Set underneath an afternoon sky of blue, The Land of Fire, in all her glory, left a cascade of brilliance for all of Konoha to behold. When one united the glorious day with the cool, swift breeze that shook the budding trees and renewed the natural spirit around the land, it was as if the gods themselves had taken the time to bless the land with celestial nature. Birds called formatted in a cacophony of beautiful choruses, and it was all set against the fresh smells summer brought in its wake. It was just nice.
Seto did not have time for nice.
The young Uchiha stood outside the academy with a face carved from ice. His lips a thin line, and his eyes a frigid storm, class had ended not too long ago, yet he remained. While his classmates leaped from their seats, he arose slowly like a glacier. While they raced, he crept. While they exited, he stayed. Seto let out a sigh as he raised the steel blade above his head. With a grunt, he swung, bringing the sword downward in a flashing arc.
Today they discussed kenjutsu, a rather particular art. The art of the blade had always interested him, the imagery of warriors locked in mortal combat was a guilty pleasure. However, his training with his father had always focused on other things. Such as taijutsu and chakra control. Both of which he still considered himself to be a novice in, but definitely leagues above some of his classmates.
Seto sighed as he shifted his footing, making sure it was perfect before he raised the blade above his head and swung once more. The dulled blade whooshed as it cut through the air, though in the boy's head stood an imaginary foe clad in steel and wielding a sword of his own. In his mind, his limbs blurred, catching his opponent off guard, but it was too late, as he already dealt the death blow.
Seto sighed, banishing his fantasies and returning to reality. His blank t-shirt clung to his lean physique while beads of sweat speckled his skin. Raising his blade, Seto swung once more.
Seto did not have time for nice.
Today they discussed kenjutsu, a rather particular art. The art of the blade had always interested him, the imagery of warriors locked in mortal combat was a guilty pleasure. However, his training with his father had always focused on other things. Such as taijutsu and chakra control. Both of which he still considered himself to be a novice in, but definitely leagues above some of his classmates.
Seto sighed as he shifted his footing, making sure it was perfect before he raised the blade above his head and swung once more. The dulled blade whooshed as it cut through the air, though in the boy's head stood an imaginary foe clad in steel and wielding a sword of his own. In his mind, his limbs blurred, catching his opponent off guard, but it was too late, as he already dealt the death blow.
Seto sighed, banishing his fantasies and returning to reality. His blank t-shirt clung to his lean physique while beads of sweat speckled his skin. Raising his blade, Seto swung once more.
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