This is Not Training

Clang!

The sharp ring of metal striking metal echoed through the trees.

Aizen reacted instantly. His fingers moved without thought, pulling a kunai from his pouch and hurling it straight ahead.

Across from him, a glint of steel flickered through the underbrush. His kunai collided midair with the incoming one, knocking it off course.

Beside him, Miyuki's arm shot up in a blur, deflecting another attack aimed directly at her. Her eyes narrowed.

"Byakugan," she muttered under her breath.

The veins near her temples bulged as her dōjutsu activated, granting her full vision of the area around them. She clicked her tongue softly.

"…Four of them."

Almost on cue, four figures emerged from the foliage, their movements quick and practiced. None wore village headbands. Their attire was mismatched, designed for mobility rather than style. But their formation—it was trained.

These weren't random bandits.

Before the oldest of the attackers could give an order, a flash of movement cut across the clearing.

Kaito appeared behind him in a blur, kunai drawn, his blade already slashing toward the man's ribs.

Clang!

The older shinobi twisted just in time, parrying the strike. Their weapons locked for a moment before the man grinned coldly.

"You're not missing-nin," Kaito said flatly. "Which village are you from?"

The man didn't answer. His grin widened.

"Do it. Now."

The command dropped like a stone into still water.

Without hesitation, the other three sprang into action.

From the trees and brush, they burst forward, silent blurs of motion trained for speed and kill efficiency. One immediately broke rank, eyes narrowing on the smallest figure near the caravan.

The child.

Small. Barely old enough to grip a kunai, let alone fight. Standing just behind the Hyūga girl, wide-eyed and tense. An easy kill while his partner handled the girl.

Konoha's getting sloppy, he thought, tightening his grip around the blade in his hand.

Either way, it ends here.

He veered off from the formation, feet brushing the undergrowth in silence, slipping past the older shinobi's line of sight.

Go for the throat, quick and clean.

The child hadn't even drawn a second weapon. A stunned look flickered across the boy's face—fear, or maybe confusion.

Pathetic.

In that half-second window, he imagined it already. The boy falling, throat split, the others hesitating just long enough for the rest of his team to strike.

His fingers flexed slightly. The kunai dipped low, perfectly angled. He lunged—

And then the boy moved.

Not clumsily. Not with panic.

But with sharp, practiced motion.

What?

The attacker's eyes widened in the split second before their blades clashed.

Clang!

Sparks flew.

The boy's strike deflected his blade just enough to throw the angle. The assassin staggered a half-step, not injured, but off rhythm.

"Tch…"

Too clean. Too sharp. He's been trained.

But how old is this brat? Five? Six?

The attacker reset his stance, now measuring the child more carefully.

Aizen's heart thudded like a drum inside his chest, each beat a countdown to something final. His fingers curled tightly around the kunai in his hand, sweat trailing down his palm.

This wasn't a spar.

This wasn't training in the compound yard under the lazy watch of clan elders.

This was real.

He's trying to kill me.

That thought wasn't fear—it was fact. The air was saturated with killing intent, heavy and choking like a Genjutsu. Even breathing felt like a mistake.

His opponent stood a few paces away, motionless. But that stillness was an illusion.

Every muscle tensed, every twitch loaded with the promise of a fatal blow.

Aizen didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't dare look away.

He didn't glance at Miyuki. Didn't check to see how Nozomi was holding up.

This fight belonged to him alone.

I can't lose. Not here. Not now.

His knuckles turned white around the kunai. His eyes stayed locked on the enemy's stance—low, aggressive, right foot slightly forward.

A Dagger Rush stance. No wasted motion. Fast. He'll close the gap in under a second.

Aizen shifted his weight just enough to respond.

Strike when he opens. Counter if you must. Kill if you can.

A breath.

A pause.

Then the man shifted his foot just slightly.

Aizen reacted instantly.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Steel sparked against steel as their kunai clashed in a furious rhythm.

Damn... he's bigger. Stronger. Faster.

The force behind each strike rattled through Aizen's bones. Sparks danced in the air as kunai clashed against the heavier blade. Aizen gritted his teeth, forced to block again, and again, each impact pushing him back a step.

"You've got good instincts, kid," the man said between strikes, voice calm, almost bored. His next slash forced Aizen to duck low and roll to the side. "Not bad at all. That parry a moment ago? You shouldn't have been able to pull that off. Not at your age."

He stopped attacking. Just stood there, blade resting against his shoulder, looking down at Aizen with something close to regret—but not quite.

"It's a shame," he continued. "You've got talent. Enough to skip the academy, maybe even enough to earn a name someday… but this is the real world."

He took a step forward.

Aizen scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath. His kunai trembled in his grip.

A Chūnin.

And Aizen—Aizen was just a Genin in name only. No field missions. No life-and-death experiences. Just theory, training dummies, and a dream far too large for his tiny fists.

"You're good," the man said again, eyes narrowing slightly. "But you're not good enough."

There was no arrogance in his voice. Just truth.

The difference between them wasn't just age.

It was experience. Conditioning. Control.

The man's strikes came sharper now, tighter. Each movement meant to kill. Aizen could barely keep up. His body screamed in protest, lungs burning, vision starting to blur from the effort of simply surviving.

I'm not faster. Not stronger. Not more skilled.

So how do I win this?

The man's expression shifted just a fraction, as if he could already see the answer.

You don't.

Because to him, Aizen wasn't a threat.

He was a risk.

A prodigy, sure. A bright future, maybe. But a prodigy who got too far, too fast was dangerous. And in this world, dangerous children didn't get second chances.

They got erased.

The man moved again, this time with killing intent sharp enough to pierce bone.

And Aizen?

Aizen smiled.

************

Some movies for world travel