Phase two:
The second phase began without announcement.
No explanation. No warning.
Tobi realized it only when breathing became difficult.
Not painful—just heavy.
Like the air itself had decided to lean on him.
They were still in the inner yard. Same stone. Same quiet morning. But something was different. The space felt narrower, tighter, as if the world had taken one small step closer.
Tobi inhaled slowly.
His lungs filled—but not fully.
Yanshi stood several steps away, arms folded, eyes half-lidded.
"You feel it," he said.
"It's like…" Tobi searched for words. "Like I'm underwater."
Yanshi nodded. "Good. Phase Two is weight without form."
He stepped forward once.
The pressure doubled.
Tobi's knees bent instinctively.
"Don't fight it," Yanshi said calmly. "And don't submit."
Tobi gritted his teeth and straightened—only for the weight to shift again, sliding from his chest to his shoulders, then to his spine.
His heartbeat grew loud.
Too loud.
"You're listening to your heart," Yanshi noted. "Stop."
"How?" Tobi snapped, frustration breaking through exhaustion.
Yanshi's gaze sharpened. "By realizing it's lying to you."
The pressure increased again.
This time, something answered inside Tobi.
Not the sword.
Something older.
Darker.
A low instinctive growl rose in his chest, invisible but real. His fingers twitched, wanting to close around power that wasn't there.
Yanshi felt it immediately.
His foot stamped once against the stone.
The pressure vanished.
Tobi collapsed to one knee, gasping.
"That," Yanshi said quietly, "is why Phase Two exists."
Tobi didn't look up. "I didn't summon it."
"You didn't stop it either."
Silence returned, thicker than before.
Yanshi turned his back. "Stand again."
They repeated the exercise.
Again and again.
Each time, the weight returned differently—sometimes like gravity, sometimes like hands pressing against his thoughts. Once, it felt like being watched from inside his own skull.
That time, Tobi nearly screamed.
"Focus," Yanshi said sharply. "Name what you feel."
"Fear," Tobi answered instantly.
"Incorrect."
Tobi blinked. "Then what is it?"
Yanshi glanced at him over his shoulder. "Anticipation."
The word landed harder than any blow.
They paused only once—long enough for Tobi to drink water, hands shaking.
"Why does it feel like it wants me to move?" Tobi asked.
Yanshi sat down on the stone steps, unusually still. "Because power hates stillness. Stillness is a mirror."
Tobi swallowed.
"And what happens when I lose balance?" he asked.
Yanshi didn't answer immediately.
"When you lose balance," he said finally, "others pay the price."
That night, Tobi dreamed.
Not of the sword-space.
Not of Kaien.
He dreamed of standing in an endless field of falling sakura petals—each one heavier than the last. They piled at his feet, then his knees, then his chest.
He tried to push them away.
They didn't resist.
They simply waited.
He woke before dawn, breath ragged, palms damp.
Outside his room, someone stood.
Iruka.
"You look worse than yesterday," Iruka said quietly.
Tobi managed a weak smile. "That's encouraging."
Iruka leaned against the wall. "Sensei's pushing you."
"Yes."
"…Good."
Tobi glanced at him. "You don't sound worried."
Iruka's eyes shifted away. "I am. That's why I'm glad he's doing it now."
Neither spoke after that.
Training resumed before sunrise.
This time, Yanshi added movement—not strikes, not forms. Just walking.
"Walk," he said, "without resisting the weight."
Tobi stepped forward.
The pressure dragged at him like invisible chains.
His foot trembled mid-step.
He remembered the dream.
Did not push.
Did not rush.
He placed his foot down.
The pressure shifted—but did not break him.
Yanshi's eyes narrowed.
"…Again."
By evening, Tobi could walk three steps without faltering.
By night, his body screamed—but his mind felt quieter than it had in weeks.
Somewhere beyond the school, far from the inner yard—
Hideo watched the city lights flicker on.
"Still grounding him," he murmured. "Smart."
A shadow shifted beside him.
"He won't like what comes next," the voice said.
Hideo smiled faintly. "He doesn't need to like it."
Back in the yard, Tobi stood alone after training, staring at the wooden sword.
For the first time—
It did not call to him.
And that frightened him more than anything else.