Sometimes, sparring was a lot like civil war.

Kakashi caught Katsuko’s swords on crossed blades, and felt the ground dent slightly beneath his heels. Felt himself slide back an inch, then three, without moving his feet. There was a battlefield of chakra in Katsuko, and it was all in her muscles. Even without jutsu, she hit like a brick wall.

And she was fast. Her kodachi disengaged, flicking around like a silver snake to strike at an unprotected gap between his ribs. He jerked away; the tip of her kodachi split a razor-line across his jounin vest instead of nailing his right lung to his spine. His counter-strike missed her neck and nicked her shoulder. They re-engaged with a flurry of clashing steel, matching blow for blow.

The riddle of training was that it could never be the real thing, but it had to be close enough that when they did face the real thing, they were conditioned, primed, and ready. Killing intent without the actual kill.

Which meant that while Kakashi and Katsuko were fighting each other, they were also fighting their own instincts.

The handicap of no jutsu, no Sharingan was starting to hurt him. Not doing something was simple on the surface, but difficult in the reality when every natural moment for a katon or a suiten had to be ignored, which caused a fractional pause in his attack. Katsuko had the same restrictions, but her fighting style was different. She’d built herself around blades, and she could go for miles without dropping. Kakashi’s prime advantage depended on finishing a match quickly.

He hadn’t started fresh. He was getting tired.

But that was why you trained with modifications. In the field, he wouldn’t always have jutsu. He wouldn’t always be fresh. And he couldn’t always rely on Obito.

This was good for him.

And, if he was completely honest with himself, more fun than a clone fight.