Chapter 4

I spend the rest of the day fooling around with Chatterbox. I'm trying to sneak us away to train, even if just by sparring with my brother, but my uncles are keeping a close watch and one of them appears out of nowhere each time I'm about to do something that could be construed as exercise.

As much as I wish I could get a bit of training in before my next match tomorrow, this is the best day I've had since coming back from the war.

The second round is the following day. This time around, Chatterbox's match is before mine. He's facing another member of the Raiku clan, and the Hard Master is glaring daggers at me because he expects my brother will be the one to pay for my injuring my opponent yesterday.

I hope he's wrong, but judging by the expression of the Raiku man who just entered the ring, he's right.

The match starts and within ten seconds, it's clear the Raiku ninja is not trying to hurt my brother, he's trying to kill him. I glance at the Hard Master nervously, wondering why he hasn't ended this already. He appears to read my mind.

"I want to see how long he'll last," he says.

I can't help thinking his real goal is to scare me - as punishment for my carelessness yesterday.

After about a minute of desperately blocking and evading, my brother is slowing down. His opponent takes advantage of it and targets his neck.

My uncle and I are both in the ring at the same time, holding the Raiku, preventing him from hitting our newest student. This disqualifies my brother instantly, but the Raiku ninja is forced to stop fighting.

My own match is not nearly as memorable, but by the end of the second round, I'm starting to wonder whether my uncle really is delusional about me. Up to date, this tournament is disappointingly easy.

"Well, Young Master," the Hard Master asks me. "Have I proven my point yet?"

I've just won my semi-final match, and I'm fighting in the final in an hour.

"Is this a trick?" I ask him. The whole thing feels completely surreal.

"How in the world would I have managed a trick like that?" he asks me.

"I didn't even break a sweat until my fourth match!"

My uncle nods knowingly.

"You are aware that at the time you left for the war, you were among the best, are you not?"

"That was nearly three years ago, and I…"

"…haven't trained since," the Hard Master interrupts me, rolling his eyes. "And yet here you are, still among the bests."

"Unless this 'tournament' is filled with mediocre ninjas."

"Even if there were any chance that I could pull off something like this, what motivation could I possibly have? Stop insulting me and use your head."

"But I never train!" I cry out.

"You don't need to train to stay at your current level! Come. Did you win the last three matches because your opponents were mediocre?"

I frown and turn my back on him. He's right, as usual – it's a very irritating habit of his to be right against reason. We watched my last three opponents fight their previous adversaries and it was quite obvious from these matches that they were not mediocre at all.

"Well? Do you still believe that not having the benefit of regular training is making you regress? Do you still believe you are, how do you keep putting it, borderline incompetent?"

I don't answer right away. It's not that I don't know what to answer, but I hate having to give that answer: it will basically give my uncle license to keep my work schedule just as packed as it is now.

"Well?" he insists.

"No and no," I hiss, "but if I could train, I'd be getting even better."

"Then win. The prize money won't hurt our financial situation: with it, we might be able to start lightening your schedule within the next year."

Call me easy to please, but that's more motivation than I need.

The other finalist is obviously motivated as well. He's already broken my nose, and I only just managed to escape his last hold with 4 seconds to spare. He's on top of me again before I even have a chance to turn around to face him.

Lucky for me, he was in such a hurry to pin me down again that this new hold is clumsy. I easily reverse it, and from that point on, I have control of the match.

He finally surrenders ten minutes later, narrowly avoiding my starting to break his limbs out of sheer irritation and impatience at his stubbornness. My nose is hurting too much for me to smile when I'm declared the winner.

The tournament's most immediate effect is to rob me of the sense I'm entitled to complain about my lot. Since I still feel like complaining, this is hardly something I'm happy about.

It doesn't take long for other consequences of my victory to make themselves obvious. I can't seem to meet another ninja without getting offers to join their clan. I've had such offers before, ranging from marriage proposals to monetary offers, but it only used to happen once a month or so. Now, it's every day.

One ninja from the Kamura clan even suggested killing my uncles. I lost my head and so did he – literally in his case. As a result, our two clans are at war again, which hasn't stopped them from trying to recruit me.

It takes a year for the offers to finally start drying up. They gradually get replaced by jeers and insults intended to make me feel like I'm being an idiot for not betraying my family. I'd rather be an idiot than a traitor, so it doesn't bother me.

What does bother me is that my uncle has not yet been able to reduce my workload. It's due to circumstances beyond his control – an earthquake damaged part of the compound and we had to make repairs, which cost money – but not having someone to blame only makes it more infuriating.

My brother, for his part, is doing wonderful. In fact, he's the talk of the clan. I can't spend five minutes in the compound without overhearing awed comments on how good he is. There are bets going around on whether he'd win a fight against me. I'd laugh if I hadn't seen him train.

Saying that he's good is a gross understatement: he's kept on progressing just as unnaturally fast as during his first four months. For one thing, his japanese is now flawless, where he couldn't understand a single word of it when he first got here. This would be impressive enough, but it's actually the least of his accomplishments. What really has the clan impressed is that in less than two years, he has reached a level of skill beyond what most students hope to ever accomplish.

In itself, it wouldn't bother me, but I've caught my uncles glancing at me, looking like they wonder how long those who think he has surpassed me will be wrong. It's understandable: I'm the heir of the clan, I should be the best. Although our clan doesn't put stock in our students' place of birth, many do; having a foreign student best the heir of the clan would be extremely embarrassing.

My uncles need not worry: I'm not going to let that happen. Chatterbox being so good is just the motivation I needed to stop making excuses for myself and get back to seriously training: as tight as my schedule is, I could still do with a bit less sleep. The honour of the clan put aside, I have to admit that I'm just plain sick of not making any progress: I'm entitled to bettering myself as much as anyone else.

I start my training the very night I make that resolution. I first go through the last few katas I learned before leaving, over three years ago. If I had still needed confirmation of what my uncle told me last year about never forgetting anything, this 'training' would have done the trick: I get all the exercises I attempt right on the first try.

Since I can't work on improving my technique, not without someone to show me some new exercises or moves, I change tactic and do some strength training. By the time I finally go to bed, I'm aching everywhere but grinning like a maniac: I feel like I've broken free of my chains, like I can fly again.

I wait patiently by the entrance while the Hard Master and my brother finish their lesson. Chatterbox is learning the last kata I learned myself. I feel my jaws clench and force myself to relax.

This is ridiculous. He's my friend, my brother, and I'm the one who invited him here. Why should his success bother me?

The lesson finally ends and the Hard Master dismisses his student, who bows, waves at me and leaves. I wave back mechanically, angry at him even though I feel stupid and petty for it.

"You've been training," my uncle starts as soon as Chatterbox's steps start fading away.

It suddenly occurs to me that I hardly ever see the Soft Master anymore: my contacts with my family have been reduced to almost nothing but official business, and the Hard Master takes care of that. He's also the one I had to deal with after I killed the Kamura ninja who threatened them; I got off easy that time, because a death threat had been made against members of the clan, justifying my actions. I have a feeling I won't be so lucky this time.

"Yes, Hard Master," I reply. I have to reply something, and it's no good denying something he obviously already knows about.

"While you should be sleeping."

"I still sleep," I say, and wince. Even to my own ears, I sound like a whiny child.

"Not enough," the Hard Master says, straining his voice in an effort not to yell. He sighs. "You cannot keep doing this. You can't go on missions without proper rest."

"I had to stay up for a week on the very first mission you sent me on!"

"You weren't supposed to!" he growls. "That client was supposed to have hired three ninjas. We only found out you had been by yourself once the mission was over. This is why you've never had this client again. He keeps begging for you, offering double and triple rate."

I have no idea how to respond to this bit of news. I choose to get back on subject.

"I'm still getting enough sleep. Please don't worry for me."

"No, you're not. It's obvious just from looking at you that you're exhausted. You WILL stop this."

"No."

I want to take it back the second I've said it. I'm embarrassed by my own behaviour, I'm horrified by how little respect I'm showing him, and even though I feel silly for it, I'm terrified of what his reaction will be. Despite all that, I stand firm. I'd like to call it courage or willpower, but even I realize it's just childish stubbornness.

His eyes widen briefly, than narrow in anger.

"Foolish," he scolds me, "always so foolish!"

"Precisely what all the other clans say, as well, although for different reasons."

I didn't mean to say that. I slap my hands to my mouth, wondering what in the world is wrong with me. I'm expecting my uncle to explode.

He sighs and sags a bit.

"You really are miserable, aren't you?" he asks softly.

I'm completely thrown off. I was expecting him to be angry, what is he doing being concerned for my happiness? When has he ever been concerned about me, other than enough to ensure my survival?

"And you can't believe I care." He sighs again, sits down on the floor and motions me to do the same. I do.

"Tommy, you can't keep this up. You're exhausting yourself. You think you're making yourself stronger and faster, but you're gradually becoming weaker and slower, because you're not getting enough sleep."

He doesn't sound angry at all, only concerned. I almost feel like flippantly asking him who he is and what he has done with my uncle. I only just manage to contain the urge.

"I'm not THAT tired," I say instead. Again, I sound like a brat even to myself. "I mean to say, I really do think I'm benefiting from the extra training, enough to be worth cutting back on sleep a little."

"And you're wrong."

"It's my decision!"

"Yes, it is."

I blink at him.

"What?" I stutter.

"It's your decision. As long as you still accomplish your missions, it is not my place to dictate what you do on your own time."

"So… I can keep on training?"

"I need you to cut back."

Now I'm confused. What is he playing at? He just said it was my decision, and just as I'm getting over the shock of that, he takes it back? I turn up the formality in an effort to hide my strong desire to yell something witty – which would probably turn out to actually be more stupid than anything else - and to storm off.

"Hard Master, I don't understand. I thought you said…"

"It's a request, not an order," he interrupts me.

"Oh."

I'm still confused. He can't honestly think I'm going to accept that 'request', so what's the point in even making it?

"Before you refuse, hear my offer," he continues.

I raise my eyebrows and nod for him to continue.

"In the past month, you have averaged three hours of training a night, but because you don't have a teacher, you're only doing basic training. It is my opinion that this is doing you no good whatsoever. The strength training you are doing can't compensate for the fact you have no strength from lack of sleep. The same can be said for all aerobic, endurance and speed training. The only things you've been doing that could be somewhat profitable are archery and seeing-ear training, but you do NOT need to improve your skills in either of those disciplines. I suspect you only practice them because you enjoy how easy it is."

I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me with a hand gesture.

"I offer to replace these three hours of useless training by one hour of training with a teacher. The Soft Master will teach you, one hour a day. If you are away on a mission for several days, your hours will be banked, but you will not be able to redeem more than one of those banked hours a day, for a daily maximum of two hours of training."

I'm a bit taken aback by the formality and rigidity of the offer, but sorely tempted. I don't think my current training regiment is as pointless as my uncle believes it is, but I'd be lying if I said I was satisfied with my progress.

"What is there to hesitate about?" my uncle demands. "I'm offering you precisely what you've been asking for ever since you returned!"

"How many hours of daily training does my brother get?" I ask him. I try to sound casual, but it's clear right away, from his expression, that he doesn't buy it.

"Four to five hours of actual instruction," he answers. "He IS a full-time student, what else would you expect?"

"That kata he just attempted is the last one I learned before leaving for the war. Technically, he is pretty well at the same level I am," I continue. By offering to make me both a part-time student and a wage earner, my uncle has drawn my attention to the fact that Chatterbox is advanced enough to go on missions as well.

"You are fully aware that he is a very talented student."

I hold back a groan. Leave it to my uncle to make me spell it out.

"Couldn't he be earning some wages?" I ask.

"He has declined to do so," my uncle says. "Unlike you, he has no obligation to support the clan, and he is perfectly entitled to not go on missions. He has also refused to enter the tournament again and swore to lose on purpose if I made him enter anyway."

I sigh. I can't say I blame him, I'd refused to go on missions too, if I could. I don't understand about the tournament, but because my winning had no effect in the end, I have trouble imagining his winning would. The thing is, if he stays a full-time student and I only get one hour of training a day, how am I going to keep up with him? What will people think of the Arashikage when our newest student becomes better than me?

I need more than one hour of training a day. Yet, at the same time, I need a teacher. I can't believe my uncle doesn't see that. It suddenly occurs to me that he might. All at once, I understand exactly what's going on:

The Hard Master knows that Chatterbox will soon be better than me and of course, he would prefer I remain the best because I'm the heir of the clan. Therefore, he will allow me to train again.

For full-time students, each hour of formal instruction means about two hours of individual training, so by offering me an hour of formal instruction, he's actually encouraging me to train a total of three hours a day: exactly what I've been doing.

However, he'd be seen as a slave driver if he actually asked me to do three hours of training a day on top of my missions, so he phrased it in such a way as to make it sound like he was cutting back on the training that silly little me was doing without his approval.

It's all I can do to keep my face neutral. I need to figure out how to phrase my accepting his offer so that I'm not committing to limiting my training to the formal instruction time; this is not just about me anymore, it's about what my uncle needs of me. As much as the Hard Master and I can butt head, I'd never want to disappoint him.

He's glaring at me impatiently. He must have expected me to figure this out quicker than I did.

"I'd be very grateful of the Soft Master if he could teach me for an hour a day," I say.

"So you will stop training by yourself?" he asks.

I'm taken aback. Why is he making this difficult? My mind races to find an answer that won't limit my training time and still satisfy his obsession with making it appear he's making me cut back.

I settle on being insulted by the question.

"Don't you know I wouldn't trick you?" I ask.

My uncle relaxes. He's almost smiling.

"Very well," he says. "We have a deal."

I smile and bow.

Author's notes:

I think it's fairly obvious, but just in case I'm mistaken, I wanted to clarify that Tommy is displaying a lot more imagination than anything else when he "figures out" what the Hard Master is trying to do.