Lightning's Iron Lady : Asuka Training Thread

[HotelBravo]

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The sun dipped low over Kumogakure, casting long shadows across the towering city built between the mountains. Asuka stood atop one of the arched bridges, her piercing blue eyes fixed on the sprawling Trade District below. The clang of hammers on anvils echoed up through the evening air, mixing with the hum of the river winding through the ravine. She could smell the coal smoke and hot iron even from here.

Her hands tightened around the steel railing. She had been feeling it for weeks now—a gnawing frustration that gnawed at the edges of her composure. Jounin or not, she had encountered a problem she couldn’t simply slice through with her blade or cancel out with Denjiton. Her body, lithe and honed, felt like it was stagnating. In the last mission, despite her strategic prowess, she found herself outpaced by a more physically powerful opponent. That had not sat well with her.
It honestly was an unfair assessment. The monsters in Cold Country were not something tha reasonable person would expect themself to be able to overpower, but Asuka wasn’t a reasonable person. She was someone he was accustomed to calculated risks and strategic decisions. Her grip tightened against the rail as she ran her mind through the fight that she and Mariya had against the King of the Cold Country. The so-called Forgotten King.

"You look like you’re about to tear that railing out of the bridge," a voice said behind her.

Turning, Asuka saw an older shinobi she recognized instantly—Takahiro, a retired Chuunin who had been her mentor during her early years as a genin. His hands were worn and rough, his face etched with lines of wisdom and age. Despite his gruff demeanor, Takahiro had always been patient with her stubbornness, pushing her to think strategically rather than relying solely on raw power.

"Just thinking," Asuka replied, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Takahiro gave a knowing grunt. "That kind of thinking looks like it needs an outlet. You look like someone looking to break something."

She frowned, turning her gaze back to the Trade District. "Leadership changes are coming to Kumogakure. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I let myself be distracted with my business and missed my opportunity for some real change. If I had become strong enough, this wouldn't have been an issue, but I'm still far outclassed by other shinobi."

The old shinobi scratched his chin, giving her a sidelong glance. "You’re already a Jounin. Most folks would be content with that. Back when you were a genin, you couldn’t sit still for five minutes without wanting to jump into the next fight."

"I am not most," Asuka stated flatly. "Power is not just a title. It’s capability. And right now, my capabilities are lacking. If I was really the most capable in the village I would be able to claim that stupid hat from Hayate."

Takahiro’s eyes widened slightly, and he let out a low, surprised chuckle. "Ambitious, aren’t you? You always did have that fire. Hayate’s not one to hand over that hat easily, he will want to make sure that Kumogakure has a good future first. It’s not just about strength, you know. Takes more than muscle to lead this village."

Asuka’s expression didn’t change, but her gaze remained fixed on the bustling district below. "Strength alone is not enough, true. But it’s the foundation. Without it, the rest is just posturing. I’ve already built some considerable influence, but I still haven’t managed to force the hands of the Elders of the Clan to install me as the Ishiguro clan head. I think that I just have to show them what an unstoppable force I can be. Maybe after this, I can get them to cave."

Takahiro let out a thoughtful hum. "You’ve got a point. Still, aiming for the hat means you’ve got to be ready to shoulder the weight. You always thought leadership was just about being the strongest. But I remember when you used to drag your feet on diplomatic missions. Thought they were a waste of time."

Asuka gave a slight shrug. "I’ve learned since then. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am not where I should be."

He nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "You’ve grown up. Well, if you’re looking to build strength, there’s always the forges down in the Trade District. Carrying iron, working the bellows, shaping steel... A few days of that will make your muscles scream for mercy."

Asuka considered it. Practical, intense, and involving both power and precision. "Who runs the largest forge?"

"That’d be Hiroshi’s place," Takahiro replied. "Near the central square. Stubborn as a bull, but he knows his craft. Tell him you’re looking to temper yourself—he’ll respect that. He owes at least that much to your father."

Hmph. Her father again. He had been of great value to Kumogakure, but had been summarily tossed away whenever it was convenient for the village. Were things really that complicated when one was running the things from the top of the village that you had to sell your soldiers out and leave them to die behind enemy lines?

She had met Mariya and she didn’t think the woman who was related to such a would be possible if the Kazekage had been completely cruel and evil. The truth was - she was starting to see that he was likely not so different from herself. He was probably just someone who had wanted to do good and unite the country in peace.

“Takahiro. Always a pleasure.”

Asuka gave a curt nod. Without another word, she descended the bridge, heading toward the Trade District. The clang of metal and roar of furnaces grew louder as she approached, blending into the heartbeat of Kumogakure itself. She used to hate getting dragged along with her father as he went on his training quests in times past, but now it was different. She was alone. She didn’t have his comforting guidance, and she really wished that she did.

He used to have all the answers. It wasn’t easy being the one who was supposed to be coming up with the answers. She had learned that sometimes the answers are not good ones, and people come to despise you for it. Compared to now, going on pilgrimages to training her skills - it all seemed like it wasn’t enough. Yet without those times she would probably never be anywhere close to the shinobi she was now. In fact she would probably have just remained as nothing more than a business owner in Kumogakure.

She’d give it all up if her father hadn’t died. Anything to bring him back to her, but alas, that could not be. She slipped a facemask over her face as she moved into the dense industrial zone, heading towards Hiroshi’s place. She steeled herself for the comments she was sure would come about how great of a man her father had been. She didn’t need to hear those words. She needed to hear instead that she was achieving her ambition.

WC : 1181

[HotelBravo]

---

The Trade District buzzed with evening activity. Workers shuffled between shops, carrying crates and rolling barrels, while merchants tallied their day’s earnings. Asuka moved through the crowd with purpose, her presence parting the bustling throng as she made her way to the central square.

Hiroshi’s forge was impossible to miss. The building loomed like a stone giant, its massive chimney belching thick smoke into the dusky sky. The wide-open front revealed the orange glow of the furnace, its heat rolling out onto the street like a wave. Sparks danced in the air as Hiroshi struck a glowing ingot on his anvil, his thick arms rippling with each impact. The rhythmic clang of metal hitting metal echoed through the district, a heartbeat of industry that seemed to match the pulse of the village.

Asuka hesitated for a moment, watching the smith at work. The way Hiroshi moved was almost like a dance—precise, deliberate, and unyielding. She respected that. She was a woman of action herself. Though she felt lately that she was like the iron on the forge that Hiroshi was working on. The constant crushing rings of hammers - ting ting ting. Shaping. Molding. Quenching. It was not a pleasant process, but she would be stronger as a result. Taking a breath, she stepped forward.
"Hiroshi-san?"

The blacksmith looked up, sweat glistening on his forehead, his face splitting into a wide grin when he saw her. "If it isn’t the ice queen herself. What’s a Jounin like you doing in my forge? Need something reforged?"

Asuka shook her head. "You’re well informed. I’m surprised you already know who I am. No. I need training. Strength and speed. Takahiro recommended that I help out at your forge."

Hiroshi wiped his hands on a rag, studying her with narrowed eyes. "Training, huh? You shinobi types don’t usually come looking for work unless it’s mission-related. And yes - I know about you. The Ishiguro Ice Queen. You’ve earned quite a bit of infamy going against the clan elders "

"This is mission-related. Personal mission." Asuka’s tone was firm. "I need practical, physical training. I’m looking to shore up my weaknesses a degree, and I intend to do so in your shop."
He grunted, tossing the rag onto a nearby bench. "And you think swinging a hammer and hauling ore will make you stronger?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "Discipline builds power. I need to balance power and speed, and the forge offers both. If you have any doubts, you should look"

Hiroshi raised an eyebrow. "You think you can handle it? I wouldn’t be surprised if you got chewed up and spit out of this forge. Perfection ain’t easy, and I don’t go easy on anyone, Jounin or not. "

Asuka met his gaze, unflinching. "I don’t need it easy. I would’ve done something else if I wanted it easy."

The blacksmith smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tomorrow at dawn. Bring work gloves if you’ve got them. And don’t bother wearing anything fancy. You’ll ruin it."

Asuka gave a curt nod. "Understood. Tomorrow then."

Asuka lingered a moment longer, her gaze shifting to the workers hauling heavy sacks of ore from a cart to the back of the forge. Their movements were strained but rhythmic, their grunts matching the clang of the anvil. She noted the way they balanced the weight, how they moved in tandem to avoid fatigue. There was a method to it—something she could adapt to her own training.

"Got something on your mind?" Hiroshi asked, noticing her thoughtful expression.

"Just observing. Balance and precision. Your people don’t seem to be very bulky, why is that? Aren’t they doing hard labor and lifting heavy things, working metal - all of it is physically demanding isn’t it?"

Hiroshi nodded. "Heh, you ever heard of Farm boy strength? Its kind of the same thing. Working muscle is different than vanity muscle. Vanity muscles look good for the crowd, but rarely can they exert the same kind of strength that someone who has been working in the industry can. Its actually very deceptive. I’m sure a shinobi would appreciate such a quality - in fact, I’m surprised you even recognized this quality. You can be the strongest shinobi in the world, but if you don’t move right, you’ll break yourself before you break the metal. You’ll learn."

As she turned to leave, Hiroshi called after her again. "And one more thing, Asuka. Leave your pride at home. The forge doesn’t care about your rank. You better be prepared to get your ass kicked, because ain’t no one here going to go easy on you, not because you’re a jounin, not because you’re a high ranking fancy shmancy clan member, and especially not because you’re a woman. You’re getting worked like a dog and you will probably wish you were dead - but if you can withstand that then you’ll get an honest days pay and some honest to god working muscles that will actually do something other than look pretty."

She didn’t reply, but her silence spoke volumes. This was just the beginning. As she walked back through the Trade District, she caught snippets of conversation—some workers whispering about the Jounin coming to work the forge. A few laughed, clearly doubting her commitment. Asuka’s lips tightened into a thin line, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she straightened her posture, determined to prove them wrong.

The air was cooler as she left the district, but the heat from the forge lingered on her skin. She couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement building within her. This was unlike any mission or training she had done before. It was raw. Real. She knew it would hurt, but that was the point. She needed to break herself down to build herself back up—stronger, faster, more resilient.

When she reached the bridge where she had spoken with Takahiro, she found it empty. The old Chuunin must have gone home, but his words lingered with her. She leaned against the railing, the chill of the metal seeping through her sleeves. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of something different. She would prove to herself—and to anyone who doubted—that strength wasn’t just a matter of being born powerful. It was forged, one strike at a time.

She made her way back to the Ishiguro Tower and met with one of her assistants. A young woman who was in charge of managing Asuka’s schedule. “Clear the books for a few Weeks, I’m going to be doing some intensive training, so I don’t need any meetings distracting me.” She told the girl. She nodded and made adjustments to Asuka’s calendar before going off to let people on the schedule know of the changes that Asuka had just requested. All of their appointments were being pushed back. They would be upset in all likelihood but she wasn’t concerned with pleasing them.


WC : 1153

[HotelBravo]

---

The morning air bit at her cheeks as Asuka made her way through the lower tiers of Kumogakure. The sun had not yet cleared the peaks of the twin mountains, and a thin mist clung to the stone streets like a veil. She moved briskly, dressed in a fitted black training top, reinforced trousers, and a worn pair of leather gloves she had dug out of her storage scroll. Gone were the stockings, heels, and prim skirts. In their place stood something leaner. Meaner.
By the time she arrived at Hiroshi’s forge, the embers were already glowing. The smith was outside, rolling up the sleeves of his soot-streaked shirt and barking orders to the laborers. A cart full of ore had just been wheeled in, its iron contents clattering against the wooden frame.

Hiroshi saw her and grunted. "Right on time. Good. I hate waiting."

Without further greeting, he tossed her a thick leather apron. It was heavy and stiff, already blackened by years of use. Asuka caught it mid-air and slipped it on without hesitation.

"You’re hauling from the east pit today," he said, pointing to a path that curved behind the forge. "Ore’s sorted by weight and purity. You're hauling the grade-A stuff—twice as dense, twice as heavy. Each sack weighs close to seventy kilos. You’ll be moving them from the pit to the lift, one at a time."
Asuka didn’t flinch. "How many?"

"As many as you can before noon."

She nodded once and set off.

The work was brutal.

The ore pit sat below the main forge, cut into the rocky face of the mountain like a wound. A crew of workers nodded at her, some with bemused expressions, others barely looking up. The sacks were lined in rows, each tied tight with thick cord. She slung the first over her shoulder, nearly stumbling under the unexpected weight. Her legs adjusted. Her spine aligned. And she climbed.

Up the gravel path.

Up the first slope.

Across the loading platform.

Back again.

The repetition became a meditation. Her breath fell into rhythm with her steps. Her muscles burned, protested, then fell into grim acceptance. She could feel the edges of her strength being tested, pulled like wire over a sharpening stone.

By the third sack, sweat soaked her shirt and dripped into her eyes. By the sixth, her arms felt like molten iron. On the ninth trip up the slope, one of the younger workers called out, grinning: "You don’t gotta prove anything, lady. Take a breather."
"No," she muttered through gritted teeth. "This is the breather."

When noon came, Hiroshi met her at the lift. Asuka dropped her twelfth sack with a final heave and stood, chest heaving, skin glistening. Her fingers trembled slightly, her breath rasping in her throat. She could feel a warm numbness beginning to bloom across her shoulders and spine—an ache that promised soreness come morning.

"Not bad," Hiroshi said. "Most don’t make it past eight. You’ve got grit, Ice Queen. I’ll give you that."

"Good," she said simply, already reaching for her canteen. The water tasted like metal and dust, but she drank it anyway, tilting her head back in steady, controlled gulps.

He handed her a tin plate with a chunk of bread and smoked fish. It wasn’t a feast, but it tasted like triumph. Asuka didn’t sit. She ate standing up, legs braced, as though the act of collapsing onto a bench might undo everything she’d worked for that morning. Her eyes never left the glowing mouth of the furnace. The way the heat shimmered around it reminded her of chakra—volatile, alive, dangerous.
Her legs ached. Her shoulders throbbed. There were bruises forming along her collarbone where the sacks had pressed too hard against her skin. But beneath the pain, she could already feel the edge of something beginning to change. Not just her body, but her posture. Her resolve.

"You’re not done," Hiroshi said, finishing his own food. He didn’t even glance at her when he spoke. "After lunch, you’re on bellows and hammer. Precision this time, not just brute strength."

Asuka’s jaw tightened. She swallowed the last of the dry bread and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her body wanted to sit. Her muscles screamed for rest. But she only nodded, her voice low and even.

"Understood."

The rest of the day tested a different set of skills. She stood beside Hiroshi, who demonstrated how to stoke the forge’s internal bellows with foot pedals, all while maintaining the heat to a precise degree.

"Too much and you’ll burn the steel. Too little, and it stays soft. Pay attention to the color."He placed a bar of iron in the furnace, waited until it glowed orange, then removed it and laid it on the anvil. "Now, we shape. You’ll take turns. Watch me. Then repeat."

Hiroshi moved like a man who had been born with an anvil in his hands. Each strike was clean, purposeful, ringing out through the shop like a declaration. Asuka took the hammer when offered and mimicked the motion. Her first blow glanced off target. The second landed cleanly.
Hiroshi corrected her grip without a word. She kept going.

The hours passed like that—sweat, steel, and the steady rhythm of forging. The hammer became an extension of her will. When she struck too hard, Hiroshi corrected. When she rushed, he glared. By the end of the session, she had helped shape a dagger blade, its edges crude but promising.
She stared at it as it cooled, not with pride, but with possibility.

As dusk fell, Hiroshi finally dismissed her. "You’ve earned your sleep tonight. Come back tomorrow. We start again at first light."
Asuka bowed slightly, the motion stiff. Her body was screaming. Every fiber of her arms, her back, her legs—they trembled from the exertion, like plucked strings still humming from the forge's rhythm. But her eyes gleamed. Not with satisfaction, but with hunger. This pain meant progress. This ache meant she was clawing forward.

The streets were quieter on her way back. The crowds had thinned, replaced by the steady clatter of carts being packed up and the occasional hiss of a closing shopfront. As she walked past the forge’s outer yard, she saw the same workers from earlier. They weren’t laughing now. One offered a nod of silent approval, a small but unmistakable gesture. Another looked like he might speak, but thought better of it.
She didn’t return the nod. She didn’t need to. Their acknowledgment was noted, filed away, but not craved. Respect was earned by heat and hammer—and she'd just begun.

The ache in her legs followed her like a shadow up the tiered walkways of Kumogakure. Her gloves still smelled of iron and sweat. It would be easy to stop now, to soak in a hot bath and let her body rest. But rest was secondary. She wasn’t here to recover. She was here to rebuild.
By the time she reached the Ishiguro Tower, the sky was painted in violet and rust, the last rays of sun catching the glossy black of her clan’s banner. The building’s imposing silhouette loomed above her, but it no longer felt quite so symbolic of her burden. She wasn’t just trying to rise within her clan anymore. She was forging something new.

Tomorrow, she would do better.

Tomorrow, she would strike harder.

And in time, the world would feel it.





WC : 1246