The afternoon sun pierced through the billowy clouds of Kumogakure, gracing the land with its generous warmth. Kyoushi, Takashi's master, had left the house to purchase food at the market, leaving the dojo empty. Takashi, dressed in his comfortable wear of long white pants and no shirt, peeked around the corner of the front entrance. All the equipment and dummies were neatly organized against the wall, and everything was serene. Time to change all of that.


The silver-haired boy leapt from wooden post to wooden post. Because of their small diameter, each jump had to be precise, and his concentration keen. His recklessness, however, inhibited both, and more often than not, his desire to master each jump effortlessly ruined his focus and he would be sent plummeting to the hard ground below. Takashi had just fallen about two dozen times already. He brought himself to his feet, clenching his teeth and grunting. He felt his anger, cancerous and enflamed, solidify in his stomach. The boy leapt atop the nearest post and breathed as steadily as he could given his fuming rage. Piece of crap posts. This isn't working. He closed his eyes, seeing if he could find inspiration for a new, better strategy. Takashi saw vacant darkness, and he removed himself from the ceaseless noise of the world. Takashi was in the middle of nothing.

Suddenly, the echo of war sounded in the unseen distance. It gradually became louder and louder, and with each passing moment he could hear a new element of the battle. The cries of victory, clashing of blades, the galloping of horses, the rustle of flags in the wind. Music. Takashi slowly brought his hands together into a hand seal. To complete the immersion, he materialized his blade, the Suiton Uchigatana, in his hand. A stream of scalding water bolted from his palm, hissing and steaming. He opened his eyes and became the soldier of his imagination. The enemy was trailing behind him, and the only way to outmaneuver them was to leap from post to post. This was the motivation he needed.

He bent his knees and quickly pushed forward, soaring into the air. Takashi was weightless and felt the wind rush past him. Preparing himself for his target, he stuck out his feet, and he landed squarely on the head of the post. Keeping the momentum flowing, he leapt to the next post then to the other then the other as swiftly as a grasshopper, occasionally swinging his sword as if attacking unseen foes. He was nearly across the room from where he started, but Takashi was not paying attention. He was focused on the battle. He approached the end of the trail; before him was merely a rice straw dummy and the wall. Takashi had to end with a grande finale, and so he thrusted forward with a summersault, holding his blade close to him. The result made him look more like a rotating ball. He slammed to the floor landing on his feet. Takashi smiled, proud of his spectacular accomplishment. The boy looked up, and what he saw astounded him. The dummy was completely sliced in half. "How'd that happen?" His brows perked. He turned to the hissing blade curiously and added the pieces of the puzzle together. The leap, the summersault, the blade... My spinning must have sliced this thing in two... Awesome! His face brightened, and his imagination pulsed alive again. This could be a new jutsu.


The rice straw dummy stood prepared for the destruction Takashi had planned for it. The aches and bruises from his previous falls started to take their toll on the boy. He could no longer effortless leap onto the wooden post but instead scale their meager height. He was embarrassed, but Takashi would not let simple injuries prevent him from mastering this new technique. He jolted his knee as high as he could, grimacing at the tension in his calf, and pulled his leg over to the top of the post. With one thrust, he pushed his entire body weight on top, struggling to keep his balance with one foot. His other foot followed behind, and he winced as his sore leg caught up. He wobbled briefly but regulated his position. He squinted, focusing on his target. He clapped his hands together and formed a hand sign. Seconds later, a beam of steaming water erupted from his palm, bending and taking the shape of a curved sword. The bruised boy held the blade in front of his face and tightened his grip. He exhaled, relaxing his body. In the blink of an eye, Takashi was in the air. His eyes never left the dummy. He curled his body and pushed forward, sending him into another rapidly revolving summersault. The sheer speed of his spin was blinding. Gravity naturally sent him plummeting to the ground, and as he reached terminal velocity, Takashi spun more and more. Takashi could no longer see his target, but he felt an sudden impact then an unimaginable series of ripping and slicing and tearing coming from his sword. He grinned. He was successful.

He ricocheted off his target, landing gracefully on his feet. Takashi scanned the dummy, and it was underwhelming. He barely cut through the rice straw. Takashi furrowed his brow and marched to the dummy, barely acknowledging the soreness of his legs, arms, and body. Sticking his fingers through the slice, he perused the damage. "Judging by the crescent-shaped curvature of the slice," he said as he adjusted his glasses. "I came down on the dummy vertically and barely skimmed it." Takashi's fist tensed. He grit his teeth. The tendon in his neck bulged out. "All that work," he growled, "for that?" He glared at the lifeless face of the dummy. It did not smile; it did not laugh, but it did mock his efforts. And Takashi could hear someone laugh in the recesses of his mind.

Takashi's eyes opened and became aflame. He rushed toward the wooden post and climbed on top, yelling as the pain clenched his muscles. He wielded his hissing word once more and concentrated, staring down the sorry dummy with intent to kill. He felt a fire ignite his body, flowing like a massive flood through every limb. Before long, he was in the air. Taking one last look at his enemy, he spun forward, rotating violently. Takashi launched downward like a cannonball. He felt the his sword rip through the rice straw and shred his target like tissue paper. He felt a second impact, but continued spinning. His momentum pushed him forward as he pressed against an immovable object with tremendous force.

Takashi bounced backwards and landed again. Facing the ground, he panted profusely. When he looked up, he saw the remnants of the dummy strewn about the dojo. He chuckled, then his eyes strayed towards the wall, which had a thick, vertical groove. Takashi grinned proudly. "So that's what I was pressed against. Anyway, the jutsu." He looked away and adjusted his glasses. "I have to give it a name. Something with flash. Something that will make my enemies remember that jutsu and curse my name when I defeat them with them. Maybe something alliterative. Something like..." He blanked. "C'mon. Okay. I was spinning, rotating, revolving like some wheel or..." He snapped his fingers. "Roulette! Nice! Eloquent and edgy. But it needs an adjective. Hmmm... R... R... R... Revolving? No. Rogue. No, but close. I like the theme. Maybe... That's it! Runaway! Runaway Roulette! It sounds out of control, unpredictable, dangerous. Like me!" He joyfully danced out of the dojo, leaving the place in shambles for Kyoushi to clean. He did enough work as is.

Word Count: 1218/1000