Once washed and dressed Bill made his way down the steep wooden steps that led from his sleeping quarters to the hallway of Hanzo-San's home, Hanzo sword in hand. Despite Hanzo's notoriety in his field, his home was far from showy. The walls were bare plaster with black-and-white photos framed in black-coloured wood of various warriors, some respected piers, others former students, dotted regularly here and there. Aside from these there was little else that wasn't necessary. Each doorway was either covered by a bead curtain or a simple wooden door, or in a few cases both.

Hanzo was not a poor man; but, he did what he did not for money but for love of the samurai tradition. True, a Hanzo sword, despite its status as a priceless weapon by those who owned or desired one, did have to have a price put on it by its creator, and this price was not usually low. But Hattori Hanzo lived a simple life for two reasons: firstly, flaunting the wealth he had accumulated from years as a master sword smith would attract unwanted attention to what he did; and secondly, aside from being a man who would go down in history as one of the greatest samurais to ever live, Hattori Hanzo was a man of simple pleasures and simple needs.

Hanzo didn't find pleasure or satisfaction in material wealth. His passions were combat and craftsmanship, and they had been since he was a child. The first thing he remembered making in his life was a set of pan pipes from bamboo stalks he had found at a riverside when he was six years old. Most children would have been satisfied by breaking off part of the stalk and it making a noise when they blew down it. But Hanzo had spent days crafting his pipes, checking the sound over and over and trimming the pipe he was working on as necessary until he was satisfied that the sound produced was exactly high enough above the previous one.

Those pipes had also been the cause of the first fight Hanzo remembered being a part of. Another boy called Saburo, who had lived down the road from Hanzo and his family and was around a year older than him, had snatched the pipes and begun to fool around with them. When young Hattori had protested and tried to get them back Saburo had begun taunting him and then threw the pipes into the path of a passing horse drawn carriage. The pipes were destroyed under hoof and wheel, and Hattori Hanzo had been extremely upset, not to mention brimming with rage at Saburo. Hanzo beat him so hard that Saburo had to miss a month of school and had permanent scarring on most of the right side of his face.

The previous generation's Hattori Hanzo, our Hanzo's father – a skilled samurai, but by this point retired from combat due to injury – had scolded his son for attacking Saburo but also recognised the colossal desire for battle that burned within his offspring. Hattori may have only been six years old, but he had attacked a child bigger than himself with the manner of a man and the spirit of a warrior. The older Hattori Hanzo was a distinguished samurai in his time, but he was nowhere near as accomplished as his son was destined to become, a fact he could not know that at this point. He did however recognise his son as a gifted fighter, and therefore made the decision to begin training our Hanzo in martial arts nearly two years earlier than was the custom in the Hanzo family, the tradition being for training to begin the day after the son's eighth birthday. A week after he had mangled Saburo's face, Hattori Hanzo begun his first real combat training with his father.

Bill may have come from a starkly different background to that of his teacher, but he showed more promise than anyone else had since Hanzo-San's training was completed. Maybe his life in Acuna was what had made him so impatient; maybe it was also what made him so determined to be the best at everything.

One time, when Bill could only have been seven or eight years old, Esteban had set him and another aspiring Acuna boy of a similar age named Max the task of going into the woodland and capturing and killing the largest animal they could each find. Bill had enjoyed this activity immensely, and bagged himself a coyote. He had been irate however when Esteban had given what Bill certainly considered to be more praise to Max for also bringing back a coyote. Bill couldn't stand it, especially as he was positive his coyote was bigger. Esteban could see Bill was unhappy, but insisted the contest was a draw. Bill did not stop bugging him until Esteban agreed to a rematch. So the two boys went back into the forest, again on the hunt for the largest animal they could detain and butcher. Max did not bring anything back to Esteban. Bill brought back Max.

These two conflicting traits were now clashing within Bill more than ever before. He wanted to train, he really did, as he knew that Hanzo-San, the greatest samurai trainer in the world, believed he was capable of becoming even better, and if the way to unlock that ability was through more training, then that was what he had to do. The precision and monotony of what he and his master now engaged in every day really got to him however.

For the past two weeks Hattori had made Bill come at him aiming at his master's waist down. Hanzo would then block the move in the same way each time, and Bill had to counter that move as best he could. Each time Hanzo would tell Bill the positive and negative points of what he had done. Bill was also not allowed to use the same counter twice in one day. Every time Hanzo deemed a responding move too similar to one already performed Bill would have to perform twenty press-ups.

As Bill walked into the dojo, round the corner and at the end of the hallway, he dreaded another day of cataloguing in his mind which moves he had already used against his master. This prospect was made even less appealing by the timpani section that had apparently decided that inside his head was the best place for them to rehearse.

"I am impressed Bill", said Hanzo with a wry grin, speaking of course in Japanese, as Bill appeared in the doorway. "I had not banked on seeing you within the time limit I imposed". Bill said nothing, but bowed to his master, respecting both him and the room despite how he was feeling. "Now, countering a low blocked move --". Bill let out an audible sigh of exasperation at the mention of this particular exercise. His master eyed him for a few seconds. Hanzo would not have allowed many of his past students get away with that kind of thing, but then Bill was nothing like any of his past students. "Before I was cut off in such a rude fashion", he continued, "I was about to suggest that maybe we should move on to a different exercise, as I am sufficiently happy for now with the progress you have made in that area".

Bill perked up slightly at hearing his training would be shifting to a new field, but only slightly. "Hanzo-San, I would be very grateful for the opportunity to move on in my training", Bill spoke in fluent Japanese to his master. "I too feel that, for the time being certainly, I have reached my peak in what we have been practising for the last few weeks". "What you feel is of no concern to me Bill" Hanzo replied matter-of-factly. "Your training will move on to an area which no warrior can afford to overlook – endurance". Bill was genuinely intrigued. Since gaining his Hanzo sword, the vast majority of his training had not been in any area as broad as this, usually focussing on something much more specific. His eagerness was renewed, and his hangover even seemed to be beginning to subside.

"Stand ready to fight" commanded the teacher to his student. Bill stood with his sword in front of him, both hands on the handle, the tip of the blade towards where his opponent would be, or in this case, where Hanzo was. "Now", Hanzo continued, walking out of the dojo for a few moments via a second door which led to the kitchen, but continuing talking throughout, "this exercise may seem unorthodox, but it is one used by my father whilst he trained me, and by his father when training him. No doubt you remember the exercise I made you perform to teach you the value of preparedness".

Bill did indeed remember this exercise. It was around a year into his training. Hanzo had made him stand in the position he was standing in now for an entire morning. Hanzo had sat in the dojo with him the whole time reading a newspaper. Bill had met that challenge directly, and although the top half of his body had ached for the next two days, he had not shown any sign of fatigue or frustration throughout the time he had been standing there. Hanzo-San had not made it known to Bill back then, but he was thoroughly impressed. Most students had simply not been able to stand in the same position for more than a couple of hours. Certainly none of them had lasted for as long as Bill had, which was a good six hours. Even then he only stopped because Hanzo had told his pupil he was satisfied.

Hanzo-San returned to the dojo holding something behind his back. "This exercise is not unlike that one". He then revealed what he was hiding: a cantaloupe. Bill was a little perplexed, but said nothing. "You will also need to use one of the blunter swords. A cantaloupe will not stay on steel crafted by me for more than a few minutes". Bill suddenly realised what Hanzo-San was intending for him to do, at least he thought he did, despite how ludicrous it sounded to him. "Are you saying that I am going to be standing here the whole morning with a melon on the end of my sword?" "Only for three or four hours at the most" his master replied, as if that was a question he heard daily. "I will tell you when you may stop".

Hanzo walked over to the sword rack and picked a very basic looking blade. He then went back over to Bill. "Give me your sword". Bill did as he was told, and Hanzo gave him the sword from the rack. "Return to your fighting stance". Bill did so, but with a noticeably smaller amount of enthusiasm than he had done it with a few minutes ago. Hanzo then took the cantaloupe and jammed it onto the end of the blade. "Stay in that position until I tell you otherwise".

And with that, Hanzo replaced Bill's sword into its case and set it down on the table by the wall of the dojo. He then walked back to the kitchen and returned to the training room with his newspaper, sat down on the chair by the table and proceeded to read about whatever was going on in the world that day. Bill stood there in the ready position, sword in his hands, and a melon on his sword. Needless to say, all sorts of thoughts were circulating within his mind.