The Genjutsu Devil of Konoha

POV Change.

Inside Training Ground Number 36—or something like that—it was one of the many training grounds inside Konoha.

Anyway, right now, the usually empty training ground was alive with sound. The sound of kunai.

The sound of fighting.

Upon closer look, Mikoto and Seijuro could be seen sparring.

They were trading blows, with Seijuro using a wooden blade—you know, for practice.

What's the use of making a sword style if he couldn't use it?

Meanwhile, Mikoto was locked in.

Her expression was focused, her breath steady. She darted forward, performing a quick hand sign.

"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"

She took in a deep breath and exhaled a fireball toward him.

Seijuro, watching the ball of flames coming toward him, began weaving hand seals not visible to the naked eye.

"Earth Style: Earth Wall!"

He then slammed his hand into the ground. As he did so, a chunk of earth rose to the surface to protect him against the fireball.

The fireball crashed, leaving a blackened scorch across the hardened surface.

She was already moving, launching kunai overhead—aiming to get him when he got out of his hiding place. Jumping over the wall, she threw a kunai at where she thought he was.

Yet, as the kunai landed, he wasn't there.

'Where—?'

As her feet touched the ground, two hands erupted from the earth behind her, reaching to grab her ankles.

She reacted on instinct—twisting mid-air and flipping back, narrowly evading the grasp.

Seijuro, underground, thought to himself, 'Faster. She reacted at least a quarter second quicker than last time.'

She was getting better. Also yes, he was using the Headhunter Jutsu. It was nice.

Mikoto, not willing to give him a chance to breathe, took out her kunai and tossed it toward him. For safety reasons, they were using wooden kunai.

The kunai would seemingly hit him.

Only—a log exploded at her strike.

Substitution Jutsu.

Her eyes narrowed.

Then came a faint whistle of metal/wood.

Heh?

A kunai flew at her from behind. She dodged, but something was off.

Poof.

The projectile transformed—into Seijuro.

'Clone Jutsu!'

Her instincts kicked in as she turned, striking toward him—but all she hit was—

Another log?!

"Damn it—!" she grunted. She did, however, manage to turn around just in time to clash against his wooden sword with her kunai.

Parried.

Moved.

Her speed faltered—slightly. He could tell. Using his Genjutsu, he made his sword appear six inches longer than it actually was. She faltered—she didn't remember it being that long... however, she still reacted to the wood coming toward her.

Still, she recovered.

"Water Style: Water Spray!"

She launched a quick spurt of water, aiming to get him wet—or at least make him pause.

Seijuro lightly tossed his blade in the air, made a hand seal, and said—

"Wind Style: Gale Palm."

The gust of wind dispersed the water in a spiral of mist. He then caught the blade.

He could do a one-handed seal—but that wasn't for her to know. Seijuro had reached the level where he could do most of his jutsu beneath C-rank with one hand.

Mikoto gritted her teeth.

"Lightning Style: Static Fang!"

A weak but precise electric surge channeled through her kunai as she dashed forward. Her goal: paralysis.

Seijuro's eyes narrowed. He dropped low.

"Earth Style: Mud Shield!"

A thick, grounded layer of earth rose beneath him, absorbing the lightning. The electricity fizzled out on contact.

Her pace slowed.

Her chakra was running thin. He could see it in her footwork.

One more move—she lunged, aiming a final flurry of strikes.

He sidestepped, let her overextend—and with a simple disarm maneuver, knocked the kunai from her hands.

She stumbled, knees hitting the ground.

He caught her gently before she could fall fully. "You've improved greatly."

"Only thanks to your tutelage," she said, flushed and breathless.

"Do not be so modest. Your hard work speaks for itself."

She looked up, brushing sweat from her brow. "Your movement—it's... tricky."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied smoothly. He was an illusion expert; any compliment about being tricky—he'd take.

The two stood quietly for a moment.

"I'll walk you to your compound," he offered.

She nodded. "That would be nice."

The walk was peaceful. They talked about her stance, how to improve the flow between her jutsu and taijutsu transitions. He gave clear, structured feedback. She listened attentively.

As they reached the Uchiha gates, he gave her a light bow.

"I look forward to facing you in the midterm."

"I'll be ready," she said with a smile.

As he walked away, a pair of spinning red eyes could be seen watching his back. He could sense it—he had, in fact, seen the person's face. But he acted like he didn't.

Goddamn politics.

As to those wondering what politics have to do with any of this—the Uchiha Clan had a huge stick shoved in its butt and was hella picky about who could even address them.

Chances were, whoever this was was either crushing on Mikoto... or didn't think an Uchiha should be speaking to someone from such a lowly clan like the Kurama.

Back home, Seijuro stood in the backyard beneath the moonlight, sword in hand. His blade moved with slow precision—almost like a dance.

He needed to finish mastering this.

Kenjutsu Style – Kyouken no Kage (Mirrorblade of Shadows)

Stage One was complete.

Stage One: Constructing the Illusion

—Mastery of weaving Genjutsu into basic sword swings. Affects perception of size, speed, and motion of the blade.

Now, he was beginning Stage Two.

Kyouken no Kage – The Five Stages:

Constructing the Illusion – Genjutsu synchronization with sword strikes to alter perception (complete).

Illusory Echo – Creating afterimages and false strikes, making it appear as if multiple blades are being swung. (Work in Progress)

Phantom Shift – Merging movement with misdirection, making it seem like the user's position has changed during attacks. (WIP)

Cognitive Collapse – Embedding mental triggers into clashes; opponents begin doubting what is real mid-battle. (WIP)

Shatterpoint – The final stage. Identifying and exploiting the opponent's mental blind spot, delivering a strike so deceptive it bypasses even chakra-based danger senses. (WIP)

He finished his set and sheathed his wooden sword, sweat sliding down his brow.

"Just a little more," he murmured, picking up a brush to practice calligraphy for chakra focus.

He was so close.

And ready.

Midterms would be fun.

From what he could gather, the Hokage would be there...

How fun.