Murakami turned and looked at Aiko steadily, his expression calm and unreadable.
"How much do you think you weigh?" he asked suddenly.
Aiko blinked, confused. "…What?"
"I mean it," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Estimate. Just a guess."
She frowned, lips pressed together. "…Forty… maybe forty-five kilos?"
"Thirty-two," Murakami said flatly. "Close enough. But it doesn't matter if you're off by a kilo or two. What matters is understanding what your body can do with that weight."
Aiko tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
Murakami put his hand into his sleeves and pulled out a stack of Seal papers and a brush and briskly inscribed on it and threw them at Aiko.
Two shot toward her forearm with the other two shooting towards her shin.
"What is this?" She asked incredulously
"Weighted seals each weighing 4kg." He replied. "The moment it's activated, each one adds four kilos to whatever part of your body it's attached to."
She flexed her arm experimentally, but didn't feel the weight press against her.
"It hasn't been activated yet."
"Oh."
"It's a seal that will automatically scale up the moment your body gets used to it," Murakami said calmly and then made a hand sign.
Aiko blinked, and then a sudden, pressing weight settled over her arms and shins.
"…Whoa," she gasped, struggling slightly to lift her arm. "It… it's heavy!"
Murakami didn't move, only watched her carefully.
"…I—won't… die from this, right?" Aiko stammered, her eyes wide with alarm.
Murakami raised both hands slowly, letting his sleeves fall back, allowing the faint glow etched along his arms to be visible
The kanji for "12" shone softly on his skin, marking each spot where a weighted seal pressed against him.
"This," he said simply, "is twelve kilograms spread across my body. I've been training with this weight for months. You'll adapt. You won't die."
Aiko's mouth hung slightly open, staring at the glowing symbols. "…You're carrying all that… just on your arms?"
"Every part of your body can be trained," Murakami said calmly. "Muscles, joints, even your bones learn to bear load if you guide them properly. That's what we're doing here. This isn't pain—it's guidance."
Aiko swallowed, her arms and shins trembling slightly under the seals. "…Okay… I… I think I understand."
Murakami inclined his head, faintly approving. "Good." He said and put his hand down.
"Strength isn't just about how much you can lift or how fast you can hit," Murakami said, his voice calm. "It's about how your body works together. How it moves, resists, and uses force without wasting anything."
Aiko frowned slightly. "…How… how my body works together?"
"Every part of you matters," he nodded and continued. "Your lungs, your core, your spine, your arms, your legs… they're all part of one machine. Strength comes from moving them together, not just flexing your arms."
Aiko tilted her head. "…So it's more than muscles?"
"Much more," Murakami said, meeting her gaze. "A trained body isn't just bigger or stronger."
"Bones and joints line up to take hits."
"Muscles pull and release smoothly."
"Tendons store energy."
"Your core holds everything steady."
"Someone like that can move faster, hit harder, last longer, and roll or twist without getting hurt."
Aiko's eyes widened. "Even… my organs? They work together too?"
"Exactly," Murakami nodded. "That's why we start with the basics. Nothing fancy yet. But everything we do now will teach your body to move as one unit."
"Your balance, flexibility, durability… all of it starts here."
He flexed his arms and stretched them. "We'll focus on exercises that wake up your body: strengthen your core, loosen your joints, and build muscle control."
"Everything will be measured and done carefully. Nothing random."
Aiko leaned forward, suddenly alert. "What… what kind of exercises?"
Murakami's lips curved just slightly. "Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, stretches… but not just counting numbers. Form matters. Control matters."
"Every move teaches your body to understand itself."
"You'll start with sets, your goal is to be able to perform one hundred sit-ups, one hundred push-ups, one hundred squats. Stretching after."
"Then repeat every single day, until your body knows what it can do."
Aiko's eyes went wide. "O-One hundred sit-ups?"
He nodded calmly. "Yes. But that is with time. Do the best you can today and try to increase by one each day."
"You'll feel every single one. Not the pain, but an awareness. That's how a body learns, not by brute force, but by paying attention."
Aiko took a slow breath. "…Alright," she whispered. "…I'll try."
Murakami's eyes softened slightly. "That's all I need for now. Commitment comes first. Strength comes after."
He stepped back, giving her space, his posture relaxed but ready. "We start in three breaths. Watch your body. Feel it. Then we move."
The clearing was quiet, the grass damp beneath their feet, and the first real lesson in controlling one's body had begun.
…
Murakami stood a few paces away, chest heaving, sweat running down his face.
Aiko knelt on the ground, breathing heavily, her arms and legs trembling from exertion.
"C…can't… stop… now…" she wheezed, trying to push herself upright.
Murakami forced his breathing into a calm and steady rhythm. "Relax your shoulders," he said in that same calm tone.
The one that somehow commanded attention even when he sounded winded. "If you tighten up now, you're wasting more energy. Let it flow."
Aiko's eyes flicked up at him, wide with exhaustion and a little awe. "You… you're… barely… breathing… harder than me?" she gasped, her voice cracking.
He gave a faint shrug. She was under a 20kg weight with the addition he placed on her back while he was under 60.
He was carrying three times the weight she was, but still…
"Numbers don't mean much unless your body knows how to handle them," he said uncaringly. "You can struggle, or you can learn. One choice hurts less."
Her trembling arms slowly steadied as she exhaled, trying to mimic his controlled breathing.
"Good." Murakami had lost count of how many times he had said that this morning but those were his sincere feelings. "You average 15 in all the exercises. Set a goal to double it in 15 days and work towards it."
Aiko looked at him and saw the same calm neutral look in his eyes and nodded. "I understand."
She had been with Murakami long enough to know that although he sets standards that may seem ridiculous to others, he only does so because he has risen to that standard and expects others to be capable of such.
Murakami nodded once, stepping closer.
"Straighten up slowly," he instructed.
Aiko gritted her teeth, pushing against the shaking of her legs, and rose to her feet.
"Balance," he reminded, "is just as important as strength. Keep your core tight, don't let your limbs wobble."
She adjusted, swaying slightly before finding her center.
"Good," Murakami said, stepping back. "Rest. Fifteen breaths, then we go again."
Aiko sank back onto the grass, still panting, but with a spark of determination in her eyes.
…
After the third set, Murakami stepped forward and pulled a small bottle from his sleeve, holding it out to her.
Aiko, who was already sweating and panting like a runner at the end of a long sprint, looked at the bottle. "What's this?"
"Energy pills," Murakami said simply. "Take one,"
Shinobi use them to stay active on the frontline, during missions. They help you recover just enough to keep going.
She hesitated.
"Sit down, rest for a while. We move into taijutsu after you've regained your focus."
Aiko nodded, uncapping the bottle and swallowing a pill as Murakami watched quietly, arms folded, still catching his own breath.
After a few moments, Aiko's breathing began to steady, and the tremor in her arms and legs eased slightly. She shifted her gaze up at him.
"Ready… to start taijutsu?" Murakami asked calmly, voice steady despite the weight of his own exhaustion.
Aiko paused in shock for a moment, but knowing Murakami wasn't one to joke, she nodded, hands still resting on the grass, gripping the small bottle for balance.
"Yeah… I think I can do it now."
Murakami inclined his head once and stepped back, creating space between them. "Good. Then we begin the next phase."
Murakami stepped into the center of the clearing, his bare feet planted firmly on the damp grass.
He paused, eyes scanning the space as though facing an opponent, then began the first movement.
His right fist shot forward in a precise straight punch, weight shifting smoothly from back foot to front, hips rotating in perfect sync.
His left palm followed, sweeping outward in a controlled arc, his body twisting slightly to maintain balance.
Aiko's eyes widened, tracking the subtle torque in his shoulders, the way his core supported each strike.
He shifted, pivoting on the ball of his right foot, delivering a low sweeping kick with his left leg.
His toes brushed the ground just enough to maintain contact, yet the force was clear in the snap of his ankle.
Each kick, each punch, was measured, not rushed so Aiko could follow.
Murakami moved into the second sequence, a palm strike aimed diagonally across his body, then a spinning back fist.
His legs adjusted effortlessly, knees bending, weight distributing evenly, allowing him to pivot without losing balance.
Aiko noticed how his feet rarely lifted fully; they slid and twisted to maximize stability while maintaining speed.
He continued, moving through the next ten sequences with slow, deliberate control: front kicks, side kicks, elbow strikes, precise steps that placed him always in the optimal position for attack or defense.
Every joint, from ankle to shoulder, worked in harmony. His movements weren't just about hitting, they trained every part of his body to react, to anticipate, to flow.
The final set of movements brought him into high kicks followed by palm blocks and low crouches, then a fluid roll forward into a lunging punch.
His back arched slightly, core tight, arms snapping out in sequence.
The transitions were seamless, as though he were one continuous motion rather than twenty-seven separate strikes.
Aiko's chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to absorb every detail but failed to do so.
Murakami paused at the final stance, feet apart, arms raised, chest heaving lightly.
"Every movement," he said calmly, "has a purpose. Every turn, every strike, every step engages your body to move efficiently, to hit without losing balance, to defend while preparing for the next attack."
Aiko blinked, still catching her breath, her mind racing to process the fluid precision she had just witnessed.