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Chapter 15 Gentle Spar
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 02:00:04 +0000 UTCThe courtyard had been cleared before sunrise.
Dust had been swept, stones scrubbed, and fresh mats laid out along the eastern wall—where a row of main house elders now sat under the shade of the sakura pavilion, robes stiff with formality and eyes sharp with quiet judgment.
I stood barefoot in the center of the training floor, sleeves rolled back, toes pressing lightly into the polished stone. Across from me stood Hiashi and his twin, both already settled into opening stances.
We’d been doing this for months now.
Officially, it was joint training. A rare opportunity for the clan’s brightest to hone their skills together. Unofficially, it was a spectacle—a quiet performance for the future of the Hyūga Clan. The main house’s heirs against the most talented branch girl in a generation.
And I was expected to keep up.
I cracked my neck once and brought my hands into position.
“Begin,” called one of the elders.
The elder’s voice had barely faded when Hiashi lunged.
His front foot kissed the mat with barely a sound, his right palm arcing in from the side—not a brute-force strike, but a flowing motion aimed at my left shoulder. Just beneath the collarbone. A tenketsu point. Disrupt that, and my entire left arm would be numb.
I shifted weight onto my back foot and turned with him, letting his strike pass by like water around a stone. My right hand flicked up, fingers outstretched—not to hit, but to redirect. Gentle contact. That was the core of the Gentle Fist. Redirection. Precision.
He didn’t stumble, of course. Hiashi never did.
But he took the signal: I’d seen it coming.
The moment passed, and then his brother was there—circling from the right, low and fast. Not as sharp as Hiashi, but heavier in style. He liked to press with double strikes, one high and one low. The kind that overwhelmed less trained opponents and made them flinch.
I didn’t flinch.
He went for the hip tenketsu—an awkward angle to block without overextending.
So I didn’t block.
I dipped under the strike, dropped into a tight crouch, and launched upward with my palm angled toward his diaphragm—not a full blow, just a brush. Enough to send chakra into his solar plexus and make him step back. He did.
Breath control lost. Opening gained.
Hiashi came again.
He always fought cleaner when his brother was forced to retreat. He flowed like a textbook diagram come to life—beautiful, elegant, and practiced. His strikes were conservative but fast. Measured. He kept his form tight, elbows tucked in, never overcommitting.
He aimed two strikes in a burst—first at my right shoulder, then my thigh. Classic sequence, top then bottom. Break their rhythm.
I stepped into the space between the attacks.
Hiashi’s eyes widened for a split second. My palm met his ribs—not harsh, but firm. Chakra flowed from my fingertips into the soft web of his network. Not enough to injure, but enough to let him know: I could have.
We reset.
“Again,” called the elder.
No applause. No words of approval.
But I caught one of the observers leaning forward ever so slightly.
I could only sigh at that before having to look back at my two older opponents.
The second round began.
This time, the brothers came at once. Coordinated.
Hiashi pressed high, spinning into a leftward arc, while his twin flanked low with a sweeping palm that would knock me off balance if I misjudged the timing by even half a breath.
I counted the rhythm in my head. One—two—three—
And spun backward into a roll, letting the pressure pass over me.
The twins collided for a brief moment where I should have been. They caught themselves quickly, but even that half-second of disruption was mine.
I landed on one knee, exhaled through my nose, and rose back into stance.
…
Later that week, I found myself in the west courtyard again—but this time, there were no elders watching from the shade. No twin circling behind me. No audience expecting perfection.
Just Hiashi.
The air was warm but not heavy. The sky was clear. The courtyard itself was quiet, tucked away behind a long wooden veranda where someone had set out a water jug and two towels.
Hiashi stood barefoot on the mat, arms loose at his sides, posture already settled into the ready stance.
“Sorry,” he said as I approached, “for the other day. I stepped in too hard on that last sequence.”
“You always do,” I replied. “But I’d rather you try than hold back.”
That earned me a nod—his version of a smile.
We stepped onto the mat together and took our stances. No command this time. No elder’s voice. Just a silent agreement.
We moved in slow rhythm. Not sparring. Just practicing form—mirrored motions, flowing like kata but with real pressure behind each strike. He would press, I would respond. I would rotate, and he would adapt.
“How are things at the academy?” I asked as I guided his strike away from my shoulder, “still as boring as always?”
Hiashi adjusted his stance and came at me again, slower this time, less intent to hit and more to maintain the flow. “Boring, yes. But predictable. Which is better than some of the politics they make me sit through.”
“Politics already?” I parried, angling my palm to brush against his wrist before resetting. “You're what, twelve?”
“Almost thirteen,” he corrected. “And yes. They’ve already started testing how I hold my tongue.”
I laughed softly. “Do you pass?”
“I don’t speak unless I have to. That usually works.”
He stepped into another form—left foot sliding smoothly, hand raised in a palm strike that I met with both arms, crossing to absorb the motion. His weight shifted in response, but he didn’t try to overpower me. He just flowed back into guard.
“I envy that,” I said. “If I go too quiet, someone starts worrying I’m plotting something.”
“You are plotting something.”
“Yes, but I don’t need them knowing that.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but something very close.
We circled again, fluid and practiced. The courtyard’s silence made every step feel crisp. There was no pressure, no seal bearing down, no expectations echoing off the stone—just the rhythm of our breathing and the tap of bare feet.
“The war will break out soon, won’t it?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What will the clan do?”
He paused. “We will do our part as a clan of Konoha. I hear that they plan to send as many as two hundred of the branch house out, and that the fourth elder plans to send out someone from the main house.”
I didn’t take advantage of his mistake, it wouldn’t be fair, and this wasn’t a fight to the death. “What will you do? You will graduate soon, won’t you?”
“I will,” Hiashi replied, stepping into the next form. His voice didn’t waver, but there was the briefest delay in his movement—barely more than a breath. “And when I do, I expect I’ll be placed in a team which won’t do many dangerous missions, likely won’t get to leave the village.”
“Of course,” I said, matching his movement. “They’ll want their heir well protected, and leave the fun to his brother.”
He winced, just slightly. Not at the truth of the words, but at how easily I said them.
We shifted into a new sequence. This one was slower, more circular—arms sweeping wide to test spacing and flow. It felt more like a dance than a fight.
“I heard one of the elders talking,” I said. “Apparently there’s a proposal to use Byakugan teams for forward recon. No backup, no support. Just vision and speed.”
Hiashi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s foolish. They’ll burn through chakra too fast. Visibility alone doesn’t mean safety.”
I tilted my head. “When has the village ever cared for something like that? They lose nothing should someone from the branch family die.”
He didn’t answer right away. His strikes became more precise again. Smaller. Sharper. Thoughtful.
“I like the politics no less than you,” he said finally.
“You will be clan head one day, you have to like them.” I teased.
Yet, Hiashi wasn’t weak, whatever it was in his taijutsu or his wit.
“You will be my wife by then, I can make you deal with the politics.” He teased back, and mercilessly at that.
“Like the elders will ever allow that, someone from the branch house? Messing with their precious policies.” I fired back, not willing to even accept that fate.
“By then, you will be married to the clan leader, they won’t complain, you will be one of us.”
It was sweet of him to include me like that. Honestly, the loss of his brother had hit him harder than I would have thought. He was such a kind man that it was hard to connect him with Hinata’s cold father.
Or maybe it was I who had changed him. After all, I had no doubt changed a lot, being so talented, changing the entire dynamic of his youth, as so much of it centered around our future marriage.
We slowed to a stop after the next cycle of forms. Neither of us said anything for a while. The only sound was the distant rustling of bamboo and the soft creak of an old floorboard somewhere on the veranda.
Hiashi stepped over to the jug and poured water into two small cups. He handed me one without a word. I took it, grateful for the pause.
“I will be one of them once I birth you an heir; until then, I will be an outsider.”
Hiashi didn’t argue with me.
He just sat down beside me, legs crossed, the water jug resting between us. The silence stretched comfortably—not empty, but full of things unspoken. He took a sip from his cup before finally speaking.
“That’s not how I see you.”
“That’s not how they see me,” I replied.
“No,” he admitted. “But you already know they’re wrong more often than they’ll ever admit.”
I let out a slow breath. “It won’t matter. Even if I’m stronger. Even if I’m smarter. Even if I’m better. I’ll still be from the branch. And that means I’ll never have a seat at the table.”
“You already sit closer than any of them realize.”
“Only because they think I’ll become your property.”
He flinched—visibly, this time. Not offended. Just… struck by the truth of it.
“I don’t want that,” he said, looking at me now, fully. “Not for you. Not for us.”
I studied him for a moment.
He meant it.
Sometimes, I felt like I might have groomed him to be better. And was it all that unlikely? I was more than a thousand years old; it was all too easy to put ideas in a kid's head.
“You are a good man, Hiashi, don’t lose that.” I muttered as we sat there for a moment, just basking in the afterglow of our workout.
He didn’t respond, but I knew he agreed, and that was enough, because I didn’t want a promise; I wouldn’t believe it.
He wasn’t the first man who had promised me much, only to fail. Though at least he was better than my ex, Hiashi might have been a dick to Hinata, but he never tried to kill his wife and their unborn children.
So yeah, not a high bar to clear, but given the amount of things I had seen from within my seal, it was honestly surprising how many people failed to clear it.
(End of chapter)
Gentle fist fights are cool right? Who want fireballs, who wants crazy Genin when you can gently tap others?
Yeah, they aren’t the coolest for sure, but it gets better, I promise.
And Hiashi is a kid, I feel that he shouldn’t have such a big stick up his ass at this point, maybe if interacting with someone he saw as lesser, but Yuki is his wife to be, and he does try to be nice, and this is the Hiashi we see as a result of that.
