Chapter 11: The Unyielding Arms
The weeks leading up to the start of school were not a time of rest. For Rock Lee, they were a descent into a new kind of crucible, one designed by Sora Aokawa to address a fundamental weakness. The dojo, his sanctuary, became a stage for a painful, one-sided dance.
Sora stood in the center of the floor, a bokken—a solid, heavy wooden sword—held loosely in one hand. Lee stood opposite her, his stance low, his eyes tracking the tip of the weapon with unwavering focus.
"The goal is simple, Lee," Sora said, her voice echoing in the quiet hall. "I will attack. You will endure."
She moved, a blur of motion far quicker than her casual stance suggested. The bokken sliced through the air with a sharp, menacing whistle. Lee's body reacted instantly, a product of thousands of hours of training. He twisted, ducked, and weaved, the wooden blade missing him by mere centimeters. He was a leaf on the wind, untouchable, his footwork a perfect symphony of evasion. For ten minutes, this continued. Sora attacked with a relentless barrage of strikes, and Lee dodged every single one without fail.
Finally, she stopped, lowering the sword. "Your evasion is perfect," she stated, her tone flat. "And completely useless."
Lee straightened up, breathing steadily. "Sensei?"
"You cannot spend your entire life dodging, Lee. In a real battle against a skilled opponent, against multiple opponents, you will be cornered. You will be forced to face an attack you cannot evade. What will you do then?" She raised the bokken again. "This time, you will not dodge. You will block."
She lunged. The sword came swinging towards his side. Lee's instinct screamed at him to move, but her command was absolute. He raised his arm, gritting his teeth, and met the attack with his forearm.
SMACK!
The sound was sickeningly loud, a sharp crack of wood against bone. A bolt of white-hot pain shot up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder. He cried out, stumbling back, clutching his throbbing limb. It felt as if his arm had been broken.
"How am I supposed to do that?" he gasped, his eyes wide with pain and shock. "Sensei, it is too painful!"
"You shattered giant robots with your legs," Sora countered, her expression unsympathetic.
"Attacking and defending are two different things!" he protested, the logic feeling undeniable to him. "My limbs are conditioned to deliver force, not to absorb it!"
"Then they are only half-trained," she said coldly. "The heroes at U.A., the villains you will one day face, they will not be hitting you with pillows. Their attacks will be blades, explosions, kinetic force far greater than this piece of wood. If you cannot learn to withstand this, you have no place among the elite. We will not wait for their pity because you lack a Quirk. You will compensate for every single one of your weaknesses with hard, agonizing work. Now, get up. Again."
Her words, harsh as they were, extinguished the fire of pain with a flood of sheer determination. He pushed himself back into his stance, the throbbing in his arm a dull, angry pulse. He would not fail. Not here.
The dance began again, but this time it was different. It was a clumsy, painful rhythm of evasion and impact. He would dodge two strikes, then be forced to block a third. SMACK! Pain exploded in his other arm. He would weave under a high swing, only to meet a low thrust with his shin. CRACK! He bit back a cry, his vision swimming for a second. His body, once a seamless weapon, felt like a brittle shield, cracking with every blow.
Sora was relentless. She was a storm of motion, her attacks coming from all angles, forcing him to adapt, to endure, to accept the pain as a necessary part of his growth. His arms, from wrist to elbow, were turning a mottled, ugly shade of purple and blue.
"Does hard work surpass talent, Lee?!" she yelled, her voice sharp as she spun, the bokken whistling towards his head.
He ducked under it, but the question caught him off guard. He blocked a follow-up strike, the impact making him wince. "I… I do not know, Sensei!" he answered honestly, his voice strained.
SMACK!
A particularly vicious strike landed squarely on his forearm, harder than any before it. He fell to one knee, cradling his arm, a genuine tear of pain escaping his eye.
"Wrong answer," Sora said, though her voice had lost some ofits edge. She stood over him, looking down at his bruised and swelling arms. She sighed, a long, quiet sound, and lowered the bokken. The training was over, for now.
She walked to the small kitchenette in the back of the dojo and returned with a bucket of ice water and some clean towels. She knelt in front of him and began to gently wrap his battered limbs in the ice-cold towels. Her touch was surprisingly gentle.
"You are the Talent-Killer, Lee," she said softly, her voice now devoid of its earlier harshness. "You are the living embodiment of Hard Work. That is the correct answer." She finished wrapping his arms, then sat back on her heels, a strange, mischievous glint appearing in her blue eyes. "I want you to shine at U.A. I want you to dominate the Sports Festival, to become so famous that every news camera in the country knows your name."
Lee looked up at her, his heart swelling with pride at her words. "Sensei…"
"So that I can finally get some customers!" she finished, a wide, greedy grin spreading across her face. "Can you imagine it? The dojo of the famous Rock Lee! I'll have a line of aspiring students out the door! I'll be rich!"
Lee stared at her, his heartfelt moment completely derailed. His jaw dropped slightly. "So… so that is the truth behind my harsh training?"
Sora's eyes glazed over as if she were picturing her future glory. "Oh, yes! So many hopeless brats will come flocking to my door, and I will take all their parents' money and train them until they can't feel their legs!" she declared, rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain.
Lee watched her, a small, warm smile forming on his own face despite the throbbing in his arms. "Sensei," he said gently. "If you treat them like that, you will have no students and you will be facing bankruptcy again. You must be noble and patient with them."
Sora's greedy fantasy bubble popped. She slumped her shoulders with a dramatic sigh. "You're right. It sounds exhausting. I do not think I will ever find another student as stubborn and dedicated as you again."
"Is that… an admission of my value, Sensei?" Lee asked, his eyes shining.
She looked at him, and her playful grin softened into something genuine and warm. "Yes, Lee. It is. You are my pride."
The simple words were more healing than any amount of ice. They filled him with a warmth that spread through his entire body. He stood up, his battered arms held out from his sides, and got back into his fighting stance.
"Sensei," he said, his voice firm and clear once more. "Again."
Sora's eyebrows shot up. "Absolutely not. Your arms are turning into eggplants. The training is done for today."
"Please, Sensei," he begged, his eyes pleading with an intensity she could never truly deny. "Just a little more. I want to continue. I need to continue."
She looked at the boy before her. A boy she had pushed to the absolute brink of his physical and mental endurance, and he was asking for more. She let out a long, theatrical sigh, a mixture of exasperation and deep, unshakable pride.
"Fine," she said, picking up the bokken. "But if you start crying, I'm doubling the price of your lessons."
He grinned, a wide, happy expression. "Yes, Sensei!"
.
.
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