"Is that so," Kiyohara nodded slightly, looking out at the dark ocean.
The Mist was making their move. The upcoming period wouldn't be peaceful.
'Good,' Kiyohara thought.
Whether it was Mist Ninja or Sand Ninja, they were all the same to him right now: Whetstones.
He had raw stats, lethal jutsu, and the muscle memory of dead men. But what he lacked was personal, high-stakes combat experience. He needed to forge the stolen skills into his own instincts.
The Second Dying Wish of the Radical Spirit was to defeat Pakura of the Sand—the future "Hero of Sunagakure" and wielder of Scorch Release.
Even if she hadn't reached her absolute peak yet, she was a monster. To beat her, Kiyohara needed to be sharper.
"Just arduous training isn't enough," Kakashi's voice broke his train of thought. "Actual combat is the only way to test true mastery. How about we spar? Swordsmanship only."
Kiyohara's heart stirred.
Kakashi hadn't used a sword since Obito died. He had abandoned the Hatake Clan's signature blade style to rely entirely on Ninjutsu and the Sharingan.
But his foundation was inherited directly from his father—Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang of Konoha.
"Alright," Kiyohara agreed readily.
This was the perfect chance to test his sword skills without relying on the S-Rank Willow technique. He also needed to test drive Orochimaru's gift: the Konoha Body Flicker.
They moved to a flat, open area amidst the Uzumaki ruins.
Kurenai and Genma hurried over to watch. Rin stood a respectful distance away, her hands glowing faintly with green chakra, ready to step in with the Mystical Palm Technique if things got out of hand.
"Ah, Kakashi..."
The Radical Spirit floated out from Kiyohara's chest, leaning against the air.
"In my future, Kakashi and I were enemies."
"You were a Sand Ninja," Kiyohara replied internally. "Of course you were enemies."
In the Ninja World, alliances are fragile. Loyalty belongs only to the Village.
Kakashi borrowed a standard katana from a passing patrol ninja.
Kiyohara drew his Chakra Conduction Tachi. The new steel ring at the pommel clinked softly.
"Here I come, Kiyohara."
Before the words faded, Kakashi blurred. He was incredibly fast.
Kiyohara didn't block. He channeled chakra to his feet.
"Konoha Body Flicker!"
His figure dissolved. Kakashi's blade slashed through the empty air, cutting only through a swirl of green leaves that had inexplicably materialized.
Kakashi didn't pause. He flipped his wrist, the blade slashing upward in a vicious arc—the signature thrusting technique of the White Fang.
Kiyohara materialized to the side. Instead of defending, he countered, aiming the tip of his Tachi directly at Kakashi's wrist, forcing the Jonin to abort the attack and parry.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Sword light flashed across the ruins. The two prodigies crisscrossed, a blur of silver and black.
They broke apart, skidding in the dust.
"I'm a bit rusty," Kakashi admitted, looking at the borrowed blade.
If you don't use it, you lose it.
"You're strong, Kakashi," Kiyohara shook his head. "You just aren't used to the weight of that standard sword."
Kiyohara knew the truth.
The Sharingan was a blessing and a curse. For a non-Uchiha like Kakashi, the eye could not be deactivated. It drained his chakra 24/7. It was a treasure, yes, but right now, it was also a shackle pulling his stamina down.
"The warm-up ends here," Kakashi said.
He channeled chakra into his borrowed sword. The steel began to glow with a fierce, White Light.
It was the visual signature of Sakumo Hatake's chakra flow technique.
"Good."
Kiyohara tightened his grip on the Tachi.
Buzz.
Blue electric arcs erupted from the hilt, wrapping around the blade like a cage of lightning.
The Chakra Metal amplified the Lightning Release, turning the sword into a high-frequency vibrating chainsaw.
They clashed again.
The impact shattered the stones beneath their feet.
"Oh?"
Kakashi's visible eye widened in genuine shock.
Kiyohara's swordsmanship hadn't just improved; it had evolved. The parries were flawless. The kinetic chain of his strikes was perfect.
'If my father were alive,' Kakashi thought, 'He would call Kiyohara a peerless genius of the blade.'
Kakashi pushed harder. The white light of his sword formed a dense net, enveloping Kiyohara like moonlight.
Kiyohara met it with arcs of blue lightning. The air smelled of ozone and scorched earth.
The spar entered a white-hot phase.
But Kiyohara was calculating.
Kakashi's headband covered his left eye. The Sharingan was draining him passively, and channeling the White Light was burning through his active reserves.
Kakashi was fighting on a timer. Kiyohara was not.
Kiyohara waited for the micro-second Kakashi's breath hitched.
He launched a fierce counter-assault.
CLANG!
An exceptionally crisp collision rang out.
The two figures crossed paths and froze, back-to-back.
Slowly, they sheathed their swords.
The spar was over.
Kiyohara breathed heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. The webbing between his thumb and index finger was numb from the force of Kakashi's strikes.
Kakashi's chest heaved. He looked down at his trembling hand.
In that final exchange, Kiyohara had nearly disarmed him.
"Kiyohara..." Kakashi turned around, his dead-fish eye wide with newfound respect. "You improve too fast."
For the first time in his life, the genius Kakashi Hatake felt that someone in his generation possessed a talent equal to—or perhaps greater than—his own.
"I still have a long way to go," Kiyohara regulated his breathing.
He knew that if Kakashi had uncovered the Sharingan to track his movements, the fight would have been much harder.
Kurenai watched from the sidelines, her crimson eyes sparkling.
Rin let out a massive sigh of relief, a proud smile on her face.
Kiyohara checked the pocket watch in his pouch.
"Alright. Break time is over. Back to the mission."
Leisure was a luxury. The Mist was out there in the dark, and the defensive line needed to hold.
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