Nobuaki
"Do whatever you want, but get this trash out of here. Their presence disgusts me."
Those were the squad leader's parting words, whispered before he left. Satisfying him wasn't just an order—it was a pleasure.
Once he was gone, both monkeys started running laps around the training ground. Most of us had already reached the obvious conclusion: these two were worthless. No cursed energy whatsoever. Someone might have argued they were simply suppressing it—but that was impossible. Even ordinary non-sorcerers release a trace amount, and a sorcerer actively hiding their output can only lower it to that baseline. Never below it.
These two were below it. Completely dry.
Because of that, nobody feared making enemies of them—clan head's orders or not. What would he care about two broken bones on two worthless monkeys?
Restraint evaporated across the field. For a while, it seemed like no intervention would even be necessary—the others would handle it themselves.
That turned out to be wishful thinking.
Thirty minutes of attempts, and not a single trip had landed. Every humiliation slid off them like water. They dodged each one with such careless ease that it stopped being embarrassing and became a game—whoever brought one of them down first would win. Bets had started circulating. Still nothing.
When a recruit finally moved to launch a real attack out of sheer frustration, both brats simply stopped running and walked calmly toward the arena.
That was enough. Too long had passed already. Time to put these insects back where they belonged.
"You. Come with me. We'll deal with them."
Nobody challenged that. My future position as Kukuru leader was common knowledge.
The two of them stood waiting—calm, unhurried, not even breathing hard after thirty straight minutes of running. Something about the one called Zoro's gaze was difficult to place. The way he looked at me—like a pebble in the road, barely worth stepping around—made my blood rise. Controlled it. A plan was already forming.
First: provoke them into exposing their secret publicly. Second: convince everyone present that elimination was the clan head's explicit order. Third: carry it out. Clean. Simple. My standing in the Kukuru—and in the clan—would only rise from it.
The plan was perfect. Everything about my future was perfect.
Phase one went smoothly—easier than expected, though it hardly mattered as long as the outcome served the purpose. Phase two followed without friction.
Phase three fell apart completely.
Strongest among the current Kukuru recruits. Strength, speed, technique, intelligence, cursed energy—all of it, present and accounted for. The only missing piece was an innate technique. Just one, and the Hei would have been within reach. Life had other ideas.
But strong was still strong. Whatever else was true, two small children without cursed energy had no business being a problem.
Yet nothing went as planned.
Zen'in Nobuaki. Future leader of the Kukuru. Best swordsman in this unit.
On the ground. Nose broken. Writhing.
"ARRGH!"
The pain was real—but what kept the body down wasn't pain. It was shock. Then the monkey's extended fist came into focus, and shock became rage. Back on both feet, cursed energy flaring outward.
"You filthy piece of trash… you've just signed your death warrant."
---
Zoro
Watching him get back up wasn't surprising. A light punch like that wasn't going to put down a real sorcerer.
Toji's target was already face-down nearby—unlike me, Toji hadn't pulled anything. The reason for holding back was simple and deliberate.
"Come on. I'll use you as a demonstration of what happens when people pick a fight with us."
His rage climbed higher. He turned and shouted across the field:
"BRING ME A SWORD!"
One of the recruits broke toward the weapon rack immediately.
"Toji, get me a sword."
"Okay, big brother."
Nobuaki's lackey hadn't reinforced himself with cursed energy, which meant Toji closed the distance without difficulty. They reached the weapons at the same time despite the head start. The other recruit grabbed one katana. Toji grabbed three.
Both tosses landed cleanly. Nobuaki and I caught ours without issue.
First real fight to the death. Losing wasn't something being entertained.
When he saw both hands holding a blade, the mockery came immediately.
"Two swords won't change the fact that you're worthless. I'll prove it."
Cursed energy flooded into his katana. He charged and brought the blade overhead before crashing it downward—terrifying speed, terrifying power. But nothing that Observation Haki and a blade coated in invisible Haki couldn't read and redirect.
CLANG!
The right sword met it and angled the strike sideways. He recovered fast and came back with an upward slash, which slipped past easily.
FWOOSH!
FWOOSH!
Strike after strike, none of them landing. Speed, timing, angles—Observation Haki read all of it before it arrived.
Dodging wasn't for show, though. The moment the fight started, a problem resurfaced that had been overlooked: invisible Haki could only cover one point at a time—one katana, one section of the body. Switching between them was fast, but there was always a delay. A real fighter would find it. And whatever else Nobuaki was, he was a real fighter.
Or rather—experience was simply lacking on this end.
So the dodging continued. But something about it sat wrong.
'If the entire fight is spent here, how does anything improve?'
Staying comfortable was the enemy of getting stronger. The realization landed clearly, and the moment it did, the dodging stopped.
Nobuaki noticed immediately. He pulled back, suddenly wary.
"What's wrong, monkey? Tired?"
Bait. Not worth taking.
"Done defending. Now it's my turn."
Soru
Appeared in front of him before the words had fully settled. One blade came down in a full slash. The surprise was genuine—he still managed to block.
CLANG!
The force sent him sliding back several meters, the arena floor carving open beneath him.
"That kind of strength isn't possible for a six-year-old. Not without cursed energy." His eyes had changed. "What are you?"
Silence.
Several seconds passed before he accepted that no answer was coming.
"Fine. Stay quiet. We'll understand everything once we dissect you and your brother."
Something snapped.
The expression hardened. A flame ignited behind the eyes.
The legs were still burning from the incomplete *Soru*, which meant the next charge came at natural speed—but even that was enough to catch him off balance.
Instinct saved him. He deflected the strike aimed at the head and countered immediately.
It was visible—but balance was already compromised. Dodging wasn't possible. Instead, invisible Haki concentrated at the impact point—the shoulder.
The blade met the Haki and mostly stopped. A shallow cut came through regardless.
The exchange continued. Block, counter, transfer the Haki, block again. Small wounds accumulated across the body. But with every exchange, the delay between transfers shortened.
The corner was closing. The finishing blow was within reach—
The legs gave out.
The stumble was all Nobuaki needed. Massive cursed energy poured into his blade and he drove it forward, aimed at splitting the waist clean through.
CLANG!
Blocked at the last possible moment, but the force behind it launched the body backward. Landing in a crouch nearby, trying to pull a breath back in.
Nobuaki was already moving.
"It's over. Lived like a monkey, die like one."
While he prepared his attack, so did I.
Both swords lifted, as though sliding into imaginary scabbards. Grip switched—right katana taken in the left hand, left katana in the right. The incantation came low, barely above a whisper.
"The self in the forsaken world..."
He charged.
"I will cut."
The moment he entered range, a horizontal slash came for the skull. But if the body was within his reach—
He was within mine.
"Nitoryu iai"
Both blades drew from their imaginary sheaths at blinding speed and struck.
The attack landed. His missed entirely.
Still crouching. A wave of blood from Nobuaki's abdomen, and then his body hit the ground flat.
"Rashomon"
---
The charged atmosphere of the arena settled slowly.
Standing up, both katanas shattered—fragments of steel scattering across the white tiles. The force of that technique without Haki reinforcement had been too much for them to hold together.
No reaction to that. Attention moved to the motionless shape on the ground.
Not dead. But without swift intervention, that was only a matter of time.
The fight was won. That was beyond dispute.
What drew a click of the tongue was something else entirely.
"Tch… Iaido loses far too much power without real scabbards. With proper ones, that would've cut him clean in half."