Daisuke sat perched upon the top of a plateau that overlooked the mountain range of Kumogakure. He sighed at his boredom, his swords laying in his lap. He took one from the sheath at a time, running his cleaning cloth(now soaked in polish) along the blades. One at a time, he took care about this matter. These blades were the most precious things in the world to him, after all. They had saved his life many more times than once, and as such, he treated them well. It was as if they were sentient beings to him, and cleaning them and giving them all his respect had become a daily ritual. This was nothing, really, compared to what he owed them.

The Katana, Wakizashi, and Tanto all gleamed gently after the final coat of cleaner and polish. Daisuke heaved a heavy sigh and put out the cigarette that left a white tail flowing upward and whispering away into the wind, dispersing into the currents as if a whisper. After getting to his feet, sword set clasped in hand, he brought his foot down on the still smoldering bud until it was no more in the dirt. He turned his head down and to the right, slowly tying his set of weapons on with leather straps. His final thoughts on his weapons were that they were getting dull, and that a new sharpening and finish would be needed soon. Most swordsmen would simply get a new set, but these were his inheritance, and the final symbol from his father. The passing down of the blades was a clan tradition, and it was something he had come to see as honorable. Daisuke finshed lacing the straps together, giving the blades a good tug to make sure they wouldn't simply fall off as he walked. They seemed sturdy, and so he pivoted on his right heel, and began walking.

Each step on the ground would leave an unmistakable footprint of his wooden clogs. They didn't exactly help his speed, but they were part of a long tradition of being a "Samurai". He couldn't really complain. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the trail of prints. A bunch of dual sets of parallel lines. He looked back forward, the steps he were making made a small pitter patter as well. Funny how simple some parts of life were. However, he had come to enjoy the simpler things. Daisuke stopped at the far edge of the plateau. He looked outward past the mountain range, using his right hand as a shield from the bright sunlight that fought his vision without challenge of shade. He saw the mountains beginning to flatten, and even the curvature of the planet. He was quite a ways up, and it was only from the adaptation of living in Kumo his whole life that he could breathe effectively. He stepped outward, like a suicidal maniac, over the edge. He walked downward along the wall, ready for anything really. He was making his way to Konoha.

The journey wasn't very hard. The wind whistling through the mountains was his only real company. The pitter patter of his shoes on the mountain path wasn't even audible above it. The headache from the whistling wasn't too bad, either. He continued to get close and closer to his destination, eventually finding the point where the mountain path he was walking along descended onto flatlands covered in grass. At least it wasn't that mountain range any more. The change in scenery was welcome and pleasant. Maybe there would actually be people there and ready to talk rather than the quiet or squabbly genin in Kumo. What the hell were they even doing anyway? The Chuunin Exams, sure, but that didn't mean they had to be so Anti-social. He even had a squad and they never even contacted him. Pathetic of him? He didn't think so. He blamed the entire thing on them.

Daisuke soon arrived at Konoha, slowly entering the gates, ready for a whole new experience. Because of the current tourism situation, he was allowed in for the after-games celebrations still occuring."


Word Count: 688(required: 600)