A few days had passed since Hiro had chosen his weapon. The battle whip had felt like an extension of his body from the moment he first cracked it, and he had thrown himself into training with renewed energy. Kaya had provided him with three different whips, each designed for different ranges and functions.

  The short-range whip was thick and sturdy, best for close-quarters combat and disarming opponents. The medium-range whip was more banced, allowing for versatility between speed and control. The long-range whip was thin and lightweight, requiring extreme precision and technique to wield properly.

  The longer the whip, the harder it was to control, and Hiro found himself rotating between them as he practiced, testing their strengths and weaknesses.

  Kaya had also introduced a new element to his training—dual wielding. While Hiro trained with the whip in his dominant right hand, his left hand was now responsible for learning kunai and shuriken throws. According to Kaya, shinobi had to be adaptable, and since Hiro was specializing in a weapon style that focused heavily on ranged attacks, it only made sense to complement it with throwing weapons.

  At first, Hiro struggled to bance both. His aim was off when throwing kunai while keeping his whip moving, and the extra focus required made his strikes sloppier. Kaya reassured him that this was expected—learning two weapon styles at once was no easy feat. It was about coordination, not just raw skill.

  “You’re already working with an unusual weapon,” Kaya had pointed out. “Might as well go all in.”

  And so, Hiro trained.

  The morning sun filtered through the trees as Hiro ran through his test exercise. He cracked his medium-range whip in rhythmic motions, alternating between quick snaps and extended swings. With each motion, he simultaneously flicked a kunai from his left hand at a marked target on a tree. The first few throws missed, but as he adjusted, more kunai began hitting their marks.

  Kaya observed from a short distance, arms crossed as she watched him refine his control. He wasn’t fast yet, but he was getting consistent.

  As the day progressed, Hiro moved on to a moving target drill. Chūta glided through the air, dropping small leaves and twigs at erratic intervals. Hiro had to react quickly, striking the falling objects midair while also throwing kunai at static targets on the ground.

  At first, it was chaos. The leaves moved unpredictably, and Hiro found himself either missing his whip strikes or forgetting to throw his kunai in time. But with each repetition, he adapted—anticipating Chūta’s movements, predicting the trajectory of the falling leaves, adjusting his throws in time with his strikes.

  Kaya nodded in approval as she watched. “Your instincts are improving.”

  Hiro grinned. “Chūta’s making it harder on purpose.”

  The flying squirrel chirped in amusement, as if to confirm the statement.

  Later in the afternoon, Hiro worked on a new exercise: quick weapon swapping.

  The idea was simple—switch between his three whips seamlessly depending on the distance of his target. The execution, however, was another story.

  The short whip was easy to handle but had limited reach. The medium whip was versatile, but the long whip? That one gave him the most trouble.

  Whenever he tried to transition into a long-range strike, the extra weight shift threw off his movements. It was slower to react, more prone to getting caught on branches, and required far more wrist control.

  Hiro frowned, stepping back as he untangled the whip after a failed strike. “This thing is impossible to control.”

  Kaya smirked. “That’s because you’re treating it like the other two. Longer whips aren’t about raw speed. They’re about control. If you force them, they’ll work against you.”

  Hiro sighed and reset his stance. He had to figure this out.

  Hiro cracked his long whip toward a high branch, testing his reach. He had been improving, but the whip was still inconsistent. This time, as he swung, the whip snapped harder than intended—striking too high and dislodging a thick branch overhead.

  The branch, heavier than expected, broke free and tumbled toward him.

  Instinct took over.

  Hiro shed out with the long whip, snapping it clean through the falling branch. As the splintered wood came crashing down, he dropped the long whip and grabbed his short whip in one smooth motion.

  Crack!

  The shorter whip coiled around the rgest falling piece, and with a flick of his wrist, he redirected the debris away from him, sending it crashing harmlessly to the side.

  Kaya let out a small chuckle. “That was quick thinking.”

  Hiro exhaled sharply, only now realizing what he had done. His grip tightened on the short whip as he let the moment sink in. That reaction had felt natural.

  A grin spread across his face. “I guess I’m getting better.”

  As the sun began to dip behind the trees, Kaya called Hiro over.

  “Training is one thing,” she said, sitting down on a nearby log. “But real combat is another.”

  Hiro sat across from her, listening intently.

  “Out here, you have time. You can reset, analyze, adjust.” She tapped the ground with a stick. “But in a real fight? You’ll have seconds—if that. Your opponent won’t wait for you to switch weapons, and they definitely won’t care if you make a mistake.”

  Hiro nodded slowly. He had known this deep down, but hearing it outright made it feel real.

  “You’re improving,” Kaya continued. “But before you can rely on these weapons, you need to test them under real pressure.”

  Hiro’s eyes narrowed. “You mean… against someone else?”

  Kaya smirked. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Hiro gulped but nodded. He wasn’t sure if he was ready, but he had no choice—this was the path he had chosen.

  As he packed up his gear for the day, his mind was already racing, pnning new drills, thinking of ways to improve.