Santoryu's father let out a long sigh, then nodded. "Alright. I'll give you the money." He paused, then added, "Do you want to go to the Clan Head's house now?"
Santoryu shook his head. "Not right now first I will go to give order for my sword. And I've already chosen the swords I want. I spoke with the shopkeeper earlier. If everything goes smoothly, I'll get them today. If not, then tomorrow for sure."
His father studied him for a moment and nodded again. He didn't question the amount. Santoryu had never given them a reason to doubt him—not once. Even now, asking for such a large sum, he carried himself with purpose.
Without another word, his father turned and went to his room. A few moments later, he returned with a tightly bound bundle of cash.
He walked up to Santoryu and placed it into his son's calloused hands—hands toughened by years of training.
"This is 30,000 ryo," he said. "Go buy yourself a sword worthy of all the effort you've put in."
Santoryu looked down at the bundle, then back up at his father. He shook his head. "No, Father. I only need 20,000. I've already checked the price. The swords I want are set, and that's all it'll cost."
He counted out 10,000 ryo and pressed it back into his father's hand.
Before his father could object, Santoryu turned and walked toward the door.
His father watched him go, the 10,000 still in his hand. He let out a small, quiet chuckle and shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"That kid," he murmured. "He's really grown up."
----
After leaving the house, Santoryu moved quickly through the village, visiting all the shops where he had previously inquired about sword materials. He returned only to the ones offering the best prices. It didn't take long—he knew exactly what he needed and where to get it.
By the end of the trip, he had secured all the required materials: adamant steel, grip wraps, and sheaths. After all the purchases, he was left with just 600 ryo to his name.
As usual, he didn't carry the materials home. Instead, he handed them over directly to the system, which absorbed everything into its internal storage space. The process was instant, seamless. A moment later, a notification flashed in his mind:
Sword Crafting in Progress
Estimated Time Remaining: 20 hours
They would be ready just in time—tomorrow, before his battle with Kakashi.
He could have used wooden swords and still demonstrated skill, but that wouldn't be enough. To fight Kakashi seriously—to show his true strength—he needed real swords. The kind that moved with weight, with purpose. The kind that made every strike count.
With that settled, he turned and headed home.
His father was waiting at the entrance, arms crossed. When he saw Santoryu return empty-handed, concern flickered across his face.
"What happened?" he asked. "Was the money not enough? Did you not get the swords you wanted?"
"It'll be ready by tomorrow morning," Santoryu said. "I asked the shopkeeper to make a few minor modifications to the swords. They'll be finished before the battle."
His father gave a small nod, clearly relieved. "Good. Then let's go meet Clan Head Kakashi and inform him about your challenge—and your intentions."
Santoryu nodded silently.
Together, they stepped out and began walking through the village streets. The route to Kakashi's home wasn't long, and the quiet of the late afternoon followed them as they moved with purpose. Within fifteen minutes, they arrived at their destination—Kakashi's house.
Just before knocking, Santoryu's father turned to him and spoke in a firm but calm tone.
"Be respectful. I know he's younger than you, but he's the Clan Head now."
Santoryu nodded again, his expression composed. "I understand."
His father stepped forward and knocked on the door.
They waited.
A few moments passed before the door creaked open.
Standing there was a boy with spiky white hair and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp—observant, quiet, confident.
This was the first time Santoryu, in his current life, had truly seen Kakashi up close. The memories of the original body included a few vague interactions—brief greetings in the village, nothing meaningful.
But now, seeing Kakashi face-to-face, it felt different. Real. The person he had trained for two years to fight was no longer a goal in the distance.
He was standing right in front of him.
Kakashi looked at Santoryu's father with calm eyes and said, "Uncle, what brings you here at this hour? Do you need something from me?"
Santoryu's father shook his head. "I don't need anything," he replied. "I've brought my son to meet you."
He glanced at Santoryu, then continued.
"He wants to become a ninja—even though he doesn't have any talent for ninjutsu. He can't perform even the most basic techniques. Two years ago, when he was expelled from the academy, I thought that was the end of it. I decided he'd live a quiet life as a farmer, like me. But he refused. He said he would find another path."
Kakashi listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
"Instead of chasing ninjutsu," Santoryu's father said, "he turned to swordsmanship and physical training. He started training day and night, saying he wanted to follow the path of the late Lord Sakumo—to become a ninja known for Swordsmanship rather than ninjutsu. I didn't believe it. I thought it was foolish… so, in frustration, I gave him a challenge."
He paused, glancing at Kakashi again.
"I told him that if he could defeat you—Young Lord Kakashi—I would accept his path. I meant it to be impossible. A way to make him let go of that dream. But he didn't back down. He said he didn't expect to defeat you, but he would earn your recognition. That by the end of the fight, you'd see that he had the strength and skill to stand as a ninja, even if not in the usual way."
Kakashi remained silent, his gaze shifting slightly to Santoryu.
Santoryu stood still, calm and focused, his eyes locked on Kakashi—not with arrogance, but with conviction.
Santoryu's father bowed slightly and added, "I'm sorry for involving you in this. But the time has come. Two years have passed. He wants to honour the promise. I hope… you'll accept his challenge."
----
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