A Trump Card In The Sleeve

The past few hours had been quite the whirlwind of emotion for the former cook. Cook? Chef? Was one term preferable to the other? Did he even consider himself a chef? Not likely. He saw his cooking as an art, as passion, even, and yet, the word chef seemed too good for Kaito. After all, he cooked for drunkards and whores, thieves and vagrants, and all the other little forms of degenerates the Hidden Cloud had to offer. Maybe he didn't get to call himself a chef, but did that make his food any less than the food of a chef? Maybe; after all, chefs are known to make exquisite dishes, but that doesn't mean Kaito's meals aren't fulfilling in their own way, and just as tasty too. His breakfast was as typical as it could get for the ninja turned cook turned ninja, if a bit exaggerated for his usual intake: four eggs, beaten in a bowl with milk and flour, ground pepper, rock salt, grated ginger, a dash of dried oregano dusted by placing the oregano in the palm of the hand and having a grasped finger swirl on the hand as though it were a mill. On a hot pan, oil received two cloves of diced garlic which then received sliced and diced sausages, and on a different pan, a generous slice of butter waited to receive the eggs, which were carefully cooked on either side, staying moist within, becoming a fluffy bed for the sausages which were tucked in on a beautifully golden omelette. Four cucumbers were skinned and speared into four, making a total of sixteen cucumber spears, which received no compliment other than a dash of vinegar for the slightest taste addition. Kaito sure wasn't a chef, but he was one hell of a cook.

The voracious meal was devoured in earnest, the mixture and contrast of flavours dancing on Kaito's taste buds and resting comfortably in his stomach. The intake was of such proportion, he nearly entered into a food coma immediately after eating, having to force himself to take a single shot of pomace brandy; the drink burned his way through his throat and almost immediately made him regret taking it for it removed the taste of the meal from his mouth, however by the same token he knew it'd help digestion and awaken him slightly. With that in mind, he got ready to leave the house and took off.

Two things were different about Kaito today, to the onlooker who might've otherwise recognized him as he passed; his weapons were all in the same places, but his usual stylish pick of clothing in the form of leather jacket and jeans imitation pants made of stretchy material, he wore rather loose clothing, resembling traditional martial artist training garb. One item he might’ve used would’ve been his new Jounin Flak Vest, however, it would not be needed today. He did however have his backpack slung over his shoulders, bearing various pieces of fruit, and two simple mustard and ham sandwiches, as well as the gourd with fresh water which could be refilled at his destination.

As he made his way through the streets of the Hidden Cloud, he couldn't help but notice how everything had gone back to normalcy, and so fast. "Life goes on indeed", he thought half cynically and half playfully. The regular folks of the village couldn't be bothered to mourn extensively for the dead, nor could they wallow in worry for the lordling rendered unconscious, a deep sleep that he was uncertain to wake from. The villagers that hid with the village among the clouds could be just as relentless as the ninjas they served in their adoration of strength, and just as the lordling won their hearts with his initial conquest of the title, so too did he lose favor with the defeat. The new champion of those who hid among clouds was Kutari Uchiha, his name cheered by the drunkards who relied on the strength of others as a pillar to rest on to boast of their old glory, whispered by the swooning lasses waiting to be graced by his attention, referred to fearfully by those who saw godly men come and go on a road built atop the cadavers of the innocent and guilty alike.

To Kaito, his arrival was serendipitous; what else could you call it, when a man willing to shape the village into a powerful voice to the world's affairs arrived just as Kaito looked to become more powerful than he'd been before?

He worshipped it.

Not the man. The man was flesh, and flesh was weak. So long as the heart resigned to stop beating, what was an absolute unit would turn into an absolute corpse. No. What he worshipped was the path. The resolve. The willingness to take each and every step in such a way as to become self-sufficient, powerful enough to master one's destiny, and wrest it from the hands of even the most powerful creatures roaming the world. That was the only thing worth worshipping. The men that wielded the strength came and went, but the tales of how they held it and discharged it across territories and peoples lived on famously, or infamously. It mattered not to Kaito how he was remembered by the world, so long as he was remembered in reverence of his strength. To be remembered was the only true path towards immortality.

Now at the edge of the village, he made it to the beaten path that lead into the mountains the village was built against, the scenery switching from dull blues and harsh greys for more favourable greenery, dotted by the yellows, reds and browns of the trees. "Fall came and went, soon all this will be white with snow." Even though, as soon as you escaped the streets of Kumogakure, the air became far more breathable, and one could feel their lungs filling with oxygen, and one could feel cleaner almost instantly.

Further and further up the trail he went, walking on ridges and between cliffs and valleys, making his way through the mountain somewhere where he would hopefully not get disturbed. Last time he'd come up the mountain he ran into Mokuzai, who gave him a run for his money. The encounter did indeed make Kaito aware that even within the village there were threats which couldn't be dispatched easily, and that the limitations of his body could prove fatal when facing an enemy that could bolster their body without regarding the limitations it had. Kaito understood he had much training to undergo, however, if his opponents were able to bolster themselves in a pinch, so too he would need such a technique.

Perhaps the greatest visage had been how Kutari simply wrapped himself in umbral armor and disappeared from his field of vision; not because he literally disappeared, but because he moved so fast that Kaito was physically unable of recording the movement with his inexperienced eye. Said armor might've also boosted any number of factors, on top of being in itself an armor. Kaito needed his own set of techniques that allowed him to go beyond what his body seemingly showed the world. "A secret technique, as it were."

Of course, Kutari also had a gigantic slug with six tails capable of spewing corrosive acid, but that was just an add-on factor to the already powerful Kutari. Kaito would have his own suit of dark armor to surround him and assist him in battle. From the books he had read, there were certain physiological locks that were put in place out of the body’s necessity to preserve itself; however, if one was to be able to lockpick the lock, they would be able to open up the gates that lead down the path of bodily glory.

The Eight Inner Gates.

It would not be easy. As a matter of fact, on top of being hard, it would require extreme sacrifice, and Kaito wasn’t even sure he’d survive the ordeal of opening even the first gate. Unlocking the first gate alone could prove fatal. In the classical literature, the gates are described as locks for the chakra pathways so as to prevent one from overexerting themselves into an early grave, and as such, opening and using the power unlocked by the opening of the gates lead to death. The eight and last gate quite literally burns one alive once it’s done, and each gate presents similar risks of breaking bones and rupturing muscles. However, without sacrifice, Kaito would never be able to stand up to even his peers, remarkable ninja with bloodlines that granted them powers mere men couldn’t compete with. Kaito was one of those men; his bloodline bore nothing but poor impulse control, addictive personality and propensity to dementia. All the more reason he had to be very careful with all of his actions and choices. “I could end up like Kuro… the poor fool.”

Now in the middle of the mountain, hopefully far enough from anyone else, Kaito could begin his training. He planted his katana and wakizashi firmly in the middle of an opening, and started running about in circles. He built up a sweat, he started to breathe heavily, and as he felt his kneecaps grinding, he performed two half-circles in the fashion of a yin-yang section to reverse the direction of his running without interrupting it, thusly running in a different direction to give his joints a rest of running in a circle constantly rotating one way. The sun had peaked since he began running, and now it started leaning into the horizon once more. Kaito’s legs strained and his muscles protested the exertion, while his lungs burned through the process of retrieving sweet oxygen in exchange for the spent carbon dioxide.

Realizing he wouldn’t get much out of running anymore, Kaito circled once again to the middle of the ring, making it past his weapons, his fingers brushing on the waxed hardwood of the hilt of his katana. “My sweetest friend…” he thought as he made past it. The weapons had been faithful friends, even though he had not needed them very much thus far. It had been for that reason that he decided to focus on his body first before proceeding further into mastering weapons. After all, the weapon was an extension of the body, not the other way around. Now facing a tree, Kaito would start the arduous process of lockpicking the gates blocking his chakra system.

Thunk.

The first punch on the tree was weak. There was always a certain amount of inhibition to one’s punch against a hard surface, especially considering the lack of real motivation to punch a tree, as well as how tired he already felt from having ran for so long in concentric circles. He gritted his teeth, and put intention into the next punch, with his other hand.

Thunk.

It bore impact, the tree felt it just as much as his knuckles did. The issue was that his knuckles were attached to a creature much more capable of feeling it. He kept going, punching once and again, slowly the pain built up in his knuckles. “More”, he thought, “MORE!” He kept on punching the tree, punishment for non existent crimes, the skin on his knuckles splitting and bleeding, his knuckles sustaining micro fractures, his wrists aching from the continuous shock of punching. Kaito now sweated profusely, his face contorted in a grimace as he contained his instinct to stop punching and attend the wounds on his knuckles. Eventually, a rather nasty crack was heard, and sent a jolt of pain zapping up his arm. His hand broke. Kaito stood, arm trembling but still held against the tree. The pain was very real, and he knew it would only get worse. This was his time to unlock the gate that prevented him from going beyond his instincts. He pulled the arm back away from the tree and punched with the other hand, and the pain jolted once again; then, with a primal roar, he punched the tree with the broken hand with all his strength.

As the tree cracked and swung downwards, Kaito’s eyes rolled into his skull and his consciousness faded due to the pain. He fell backwards, his body surging with chakra from a lock becoming unlockable whereas before it stood permanently locked.

***
TWC: 2070
Claiming Eight Inner Gates
Claiming 10 Strength.