Chapter Eleven: Demonstration and Improvement
Obito's voice, as he dodged a punch that came dangerously close to decapitating him, was a strangled gasp. His instructor, Kyoshi, was too precise, too refined. The amount of cursed energy concentrated in the blow was easily enough to render a person unconscious from the inevitable impact.
But the Sharingan eyes of Obito in this particular moment analyzed the punch's trajectory and highlighted the weaknesses in the combat style. Obito was on the verge of dodging the punch at the last second. But before he could properly evade the attack, Kyoshi said to him,
"It seems your eyes really can predict the trajectory of an incoming attack. But that isn't enough to use them with high efficiency."
The instructor did what an instructor should do. Kyoshi changed the focus of his movement in a single instant—in the blink of an eye. Even the Sharingan, in its active state, couldn't see or predict the next move. His fist, which had been about to strike, became merely a passing platform, a feint, receiving another attack from Kyoshi's free leg, which sent a kick directly into the center of Obito's stomach.
THUMPF!
The kick was incredibly powerful. Obito could feel his intestines quiver from the force of the blow. Then he was launched with a BOOM sound off the ground, leaving it for several meters before crashing directly behind a tree. His body slammed into it with a sickening CRACK of wood and a pained grunt, finally stopping his backward momentum.
Obito's Sharingan eyes had vanished. At the same time, Kyoshi let out a sigh. The Grade Two sorcerer didn't have much to say while looking at his student—or at least, the student he was required to train. He could say without a doubt that the ability of the eye technique, which Obito had named the "Sharingan," possessed a remarkable ability to see cursed energy very clearly, instead of just sensing it. One could simply see the flowing cursed energy of sorcerers and curses with great ease using these eyes. Kyoshi had tested it by suppressing and hiding his own cursed energy, which had an unexpected result: Obito's response was very precise in knowing the direction of the cursed energy.
—Of course, Obito, who was in a terrible state at this moment, was in severe pain. His stomach hurt terribly, and his body was exhausted. He had been beaten multiple times since waking up this morning. His body was in a dreadful state of fatigue. Even using cursed energy to increase his effectiveness was futile. Even with the Sharingan. In this moment, it was truly proven that the ability of this legendary skill from the ninja world, which was enough to elevate people to supernatural levels, was somewhat useless for him. And that was for several reasons.
He couldn't keep the Sharingan eyes active for a long period. Not due to consumption, but it seemed any hit that made him lose concentration caused the technique to stop immediately. These eyes didn't work if Obito lost focus. And that was painful for his confidence, because he thought that by keeping the Sharingan active, he would be able to avoid most attacks. But Kyoshi's attacks proved to be unpredictable and different from the curses he had faced, whether at the water park or the Blue Star Hotel. Those curses were strong, certainly, but none carried the cunning and skill possessed by a Grade Two sorcerer. Whether in skills, combat movements, or techniques, they were far above any curse of the same grade. This was also the meaning of the grading system: a Grade Two sorcerer could easily deal with a Grade Two curse, and so on up the ladder. As long as the sorcerer was on the same level as the curse, they could defeat it because they surpassed it in cursed energy control, skills, and techniques.
—But Obito hadn't realized several things during this training. Kyoshi, however, had realized them thanks to his vast experience. He was able to see the movements and skills Obito acquired at a much faster rate when the Sharingan was active. Whether it was his body movements or his control over cursed energy, he became much better than he was without using the eyes.
The reason Obito couldn't understand this was that, until now, he hadn't fought anyone at his own level. He had always fought people above his rank. Therefore, he was unaware that his control over cursed energy had actually become quite good for someone who had just begun their path to mastering true cursed energy. For Obito Zenin—the person whose body Obito had taken over—reaching this level was very far off with his ordinary talent. But for Obito, after dealing with two near-death incidents, plus training aimed at breaking down his body and reshaping it again, that was enough to raise the density of his cursed energy and his control, albeit unconsciously, even if he didn't realize it exactly.
The training continued in this manner until Kyoshi stopped when he saw the young man losing consciousness—or so it seemed to him. Obito was panting wildly, staring at the sky. It was definitely afternoon now. He had woken up at 6:00 AM, and now it was 12:00 PM. His body was devoid of cursed energy. He had tried to use the Sharingan continuously, but every time he was hit, he quickly lost concentration and focused intensely on the pain, which was a terrible thing for someone who, just over a week ago, had been an ordinary person. And the force of the blows and the pain weren't slight either. He was receiving strikes that made his bones feel like they were about to shatter. Kyoshi's punches were precise and meticulously controlled, something that amazed Obito. The man hadn't made a single mistake in his control. If Obito were facing a lethal blow, this man could easily change the motion of his fist to strike a non-vital point on Obito's body instead of stopping the blow itself—something Obito only discovered after activating the Sharingan, which allowed him to see the movements with greater detail. But even that didn't stop him from cursing inwardly.
Dammit, you bastard. I'll literally get revenge when I become stronger.
Of course, he always said that, but he kept getting beaten and felt the negative energy in his body increasing. He tried to control this and utilize it to raise his cursed energy. This was something Kyoshi was aware of, but he didn't care at all—or so Obito thought.
Anyway, after Kyoshi saw Obito lying on the ground without any amount of cursed energy left, he sighed and said to the young man,
"That is the end of today's lesson. We will have another session tomorrow. Rest after this."
He didn't wait after that and left.
When Kyoshi arrived at the office of the academy manager, Yoshinobu Gakuganji, he gave a respectful bow before stopping and looking calmly at the manager, who also stopped writing things in the academy ledger and looked at his subordinate.
"What is your opinion of this technique? Is it strong?"
There was no intention to say unimportant things. He asked directly, which Kyoshi had expected. He said in a disciplined tone and accent,
"His cursed technique is very good."
When Kyoshi said that, he couldn't help but recall Obito's ability to see movement paths. He was also certain of the young man's ability to see the flow of his cursed energy—something that had taken Kyoshi many years of life-and-death confrontations to achieve. The fact that the young man, using this technique, was able to analyze those skills shocked Kyoshi, even if he didn't want to admit it.
—On the other hand, when the manager heard this, he thought once more about the information he had and finally sighed.
"I don't know what to say. Were the Zenin generous enough to give me this talent, or do they also not realize this talent? And if that's truly the case, this ability is very strong."
True, the Sharingan—which the manager heard the name of from Kyoshi at this moment, as Obito had named it—was a technique that seemed to be of the observational type, which didn't help much in combat except for dodging attacks and reading the enemy's style. It might seem very unimportant because it didn't possess many wide-ranging attacks. However, for high-level jujutsu users, such an ability alone was enough to raise a sorcerer's level severalfold at once. At that moment, the manager couldn't help but recall the strongest jujutsu user currently, Satoru Gojo—the person who possessed the Six Eyes plus the Limitless technique. The person whose very existence threatened the power of the Jujutsu Council.
Anyway, the manager stopped thinking for a moment and told Kyoshi to leave after hearing all the things Kyoshi had done to Obito Zenin in full. Finally, Kyoshi carried out the manager's orders and left the room.
The morning sun had been a cruel, cheerful observer of Obito's humiliation. Now, as he lay in the dirt of Training Ground 3, the sun was directly overhead, beating down on him with a heat that felt personally insulting. Every breath was a chore, dragging dusty, pebble-flavored air into his aching lungs. The taste of blood was familiar in his mouth now—a metallic tang he was starting to associate with Tuesday mornings.
He stared up at the cloudless, indifferent blue sky through the skeletal branches of the tree he'd become intimately acquainted with. His body was a tapestry of fresh bruises over old ones, a living testament to Kyoshi's "pedagogy." His cursed energy reserves were tapped out, scraped clean. The well was dry. Even the thought of activating the Sharingan made his brain throb in protest.
But beneath the physical misery, a cold, analytical part of his mind was working. The part that was still, somehow, the salaryman who had survived corporate restructuring and soul-crushing commutes. It was compiling data.
Data Point One: The Sharingan worked. It really worked. He could see cursed energy flows like glowing neon graffiti on the world. He could track movements with supernatural clarity. For a few glorious seconds during each exchange, he wasn't a flailing novice; he was a processor receiving high-definition input.
Data Point Two: It was fucking useless against Kyoshi. The man was a ghost. The Sharingan could see the punch coming, but Kyoshi had three more layered behind it, feints within feints, his cursed energy flickering and shifting like a mirage. The eyes gave him the blueprint of the trap, but Kyoshi kept changing the building materials mid-construction.
Data Point Three: Concentration was key, and pain was the ultimate concentration-breaker. A single solid hit to the gut, and his mental grip on the complex energy channeling required for the Sharingan shattered like glass. It was a vulnerability as glaring as a neon sign reading 'SHUT DOWN SWITCH: MID-SECTION.'
Data Point Four (The Annoying One): He was getting better. Not at fighting Kyoshi—that felt impossible. But at everything else. His cursed energy control was tighter. When he reinforced his arm to block now, the energy wasn't a wild, sputtering aura; it was a more cohesive, focused shell. His movements, when not being used as a human punching bag, were more economical. He was learning, absorbing lessons through his pores and his pain receptors. The Sharingan was accelerating it, downloading Kyoshi's footwork, his stance shifts, the minute tells in his shoulder before he committed to a strike, directly into his muscle memory. He just couldn't apply it yet because Kyoshi was always three steps ahead.
With a groan that sounded like it came from the bottom of a well, Obito rolled onto his side. The world spun nauseatingly. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his knees. The process was a symphony of creaks and pops (creak… pop… crunch). He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva into the dirt. It landed with a soft pthwip.
"Alright," he croaked to the empty training ground. "So the cheat code has a lag issue. And the final boss has anti-cheat software. Noted."
He staggered to his feet, using the scarred tree trunk for support. His legs felt like overcooked noodles. The walk back to the dormitory was a slow, pathetic shuffle. He passed a group of lower-year students returning from a practical lesson. They gave him a wide berth, their eyes wide. He heard a whispered, "That's the Zenin guy…" followed by a hushed, "He looks like he lost a fight with a cement mixer."
Obito didn't have the energy to care. He was a spectacle, a warning tale. The Zenin failure getting the "special attention." He just kept shuffling.
Back in his room, the ritual was the same. Collapse on the bed. Stare at the ceiling. Wait for the cursed energy in his body to slowly, sluggishly begin replenishing itself from the ambient negative emotions he was practically marinading in.
His stomach growled, a loud, protesting gurgle. Right. Food. The canteen. Social interaction. The thought was almost as exhausting as the training.
He forced himself up and into a shower. The water was lukewarm and stung his fresh bruises, washing away the dirt and sweat, leaving his skin pink and tender. He changed into a clean uniform, the fabric soft against his abused flesh.
The canteen was quieter than usual. He got his food—a bland but nutritious stew and rice—from the cook, who gave him a sympathetic nod. Obito found an empty table in the corner and began the mechanical process of eating. The food had no taste; it was just fuel.
He was halfway through his bowl when he felt a presence. Not a threatening one, just… there. He looked up.
Kasumi Miou stood by his table, holding her own tray. She looked at him, then at the empty seat opposite him. It wasn't a question. It was an assessment.
"May I?" she asked, though her tone suggested she would regardless.
"Uh. Sure, senpai," Obito mumbled around a mouthful of rice.
She sat, her movements precise and quiet. She began eating, her demeanor as focused and serious as if she were disarming a curse. The silence stretched. Obito kept his eyes on his stew, feeling strangely scrutinized.
Finally, she spoke without looking up from her food. "Instructor Kyoshi's report indicated a significant improvement in your cursed energy stabilization when your ocular technique is active. A forty-seven percent increase in reinforcement efficiency."
Obito blinked. "He… measures that?"
"He is a Grade Two sorcerer with over a decade of instructional experience. Precision is his technique," she said, as if stating the obvious. She took a sip of water. "The report also noted your technique's critical weakness: susceptibility to disruption via physical trauma and loss of mental focus."
"Well, yeah," Obito said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "It's hard to focus on fancy eye tricks when someone is rearranging your internal organs."
"A valid point," Miou conceded, which surprised him. She finally looked at him, her blue eyes analytical. "Therefore, your priority should not be extending the duration of the technique, but hardening your focus. You must learn to maintain the activation state through pain and disorientation. It is a mental discipline, separate from physical reinforcement."
Obito stared at her. It was the most tactical, practical advice anyone had given him since he arrived here. It wasn't encouragement; it was a diagnosis and a prescription.
"How?" he asked simply.
"Meditation. Visualization under duress. Instructor Kyoshi's training is, unfortunately, ideal for this. Each time you are struck, your immediate instinct is to protect your body. You must train a secondary instinct: to protect the technique. To treat the energy pathway to your eyes as a vital organ that must be shielded at all costs."
It sounded impossible. But it also sounded like a plan. A real, actionable plan.
"Why are you telling me this?" Obito asked, suspicion warring with gratitude.
Miou took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Our next mission profile has been released. A suspected nest of low-grade curses in an abandoned factory district in Osaka. The area is large, labyrinthine. Efficient reconnaissance will be crucial. Your visual technique, if you can maintain it under pressure, will double our effective search range and early warning capability." She met his gaze. "My efficiency, and therefore my survival, is increased if your utility is increased. This is logical."
Of course. It wasn't kindness. It was asset management. He was a tool, and she was ensuring the tool was properly sharpened. In a weird way, it was more honest than false encouragement.
"I'll… work on it," Obito said.
"See that you do." She finished her meal with a final, decisive bite, stood up, collected her tray, and gave him a curt nod. "The mission briefing is in two days. Do not be late."
She left as silently as she had arrived.
Obito looked down at his half-eaten stew. A mission. A nest. More curses. The fear was a cold knot in his stomach, but it was now tangled with something else—a thread of purpose. He had a goal now, beyond just not dying. Harden your focus. Protect the technique.
He finished his food, the fuel now tasting slightly less like ashes.
Later, back in his room, instead of collapsing, he sat cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate. He focused on the feeling of cursed energy in his core, then tried to visualize the narrow channel leading to his eyes. He imagined it as a fortified pipeline, armored, resistant to shock.
It was boring. His mind wandered. His bruises ached. He thought about Kyoshi's fist. The imagined pipeline crumpled.
He sighed, opening his eyes. This was going to suck.
But for the first time, the sucking had a direction.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the familiar crack in the ceiling. In the manager's office, Yoshinobu Gakuganji was likely contemplating the strategic implications of a Zenin with a potent visual technique. In a training ground, Kyoshi Ryo was probably already devising new, creative ways to test the limits of that technique's "disruption susceptibility."
And in a small, sparse dorm room, Obito Zenin, formerly a salaryman, currently a human training dummy, was thinking about pipelines and trying to convince his brain that maintaining a supernatural visual hack was more important than whimpering about a bruised spleen.
It was a start.
A painful, ridiculous, darkly comic start.
He closed his eyes, and this time, he dreamed not of tentacles or crushing blows, but of a single, unwavering red dot in a sea of darkness, holding firm against the tide.
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End of Chapter.
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