Early in the morning, Hoshi took the Asauchi given to him by Katori and made his way to Captain Yamamoto's residence.
"Training starts today. I'm really looking forward to it. I wonder how the Captain will teach me," Hoshi thought, gripping the hilt of the blade nervously.
"You're early," Yamamoto said as Hoshi arrived. "Did Katori explain the meaning of swordsmanship to you last night?"
"A little, Captain."
"Good. Today, we begin with the fundamentals of swordsmanship." Yamamoto's sharp eyes met Hoshi's. "Tell me, what do you think swordsmanship is?"
Hoshi hesitated before answering, "I think swordsmanship is a set of techniques, like moves or routines for slashing, right?"
"Hmph! Naïve," Yamamoto scoffed. "Swordsmanship doesn't need fancy tricks. True swordsmanship is cutting what you must cut—nothing more. Overcomplicated moves only slow you down and make you vulnerable. Such frivolities are a waste."
Hoshi's eyes widened. "I thought swordsmanship was about elaborate techniques!"
Yamamoto shook his head. "Watch closely. Let's start with the basics of swinging a blade."
Without warning, Yamamoto unsheathed his Zanpakutō in one fluid motion, slashing toward Hoshi with blinding speed.
"No! Is he going to kill me for being too clueless?!" Hoshi thought, his instincts screaming at him to shut his eyes.
When nothing happened, he slowly opened them, only to find Yamamoto's blade hovering inches from his torso.
"Open your eyes, you fool!" Yamamoto's voice thundered.
Hoshi gasped, staring at the blade so close to his body. It hadn't touched him, but the sheer precision and speed of the strike were terrifying. He couldn't even process the movement.
"You're an idiot," Yamamoto muttered, his tone filled with disdain. "Explain yourself. Why did you close your eyes like a coward?"
"Captain, I thought you were going to kill me," Hoshi stammered. "I was preparing myself for a heroic death."
Yamamoto raised an eyebrow. "Heroic, you say? You're more thick-skinned than I thought. I wonder if my blade could even cut through that arrogance."
"No, Captain, please don't test that!"
Yamamoto sighed, putting his sword away. "Tell me, what did you learn from my strike?"
Hoshi's expression turned serious. "I saw the absolute control of your speed and strength in that strike, Captain."
Yamamoto nodded slightly. "Good. Control of speed and power is the essence of swordsmanship. Only by mastering both can you achieve the strongest cutting force. Now, try to replicate what I did."
Hoshi unsheathed his Asauchi and tried to imitate Yamamoto's movements. His swings, however, were clumsy and lacked precision.
"Too slow and too weak," Yamamoto barked. "Again!"
Hoshi tried again, but his strikes were still awkward and unfocused.
"Feel the weight and balance of your blade. Make it an extension of your body, not a separate tool," Yamamoto instructed. He stepped forward, correcting Hoshi's posture with meticulous care.
"Your goal today is simple—repeat this movement a thousand times," Yamamoto said firmly.
"A thousand?!" Hoshi groaned. "Captain, that's impossible! I'll be exhausted!"
"Shut up and start," Yamamoto commanded. "For every swing you miss, you'll run ten laps around the First Division barracks. Fail to finish, and I'll deal with you personally."
---
With no choice, Hoshi began.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
As he continued, his muscles ached, and his mind began to wander. But soon, he found himself entering a strange state of focus. The outside world faded, leaving only him and his blade.
In this trance, every swing of his sword felt sharper and more deliberate. He sensed an almost imperceptible connection between his body and the weapon, as though the blade were alive.
The more he practiced, the stronger this feeling became. The blade felt like a natural part of him, moving in harmony with his thoughts.
"Is this what the Captain meant?" Hoshi wondered.
After what felt like hours, Hoshi suddenly experienced a strange sensation, like brushing against an invisible barrier. He paused, unsure of what he had just felt.
"What was that?" he thought, his heart racing. It was as though he had glimpsed a deeper understanding of swordsmanship, but the moment was fleeting.
"Focus," he told himself, resuming his practice.
---
Meanwhile, Yamamoto observed from a distance, his expression unreadable.
"This boy's spiritual pressure is extraordinary," Yamamoto thought. "And his understanding of swordsmanship… it's far beyond what I expected. He's already grasped the essence of cutting so quickly. Katori may have brought us a true prodigy."
As Hoshi continued practicing, his body began to falter. Sweat drenched his uniform, and his arms felt like lead. Finally, his legs gave out, and he collapsed.
"He's out of stamina," Yamamoto muttered. "His body is too weak. We'll need to work on his physical endurance alongside his swordsmanship."
Striding over to the exhausted Hoshi, Yamamoto growled, "You didn't finish your thousand swings. That means ten laps around the barracks—now!"
Hoshi groaned, dragging himself to his feet. "Yes, Captain."
---
A short while later, Shinigami in the First Division barracks watched in confusion as a young recruit sprinted around the area, mumbling to himself.
"So scary! The Captain is terrifying!" Hoshi gasped as he ran, clutching his Zanpakutō.
Behind him, Yamamoto walked calmly, his piercing gaze keeping Hoshi on edge.
"Faster, boy!" Yamamoto shouted, his tone sending a chill through the air.
Despite the exhaustion, Hoshi couldn't help but feel exhilarated. He knew that this was only the beginning of his journey as a Shinigami, and he was determined to rise to the challenge, no matter how difficult.