One Year Later
The wooden sword cut through the air in a perfect arc, followed by a visible current of wind that sliced clean through the hanging fabric targets he'd set up across the courtyard. He landed gracefully from his forward dash, breathing controlled and steady, not even winded despite having been training for the past hour.
A year ago, he would have been gasping for breath after ten minutes. Now, with the constant flow breathing technique integrated into every moment of his life, he felt like he could continue for hours more.
He straightened up, examining the cleanly severed training targets with satisfaction. The wooden katana he'd carved himself felt like an extension of his body now, the weight and balance as familiar as his own hands. It had taken months to get the proportions right, working with the limited tools he'd found in the temple workshops, but the result was a functional practice sword that served his needs perfectly.
The breathing technique had been the key to everything. Once he'd figured out how to maintain the demon slayer-style constant breathing pattern, his chi development had accelerated dramatically. The steady flow of properly oxygenated air through his system had built up an internal energy reserve that seemed to grow stronger every day.
He started relaxing drifting into his memories of the time he's had here.
Eight months ago...
He stood in the courtyard with a simple wooden stick, trying to remember exactly how Yasuo's basic wind slash worked. The League of Legends champion had been his main for years, but translating video game animations into real-world movement was proving harder than expected.
"Steel Tempest," he muttered, holding the stick like a sword and attempting the forward thrust motion he remembered. In the game, it was a simple point-and-click ability that sent a small tornado forward. In reality, his wooden stick just moved through empty air with no effect whatsoever.
But he'd recently started integrating the breathing technique into his practice sessions, maintaining the deep, rhythmic pattern even while moving. The constant flow of air through his lungs was exhausting at first, but he could already feel the difference in his stamina and focus.
He tried the wind slash again, this time focusing on channeling his breathing through the movement. The stick cut through the air, and for just a moment, he felt something. Not a visible wind attack, but a subtle current that followed the blade's path.
"There," he breathed, excitement building. "That's something."
The memory faded as he reset his stance for another round of practice. Yasuo's core concept had been about flow—never stopping, never hesitating, letting one attack lead seamlessly into the next. The Way of the Wanderer, constantly moving, using the wind to enhance mobility and strike from unexpected angles.
He began the sequence he'd developed over months of practice. A forward dash enhanced by air currents at his back, building momentum for the first strike. As the wooden blade completed its arc, he pivoted and flowed into the second attack, using the wind generated by his movement to power the next technique.
Four months ago...
"Focus on the breathing," he reminded himself as he practiced the basic kata with his newly finished wooden katana. The sword was rough, imperfect, but it was his. Carved from a fallen tree branch using tools he'd found in the temple's workshops, shaped through weeks of patient work.
The breathing pattern had become more natural by now, though maintaining it during physical activity still required conscious effort. In through the nose for four counts, hold for two, out through the mouth for six, slight pause, repeat. The rhythm created a steady internal tempo that his movements could follow.
He attempted what he thought of as "Sweeping Blade"—Yasuo's spinning attack that created a whirlwind around him. In the game, it was a defensive ability that knocked back nearby enemies. In reality, it was an incredibly complex movement that required perfect timing and breath control.
The first attempts were disasters. He spun too fast and lost his balance, or too slow and generated no air movement at all. But gradually, through hundreds of repetitions, he began to understand the principle. It wasn't about spinning wildly—it was about creating a controlled rotation that gathered and directed air currents.
When he finally managed to create a visible swirl of dust and leaves around himself, he shouted in triumph so loudly that it echoed off the temple walls.
Now, a year later, that same technique was second nature. He could generate defensive whirlwinds, redirect incoming projectiles, or simply use the spinning motion to reposition himself in combat. Not that he'd had any real combat to test it in, but the principles were sound.
The breathing had become completely unconscious, as natural as his heartbeat. His body had adapted to the constant flow of oxygen, building up what he could only describe as a chi pool—an internal reservoir of energy that he could draw on for extended periods without fatigue.
He moved through his advanced routine now, combining multiple techniques in flowing combinations. A wind-enhanced forward dash that covered twenty feet in a single bound. A rising strike that created an updraft strong enough to lift him several feet off the ground. A series of rapid slashes that left visible air currents hanging in the air like temporary blade extensions.
Present Day
Gathering back his thoughts he steadied himself, he was about to see the culmination of his practice, of all his efforts in the past year.
"Last Breath," he said, attempting the technique he remembered as Yasuo's ultimate ability. In the game, it was a devastating combination attack that struck multiple enemies suspended in air. In reality, it was a complex sequence of movements that required perfect coordination between swordwork and airbending.
The breathing pattern had evolved by this point. Instead of conscious counting, it had become a constant flow that adjusted automatically to his needs. Light and steady during meditation, deep and powerful during intense physical activity, but always present, always feeding energy into his developing chi pool.
He launched himself upward with a wind-enhanced jump, wooden katana raised above his head. At the peak of his arc, he struck downward with every technique he'd learned, trying to channel all his wind manipulation into a single devastating attack.
The result was spectacular. A powerful downdraft slammed into the courtyard stones with enough force to kick up a cloud of dust and debris. Several of his practice targets were knocked over by the air pressure, and he landed in a perfect crouch, breathing steady despite the enormous energy expenditure.
For the first time, he felt like a real master airbender. Not just someone fumbling with party tricks, but someone who could genuinely fight, genuinely protect himself and others if needed.
But there was no one to fight. No one to protect. No one to share his achievements with.
As the training session wound down and he began his evening routine of weapon maintenance and meditation, the familiar weight of solitude settled over him like a blanket. He'd accomplished everything he'd set out to do when he first arrived. He could airbend with genuine skill now, had developed combat techniques that would have been impressive even by Avatar world standards, and had created a sustainable life for himself in the mountain temple.
He loved this place. The ancient stones had become as familiar as his own skin, every carved spiral and weathered column a part of his daily landscape. The mountain air felt like home now, thin and sharp and clean in a way that city air had never been. The rhythm of seasons, the cycle of hunting and preservation, the meditative quality of constant practice—it all felt right in a way his previous life never had.
But he was so incredibly, devastatingly alone.
A year of talking only to himself had taken its toll. He found himself narrating his activities out loud just to hear a human voice, even if it was his own. Sometimes he had full conversations with imaginary companions, working through complex problems or just discussing the weather with people who weren't there.
The worst part was that he'd gotten good at it. His imaginary conversations felt real enough that he sometimes forgot he was alone until he turned to share a joke or observation and found empty air.
He sat in his usual evening spot, looking out over the mountain landscape as the sun set behind distant peaks. The view was spectacular, the kind of natural beauty that should have filled him with peace and contentment. And part of him did feel that. This was a beautiful life he'd built, a meaningful existence that combined physical mastery, spiritual development, and harmony with nature.
But another part of him—a growing part—ached for human contact with an intensity that sometimes left him feeling physically sick.
"I did it," he said to the empty air, his voice echoing slightly off the stone walls. "Everything I wanted to learn, everything I planned to accomplish. Heck, now with Yasuo's skills and my breathing technique I'm probably a better airbender than most of the monks who lived here originally."
The mountain wind picked up, flowing through the temple ruins with its familiar whistle. A year ago, that sound had seemed mysterious and full of potential. Now it just sounded lonely.
"So why do I feel like shit?" he asked the wind, knowing it wouldn't answer back.
He'd achieved his goals, mastered skills that shouldn't have been possible, become something remarkable in a world of wonder and magic. But achievement without anyone to share it with felt hollow, like a victory celebration with no guests.
If he didn't change anything then tomorrow he would train again. He would practice his sword techniques, maintain his breathing, continue his steady improvement toward even greater mastery. The routine was comforting, purposeful, satisfying in its way.
But tonight, sitting alone in a temple built for community, surrounded by the echoes of his own voice and the whispers of mountain wind, he allowed himself to admit the truth:
He was ready for this part of his journey to end.
The stars came out one by one as darkness settled over the temple, and he remained in his spot, breathing steadily, alone with his thoughts and his accomplishments and the crushing weight of a solitude that no amount of skill could fill.
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AN: Hallo!
Well, we got our bored out of his mind OC finally get things done and finally recreate Yasuo's techniques, personally not really a main Yasuo, but read it in a ff of arcane and loved the idea, what do you guys think?