Ruri exhaled a long, frustrated breath as the doors to the Dojo Annex slid shut behind her. Even this early in the morning, the training hall thrummed with chakra, the faint buzz of machinated limbs resetting, the whirr of weighted joints, the low hum of barrier seals charging the air. Here, among moving targets and precision-built constructs, she could push herself without restraint. No adults hovering with advice she'd heard a million times already, no clan members judging as she adapted their sacred techniques to fit her own style, just her, her body, and the struggle ahead. She stepped onto the polished floor, barefoot and in a wide, practiced stance. At her approach, three wooden-limbed training automata activated, their eyes flickering blue as they registered her presence and sized her up. Ruri lifted her hands into the defensive posture she’d been struggling with all month, a hybrid of Hyuuga openness and pure, unyielding defence.
"Too stiff." her instructor had said. "Too forceful. defense is a conversation, not a collision." The words rung through her mind, stern and distracting.
Then, the first automaton swung. Ruri tried to pivot, but her timing was off by a fraction. The padded arm clipped her ribs, pushing her sideways. She hissed through her teeth, frustration flaring hotter than the sting. She reset. Another strike. She blocked too hard this time, meeting the blow head-on which made her forearm throb from the impact.
“Again,” she muttered, eyes focusing through the pain..
The machines obeyed wish and for several minutes she moved like a storm without rhythm, dodging too early, bracing too late, absorbing hits she should have avoided. Sweat beaded on her brow and along her jaw, dripping to the mats below. Her breath grew ragged and the old doubts of her clan crept in, quiet but persistent.
"If you can’t master this, how can you become head of the clan?" She growled to herself, trying to push through the mental assault of her own memories.
She forced her stance lower, grounding herself. She inhaled, slow and deep, and let the hum of the automata settle into her bones. She waited, not for the strike, but for the intention behind it. The next blow came fast, but this time she shifted only a hair to the left, letting the arm pass through empty air. A second followed, which Ruri dipped under it, feeling the rush of displaced wind tug at her hair. Her movements steadily grew smaller, sharper and more focused. The machines were fast, but she realized thst she didn’t need to outrun them, she just needed to read them.
"Sway. Step. Parry." She muttered under her breath, over and over again.
A padded fist shot toward her sternum but rather than shove it away, she redirected it with the lightest turn of her wrist. The momentum carried the machine off-line. Ruri pivoted with it, planted her heel, and drove a counter-palm into its torso. The construct staggered before powering down. A smirk, small but fierce broke across her face. Now she was in flow state, when she couldn’t evade, she absorbed the force through her stance, letting it bleed harmlessly down her legs. When dodging was possible, she slipped away like mist on a breeze. Her counters were quick, efficient and decisive.
By the time the automata all powered down, Ruri’s chest heaved with exertion, but her eyes were bright with triumph and satisfaction. She wasn’t perfect yet but she was clearly learning.
[MFT - 579]
"Too stiff." her instructor had said. "Too forceful. defense is a conversation, not a collision." The words rung through her mind, stern and distracting.
Then, the first automaton swung. Ruri tried to pivot, but her timing was off by a fraction. The padded arm clipped her ribs, pushing her sideways. She hissed through her teeth, frustration flaring hotter than the sting. She reset. Another strike. She blocked too hard this time, meeting the blow head-on which made her forearm throb from the impact.
“Again,” she muttered, eyes focusing through the pain..
The machines obeyed wish and for several minutes she moved like a storm without rhythm, dodging too early, bracing too late, absorbing hits she should have avoided. Sweat beaded on her brow and along her jaw, dripping to the mats below. Her breath grew ragged and the old doubts of her clan crept in, quiet but persistent.
"If you can’t master this, how can you become head of the clan?" She growled to herself, trying to push through the mental assault of her own memories.
She forced her stance lower, grounding herself. She inhaled, slow and deep, and let the hum of the automata settle into her bones. She waited, not for the strike, but for the intention behind it. The next blow came fast, but this time she shifted only a hair to the left, letting the arm pass through empty air. A second followed, which Ruri dipped under it, feeling the rush of displaced wind tug at her hair. Her movements steadily grew smaller, sharper and more focused. The machines were fast, but she realized thst she didn’t need to outrun them, she just needed to read them.
"Sway. Step. Parry." She muttered under her breath, over and over again.
A padded fist shot toward her sternum but rather than shove it away, she redirected it with the lightest turn of her wrist. The momentum carried the machine off-line. Ruri pivoted with it, planted her heel, and drove a counter-palm into its torso. The construct staggered before powering down. A smirk, small but fierce broke across her face. Now she was in flow state, when she couldn’t evade, she absorbed the force through her stance, letting it bleed harmlessly down her legs. When dodging was possible, she slipped away like mist on a breeze. Her counters were quick, efficient and decisive.
By the time the automata all powered down, Ruri’s chest heaved with exertion, but her eyes were bright with triumph and satisfaction. She wasn’t perfect yet but she was clearly learning.
[MFT - 579]