Running his Empire was the only thing Murakami had been making positive progress, his ninjutsus, taijutsu and Bo-jutsu also made significant progress.
After an introductory lesson on Bo-jutsu, he discovered that it was best suited for him. It was simple, quite useful, and deadly in the right hands.
Unlike Katanas, kunai, shuriken and other sharp weapons which required significant upkeep, a staff could be fashioned from almost anything, be it a stick, rod, even reinforced bamboo.
Because of that, Murakami can carry it anywhere without raising suspicion. In situations where brandishing a conventional weapon would trigger alarm, panic, or immediate hostility, he could still fight effectively, with the added benefit of surprise.
His progress with the weapon had been steady but unrefined. Murakami had practiced alone, repeating basic swings with the right stances he felt was right.
Repetition had given him familiarity and a measure of muscle memory, but he knew the truth: without proper guidance, he was only mimicking the form most comfortable to swing the staff in and not mastering it.
He could wield the staff, yes, but he wasn't truly using it.
That limitation was precisely why he sought out Arata-sensei.
Arata was reliable, if unconventional.
Sharp-minded, experienced, and unapologetically practical, he was the kind of instructor Murakami respected. If anyone could shape raw practice into genuine skill, it was him.
When Murakami mentioned his interest in Bojutsu, Arata paused mid-sip and set his teacup aside, raising an eyebrow as he regarded the boy with mild, amused curiosity.
"You want a training manual?" he repeated, unsure of how to process what he just heard "You're actually serious about this?"
"Yes," Murakami confirmed with a nod, eyes locked on Arata-sensei's. "I've been practicing on my own, but I don't have proper guidance. I figured a manual would give me a structured approach."
Arata exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. "You're a strange kid, you know that? Most people your age are focused on flashy jutsu or shuriken throwing, and here you are wanting to learn how to use a wooden stick."
"A versatile wooden stick," I corrected.
"Would you require an instructor's guidance?" Arata-sensei straightened up and asked. "Since you're interested in this, as your sensei, I could ask around and find a staff user who can guide you through the basics."
Murakami, who had just bowed, paused briefly but straightened up soon after and shook his head.
"I am already imposing much as it is. I know how hard the village shinobi are fighting to protect our peace, how can I be selfish enough to make you pull out one to guide me?"
Arata-sensei looked taken aback at the refusal but couldn't bring himself to refute Murakami. Doing so would indicate that the village shinobi were doing the opposite of what Murakami had said.
Was that an issue?
No, it wasn't.
But doing so in the room with all the other instructors present…
That also much of an issue to Arata-sensei, but how could he be lacking in awareness to not pick up the subtle refusal in Murakami's words?
He had heard from Murakami's previous instructor on how tricky he was with his words.
He was told Murakami was a peculiar child who liked to be and do things by himself, a loner would be a better term, but he really wasn't.
A child comfortable being alone, yet not appearing lonely.
That earned a short chuckle. "Alright, alright. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Arata-sensei." Murakami said and turned to leave. As he did, he felt the piercing gaze at the back of his head and couldn't help but smile wryly internally.
Arata-sensei on the other hand was interested and curious as to what kind of surprise the boy would have for him.
And true to his word, Arata-sensei returned the next day with a scroll in hand.
"This is about as much as I can get for you," he said, passing it to Murakami. "It's the basic manual—the introductory forms of Bojutsu. Anything more advanced is restricted to actual shinobi. And you—" he gave Murakami a pointed, unimpressed look "—are not shinobi."
Murakami accepted the scroll with a nod. "I understand."
"Good. Then hurry up and graduate," Arata added dryly. "That's the only way you'll get access to the real material. Techniques, jutsu, weapon styles—you'll need an official rank before the archives open up to you."
Murakami stored the information away.
He had no immediate intention of joining the shinobi ranks, but he also wasn't naive. He knew that if he wanted full access to the village's resources, eventually he would have to enter the village system, if only on paper.
For now, though, he had something more immediate to focus on.
Building a proper foundation.
Perusing the content of the scroll, he found that it was straightforward, outlining the fundamental principles of Bojutsu—basic stances, balance work, grip techniques, and beginner-level katas designed to teach control before power.
The first principle was reach and control.
The bo-staff was a weapon of range. Unlike a sword, which relied on cutting power, a staff's strength came from speed, angles, and impact.
By maintaining proper distance, a user could strike without being struck.
The second principle was fluidity.
Unlike a sword, which required precise, singular strikes, a bo staff thrived on motion. It was meant to be spun, redirected, and transitioned between attacks seamlessly.
Momentum was key. Each movement should flow into the next, allowing for continuous offense and defense.
The third principle was adaptability.
A staff could be used for striking, blocking, parrying, and even sweeping an opponent's legs. In the hands of a skilled user, it became an extension of the body—an ever-changing force that could adapt to any situation.
Murakami absorbed the information carefully, then moved on to the practical portion.
Stances and Katas
The first stance described was Chūdan-no-kamae, the middle stance.
This served as the default position, his staff held diagonally in front of him, one hand near the bottom and the other gripping the middle.
This stance offered balanced offense and defense, allowing quick transitions either way.
The second stance was Jōdan-no-kamae, the high stance.
With the staff raised overhead, this stance was meant for powerful downward strikes, an aggressive posture used to dominate opponents with force.
The third stance was Gedan-no-kamae, the low stance.
The staff angled downward toward the ground, ideal for sweeping attacks and deceptive low thrusts that could upset an enemy's footing.
From there, the scroll outlined the first kata, pre-arranged sequences meant to drill fundamentals into muscle memory.
The first kata was simple;
Step forward into Chūdan-no-kamae.
Deliver a downward strike.
Transition into a sweeping strike from the side.
Reset to the neutral stance.
Murakami practiced the routine repeatedly in a slow and controlled manner, ensuring each motion was purposeful.
His progress was decent, but the gaps in his technique were obvious even to him.
His transitions were a little stiff which Murakami noted but didn't dwell on. Speed and precision would come later, right now, he needed to build solid fundamentals.
Murakami continued, repeating the kata again and again, each cycle smoothing out the rough edges even if only by a fraction.
His training ground by the stream around him remained quiet, save for the muted whump of the staff cutting through air and the soft thud of his footwork settling into the dirt.
After completing the sequence for what felt like the hundredth time, he paused to roll his shoulders and adjust his grip. The wood felt more natural in his hands now.
It was less like a tool he was borrowing and more like an extension of his movement.
He nodded to himself and glanced down at the scroll again.
The next kata introduced rotational momentum.
Step into Gedan-no-kamae.
Sweep low.
Rotate the staff around the back.
Follow with a rising strike.
Return to Chūdan-no-kamae.
This kata was noticeably more complex.
The transition between low sweep and the rising strike demanded fluidity, something Murakami didn't yet have. Still, he planted his feet, inhaled slowly, and began to mimic the motions.
The first attempt was clumsy.
His sweep was clean, but the rotation snagged on the back of his shoulder, forcing him to stop and reset.
Murakami narrowed his eyes, exhaled, and tried again.
This time the rotation passed smoothly, but the rising strike lacked power. His stance hadn't been grounded enough to support the upward motion.
'Again.'
He repeated the kata several times, gradually learning how to anchor his hips, where to shift his weight, and how to let the staff's momentum flow instead of forcing it.
There were small improvements, barely noticeable to a trained eye, but there surely..
By the thirtieth repetition, his body was beginning to understand the movement even if his mind was still catching up.
His muscles were starting to memorize the sequence on their own, responding with a growing sense of rhythm.
His body flowed more smoothly with each swing and step, the technique beginning to feel almost natural.
But his mind still lagged behind, he was thinking through every shift of weight, every angle, every transition. Instinct hadn't taken over yet.
That would only come with time, repetition, and far more practice.
The sun had shifted slightly overhead by the time Murakami stopped, sweat clung to his skin in a thin sheen, sliding down his temples, neck, and along his forearms.
His grip was damp, his breathing steady but heavier than before.
He wasn't exhausted, but the strain on his shoulders, back, hips and forearms told him these were muscles he hadn't trained in a long time.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and glanced once more at the scroll.
There were more katas, more drills that blended footwork with rotational strikes, but Murakami decided to stop here for the day.
Pushing too far too fast would build bad habits.
"A weak foundation is worse than no training at all."
Murakami nodded to himself.
One step at a time.
He closed the scroll, and placed it on the ground beside his staff before stripping off his damp clothes and stepping into the stream to wash himself.
He scrubbed his clothes then spread them out on a rock to dry, then walked over to a shade of a tall tree and sat down in a lotus position.
Closing his eyes, he began regulating his breath and circulating his chakra into a calm flow.
As his body relaxed, his mind replayed the various katas over and over again, each stance and transition.
In this way, his mind would be able to catch up with his body's movements. If his muscles had begun to memorize the movements, then mental repetition would bring his thoughts in line with his body.
Time passed in quiet stillness. When Murakami finally opened his eyes, a calm, introspective clarity rested within them.
He rose, walked over and retrieved his dried clothes from the rock, and dressed carefully after which he reached for the scroll, and slid it under his arm before picking up his staff.
With steady steps, he began making his way back to the orphanage. Tomorrow, he would return. Tomorrow, he would practice again.
Strength in this world was not achieved through sudden brilliance.
It was earned quietly, with repetition.