Chapter 7: The Breath of All Things
Time flowed like water, and a full year passed in the blink of an eye.
Ever since Ryuzen claimed the position of top student, his life had settled into a predictable rhythm. The Ninja Academy, beyond its theoretical teachings, offered him nothing of value. He had already mastered the Three Basic Techniques and shuriken throwing to a degree that surpassed any of his peers. Sitting in a classroom listening to lessons he'd long since absorbed was simply a waste of precious hours.
Three months ago, Ryuzen's shadow clone had finally achieved the stability to last four full hours. That was enough.
His real body said goodbye to the Academy.
Now, he remained at home every day. Apart from meals, his time was consumed entirely by physical training, swordsmanship practice, and sword meditation—the quiet, focused contemplation that allowed him to deepen his understanding of the blade.
In this past year, the Hawk-Eye inheritance template had unlocked to [9.22%].
The Mihawk in his spiritual world had aged. No longer a child, he was now a teenager—tall, sharp-eyed, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was destined to become. During this period, Mihawk spent far more time in solitary practice and meditation than in actual combat. Battles had become rare in the spiritual world, sometimes months passing between them.
But to Ryuzen, these scenes of quiet practice were more precious than any fight.
Because even without battling, he could feel Mihawk's strength increasing rapidly. The teenager in his visions was growing, evolving, reaching toward something just beyond the horizon.
And then, one ordinary afternoon, it happened.
"So... quiet..."
In the training hall, after returning from his latest spiritual immersion, Ryuzen froze.
The world around him had changed.
Everything had fallen silent. Not the silence of absence, but something deeper—a profound stillness that seemed to settle over all things like a blanket. The distant sounds of the village, the wind outside, the creaking of the wooden floor—all of it had faded into the background, muted and distant.
In Ryuzen's ears, only two sounds remained.
His own heartbeat. Steady. Rhythmic.
And breathing.
Faint, but unmistakable. Coming from directly in front of him.
His eyes slowly focused on the wooden training dummy across the room—a simple construct of logs and straw that he used for practicing strikes. The dummy had no lungs. No mouth. No ability to breathe.
And yet, Ryuzen could hear it breathing.
"This..." His crimson eyes widened, disbelief flooding through him. The sound persisted. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. The vision didn't fade.
Slowly, Ryuzen rose to his feet. He crossed to the sword stand against the wall and retrieved a katana—a real blade he'd purchased six months ago from a weapons shop catering to samurai who'd abandoned their ways.
Shing—!
The clear ring of steel leaving its sheath cut through the silent world like a bell. Moonlight caught the blade, sending silver dancing across the training hall floor.
Ryuzen faced the wooden dummy. He raised the katana.
And swung.
The blade passed through the dummy without resistance. Without sound. As if cutting through air rather than solid wood.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a clean line appeared along the dummy's center. With a soft thump, the two halves separated and fell to the floor.
Ding! You have successfully entered the path of the swordsman. Reward: Beginner's Gift Pack.
Ding! You have received [Beginner's Gift Pack]. Would you like to open it?
Ryuzen stared at the split dummy, katana still raised, the system's prompts ringing in his mind. The shock of what had just happened kept him frozen, unable to process.
Only the second notification brought him back.
"...Yes."
Ding! You have opened [Beginner's Gift Pack]. Obtained: [Men's Kimono] and [Weapon: Shigure Kintoki].
Two items materialized before him, appearing from nowhere and settling gently onto the tatami floor.
One was a small black kimono, simple in design but elegant in its construction. The other was a bamboo sword—ordinary in appearance, unremarkable in every way.
"The system has no consciousness... the prompts feel like a game interface," Ryuzen murmured to himself as he bent to pick up the kimono and bamboo sword. "But there's no personal information template. No inventory space. Huh—?"
He stopped mid-thought.
The moment his fingers touched the kimono and the bamboo sword, information flooded into his mind—knowledge that hadn't been there a moment before, now simply present, as if it had always been there.
The kimono was no ordinary garment. It possessed special properties. Once worn, it would automatically adjust to fit its owner's body perfectly. It was self-cleaning, repelling dirt and sweat. And if damaged, it could repair itself gradually through the user's chakra.
It offered no defensive capabilities—it wasn't armor. But its utility was undeniable. No more washing clothes. No more replacing worn outfits. No more hygiene concerns during long periods away from civilization.
Perfect for someone who valued efficiency above all else.
But the kimono, useful as it was, couldn't compare to the bamboo sword.
Shigure Kintoki.
Ryuzen recognized the name. In the world of Reborn!, it was the weapon of Yamamoto Takeshi—the tenth generation Vongola Family's Rain Guardian. On the surface, it appeared to be an ordinary bamboo sword, nothing special. But in the hands of someone with both talent and the right disposition, it transformed.
It became a real blade. Sharp. Deadly. Responsive to its wielder's will.
Ryuzen set the kimono aside and rose, gripping the bamboo sword. He faced the remaining half of the wooden dummy—the part still standing—and swung lightly.
Shing—thunk!
A white arc flashed through the air. The dummy half split cleanly in two, the severed pieces falling to the floor like paper. In his hand, the bamboo sword had transformed—the blade now gleaming steel, the hilt solid iron banded in black and white.
Ryuzen examined the blade for a long moment. Then, with a thought, it shifted back. Bamboo once more. Ordinary once more.
"It's not the black blade Night—not one of the Saijo O Wazamono grade swords," he murmured. "But it's still a fine weapon."
He sat back down on the tatami, crossing his legs. Slowly, he laid the bamboo sword across his lap. His eyes closed. His breathing deepened, lengthened, until he seemed almost asleep.
Sword Zen. The swordsman's meditation. A way to deepen one's connection to the blade, to cultivate the mind, to understand one's own path.
In this position, Ryuzen's heart grew peaceful. The world around him fell silent once more. And faintly, all around him, he could hear it again.
Breathing. His own. And the breathing of all things.
After a long while, his eyes opened. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
"To think... Hawk-Eye comprehended the breath of all things at such a young age." Admiration colored his voice. "He must have been close to the realm of cutting steel even then."
For the first time, Ryuzen truly understood the magnitude of the legacy he carried.
The inheritance template was only unlocked to [9.22%]. Not even one-tenth of the way. And already, Mihawk—the boy in his visions, not yet the world's greatest swordsman—had reached this level.
The breath of all things didn't automatically mean one could cut steel. It was the gateway, the prerequisite. The difference between a swordsman who could hear that breath and one who couldn't was, as Ryuzen had always known, like the difference between heaven and earth.
But hearing was only the first step.
The reason hearing the breath of all things didn't automatically grant the ability to cut steel was simple: "all things" encompassed everything in existence. Tens of thousands of materials, countless objects, each with its own nature, its own hardness, its own unique "breath." A swordsman who could hear the breath of a wooden dummy might not hear the breath of iron. One who could cut stone might struggle with diamond.
In the world of One Piece, the reason great swordsmen could cut mountains and split seas with their blades was because they heard the breath of all things in nature. They captured that breath, understood it, and then their swords could cut that object as if it were a person offering no resistance.
But even someone as mighty as Hawk-Eye had limitations. His flying slash had been blocked by Jozu, the "Diamond Man." It wasn't Mihawk's full power, true—but it proved that even the world's greatest swordsman couldn't cut everything. There were objects whose breath he hadn't yet grasped, or couldn't cut at his current level.
Hawk-Eye's title wasn't gifted. It was earned. Step by step, battle by battle, through decades of dedication and growth. He hadn't been able to hear the breath of all things from the beginning. He'd walked a long, hard road to reach the pinnacle.
And that road still stretched before Ryuzen. Over ninety percent of the inheritance template remained locked. Each percentage point represented months, years of Mihawk's life—of training, of battle, of growth. The Mihawk who could casually slice an iceberg in half with a single swing, as shown in the original story, was still far in the distance.
But Ryuzen had taken the first true step.
He could hear the breath of all things.
He was on the path.
Everything else was just a matter of time.
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