The Uchiha training grounds were silent, save for the rustle of leaves overhead and the faint whistle of wind cutting across the field. The sun hung over the training grounds, casting shadows over the dirt as Uchiha Sogetsu stood barefoot in the dirt, his Sharingan spinning lazily in his eyes as they traced the outlines of the dummies arranged in a loose circle around him.
His uncle's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unyielding: "Tread carefully, Sogetsu. It's dangerous to make enemies of shadows."
He exhaled, shaking the thought away. There was no time to dwell on the past. The battlefield was only weeks away, and his current state—frail, imbalanced, unworthy—was unacceptable.
The dummies were not the standard wooden poles wrapped in straw. These were reinforced targets, made of dense wood and lined with thin steel plates beneath their surfaces. Designed to withstand the powerful strikes of the Uchiha's taijutsu, they stood as silent sentinels, waiting for Sogetsu to make his move.
His fingers curled into fists as he looked at the weighted dummies before him, each one marked with faint targets indicating critical points. The first stage of his training was simple: adapt Hakuda into the shinobi world, blending it with the ferocious elegance of Uchiha taijutsu.
Simple my ass. He cursed as he rolled his shoulders, feeling the pull of sore muscles. This was not his first attempt. Far from it. For hours, he'd been striking, spinning, and dodging, trying to find the perfect balance between precision and force.
"This isn't enough," he murmured to himself, his voice low but firm. His crimson eyes glinted as he shifted his stance, his feet sinking slightly into the dirt. "Force without precision is wasted energy. Precision without force is wasted opportunity. I need both."
His thoughts drifted to Hakuda, the hand-to-hand combat style he had mastered in his previous life. It was a style built on efficiency—a dance of lethal strikes aimed at disabling an opponent with minimal effort. In that world, he had wielded it like a blade, each movement deliberate, each strike deadly. But here, in this new body, with its unfamiliar chakra flows and limitations, he was starting from scratch.
Sogetsu exhaled slowly, centering himself. His first target was a dummy directly in front of him, its chest marked with a faint circle indicating a vital point. He stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate, and launched a series of strikes.
First Strike: A straight punch aimed at the center of the target's chest. His fist connected with a dull thud, the impact solid but unremarkable.
Second Strike: A spinning elbow to the side of the dummy's neck. The motion was clean, but the force lacked follow-through.
Third Strike: A swift backhand aimed at the temple. The dummy barely shuddered.
Sogetsu stepped back, his brow furrowed. The strikes were accurate, each one landing exactly where he intended, but they lacked the power to make an impact. In a real fight, these blows would leave his opponent staggered but still standing.
He tightened his fists, the frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "Not enough," he muttered. "Again."
Sogetsu's Sharingan flared, his eyes analyzing every micro-movement of his own strikes. He replayed each sequence in his mind, identifying the flaws in his form.
The punch lacks weight because the shoulders aren't aligned properly. The elbow strike doesn't flow smoothly from the pivot. The backhand is losing momentum at the follow-through.
Each correction was stored and applied, his mind like a machine fine-tuning itself. He adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity, and tried again.
This time, the strikes were sharper, each one landing with a satisfying impact. The punch cracked the surface of the dummy's chest. The elbow strike dented the steel beneath the wood. The backhand left a faint scorch mark, the friction of his chakra-enhanced blow searing the surface.
He paused, panting lightly as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Better."
As Sogetsu resumed his training, he began incorporating elements of Uchiha taijutsu. Unlike Hakuda, which relied on efficiency, Uchiha taijutsu thrived on aggression—overwhelming the opponent with a flurry of precise, high-impact blows.
He adjusted his approach, blending the two styles into a hybrid technique.
Hakuda provided the precision while Uchiha taijutsu provided the ferocity.
He dashed toward the dummy, his Sharingan mapping out a flurry of movements before his body executed them.
Punch to the Chest: A Hakuda-style strike, precise and controlled, aimed at destabilizing the opponent
Low Kick to the Knee: Borrowed from Uchiha taijutsu, designed to knock the opponent off-balance
Palm Strike to the Chin: A swift upward motion, forcing the dummy to lurch back.
Elbow to the Neck: The finishing blow, delivered with a burst of chakra to amplify the force.
The dummy shuddered violently, its steel frame groaning under the impact. Sogetsu stepped back, breathing heavily but satisfied. His hybrid style was beginning to take shape—a seamless blend of precision and power.
For hours, Sogetsu refined his technique, each iteration bringing him closer to perfection. His hands were raw, his knuckles bleeding slightly from the repeated strikes, but he pressed on. The faint ache in his muscles was a reminder of his limits—a barrier he was determined to break.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the training grounds, Sogetsu paused to catch his breath. His Sharingan flickered faintly as he analyzed the field around him.
"Combat isn't just about technique," he mused aloud. "It's about control. Timing. Efficiency."
To test his progress, Sogetsu activated his Sharingan fully, creating a mental simulation of an opponent. The shadowy figure mirrored the movements of a seasoned fighter, its attacks sharp and relentless.
Sogetsu moved fluidly, his strikes countering the simulated opponent's attacks with precision. He ducked under a high kick, delivering a swift palm strike to the ribs. The shadow twisted, aiming a punch at his chest, but he sidestepped smoothly, retaliating with a backhand to the temple.
The sparring session was grueling, each exchange pushing Sogetsu closer to his limits. By the time the simulation faded, his body was trembling with exhaustion, but his eyes burned with determination.
As darkness fell, Sogetsu stood amidst the wreckage of the training grounds, the dummies reduced to splinters and scrap metal. His chest heaved as he wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind replaying every strike, every movement.
"It's not enough," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But it's a start."
He clenched his fists, feeling the faint hum of chakra beneath his skin. The precision of Hakuda, the aggression of Uchiha taijutsu—they were merely tools. Tools he would sharpen and refine until they became extensions of himself.
Sogetsu turned toward the horizon, the faint glow of Konoha's lights visible in the distance. The battlefield was waiting, and he would be ready.