CHAPTER 13 — STILL WATER, SHARP EDGE
Time slowed—not because the world changed, but because I chose to let it.
I did not rush.
Shimotsuki Village breathed quietly under the rhythm of routine. Morning bells. Wooden doors sliding open. Children
running barefoot through streets that smelled of rice and iron. The dojo remained the heart of it all, pulsing with discipline and repetition.
That was where I stayed—on the edge of everything.
Watching.
Waiting.
OBSERVATION WITHOUT MOVEMENT
I positioned myself where sight was unnecessary.
Observation Haki expanded, thin and
controlled, threading through walls, floorboards, and air itself. I did not force it outward. I let it settle, like mist filling a valley.
The dojo unfolded in my mind.
Kuina trained relentlessly.
Her strikes were clean, decisive, proud. Every movement carried frustration—anger not at others, but at the limits imposed on her. I felt it in the way she gripped Wado Ichimonji, how her knuckles tightened just a
Fraction too much at the end of each swing.
Zoro followed her like a shadow.
Less refined. More raw. But his endurance was abnormal. He fell, rose, attacked again. Each defeat sharpened him rather than dulled him.
And the old man—her grandfather—was always there.
Watching.
Correcting.
Never letting his guard down.
That was the problem.
As long as all three were present, there was no opening.
DAYS OF STILLNESS
I stayed hidden for days.
Not idle—never idle—but unseen.
At night, when the dojo emptied, I trained in silence beyond the village. Rain of Swords without sound. Energy slashes cut the air so faintly even insects didn't scatter. My body adapted further, muscles tightening, coordination deepening.
I practiced restraint.
Stopping my blades a hair's breadth from full release.
Holding motion mid-breath.
Letting intent exist without action.
Patience was not weakness.
It was preparation.
PATTERNS EMERGE
By the fourth day, the pattern revealed itself.
Kuina trained hardest in the morning.
Zoro trained until he collapsed.
But at dusk—just before sunset—there was a moment.
A narrow one.
Her grandfather always left first.
Age demanded rest.
Zoro followed shortly after, usually limping, usually frustrated, usually distracted by food or exhaustion.
Kuina stayed behind.
Always.
She cleaned the dojo alone.
That was the opening.
Not because she was weak.
But because pride isolates.
THE MOMENT ARRIVES
The sun dipped low, painting the sky amber.
I felt it before I saw it.
The dojo quieted.
One presence remained.
Kuina.
She moved slowly now, methodical, wiping sweat from wooden floors, setting training swords back into place. Wado Ichimonji rested against the far wall, wrapped carefully, treated not as a weapon but as something closer to a vow.
Observation Haki tightened.
No villagers nearby.
Zoro already gone.
The old man's presence faded down the road.
Stillness.
Perfect.
APPROACH
I did not rush.
I did not hide my presence entirely either.
I stepped into the dojo entrance, footsteps light but deliberate.
Kuina froze instantly.
Her hand went to Wado Ichimonji without hesitation.
Sharp.
Alert.
Good.
"You," she said, eyes narrowing. "You've been watching."
A statement. Not a question.
I nodded once.
"
You shouldn't," she continued. "This isn't your place."
I stepped further inside.
Three swords at my sides.
Extra arm visible now.
Her eyes flicked to it—only for a moment—but I felt the spike of caution.
Good.
THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF PEACE
"I want your sword," I said plainly.
Silence followed.
Then laughter—short, sharp, offended.
"You think you can just ask?" she snapped. "Wado Ichimonji isn't for sale. It isn't
something you take."
"I know."
Her grip tightened.
Zoro wasn't here.
Her grandfather wasn't here.
But she wasn't afraid.
That made her dangerous.
"You're not leaving with it," she said, drawing the blade halfway. The steel sang softly.
"I know," I replied again.
And this time—
I moved.
CLASH
Kuina was fast.
Faster than most adults.
Her first strike was direct, perfectly aligned, aimed to test rather than kill.
I parried with my left blade, Armament Haki reinforcing just enough to absorb the force. The impact rang through the dojo, wooden walls trembling faintly.
She stepped back instantly, adjusting.
"Three swords?" she muttered. "And
another arm…"
She attacked again.
This time faster.
I met her strike with two blades at once, redirecting rather than blocking, letting her momentum slide past me.
She was skilled.
But predictable.
Rain of Swords did not activate fully.
That would end this too quickly.
Instead, I used fragments—micro-slashes, pressure cuts, intent without follow-through.
She felt it.
Her eyes widened as shallow cuts appeared on her sleeve, her footing disrupted by invisible force.
"What—"
I stepped past her.
Not striking.
Just moving.
And my extra arm reached the wall.
THE TAKE
Wado Ichimonji left the post without sound.
Wrapped.
Balanced.
Perfect.
Kuina realized it too late.
She turned, blade already coming around—
But I was already gone.
Energy slashes cut the air behind me, not to harm her, but to delay. Thin pressure lines forced her to stop, instincts screaming danger.
By the time she pushed through—
I was outside.
Moving.
Not running.
Not fleeing.
Advancing away.
AFTERMATH
I didn't look back.
Her shout echoed behind me—rage, frustration, something close to despair.
I felt it.
Acknowledged it.
And dismissed it.
Wado Ichimonji rested against my back now.
Heavier than the others.
Calmer.
Like still water hiding a lethal depth.
The perfect opportunity had passed.
The blade was mine.
Not through permission.
Not through chance.
But through patience sharpened into inevitability.
Shimotsuki Village would remember this night.
And Kuina—
She would grow stronger because of it.
So would I.
And the rain would fall heavier the next time steel met steel.