OC Stuff:

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It never fails. While he might have a general dislike for the Chuunin exams, seeing them as nothing more than legalized fight rings, and a means for those in power to view the product, that being the shinobis competing, Daremo still finds himself drawn to the spectacle. A proverbial moth to a flame, he always manage to find time to attend the event, arriving way before the exams started, giving him a chance to mingle with the locals and visiting people, and leaving only after the winner has been announced, after having gotten his fill of what he desired at the time. Yes, despite his own opinions of the exams, Daremo enjoyed them for what they were.

Closing silently closing the door behind, not wanting to wake up the remaining sleeping occupants of the house, Daremo exited the Uchiha’s household with a small smile on his face. His father-in-law and mother-in-law were both up and teasing their daughter, Daremo’s wife, about their relationship, and hounding on why they were not invited to the wedding. He could have stayed, and saved her from the lighthearted torment, but, he did not. He knew they were doing it out of love, and because they missed their child. So, with that, Daremo mentioned stepping out for a bit to stretch his legs.

He couldn't remember the last time he had actively gone out to train, important obligations, pertaining to his family, kept him away from the training grounds. He had grown somewhat rusty as of late, as evident in previous mission and the Siege of Inabayama an, and he was not okay with the development. As someone who was once the Tsuchikage, and former Sannin of Iwa, there was no reason why he allowed his training to deteriorate as it did. Other parent shinobis were able to handle both duties perfectly fine, therefore, he should be able to do the same. The fact he had, in his opinion, grown weaker, pissed him off. He was going to fix this, starting today.

Dressed in a light grey kosode, black hakama with a matching slash around the waist, and black Jika-tabi, Daremo stroll down the street. Even in the early morning, people were already out and about, mingling with others and checking out the opening vendors. Greeting those who acknowledge him, he continued his trek towards the training grounds. The attire he wearing being anything, but what one would expect, someone who was going to train, to wear. But, for Daremo, wearing but a Kimono would feel awkward. The attire being something he was accustomed to wearing since the earliest moment of his life. Wearing anything else would feel awkward for the male.

Arriving at the training grounds, it was not surprising to find many of them occupied with groups of shinobi. He assuming many of them getting training to take apart in the Chuunin Exams if the older and more powerful shinobi overseeing some of the trainees training was anything to go by. Passing a couple of training grounds, he eventually comes to one that was devoid of others. The training ground being circular with a forest acting as a natural barrier for it southernmost direction. The ground show signs of use with there being small caters, burn marks, and other battle indication sporadically about. Several large wooden posts, with the tops being flat, was erected the east. Each post was anywhere between two - five meters apart. The levitation of each post was different, some being higher or lower than the next.

Though he found the wooden posts interesting, and something he would check out of later, he needed to start stretching. Thus, for the next ten or fifteen minutes, Daremo warmed up his muscles in preparation for what he was about to put himself through.

---

639

Daremo's Attire

The last time the yamabushi had heard about Chuunin Exams taking place, she was positioned as guard at the gates of the Village hosting them. It was the day she'd remember as Hastur's failure to protect Kumogakure. The day where the illustrious Lamya had infiltrated and trashed the arena to claim her title as the destroyer of Sunagakure and spread terror to civilians and refugees alike. That day, two of the kage had merely been sitting there on spectators' spots to enjoy the spectacle instead of dealing with a Nukenin to be considered a dire threat to any Village's existence.

So it was with certain discomfort that the mountain hermit of the Valley of Mountains sat on the bench as a spectator, watching Daremo warm himself up. Her own sobering attire hidden by a simple cotton cloak in hues of white, grey and cream. Her face remained hidden under the hood she had pulled over her head, her body somewhat leaning on a walking stick. She had never been a spectator before and wasn't sure what to think of it. All she knew were the excited stories of civilians looking at the competing genin in amazement, their day to day skills no match even for the weakest of shinobi trained in the martial arts since childhood. But to what extend those would amaze a yamabushi with the prowess of a jounin remained to be seen. The stories told by shinobi were generally far different than those of civilians after all, their perceptive gaze either scrutinising the blatant weaknesses of their students, dismissing that of their opponents or taking a peek at hidden potential of what they believed to be of young shinobi holding great promise.

Allowing herself a moment of daydreaming, Suzume imagined what it had to be like to see promising students and deciding to take those as personal students, or to gather them up and lead a squad. Such dreams may have been trivial to many of her rank but the hermit had hardly ever been member of a team. Under Lin's reign, she had supposed to be in one but the genin had hardly put in the effort to continue growing higher in rank than that of a genin, whereas that time where she was in a squad under the lead of her own father she had outranked her team members. Not to forget she had been sent on a diplomatic mission for Hastur to boot. The pride she had felt back then meant little now, Suzume never having wished to be the blind pawn servicing a kage such as him.

With a sigh, she'd snap out of her own thoughts and watch the slowly climbing sun turn shades of orange light into yellow as the morning progressed. Much like Daremo she was awake rather early. Unlike Daremo, the yamabushi had seen the earliest rays of the sun throw what little warmth they had into the arena. As a mountain hermit, living by the rhythm of the sun had grown to be natural, much like hunting game, fishing and foraging was they way she nourished herself. Long hours of meditation, healthy treks through the Valley. The occasional bandit beat up to avoid her skills from getting out of shape, while watching over Kazuki returned to her a sense of humanity, purpose and joy. The hermit smiled faintly from under her hood.

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570

The puffiness of his eyes said it all. His body was tired from the zealous journey. The road from Kumogakure had been long and almost treacherous. He didn’t understand why so many bandits had to attack his caravan on the way here. You would think a large group of shinobi would have plainly stated, “stay away.” Tomohiro had looked around the room as his cousins were still asleep. The other three young men that had been sent here to report on the events of the exams back to his clan. It had been one of the first times in Nakir history that one of them step foot in Konoha. Unfortunately, he had to be the first ones. His clansman had a deep disdain for this village that was quite passionate, but it seemed like the original reason for their dislike was lost in the annals of time.

The young Nakir got up and prepared himself through his usual morning rituals. His renters space didn’t have food or cooking accommodations, but that’s only the amount of ryo that he could afford. For a clan that didn’t make pointless expenses, they surely were very cheap when it came to funding a mission that deemed necessary. He didn’t really have his day planned out, but he decided to take his time out for himself. The trio of clansmen that came with him weren’t going to be bothered too much about where he would be going. They had been given a map of the area and he figured that it would probably be a good time to train. The idea of using Konoha’s facilities and training grounds disgusted him, but he would have to make due. If he was going to make a mess while he trained, it might as well be in another village’s training grounds.

Tomohiro stepped outside of the small makeshift living space into a decently empty street. The map he had started to already have creases, but it would it was currently all he had. The map was quite detailed and he figured that he would pick the first training field he spotted. He traveled to the first training ground in hoping he could burn off the sleepiness from his eyes. Slightly adjusting his leather kasa and trench coat, he began pursuing his destination. It was only when he arrived that he made a mistake. There were way too many people at this destination. A horde of genin from different villages had populated the training ground. The whole thing looked like a giant social event. What kind of shinobi spent the time in a training ground socializing? Tomohiro sighed as he moved on to the next one as he didn’t feel himself being around a lot of people.

The next training area he arrived at was quite empty. It seemed like there were a couple of people here, but he didn’t pay them much mind. Tomohiro sort of kept his distance as he didn’t want to seem a bother. Tomohiro removed the kasa covering his face to be hit by the morning sun. The light sort of blinded him a bit, but he would need to take make an effort to wake himself up. The young chuunin placed his hat upon the ground as he removed his trenchcoat and neatly placed it next to his hat. Tomohiro was left wearing a long sleeve black tunic with matching black pants that revealed a lot of his boots. He then proceeded to remove his Kumo headband from around his neck and tied it around his slightly large forehead.

Today, he only carried one blade. It was his Kenmei. The blade had served him well over the passing months. The blade was a proud part of who he was, but he figured that it was past time to probably sharpen it. Tomohiro being free of his clothes began stretching for a few minutes. He would then go onto unsheathe his katana and start practicing various forms. The shinobi looked as he was in a constant dance. His movements smooth and delicate as the blade reflected the light of the sun. The feelings within him were peaceful and calm. This had to be one of the few moments that he was able to relax since he had left Kumogakure.

726

“So when are you two getting married?”, Amaya’s father asked as he slipped into the kitchen with his usual silence, leaning his massive form against the counter next to her as she went about making herself a cup of coffee. His arms were folded across his chest and the look on his face was stern, but there was a twinkle of mischief and playfulness in the Uchiha’s eyes.

“We already are married.”, Amaya responded automatically, a coy smile on her face as she added sugar and cream to the travel cup.

“I’m shocked Amaya! Getting married and not letting your mother and I come! For shame on you! For this I will punish you with twelve hours of silence!”, her father responded, his voice as stern as his expression but holding an underlying playfulness to it.

“Well, that certainly will make my day far quieter.”, Amaya’s mother teased as she walked in, kissing her husband on the cheek must to the “Eww” and “Gross” of her grandchildren that followed behind her. Watching her husband gasp in a fake fashion before pretending to storm out of the kitchen she chuckled before turning her focus onto her daughter. “Your husband has given me the slip, Amaya. I was going to try and convince him to cut his hair.”

“What’s wrong with his hair?”, Amaya asked after giggling at her father who returned only seconds later with his own coffee cup, the giant of a man gently hip bumping Amaya out of the way and stealing her coffee cup which made the twins giggle as well as Amaya.

“Nothing, dear, I just wanted to see if I could convince him to do it.”, her mother responded with a look of utmost innocence on her face.

Amaya shook her head in response, “Mom, leave my husband alone. I like his hair just the way it is.” The next few minutes would be spent with more playful banter and teasing. The teasing had started almost the moment she had arrived back to Konohagakure. She had expected to be gone for a while, several years in fact, so the fact that she was back so soon amused her mother and father greatly: them having made several comments along the lines of “We knew you couldn’t stay away!” and so forth. The elderly couple had taken to picking on her over numerous things: the fact that she had returned so soon, the fact that her and Daremo had gotten married without them being there, among other things. It was all in good fun, amusement for all really, nothing dark or mean behind it, just the gentle playfulness of her mother and father who were thrilled to see Amaya, Daremo, and the twins they had fallen in love with almost instantly so soon again.

With her husband having slipped away to go train Amaya herself was looking for a quick exit, not that that would be too hard. The twins wanted their grandparents to take them to the market and sightseeing - of course, Amaya was welcome to tag along with them if she wanted, but she was curious to see what her husband was up to, and wanted the twins a chance to spend some time alone with their beloved grandparents. So in the end she had decided to let her parents go alone with the twins, knowing both Zaylee and Mamoru would be well taken care of and looked after by her parents despite the more crowded atmosphere.

Speaking of crowds… she wasn’t particularly looking forward to venturing through them. Even as early as it was she knew people would already be about. With that in mind she didn’t rush herself in getting ready, and took care in picking out her attire for the day - a black short-sleeve top that stopped right below her rib cage, black pants and shoes, and the long jacket courtesy of Daremo’s grandmother that was white in color with the Guanyin clan symbol on the back and orange on the interior. After brushing her long, black, wavy hair she twisted it up behind her head, securing it with two orange lacquered sticks, ignoring the few spare pieces that fell down around her face. Satisfied, Amaya left her parents house, locking the door behind herself after stepping outside.

Just as she had assumed the streets were already packed, people coming to and fro, going about their early morning business. Amaya took to the rooftops almost instantly, using them as a means to beat the crowd as she ran and jumped from one to another, focusing on the location of her husband. He was easy enough to locate, though she kept herself as hidden as possible as she moved from the rooftops to the tree, using them as a means to slip into the training ground, noticing another familiar figure with him. With a playful smile on her face she would wait until the opportune moment before launching herself out of the tree and down to toward the earth, landing lightly not on the ground but on her husbands back. Her arms would wrap around him from behind before she shifted herself so that she could kiss his cheek gently before releasing him and taking a step back. ”Shame on you for leaving me at the mercy of my parents, after I saved you from a sneaky haircut, courtesy of my mother.”, she spoke playfully. Focusing her attention onto the female on the bench she would offer up a friendly wave and smile - Amaya’s usual passive expression she used like a mask gone for the moment.

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Personal WC: 950
Total Thread WC: 2,885

It was wishful thinking on his part to believe that training grounds would remain empty for his time. He was under the assumption the grounds picked was far enough from the main ones that no one would bother come it, but, it was apparent his train of thought was wrong if evident by the individual spectating. He did not pay them any mind as he stretched, and warm up his body for what was to come. There was no way he could tell them to leave, nor did he want to consider who the person was. Sooner or later, they would see a glimpse of what he put himself through anyway.

Tossing a quick glance over to the spectator, nodding in their direction, Daremo were about to make the hand-sign for the shadow clone technique but stopped when a courier-nin appeared in front of him. “Kobayashi, Daremo?”, Nodding at being addressed, he watched as the courier-nin handed over a scroll with the kanji for Konoha’s blacksmith written in red ink, “Your order from Konoha’s Iron Dragon.” With a small sacrifice of blood, the scroll was unraveled, revealing a pair of black bracers. Slipping one, Daremo flicked his wrist, unleashing the ten-inch blade that slid from the underneath side of the bracer. “Thank you.”, He said, finding his order to be worth it.

With the courier-nin disappearing, probably going back to tell the store owner that the package was delivered, Daremo performed the hand-sign for the shadow clone. As the shadow clone was formed, a perfect replica of himself, Daremo felt the dip in his chakra and frown. A useful tool the Shadow clone was, he was not fond of how taxing it was on the body. Nevertheless, the benefits for the technique outweighed his own gripes with it. “Are we going to try them out?”, the clone asked, receiving a nod from Daremo. “Yeah, we will only be trying out ours though.”, sealing the other hidden blade up, lest he wanted to damage it somehow, he slipped the scroll onto his person.

Making sure the bracer was securely on his right risk, he looked at his clone who was waiting for him. “You know the rules, no jutsus for the first half of the training unless the injury is serious. Aim for vitals and deliberating areas but show some restraint for now.” some might find it silly to relay the rules of engagement to a created clone, but, Daremo had learned, at least in his case, his clones’ personalities tend to differ from his own with some of them amplifying certain extremes of his. There have been a few times, in the past, where his personalities caused him strife during training.

With the clone agreeing to the rules, Daremo bent his knees slightly, something mimic by the clone. Both of them knew one of them would need to make the opening move. To be the one who fires the proverbial gunshot to start off the spar. Taking a step forward, the action being mirrored by his clone, Daremo closed the ten-meter distance within a blink of the eye. His moments were relatively slow for his rank as it was apparent he was not going full speed, yet. Sparks flew as his jab towards the clone’s gut was blocked with a replica of the hidden blade, it sliding across the length of his own, knocking it wide to the right, opening his guard up.

Using his free hand, Daremo downward struck at the clone’s wrist wearing the bracer, causing the weapon to veer off course, missing from piercing his stomach. Foreign a feint to the right, he opted to continue to action upon seeing the clone not biting the motion. His diagonal strike was stopped in mid-air, the clone having retracted the blade to grab a hold of his wrist. Left hand came up to block the standing kick aimed for his stomach, gripping on the sole of the shoe, Daremo pushed the clone backward, causing it to stumble. Once more, the gap was closed, as Daremo took advantage of the opening given.

For the next few minutes, an intricate dance was performed with him and his clone. Both of them duck, dodge, and parry each kick and fist that was thrown their way. Sparks began to fly as the hidden blades entered into play once more, grinding against one another each time the clash. Jumping back, Daremo placed his hand on his stomach, looking at the small trickle of blood on his fingers, “First blood, eh?”, Daremo shrugged his shoulders at the clone’s comment. Indeed, he had gotten careless during their trade of blows, having caught a glimpse of another who entered the training ground, and noted their Kumo headband.

Daremo mentally cursed himself from being distracted by something not apart of the fight. He should have remained focus on dealing with the clone, worrying not of what was going around him, unless it was a threat. His mother would be kicking his ass if she knew he made such a rookie mistake. Not dwelling on the mishap any longer, Daremo ducked underneath a thrust, aimed for his throat, and moved into the clone’s guard. A series of punches were thrown, hitting the clone in the stomach before having to back away from a knee strike.

Looking at his clone, a wordless conversation was held between them before they exploded towards one another, moving a jounin level speed. The kitty gloves were off as each strike’s intention was clear and focus. Each perry looked up to open up the other for a fatal blow. Both blades would taste the blood of their owner, slicing into flesh, though not as deep as they could go. Blades clashed as Daremo jumped back, the action mirrored by the clone, and just as he was about to engage his doppelganger once more, someone would fall onto his back, wrapping around him.

Knowing who was on his back, Daremo smile while the hidden blade on his wrist disappeared back into its sheath. He did not need to tell his clone to disperse, the doppelganger doing it on itself upon seeing Amaya. Turning around to face his wife, Daremo planted a soft kiss on her cheek, shrugging at her comment, “I did not want to intrude in the fun you seem to be having with them.” he spoke, citrine eyes dancing with mischief. Both of them knew his words were anything but the truth, but eh. An eyebrow was raised, “Why does she want to cut my hair?”, he asked.

With Amaya here, Daremo knew this was the person time to give her the gift that he had ordered. “Catch.”, he suddenly said, tossing a scroll in her direction, “Thought you might this.” Although he had once upon a time never thought about using a hidden blade, he has come to appreciate the functionality of the weapon, and what it can possibly do in the right situations. “Where are the kids at?”, he questioned. He assumed the kids were with their grandparents. They having become smitten over Amaya’s parents, and vice-versa. “Also, how long did it take you to track me down?”, he inquired, curious on how long Amaya had been looking for him.

Glancing in the direction of the yamabushi, he began walking over to them, knowing Amaya would follow. Both of them knew who the yamabushi was, thus, there was no concern in them being a threat. “Never thought of you as the type to watch others train.” he spoke, there not being any accusation in his tone, just curious, “What do you think?” Never did he bother in asking others about what they thought on his training, but, this was the first time for everything. Plus, he was somewhat curious about her sudden appearance in the training grounds.

---

1322[1961]

Gift to Amaya:

Suzume would briefly be pulled out of her daydreams as a messenger hopped in to make a delivery towards Daremo. The man was full of surprises, making the hermit realise she still knew precious little about the man that had once watched over her in the Siege of Inabayama, joined her during a mission with her student Verdandi and seemed to hint at a past as an ANBU member. Like most shinobi, where he came from and what he did was shrouded in mysteries, Suzume only knowing him to be a Kumo-nin and the fact he wasn't from Kumo. As interactions and relations grew, she picked up little bits of knowledge about him. His knowledge in the application of Iryojutsu, his affinity for pestilence and a possible hint at torturing skill - that or the man held a stroke of insanity better left untouched - the application of suiton, an element they had in common, and the fact he was generally of greater skill than her. Although...

Watching the spar unfold between him and his clone the hermit was wondering if they truly differed that much in skill from each other. While there had been a time where such was certainly the case, her eyes requiring to strain themselves to remotely follow his movement, she could now follow every of his gestures quite well. He no longer moved as a blur, meaning he was either holding back still or her seclusion and personal training had somehow improved her own skills. That said, the idea of fighting one's self was spiritually an intriguing one as the greatest enemy of man was himself, but physically it felt like a bore - was it not so there was no challenge in predicting your own movement? After all, the clone wielded the exact same skills and techniques as the original. The fight would be rather predictable, would it not?

Seeing the clone end up with the victory of first blood, the hermit would smile at the 'victor' and applaud the clone for defeating the original. Then the pace picked up, the two going all out with the weapons they were wielding. Tasting blood but nothing lethal despite the possibility being there. Even then, the hermit found their movements not all that hard to follow. His fighting style was different than hers, focused more on confrontation, parry and direct strikes compared to Suzume's deflective approach, preserving life yet progressively crippling muscles and exhausting movement as she used the power of her opponent against them. The differences between a hard style and a soft style. That didn't mean she was not familiar with hard style fighting, the hermit once having been trained in a similar approach at the hands of her father. Every strike as lethal as her sword should be. But that road laid in a past when she had left Kumogakure to seek the solitude of mountains. Leaving war behind in favour of inner peace and balance.

And speaking of war... The Kumo-headband from another visitor would not go unnoticed as a black-clad shinobi entered the training grounds to attain to his own training. He'd take out a katana, piquing the hermit's interest with it, and started practising. His movement as a dance, fluid and smooth, betrayed he was no stranger to the blade. Much like herself, he was raised with the blade in hand. From the way he moved, calm and confident, in total peace without needing the slightest thought to know his weapon was the extension of his body, his lineage was as clear as water. More so, the dance with the blade looked somewhat familiar, distant words of an old conversation stirring her memory. About her father, who was excited he could train a student who understood the Way of the Blade like they did. In his eyes, crude and unrefined still but with a lot of potential towards more. She remembered that flicker in his eyes at the thought he could shape up a young man into a true warrior.

Ah... Melancholic moments such as these...

Then a woman would step in and embrace the man that had been fighting himself. Time already having shifted, Suzume missing a healthy part of the fight as her mind wandered to bittersweet memories. The two would converse, Mizuki recognising the woman as Amaya and waving at her in greeting with a "Hey~", seemingly triggering the two to join her in the spectator's section of the training grounds.

“Never thought of you as the type to watch others train. What do you think?”, Daremo would ask her as they reached her.
"I've learned to enjoy the movement of the Earth and Heavens around me as a hermit. I can say I would hate to be your enemy. Your fighting style is obviously not native to Kumogakure but it looks like a hard style. All intent to damage your opponent and leave nothing whole.", she replied. Then, with a nod towards the training swordsman a little further she continued, "He's a Kumo-nin. I can tell he's born with the katana in his hand, yet despite a seemingly flawless kata and fluid movement it's strange to consider him so open in his defences. I think I'll help him a little, see what news he has from Kumo while I'm at it. Feel free to join me. Unless you two are going to spar each other?"

After having heard their reply, the hermit would then stand up and gently walk down the spectator section to greet Tomohiro.

---

934
Total: 1504

Tomohiro would continue to move his blade in precise movements. Each swing had been graceful. The feeling of the weight behind each swing of his blade, had been found with internal calmness. Kenmei moved as if the gods themselves had blessed the blade. It wasn’t often that he had been able to train with his actual weapon. The clan usually only used their actual blades for certain ceremonies. Most of their in house training had been done with bokken or other wooden weapons. He was glad that he was able to get some practice in with his actual weapon. The weight was great in comparison to the bokken he used in his clan training halls. It was the weapon that he prized the most. Though, he would look to getting an additional blade. Though, he didn’t want to deal with the burden of finding a blade in Konoha. His family would ask too many questions concerning his blade and he didn’t have to bear that burden.

It felt like it had been years since he last found this level of peace. His muscles had relaxed. Even the sounds around him were nothing compared to peace that rested within his very being. With each breath, his mind became clear and sound. This was definitely where he belonged as far as his state of mind. It was like he was back home enjoying hot tea by the fireplace while reading a book. Tomohiro closed his eyes as his blade cut the air around him. There was a definite passion to how he moved the blade. The track of time he spent in his suspended dance through the space around him. It was clear to him that he would need to ease of his emotions to find some form of tranquility. Maybe it was a good thing that his clansmen sent him here.

It took a lot of resolve for someone to find peace where there seemed to be none. Tomohiro’s way of thinking about being in Konoha had a complete turnaround. His clan had been looking at this the wrong way. Whatever the strife they had toward Konoha wasn’t worth it in the end. The strife they put themselves through could cost someone their sanity. The clan traditions were set in stone, but nothing in the tomes of Nakir history dictated every emotion that they held. There were a lot of things that the clan would need to see differently. He wasn’t sure what to expect from his clan within the next few years. Tomohiro made a promise to himself that he would do everything in his power to make a difference in his clan. Not just for himself, but for the village Kumogakure. The path he needed to take always seemed to be clearer in moments where he was able to find peace within himself.

Nakir hadn’t really made much difference through history. They were always that didn’t fit in to the stories of heros. Famous shinobi never hailed from their clan of monks. It was always seclusion. The seclusion which started to dwindle down their numbers. The seclusion that they just went with the flow of everything that happened around them. It was like the clan was in an endless realm of mediocrity. Sure they were master swordsman, but what was the point of being a master if you wouldn’t pass on your knowledge to help the village. The same village which catered and protected them from harm. It was Kumogakure that made sure they had everything they needed to survive. If those means of survival would end, the Nakir would be like many other clans. They would be scattered among the nations with the traditional unlocking of their doujutsu being a thing of the past. This was the reason for him doing what he did. At one point in his life he wanted to be known as one of the strongest in his village. Now, he would settle for being an asset to help anyone he can.

Tomo continued to perform the movements with his katana as he opened his eyes. Someone would approach him as he regurgitated the movements of his ancestors. Tomohiro would cease the dance and flourish his blade as he smoothly placed it into his scabbard. When the figure approached, he flourished his weapon and placed it in his sheathed the blade. He would then slightly lower his head. Tomohiro wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Though, he kept his left hand rested on his scabbard. There didn’t seem to be anything ominous that he could tell, but he wasn’t going to just not have his guard up.

One of the stranger's gave off a familiar vibe. He wasn’t sure where he remembered it. The way the individual walked brought back an interesting memory. He remembered a fight back in Kumo and fighting someone who had been using barriers. It was fuzzy, but he did remember that day was the reason why he started training to use barrier techniques.That day was truly nostalgic, but the memory of that moment wouldn’t come to the surface. His hand tightened on the scabbard as he tried to remember, but nothing came of it. Tomohiro bowed slightly as he would be approached.

“Hello, I'm Nakir Tomohiro. How may I help you?” he responded in a monotone.

906/1632

Dismounting herself from her husbands back a soft smile would spread across her face as her cheek was kissed, her eyes dancing with playfulness and mischief that matched his own. ”You, my dear, threw me to the wolves and they were quite hungry.”, she would respond playfully before shrugging her shoulders as Daremo questioned her mother wanting to cut his hair. ”You’ve seen how short my father’s hair is, it’s not by choice. My mother has a belief that long hair gets in the way, especially on missions, and can be used as a weapon for the enemy. She gets quite infuriated when my father returns home from long missions and has allowed his hair to grow out. She even tried to convince me to shave my hair off once.”. A soft shrug would follow her words: her mother meant well, but the woman sometimes was a bit eccentric in her thinking - though it did hold some volume of truth as well. Even still, she liked her husbands long hair, it suited him well, and she would defend it as best she could - though, she didn’t think her mother would actually follow through with her threat to cut it off, while she might joke about it she wasn’t the sort of woman to do something cruel like that.

At Daremo’s words her reaction was immediate, her hand lifting up to catch the scroll which she looked at with curiosity before shifting her focus onto her husband. ”Oh, I like presents…”, she grinned playfully, making quick work to unseal the hidden blade within. She looked over it for a short moment with interest before fixing it to her right arm. Shifting her arm away from Daremo’s direction she would give a flick of her wrist, causing the blade to extend, where she examined it closely. ”Very nice, thank you love.”, she would respond with a smile before relaxing her wrist and allowing the blade to slide back into its hidden sheath.

”Mamoru and Zaylee are with my parents. They’re going to the market, where I’m sure they’ll be for a while. The twins are curious about all the comings and goings, but my mom and dad will keep a sharp eye on them while they’re there.” She knew it would be a good experience for the twins, giving them a chance to see and witness the various cultures of other villages as well as get to have some fun and maybe even do some shopping if she knew her parents as well as she did: they planned on spoiling their grandchildren, though in a far better way than most parents and grandparents spoiled their kids: Amaya’s family had a strong belief that you had to earn what you got in some form or another, even if it was through games and puzzles, as well as chores and so forth.

A mischievous smile would spread across Amaya’s face at Daremo’s following question about how quickly she had found him. ”It didn’t take me long, honestly. Your chakra signature is now as familiar as my own, so it’s easy to pick up on even from a distance.”, she spoke honestly as she walked over with Daremo to Suzume. At Daremo’s question her stormy gray colored gaze would shift to the other female, awaiting her response with curiosity while tossing a glance to the younger man with a weapon on his hand that was likewise training. She agreed with Suzume’s words: Daremo certainly would be an enemy she wouldn’t want to cross, but it also furthered her curiosity on how she would personally fair against him. The two had never sparred, and while she had witnessed him training with clones, it was something different altogether to be sparring another person. ”It would be interesting to spar against you, love. My own physical fighting style differs from yours, so it would be intriguing to see how the two stand up against each other.” Truthful words, Amaya’s own style revolved around precision, hitting points of the body that could and would cause detrimental effects: pressure points and acupuncture points made to make up for the lack of her overall strength. ”What do you say? No jutsu, just physical power and weapons?”, she would inquire. If Daremo agreed she would move back to the area Daremo and his clone had once been in, eagerly awaiting her husband to join her. There was no need to stretch or prepare herself really, years of honing her body allowed her to be prepared for a fight at a moments notice. She felt quite curious to see how she matched up physically against her husband: she knew he was by no means a push over, and she was sure the outcome of this would be informative for both of them. ”I’ll try not to hurt you too badly…”, she would add playfully with a wink: while she would be taking this spar as seriously as any other, and using it as a means for growth and learning, it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a bit of fun with it too.

---

Personal WC: 880 | 1,830
Total Thread WC: 6,927

Times have changed a lot for the older silver-haired male, in his youth, he never would have asked for the opinions of others, except his mother and his sisters that were apart of the Okiya. The thoughts of those not close to him was something he could have cared very little for. He did not care for them, even if there was some truth in the words. Only the words of those in his enter most circle, or the people who he would give up his life for, meant a lot to him. If they told him something was wrong, or he needed to fix something? He would do it without a second thought for he knew that they had his best interest in mind.

Now though? While the opinion of his family mattered the most above all, Daremo has realized the value of learning from others. Asking their opinions of certain things that he does, and to see if they have any suggestions on how to improve them. Through ages and experience, he finally found a reason to value the thoughts of those around him. Their words were just as important, and possibly insightful, like those of his close family and friends. For, the words could be something that no one in his immediate relationship would dare to say, or see, due to their positive opinion on him. And, it is because he was curious about what Suzume thought of his brief spar, seeing if she had anything to critique him on, that Daremo asked her.

“I can not say I truly appreciate the world around me. I have been tainted too much by the darkness of humanity to view the world as it is intended, with a few exceptions.” Glancing towards Amaya as his thoughts drifted towards the twins, the family members back in Iwagakure no Sato, and to the past of his childhood. Any reverence came to a halt, and Daremo smile at her words, “You have a sharp eye, as expected from someone of your caliber.”, he praised Suzume for figuring his style was not native from Kumogakure. He did not elaborate on the further, seeing little need to, “Those who had a hand in my teaching to me to cause as much damage as possible, so that, even if they think about revenge they will no longer have the capabilities to do so.”. He admitted. There was more to what his teachers had taught him, and what he had learned through seeing or experiencing first hand, but now was not the time for that.

Citrine yellow eyes looked in the direction of the young swordsmen. Seeing the Kumogakure no Sato headband, his thoughts drifted back to the village he had sworn loyalty too. When he had left Hi no Kuni, forgoing serving under Inuzuka Kenta, with his wife at the time, he hoped Kumogakure would be a place of peace. A place where his growing family could live without much worry. Alas, such was not the case under Hastur’s rule. The self-proclaimed God seemingly brought calamity with him, from sketchy actions, like not looking into the disappearance of the former Raikage, to questionings decisions, like looking to spread his influence to other nations, nothing good came from. Then, somewhere in between all of that, Daremo loss his wife. Though he could not blame the death of his wife on Hastur,, he can with the other stuff.

Now, it seems like the winds were shifting once more. A war, unlike the skirmishes of Seven Bells, was about to break out within the Elemental Nations. The Siege of Inabayama was but a tip of the iceberg to what seemingly awaits.  If the war does come, Daremo knew he would need to participate in it, to protect those dear to him. He would need to fight against those who threaten to harm his family’s way of life. There was no way he could run away, for, he had a gut feeling it would be futile. Such musing would be cut off, and he shook his head in negative, “Go ahead. He seems to have caught your interest. Perhaps you will teach him?”, he questioned, “For it seems my wife wants to beat up on me.”

Sure enough, Amaya showed interest in fighting against him. She having admitted of being curious about how their fighting styles would fare against one another. The prospect of fighting against her was an intriguing one, to say the least. Despite their time together, Daremo never bothered in sparring with his lover for whatever reason. He knew she was strong, one simply does not become a Sannin without some formidable strength, but not to what extent. Would he be able to match her strength, or, would he falter? He did not know the answer to the question, but, he was interested in finding out. “It would be interesting to see how I fare against you.”, he admitted, listening to the stipulation of the rules. The sparr would be a physical one, no jutsus, just one’s physical prowess and weapons. The rules were fair.

Following her back to the opening area, where he was once sparring with a clone, Daremo put, roughly, fifteen meters of space between him and Amaya. There was no need to warm up any, the was still pretty much warmed up from the spar he had earlier with his clone. With a slight movement of his wrist, the ten-inch long wrist blade gleamed in the sunlight, Daremo snorting at Amaya’s comment, as he pushed off his left foot and closed the distance between. “Careful, love. Cockiness can lead you into trouble.”, extending his right arm, doing a basic thrust with the hidden blade, aiming for her stomach. There was nothing special about the action, just a simple thrust to start things off. He very much expected a response from Amaya, but, he did not know what he would be.

As for now,  for the beginning of a spar between lovers were underway, and he was excited to see how it plays out.

---

1018[2979]

“Hello, I'm Nakir Tomohiro. How may I help you?”

Those words brought forward quite a few memories. She remembered a name like that. A genin. Part of her squad along with another one whose name escaped her. She couldn't remember having met him, sparred with him or even having gone on a mission, all those possibilities drowned by the big stamp in her life left behind by her diplomatic mission but she remembered her father having talked about this person. A promising young student with a passion for kenjutsu, like his own. There were not that many students who had successfully intrigued him, Mizuki merely being happy to hear her father so joyous. Now that she had seen his skill with the katana, she finally understood why had been so impressed. The young man was the sort of kenjutsu practitioners who had basically grown with the katana in his hand.

"I noticed your skill with the blade and couldn't help but wonder... Are you a student of Raiu Kiyoshi-sensei? The man tends to leave a particular mark behind in the way his students wield the katana which I just adore."

Well, it wasn't exactly a lie if not a slight exaggeration. Of course she'd address her own father as a sensei, having been a student of his kenjutsu arts herself. And he had a certain point of view when it came to the use of weapons and dojo in general that inched towards a 'mutual' understanding and respect. She had always loved to watch her father in action with his own blade, though was not as equally fond of the memory of countless training hours and severe discipline. Even if today she could thank the man for all the effort he had put in her to reach her mastery, having to slay her own father with her katana to finish her Executioner Arts had left a distaste. She could no longer use her katana without thinking back on that one fleeting moment she had dreaded ever since she knew it would come. Still, she felt compelled to observe the results of Tomohiro's training and, perhaps, even spar him or pick up where her father had left. The dutiful daughter fulfilling a promise she had made to her father.

"Would you mind giving me a demonstration of your talents? Or are you more of the sparring type?"

The hermit didn't look like much what with the simple tunic and pants covered by a simple cloak, but perhaps Iwagakure was not the only Village whose citizens believed in the superstitious talk that mountain hermits possessed supernatural abilities. Mizuki already knew her own skill outclassed what she had seen from him but there was always the possibility he had held back because of training. His answer and possible questions would reveal more about his personality. Whichever his choice was, Mizuki was fine with either decision.

---

490
Total: 1994

The woman’s voice sounded familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on where he heard her voice before. The fact that she knew the sword style he was working on was intriguing. There must have been some connection between the two of them. Maybe it was Kiyoshi-sensei. Tomohiro was unsure of who the man taught or how long he had taken on students. The fact that anyone here even knew of the style he practiced was intriguing to him. The hermit would have his most undivided attention. In the way of sparring, he wasn’t sure that he was ready for a sparring match. He still hadn’t fully awakened from his sleep. Though, he wouldn’t turn down a chance to force himself awake. A shinobi would have to be ready regardless of his physical ailments or readiness. This would just be a way of training.

“Yes, I studied with him for awhile. I haven’t seen him in...I’m not sure how long. I have to say that I’m more of the sparring type. Just feels natural being in combat. That’s if you’re up to it.”

Tomohiro enjoyed sparring with other people. Fighting was almost second nature to him. He learned better through combat. Plus, if the woman was willing to help him remove the flaws in his style. It would be much more appreciated. Tomohiro had spent months trying to improve his style to not much avail. Tomohiro would often switch between his Nakir style of swordsmanship and Kiyoshi’s teachings. It was probably the reason why he couldn’t improve on Kiyoshi’s teachings. Though, he didn’t want to give up on either. He had been taught the Nakir style since he was almost able to walk. A lot was picked up by watching which may or may not have included other clansmen’s bad habits.

Tomohiro stepped backwards a couple of meters extending the distance between the two of them. He placed his left foot forward as he gracefully drew the his weapon. A deep breath that smoothly flowed from his lips. Both hands secured firmly on his weapon as he held the weapon across his body. It had been awhile since he had a good spar. Most of his time had been spent walking back and forth within the village or on missions. Not much had been done about improving his swordsmanship. There were days when he would work on a particular style and others where he would neglect them altogether. This spar would show how far he came. The time to test out his skills was nigh. Tomohiro would hope to be invigorated by the fact that someone was willing to spar with him.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Tomohiro wasn’t sure what he was to expect from the hermit. He was a bit unsure about the woman. She seemed nice enough. Tomohiro started to have questions about why the woman approached him and what her motive was. This was one of the first times anyone had approached him the way she did. Most of the people in Konoha only wanted to pet Assam. That was the reason he left his pet stay within the confines of his temporary living quarters. Tomohiro needed time to focus on himself and task he was sent on for his clan. Konoha was more of a breath of fresh air than he expected. He wondered what the chances were that he was about to spar another student of Kiyoshi-sensei. Tomohiro only knew of three and that number included himself. What was the likelihood of meeting a fourth one?

611/2243

The world around her was tuned out beyond basic instincts of watching her back to ensure that no one attempted a sneak attack - not so much paranoia, but something that had been born from a long life as a shinobi. One simply did not just neglect to watch their own ass at all times after all, even in the company of allies. She kept her focus on her husband, her opponent, watching as he began to close the distance between them, hidden blade unsheathed. His words would have caused her grin to spread further had her focus not been on the attack heading her way. Instead of dodging out of the way immediately though she held her ground with a kind of certainty. There was no shaking, no twitch of fear, it was simply a calm and collected waiting game for her: like a predator waiting for their prey to fall into a trap.

She would wait till the opportunity presented itself, right before Daremo’s attack, to side step the blade and avoid it all together, her body shifting and turning so that it was always facing him as she moved. Beyond just shifting position her own right hand would strike out, her pointer and middle finger held together and straight. The attack was a simply sharp jab to the side with the tips of her pointer and middle finger, right below the rib cage, that would cause pain should Daremo not manage to dodge it. Meanwhile, with her left hand she would reach into her pouch mid movement, removing several simple senbon which she would unleash to send flying towards her husband, aiming at no particularly deadly points, just those that would cause an annoyance but no lethal damage: she wasn’t trying to kill him after all. With the senbon launched she would jump back, putting ten meters of distance between the pair while ensuring to keep her focus on her husband. Her stance would be just as it was before, like a dancer poised and ready to begin, awaiting the next part of this little waltz of theirs.

Amaya was anticipating another attack, while curious how he would handle the jab or the senbon should any of them hit him. While she had seen him in action when it came to jutsu due to the numerous missions the pair had done side by side, this was a different story, and a very interesting one. She was beyond curious to see what her husband could do, while also enjoying the chance to show off a few of her own moves as well.

---

450 | 2,280

.oO(My apologies for the wait. I had thought I posted in this already. Short post to keep it moving.)

Pushing off his left, Daremo cut through the resistance of the world around him, closing the distance between him and Amaya, and, at the same time, opened his senses to the world. Some people might have closed their senses to the world, focusing on only what is in front of them, but not the silver-haired male. He fought differently. He allowed his senses to be aware of everything within the vicinity. The sounds of birds chirping, trees rustling in the light wind that blew through, and the insects moving about in the grass below, he became aware of it all. The need to be hyper-aware of everything around him being born from a childhood left hidden for now.

Citrine eyes noted Amaya’s beginning moments, his thrust missing as the woman side-stepped to the left of him. Using the momentum gained from his movement, Daremo twisted his body out of the way of the jab aimed at his rib cage, while also keeping facing Amaya. Though he did not practice the style any longer, he was intimately familiar with the Guanyin’s Acupuncture fight style and knew there would be a pain if he allowed that to hit him. Backpedaling to put some distance between them, Daremo noted the flash of silver heading towards him, and he was already on the move.

Reaching onto his person, Daremo felt the familiar cool metal of senbons against his fingers. Taking over several, he threw them at the incoming senbons, knocking them off course, and harmlessly to the ground. With the threat neutralized, Daremo gazed at Amaya as he thought of a plan of action. The gaze would not last long as he pushed off towards his wife, reaching onto his person to pull out five senbons that were thrown once he was within five meters of her. As the senbons left his fingers, they spread out and were aiming for her upper body. Of course, none of them was meant to cause her any harm, for he would never do such, but, they would be both a perfect annoyance and distraction.

Closing the distance between the two, Daremo barely moved his wrist, causing the hidden blade to slide back into the sheath. Ducking low, he allowed the senbons to fly past his head, as he aimed to bury his fist into Amaya’s stomach. If connected, the impact would be enough to cause her to, hopefully, double over, in which, he would take a step back, and do a double overhand strike against her back. The power of the strike being pulled back significantly in order to cause her only mild soreness. He would then, jump back six meters, putting distance between them.

---

454[3433]

Total Thread WC: 9950

A puff of smoke would appear at her side, revealing a black scabbard with a sheathed katana of which the hilt was bound in a purple chord. It was remarkably beautiful compared to the sober looking hermit tying the weapon to her waist and positioning it in a well-prepared way. She'd slowly draw the blade, the metallic purple shone under the touch of the sun, accentuating the gold kanji naming it 'Seiun'. The hermit's appearance didn't do the quality of the blade any credit in the slightest, and the way the hermit slipped into a casual opening stance it pretty much looked like their blade skill was mediocre at best. Her stance was treacherously simple in comparison to the sophisticated process the katana had gone through. Was the hermit better trained in combat arts than one would expect or had she somehow procured a blade of greater value than most hermits generally preserved?

"I'm ready.", she stated with a demeanour that seemed to hint at her having no clue how dangerous sword arts could be. To add to that semblance, Suzume would not make use of her full potential, lowering her skill to someone closer to his level. Making it feel like he stood a chance against his opponent, even if that meant getting hit once or twice by his katana. However, if he pushed his attention to the limits, in the course of their spar he'd be able to pick up the exact level of her refined sword skill by the way she naturally made use of openings in his defences few of his rank would be able to notice - one could lower their pace but lowering their eye for detail and minute reflexes was a different matter.

Starting their spar, the hermit would take slow steps closer, weapon seemingly bobbing like she was searching to familiarise herself with the katana's balance. She'd move in for a few quick jabs the youngster should be able to parry without too much effort. Testing his reflexes. Testing his ability to parry and possibly counter. See where her father's lessons had run deep and where his own style maintained the upper hand.

She'd leave sufficient openings for Tomohiro to capitalise on as well, luring him into attacking so she could read his fighting style and combat approach. Most of his attacks would be parried or nimbly dodged in turn, granting him only the satisfaction of negligible or minor wounds at best. With this, she would test his spirit. Figure out if he was the sort to give in to boldness as a tangible future towards victory manifested itself or if he remained cautious. Did he adapt quickly to his opponent or was he stuck into the basic kata? Did he cease most of the opportunities left open for him or only a select few he felt comfortable with? Many more questions could and would be answered by their brief spar, but what was most important to the hermit was that he picked up and learned from it.

---

515
Total: 2509
Thread WC: 10'465

Katana:

The woman that approached him agreed to help him with his training. This made Tomohiro a bit enthusiastic that he was able to find someone to spar with. This would definitely help waking him up as the drowsiness that seemed to quite prevalent within his body. Shaking this feeling off would be quite experience as he hadn't had much luck so far. Anything that would help him in the long run of his shinobi career was always a plus. He wasn’t too familiar with in training with people outside of Kumogakure, but any shinobi that associated with Kiyoshi-sensei was welcome. Maybe this individual perfected something the master kenjutsu user had not. There was never knowing. Regardless, after seeing the woman’s opening stance, it was clear that she took this as seriously as he did.

A slight smile on his face could be seen across his face. The woman’s katana was gorgeous. There was no doubt about it. It had been one of the most intriguing blades he had ever seen. Tomohiro had dealt with many blades that he took an interest in and found to be prestigious. One blade was his older brother’s katana. The next had to be this one. He wondered what the name of the hermit’s blade was called. Tomohiro was wondering if he could find the one who smithed the blade. The blade was in pristine condition that he wasn’t sure that he wanted to put his own weapon against the hermit’s. Though, he would deal with it for the sake of training. Turning down training to how one’s blade look wasn’t going to fly with him. A blade's respect against another had no place on the battlefield. Tomohiro would mentally focus himself further to prepare for the duel.

Tomohiro would shift his leg back slightly as he get into a stance of his own. Holding the sheath with his left hand, he would slowly draw his blade with an elegance. The elegance that he would attempt to display to the best of his ability. A slow controlled breath emanated from his pursed lips as he shifted his left leg forward. He wasn’t sure which one of them would attack first, but he figured that the hermit wouldn’t mind if he went ahead and started this off.

The young Nakir took another breath as he would more forward with both hands on his weapon’s hilt. The first strike he would perform would be a pretty basic and obvious one. He would hold the blade above his head as would quickly strike down. He would then turn his blade upward to follow up with another strike. Tomohiro would then to try to take advantage of any openings that he noticed. He was quite confident in his abilities even with being drowsy. Though, he wouldn’t be too prideful. There was a time and place for that. In the art of kenjutsu, it was typically discouraged among his form of training. Some of his clansmen would say otherwise. The hermit seemed to be quite efficient in her defense. Though, he wouldn’t let up. The latest strike he would perform would be one a slash from the hermit’s right to left toward their midsection. He would only slightly move his feet, but maintain a balanced position to enable him to block or parry.

571/2814

Daremo’s dodge by using his own momentum to avoid the painful jab she would have otherwise landed on his side was impressive, especially considering the speeds in which both were moving, and she made sure to keep some distance between them as she awaited some kind of counter attack ot her own. Senbon met senbon, knocking her own harmlessly to the ground and rendering them useless. It was the kind of aim that came with being a skilled Jounin, therefore something she had expected: her husband wasn’t going to be outdone quite so easily after all. Yet, she had tried regardless simply to keep him on his toes as it were: a way of playing hard to get, and giving him an annoyance in the form of the senbon that had been flying towards him if nothing else.

As Daremo pushed off of the ground, closing the distance between himself and her while reaching on his person to withdraw more weapons, Amaya stood once more ready and waiting like a graceful predator while reaching for another senbon. As Daremo let his own fly again, aimed at non-lethal portions of her chest she didn’t dodge but instead waited until they got within range of her. Using the single senbon in her hand she flung it towards the senbon closest to the left while sidestepping to the left as well. The senbon would hit the left-most one, knocking into it which in turn sent it into the others, veering them off course and safely away from her body. As her husband sped towards her, aiming to punch her in the stomach, she remained where she was instead of dodging out of the way immediately. As she had done before she straightened her pointer and middle finger, this time of her right hand, jabbing at the fist as the punch was aimed at her stomach. Should she connect the jab would cause moderate pain just as the one that she had previously aimed at Daremo’s side had been meant to do. It was then that she would side step, sending her right hand, pointer and middle finger straightened just as her left hand had been, aimed towards his shoulder blade, yet another jab that would cause no damage beyond moderate pain.

As she was about to continue a familiar chakra washed over her that had her immediately jumping back, a simple word leaving her lips as she called out “Stop.” She knew her husband would likely feel it as well, and heed her words. Mere seconds after the word would leave her lips would her father and mother appear around the bend, Mamoru and Zaylee with them and looking around the training area with nearly unrestrained curiosity. The twins would hesitate behind their grandparents, picking up on the feeling the air that seemed to radiate from the spar that had been interrupted. Zaylee, with a small bandage on her elbow courtesy of having fallen, tilted her head curiously. “Are momma and daddy fighting?”, she would ask, looking worried.

Amaya’s mother would lay a comforting hand on the child’s head, smiling softly. “We’re sorry to interrupt, but little Zaylee here fell down and scraped her elbow and wanted her mommy and daddy.”, the elderly woman would explain while Zaylee lifted her elbow up to show the bandage that covered the small scrap.

“But I didn’t cry, though!”, Zaylee would say proudly, the words being quite truthful despite the fact that she had scraped her elbow badly enough for it to bleed a little. Even still she had wanted her mother and father regardless.

---

Personal WC: 600 | 2,880
Total Thread WC: 11,636

Training the following Jutsu in this thread:
Vampiric Style: Delaying the Inevitable (B-rank) 2,880 - 1,500 = 1,380
Medical Fuin Style: Golden Touch (C-rank) 1,380 - 1,000 = 380

Remaining WC: 380

Through moving forward, his eyes never lost the sight of the thrown senbons, nor the position of Amaya, in case adjustments, had to be made on the fly. Taking his eyes off of either could spell devasted for the Jounin, and he had far too much experience to make such rookie, or accidental, mistake. The distance between them closed rapidly, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of movement. What was Amaya up to? There was no way he could change his course of action, he had fully committed on his plan, thus, whatever was planned, he would need to deal with it on her terms.

Although thin and incredibly hard to notice in the right situation, he was able to see the single senbon that was let loose from Amaya’s gasps. The speed of which the senbon was launched caused him to momentarily lose track of it, but, knowing its location when something, presumably the launched needle, knocked off his senbons. A precision strike becoming of someone of Amaya’s caliber, she had effortlessly neutralized the threat of five senbons with practical ease. Not only had she made his first attack useless

Adjusting according, Daremo’s fist would tighten as he prepared to deliver a punch to Amaya’s stomach. A taijutsu artist he was not, having given up the path for something else, he still knew how to throw a punch, and handle those in the craft. There was wariness upon seeing her not dodging, it meant she had something in mind to counter him. Shinobis did not take hits without a damn good reason. Sure enough, Amaya did have a plan, as he noted the middle and index finger of her right hand was straighten before being jabbed at towards his stomach. Reacting as quickly as possible, his left hand came down on her wrist, knocking it slightly off course, but still causing her to graze him.

Blocking the first attack, Daremo adjusted upon seeing Amaya taking a side-step, and attempted to turn parallel to her strike, alas, her movements were too quick, and her fingers dug into his flesh causing discomfort and pain which he ignored. A smile spread across his face at being hit. This is what he had wanted. He needed someone to actually hit him. To acquaint him with the feeling of pain. To get him back into shape. To push him. There were only a few people who he trusted when it came to sparring, and Amaya was one of them. She did not bullshit with him like so many others would. It felt wonderful.

Just as he was about to push forward a counterattack, he paused upon seeing a familiar chakra washing over him. Eyes glancing towards Amaya, noting she had sensed the chakra as well. Straightening up, Daremo looked towards the direction which the chakra signatures was come from, spotting his in-laws along with two curious children looking around the training grounds. Normally it would not be safe for them to venture out here, but, Daremo was confident nothing would happen to them with him and Amaya, along with two former Anbu members around.

It came almost routine for him to glance over both children, making sure both of them was okay. And it was during his normal routine that he saw the small bandage on Zaylee’s elbow. Glancing up at his in-laws, non-verbally asking what happened, his attention shifted back to the worried Zaylee,  “Momma and daddy was just training. We got to get big and strong to two you.”, he spoke.

The question regarding how Zaylee was injured was answered by Amaya’s mother. Nodding in understanding,  Zaylee having fallen and scrapped her elbow, which she showed. His little princess wanting her mother and father. Chuckling at Zaylee denial of such an accusation, Daremo moved towards her, scooping her into his arms and holding her, “Aww, so you didn’t want to see momma and daddy?”, he asked with a jokingly mirth tone. Kissing her on the nose, causing her squeak and giggle, Daremo smiling brightly.

With his family here, Daremo doubted neither him nor Amaya wanted to continue their spar. While he figured his in-laws would not mind, he did not want to worry his children. Both of them was still too young to understand that the parents fighting was needed for them to get stronger. As seen by Zaylee’s reaction, both of their children would be worried if they continued fighting, or went back to fighting. He did not want them to worry. Glancing at Zaylee, “Did my little princess cry when she scrapped her elbow?”, he asked his daughter, with her shaking her head negative.  “Hmmm.” Glancing at Amaya, Daremo smile softly at Zaylee,  “Well, seeing how you were a big girl. How about us go out for ice-cream once momma and daddy shower?”, the mention of ice-cream was received with a positive response.

Still holding Zaylee in his arms, Daremo walked over to where his shirt was and picked it up with his free hand. Eyes glanced over to where Mizuki and the other Kumo-nin was. Not wanting to disturb them, a single shadow clone was made. The clone would remain behind, informing them of his creator leaving to spend time with family, and suggest them meeting up again in the future.

Daremo, himself, would walk over to Amaya, “Are you ready to go?”, he asked. If she was ready, the four adults and two excited children would leave the training grounds. While he did not get everything done today, Daremo was pleased with what he did accomplish. Listening to the idle chatter of his and Amaya’s children, he glanced over at his family, and smile softly. They were the reason why he trained. The reason why he seeks strength.

---

978[4411]
TWC: 12, 614
EP Earned: 5

---

Pathogen Art: Extremophile Mimicry | B | 1350
Rejuvenation Art: Numbing Agent | C | 900 wc
Rejuvenation Art: Medical Clone | C | 900 wc
Water Release: Starch Syrup Capturing Field (水遁・水飴拿原 ~ Suiton: Mizuame Nabara) | C | 900 wc
Unused: 4411
Used: 4050
Discarding the rest

The hermit showed the boy that there was not just the ability to parry strikes. His downward slash would be dodged with a simple step sideways, taking a 45° direction away from him. Not sufficient to dodge his second attack but one step ahead nonetheless. Another minute movement allowed her to take a single step backwards and see his blade miss her again. It was much like a dance, her partner moving forward, her stepping backward in response. Martial arts was about superior speed and the endurance to maintain it. Striking faster, reacting faster, moving faster. The person with the most speed taking control of the dance.

Even the sideways sweep was part of the dance. Crouching low to a point she was a mere second away from taking a roll, his blade would cleave the air before she rolled out of his attack line and responded with a sweep of her own as she rose up again. A sideways slash at his open flank that would allow the tip of her katana to cut into his clothes if he didn't succeed at parrying or dodging. Refraining from hitting flesh. The precision of the iaijutsu practitioner, and the Raiu, cutting exactly that what she intended to hit.

Their brief interaction with the blades had told much about him. He fought with measured step, the discipline her father expected his students to have present within his calculative eyes and precise strikes. His vigilance remained, any of her successful hits only attributed to him needing to grow in the speed department. She understood why her father had spoken highly of him and felt rather proud herself he had succeeded in impressing a sensei she considered rather stern herself.

"You show power tempered by discipline and skill driven by vigilance. Kyoshi-sensei must have been proud of you.", she said as the dance between their katana continued. Daremo's clone then dropped by to let the two know that he, his wife and his kids would be leaving for the time being. They'd meet up another time. When the hermit nodded in acknowledgement, the clone vanished from sight and left the two to their spar again. "I do not believe there is much I can teach you about the blade other than suggesting you to keep up your training. Mastery comes with practise, after all."

---

[EXIT]

394
Total: 2903
Thread WC: 15'517

OOC: Exited due to inactivity.

Tomohiro watched as the woman in front of him gracefully displayed movement that hadn’t been displayed before him in a long time. The movement was beyond artistic. Each of his strikes had missed with such grace that he wasn’t sure exactly he should do to continue. The speed was greater than he thought to anticipate. His grandfather moved smoothly as his opponent did. The movements that seemed to be able to be caught on canvas. Tomohiro had great appreciation of the woman’s moves. The moves were almost mesmerizing to the point that he wasn’t prepared for what was coming next. The woman’s blade moved gracefully that he barely missed hitting the blocking her blade with his own. The pressure she exerted was definitely greater than his. Just by the deflection, it confirmed that he was quite outmatched.

Tomohiro wished that he could learn more from her, but she thought that there wasn’t much that she could teach him. The words she exuberated were calm and collective. He appreciated the feedback. Any information that was given, especially from another student of Kiyoshi-sensei was much appreciated. For the first time in a long time, he found a sort of comfort. It was the kind of comfort that one received from verbal appreciation. Sometimes you just needed to hear that you were doing well. Tomohiro had always preferred being told what he was doing right and wrong. The hardened look of a teacher that just had a scolding look. A lot of his skill came from training as well as mimicking the movements of the elders in his clansmen. Over time, he developed the proper movements needed for kenjutsu. The art of using the katana was one of the things he would never take for granted. He knew that he was born to use the blade.

Tomohiro bowed to the hermit and whispered a simple, “thank you.”


[Thread Exit]

321/3135

Total Thread WC: 15838

Training:
[-30% | S-rank sensei reduction +2 additional others]

Raiton: C-B [1400/1400]

Stat/Dexterity: [1050/1050] B-0 to B-1

685 reserved wc