KIM POSSIBLE, RON STOPPABLE AND OTHERS ARE THE PROPERTY OF DISNEY AND THEIR RESPECTIVE ARTISTS

"I still don't like it, Sensei."
"I know you don't, Yori-san. But it is necessary."

"What bothers you, Yori?"
"Just . . . sneaking up and leveling it? Where is the honor?"
"There is no honor. No risk, either, or at least minimal risk. Try to understand, Yori, some things cannot always be done the way we might like. What would you rather us do?"
"Gather the Yamanuchi, muster the lances, face them in honourable combat. It is what you taught us, Sensei."
"It is what I taught you, but you know what would happen, Yori-san: the Yamanouchi would be slaughtered."
"We out-number them, Sensei. We choke them with our bodies."
"So you would have us lose a hundred, a thousand Yamanouchi, instead of none; and for what?"
"Honour, Sensei. The end result will be the same, and we would have done it cleanly, directly, simply—on the ground, hand against hand, life against life."
"That's easy for you to say, Yori. The other lances would be comprised of the unschooled children of Yamanouchi. Your life expectancy is an order of magnitude greater than theirs, with your years of training. While you are fulfilling your honor, they are just dying."
"Have you ever played chess, Sensei? Stoppable-san introduced me to it the last time he was here."
"I have."
"Do you enjoy winning, Sensei?"
"Certainly, my student."
"Now say you were playing, but you removed half of your opponent's pieces from the board to start with. Would you take pleasure from beating him then?"
"You are asking me if I enjoy winning by cheating. Of course I do not."
"How is it any different in this? A solid, true victory would be a fair one. Simply jumping them, like a hooligan in the street, would be hollow even if we had victory."
"There is a difference, Yori-san. When chess is played, it is not played for lives. And one certainly does not play for the lives of others."
"I see the difference, Sensei. But the basic trueness behind it is the same. Winning by breaking the rules is barely even winning. It lacks the honour that sets us apart from our foes."
"There are no rules in war, Yori-san. You should know that by now."
"There are. You can slash, bite, kick, burn, ambush, your enemy; but there are some things that you both abide by, no matter how much you hate each other, Sensei."
"My student, you are talking about the theory that humans have an underlying decency to their souls. Even if that is true—this human are different. He will just as soon take any offer of 'decency' we give and shove it down our throats."
"We do not know that."
"Please, Yori. Think. Do you know how long it has taken us to get this far? How many miracles of Intelligence, how many daring raids and gambles? How many lives have been given to get into the position we are in right now? This is a chance given by God. It would be a crime to waste it, Yori-san."
"It would be a crime to use it wrongly. We know the location of Monkey Fist. Let us stop him honourably, instead of resorting to the tactics that he himself brought to this field. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing the Yamanouchi School brought low."
"Sometimes one must adopt the tactics of one's enemies in order to succeed. Being of high-mind in combat, Yori-san, just means that your mid-section is exposed to the blades of your enemies."
"Does that make this right?"
"Maybe not. But right or wrong, it is necessary."

"Yori-san, I am going to tell you a story. It is old. It was legend even as the Yamanouchi School was being carved from the rock of this mountain with the Lotus Blade. Listen carefully, because it pertains to this conversation very much."

"Once, long ago there lived a great warrior. No one knew his name; he had been born in a small, unknown village, and quickly abandoned by an unwanting mother. He was taken in by a family from another village and cared for until he was six; then they, too, left him to fend for himself, out on the wide plains.
"He grew tall and strong, and soon he was one of the mightiest warriors in the land. He traveled much, moving from place to place, and his story grew even as his body did. They said he could kill a running lion with his bare fists; they said that he could fell a tree with one blow from a club. Many, many men heard his legend and came to challenge him. All died before his hand.
"Before long, he was the uncontested champion of the land. No man still dared to confront him; people were known to flee the streets at the sight of him, and powerful warriors begged for mercy when he asked them to fight. He took to traveling even more, seeing places he had never seen, and looking still for a man to defeat him. But word of his deeds always moved faster than he did, and wherever he went there was nobody to face him.
"He took to combating local threats; here he would slay a rampaging hippo that was ruining a town, there he would deal with a ruffian that was preying on locals. Sometimes he would find strong-looking men and simply attack them, hoping they would fight back, but they never did, and they would die silently while he danced about in rage.
"One day, though, the warrior was traveling in a land that he had never been in before. Here, things were seldom different; men fled from him in the streets, dogs ceased their barking at the sight of him, and shop owners quietly refused his money. But there was something else, too. Whenever he would speak to the local villagers, they would always acknowledge him as the greatest warrior the world had ever known; but invariably, they also said, 'Yet there is a man in the mountains to the East that may kill you easily.'
"The first few times he heard this, he killed the people who spoke such, thinking they were merely insolent. But when he heard this tale told again and again, far and wide, he began to think differently. In every village he came to, the same thing was said: he was very great, but there was one who could kill him.
"So the warrior decided to seek out this man and defeat him, to show the people who was the mightiest after all.
"He traveled into the mountains where the townspeople spoke of, and searched for many days before he found a small, nondescript hut in a valley. When he approached it, he was welcomed by a voice inside.
"He entered the house, and he was confused, for the only man inside was a small, very old man with graying hair and shambles for clothes. Though his eyes were bright, his limbs were thin and weak, and he limped as he walked.
"The warrior said: 'Ho, there! I have come many miles to issue a challenge to a man who lives in these mountains. He is said to be very mighty and powerful, and I wish to demonstrate my superiority. Do you know this man?'
"And the old man said simply, 'I am this man.'
"And the warrior laughed, saying 'No, old dotard, you misunderstand me. I search for a great warrior, a terrible fighter, a man who cracks mountains and makes trees tremble at his very sight. Do you know of whom I seek?
"And the old man said simply, 'I am this man, though I am not a warrior.'
"The warrior was annoyed, and very angry. 'You simpleton, this cannot be! I search for a young and powerful fighter, not an old and weak hag.'
"The old man replied, 'I was once a young and powerful fighter. Now I am but an old and weak hag. But it is I whom you seek.'
"And the warrior, growing furious, said 'I cannot believe it! I have traveled for many miles, across the plains and over the mountains, and searched for days, all for a simple old fool who is no threat?
" 'I shall kill you anyway, just for making me go to such lengths!'
"The warrior went forward, and without bothering to take time, wrapped his hands around the old man's throat and started to squeeze.
"The old man moved a hand forward, and up, and then the warrior staggered back to the floor, clutching at his chest. Blood poured freely from him where the old man had stabbed him, piercing the heart. Deep in him, he could feel his life draining away.
"He looked up at the old man, who was sitting in a chair and rubbing his neck: 'How can this be?'
"And the old man said, 'Alone, you are a great and deadly warrior, and I am but an old and weak man.
" 'But I have a knife. And with a knife, you are a great and deadly warrior'—here he paused— 'but I am a great and deadly warrior who perhaps moves a tiny bit slower.'
"And he said, as the warrior's eyes began to fade, 'You thought that because you are my superior, I was no threat to you.
" 'But even though you may be greater, I am here, and I have hands, and I have arms and legs and a body; and I have a mind and a spirit; and I have a knife.'
"Then the warrior died, and passed forever from the world."

"'That was not really an old legend, was it, Sensei?"
"No, it was not, Yori-san."
"It was a good story."
"Thank you, Yori." He stood, brushing off his white robes and straightening his downy beard.
"I think I am going to go to my bed. I do not know why . . . I seem to get tired so easily, nowadays. You can rouse me, if you need me."

"I am sorry for questioning you, Sensei. I beg your forgiveness."

"One need never apologize for having honour, Yori-san. You are right, the course of action we take is without honour, but it is also necessary. Often, necessity and idealism are mutually exclusive. I am just sorry that this is a lesson that I had to teach you, my student."

"Hai."

Over the front gate of the Yamanouchi Ninja School, the moon continued its trek to dawn.