The courtyard was quiet.
No whistling blades slicing the air — only the soft, continuous rustle of wood shavings drifting to the ground.
Motoya Yamagami sat in the shadowed corridor, head lowered.
In his hand was the sword he usually practiced with.
Right now its tip rested against a thick block of wood. With painstaking care he slowly carved and shaped it, every movement deliberate, as if the material beneath the blade were fragile glass instead of timber.
Wood shavings peeled away with nearly silent cuts, gradually revealing the blurred outline of a seated figure — round, gentle, the faint suggestion of lowered eyes and a serene, meditative expression.
His face was unusually calm, nothing like the bloodshot, hate-filled intensity he wore when swinging a sword in training.
Sweat still trickled down his temples, but it came only from deep concentration. The hand gripping the sword was remarkably steady, yet tense with total focus.
The habit of carving Buddha statues had started half a year ago.
Hate. Resentment. Rage. Bitter injustice.
Ever since becoming Isshin's disciple, his progress had been frighteningly fast.
But every strike of his sword carried no hint of defense — only attack, only killing intent. It was as if the tip of his blade was always aimed directly at the monstrous Holy God Church and the sanctimonious face of Prime Minister Abe.
Overwhelming negative emotions clung to his blade like tangible miasma, wrapping around his entire being.
It was the potent, poisonous wine brewed from his destroyed home, the death of his loved ones, and the collapse of his faith — despair and pain left to ferment into the fierce toxin called "Revenge."
That poison had scorched his lungs and guts, becoming the most violent fuel driving every muscle and every strand of chakra in his body.
It had become a heart-burning, bone-etching flame of grief and resentment, granting him far greater obsession and explosive power than ordinary people. It allowed him to squeeze out every drop of potential, absorb sword techniques at a shocking speed, and turn pain into raw forward momentum.
Perhaps this was the very root of his rapid improvement. From the beginning, his sword path had been paved with hatred and blood.
But half a year ago, on that day, his teacher had told him:
"Hate is a powerful drug. It can make you erupt with strength in a short time and break through normal bottlenecks — just like you're doing now."
"But Motoya, the flame of grief burning inside you pushes you forward while simultaneously burning away parts of you as a human. You see the power. You see the hope of revenge. But have you seen where it's pushing you?"
His teacher had stared into his eyes and said each word clearly:
"You are walking the path of the Asura."
"Asura?" Motoya's body had trembled.
"Fighting for the sake of fighting. Killing for the sake of killing. Nothing left in your heart but destruction. Eventually you lose yourself in blood and power, becoming a true Asura who knows only ruin and slaughter."
His teacher's words had cut into him like a blunt blade:
"Your sword is full of killing intent — that's fine. But if one day that killing intent swallows you whole, and you no longer know why you swing your blade… if after revenge there is only emptiness and an even greater desire for destruction, then the person you become will no longer be you. You will have turned into a different kind of monster — an Asura no different from the very thing you hate."
"Your anger and resentment are your driving force right now. But if you don't want to be completely burned to ashes by them, you must learn to find something inside yourself that even the fiercest flames cannot destroy. As for what that pillar is…"
"You have to find it yourself."
An inner pillar?
At the time, Motoya's instinctive response had been to reach into his clothes and tightly grip a small, hard object against his chest.
It was a tiny wooden Buddha plaque. The edges had been worn smooth and warm from constant touching. The carving was simple, even a little crude.
His little sister had gotten it for him from the only temple in town when she learned he was joining the security force.
"Big brother, this is for you. You have to come back safe, okay?"
The memory of his sister's small, upturned face — her smile pure and without a single shadow — slowly overlapped with the simple wooden plaque in his hand.
"Looks like you've found it," his teacher had nodded. "Then hold onto it tightly, and use your sword to carve it!"
"Yes!"
And so, from that day on, Motoya had developed the habit of carving whenever he wasn't practicing swordsmanship.
What he carved was the Buddha statue from the plaque his sister had given him.
When his teacher saw it, he had teased: "Buddha sculptor, huh? Maybe I should give you the nickname 'Flying Heavenly Ape' or 'Only Ape' from now on."
Motoya didn't quite understand what his teacher meant, nor did he know what "Flying Heavenly Ape" or "Only Ape" referred to.
But he could feel that whenever he held his sword and poured his entire mind into the delicate act of carving, the raging flame of grief that burned day and night in his chest would temporarily calm down.
Focusing his sword and his heart into a single point, following the grain of the wood, the churning hatred, restlessness, and pain seemed to peel away along with the falling wood shavings.
Scrape.
The last bit of excess wood was gently flicked away by the sword tip.
Motoya stopped, staring at the wooden Buddha statue in his palm — less than half a foot tall, carved entirely with sword strokes, its brows and eyes serene. He slowly let out a long breath.
He gently brushed away the tiny wood dust from the statue's face with his thumb, his touch so light it was as if he feared disturbing a fragile dream.
At the other end of the corridor, Isshin stood with his arms crossed, silently watching the scene.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the focused Motoya, then shifted to the curious, fidgety Yagyu Chūgi (also known as Owl) beside him. He couldn't help muttering inwardly.
Buddha sculptor and Owl… Great. Now we've got half of the Ashina Four Heavenly Kings. Oh right, and the Ashina Seven Spears too.
So I really have become "Isshin," huh?
Isshin rolled his eyes internally.
Does that mean I'm going to start a war to steal a country later and shout "Sever Immortality"?
Though… steal which country? The Land of Iron? Or the Land of Hot Springs?
And whose "immortality" am I severing? That evil cult's "Immortal Holy God"?
The thought passed through his mind and he immediately found it ridiculous.
At that moment, Motoya finally noticed Isshin standing in the corridor. He quickly set down the wooden Buddha and his sword, stood up, and bowed respectfully.
"Teacher."
Isshin nodded. His eyes swept over both Motoya and Yagyu Chūgi as he spoke simply:
"I'll be heading out for a while. While I'm gone, you two focus on your own training."
"Yes!" both replied in unison.
Isshin said nothing more. He turned and strode away, the hem of his clothes cutting a sharp arc through the air.
"Teacher!" Yagyu Chūgi — Owl — couldn't help calling out after his retreating back. "Where are you going?"
Isshin didn't slow down. Only two words drifted back clearly with his departing footsteps:
"Konoha!"
Konoha!?
Owl's eyes widened instantly, his face filled with envy and longing.
Konoha! That was the holy land of shinobi he had dreamed about for so long!