripping his shinai with both hands. This was no longer about winning—it was about testing himself.
"Begin!"
Ito moved like a storm, his shinai slashing downward with terrifying speed. Eugene barely managed to raise his weapon in time. The impact rattled his bones, his arms trembling.
Another strike came, faster, aimed at his ribs. Eugene twisted, barely dodging. He countered with a thrust, but Ito knocked it aside effortlessly and forced him back.
The courtyard blurred as strike after strike hammered against him. The AI shouted warnings in his head, but Eugene's body could hardly keep up.
[Block left! Sidestep now! Retreat two steps!]
Every second was a desperate struggle. Sweat dripped down his brow, his breath coming ragged. But as the moments stretched on, something shifted. His muscles began to remember. His body adapted. The AI's predictions synced with his movements, his timing sharpening.
"Not bad," Ito growled, driving him back with another slash. "But you're too stiff!"
Eugene ducked under the swing, rolling aside, and struck upward. Ito parried with a flick of his wrist, the shinai inches from Eugene's face.
Thirty seconds passed.
Eugene's chest heaved, his arms ached, but he was still standing. He hadn't been struck down.
Ito finally stepped back, lowering his shinai. Silence hung in the air.
The veteran nodded once, his expression unreadable. "You learn quickly, boy. Too quickly." His eyes narrowed. "I'll be watching you."
The trainees erupted into whispers.
"He lasted against Master Ito!""Impossible for someone his age…""Is he possessed by a kami?"
Eugene bowed, suppressing a grin. "Thank you for the lesson, sensei."
Inside, however, his heart roared. Three percent chance of victory? Maybe. But survival… survival is enough for now.
The days bled into weeks. Training became his entire world.
Sword drills at dawn. Archery at midday. Spear practice until his arms trembled. Horse riding until his thighs burned.
The AI accelerated everything. Every correction, every flaw in his stance, every angle of attack—it recorded, adjusted, and replayed until perfection became muscle memory.
Where others struggled to master a single form in weeks, Eugene grasped it in days. Where they missed targets at thirty paces, his arrows found bullseyes without fail.
One evening, after sparring, he collapsed under a pine tree, staring at the darkening sky. His body ached, but his mind felt alive.
[Progress Report: Sword proficiency – Intermediate. Spear proficiency – Intermediate. Archery – Advanced novice. Horsemanship – Basic rider. Estimated growth: accelerated.]
"Not bad," Eugene whispered, smiling faintly. "Not bad at all."
A voice startled him. "You're strange, you know that?"
He turned. Standing nearby was a girl about his age, her hair tied in a neat bun, her kimono embroidered with subtle patterns. Her eyes were sharp, observant.
Memories surfaced—Lady Ayame, the daughter of a neighboring vassal family who often visited the estate.
"You fight like someone twice your age," she continued, tilting her head. "And you speak as though you've lived a hundred lives already."
Eugene chuckled softly. "Maybe I have."
Ayame frowned, studying him. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. "I think you're dangerous."
He raised a brow. "Dangerous?"
"Yes. But not in a bad way." She turned, walking away. "I'll be watching you too, Eugene."
As her figure disappeared into the dusk, Eugene leaned back against the pine tree, closing his eyes.
Dangerous, huh? Perhaps she was right.
Because in this age of war, he was no ordinary boy. He was a man with two lifetimes, armed with an AI system that turned knowledge into power. And he would use it to carve his name into history.
That night, as the crickets sang and the moon bathed the estate in silver light, Eugene whispered to the AI:
"Tomorrow, we train again. Tomorrow, we get stronger. One day, this land will bow to me."
[Acknowledged. Ambition logged. Training protocols optimized.]
And thus, the legend of the Genius Samurai took its first true step.