Bent On Victory
Six months have passed and Ninja Academy will soon be open for enrollment. My father had started training me in the most basic forms of Gentle Fist since I have yet to awaken my Byakugan. He was rather a strict teacher, expecting nothing less than my best effort and an unshakeable discipline. I genuinely gave it my best, but being a total newbie in any forms of fighting or exercise, my forms were all over the place. This caused father to give me a day-full drills from sunrise to sunset for the last two months, only taking a break for meals and other necessities. At the end of the day, I wasn't allowed to rest unless I collapsed to the ground and slept through the night out of sheer exhaustion.
It reminds me of the navy Seal Team's hell week, but I could fathom their training wasn't even half as hard as mine, relatively. Father was truly obsessed with getting me as powerful and prepared as I could, probably due to the events that led to mother's passing. I could sympathize with his reasoning, but training a child in such a ruthless manner is not a healthy method to deal with one's troubles. Couldn't complain though, I know I needed to go through this particular purgatory to come out strong, ready and prepared to start my Shinobi life.
"Remain graceful in your stance, Hirata!! Be poised to strike at a moment's notice, swift and accurate. Use your body's core muscle, compress and coil yourself like a spring before you launch forward!!" Hisaruno shouted orders from the wooden terrace of our backyard.
"Yes.. Father" I gulped, refocusing on my forms and feeling the fiber of my muscles contract as I prepare to battle. Across me, was a seven year old Hyūga who just gotten accepted to the academy. A neighbor, in most terms, but he's one of father's youngest disciple. He would make a good sparring partner, or so he told me.
The brat was slightly taller and more experienced, having been tutored under father for over a year. I don't expect to defeat him outright, but my pride be damned if I couldn't fend for myself and caused him to struggle against me defenses.
In the end of the day, the norm of this world was one of 'Dog eat Dog'. The strong survive and thrives, while the weak is at the mercy of fate and luck. The two things I found to be most unreliable.
Noticing a shift in his pupils, my opponent launched two quick jabs which I countered with an equally quick palm deflection. Both being young, his strength isn't that far above mine but I could feel the tingling of my palms just from deflecting his strikes. Taking the first opportunity to counter-attack, I lunge forward outside of his extended-arm ranged to nullify his preferred long-jabs and palm strikes, and elbowed him straight in his lower ribs. The child reeled back for a second, but I hesitated and he used that opening to send a brisk palm strike into my chest, sending me back in turn and gasping in pain as I attempted to regain my breath.
Quite luckily, he rather stood his ground and regain his own breath while I dust myself off the ground, still panting and in pain. At that point, I thought to myself. I don't have what it takes to defeat him in a straight exchange of Gentle Fist Taijutsu, but perhaps I could make do with dirty tricks. Would father approve of that, or would it end in more punishments for me?
I proceed to ignore any possible repercussions, father be damned if he doesn't acknowledge resourcefulness is an integral part to a shinobi's arsenal. I want to experience my first win, as an underdog nonetheless.
Rushing my opponent as fast as I could, I jumped high in the air, feigning to deliver an axe-kick which he attempted to block. Foolish child. At the last second, I reduced the force of my kick and instead of impacting his guard like a hammer, I used his forearms as a step and pushed myself in the air once again, somersaulting in the air and immediately deliver a chop to his neck before my feet even touched the ground. That, apparently is enough to knock the daylight out of him as father hastily told me to stop before he checked on the boy.
The rest of the day I returned to my usual routine, practicing the basic katas of Gentle Fist, which doubled as a conditioning of my fast-twitch muscles as well as strengthening my slow-twitch muscles, in turn increasing my tolerance for fatigue.
Father was silent as usual, but I could tell he's deep in thought. Did I upset him so much? Or was he proud his son went against the odds and prevailed against a stronger opponent, regardless of my unconventional tactics? The Hyūga clan has always been known for their attachment to traditions and the concept of honor.
Honestly, I couldn't care much of what he thinks. I was just wondering if I had to go through even more intense discipline or not. The person that I call father slowly lost his parental charms in my eyes, as he appears to be more and more just a broken man with grief and obsession for his son's success in the world. Though, credit goes where credit is due, his tutelage will be invaluable to me in the next few years.