Sergio
Oden watches with a careful eye. Thankfully, he has the respect for his elder to allow the teaching to go off without any loud words or acceptance. It's almost like art, watching Mugen move with a blade - his blade. He doesn't have the expertise yet to truly understand the level of talent and work that went into being so skilled with any weapon one might pick up, but he can wager a guess.

"I, Makuma Oden, will do my best." He mulls over a technique that could utilize this style of training - Sky Rip, but decides against showing it after receiving such a direct instruction. Gripping his weapon in both hands, he holds it before him and lets out a single, heavy breath. The weapon rises above his head and then fires forward. Mugen can easily see the imperfections in his stance - small losses in efficiency and explosiveness as he overcorrects for his muscle mass. The blade swings forward with a solid amount of power, yes, but not enough control to allow the blade to flow in the manner that Mugen brings to it even with such a single swing.

"Incorrect." Oden says, more to himself than Mugen. Bringing the blade back up, he swings it forward *Again* Unprompted. It's something of a running problem for the young man that he can get into a self corrective spiral that makes him tunnel vision on the small issues that he has, missing out on simpler solutions that might bring sweeping changes to the way that he operates and improves.
Rose
At the moment when Oden proclaimed to do his best, Mugen reckoned that he was finally narrowed down an obstacle that likely prevents an Oden from succeeding. 

He remained silent for a few moments, simply watching the younger man. There were indeed some technical errors, but Mugen ventured to guess they stem from a mental inhibition of sorts. 

"**You know, Oden**" Mugen opened, holding his wrist behind his back, "**I think I understand why you're currently at this level. Put down the sword for a minute**" He said, smiling peacefully at him. Mugen was always at ease, at lost as far as body language goes. Loose shoulders, muscles, even a calm expression and deep breaths. He reckoned it was the key to his success as a swordsman, and what saved him from many dangerous situations throughout his life.

He wanted to help Oden feel some peace, too. He was positive that it would help the young man grow, both as a Shinobi at large and specifically as a swordsman.

"**Because you are gifted as far as strength and endurance goes, you could've afforded to remain stiff your entire life. I don't know if it influenced your mentality or if it was the other way around, but you have now arrived at a point where you cannot allow yourself to keep going exactly like before, especially not if you want to become a good swordsman. You need to let go. Breathe into your belly until it is full, and relax your entire body with each breath. Your face, your shoulders, everything**"
Sergio
What it comes down to is an odd, nervous energy that tends to take Oden when he does anything. He doesn't do anything halfway - from talking to running to fighting, it's always something that pushes him forward. But here it made him adjust for that abundance of energy, cutting into the grace and intent of his swordblows.

Rather than giving a verbal response, sets his blade aside carefully and puts his hands on his hips. Closing his eyes, he breathes in, slowly lifting his hands as if he's filling himself like some kind of gourd. Even now, Mugen can see that he breathes in a little *Too much* When doing so before correcting the flow of air as he goes along. 

Letting go, he does his best to relax every muscle. It fails, as he can feel the way his face twitches when he tries to let it relax. Again and again - second, third, and fourth, he repeats that simple action of taking in a breath and then letting it out. It may not be something he can truly achieve after one training session, but the idea has been put into his head regardless as he finally lets that last breath go.

"I apologize, Mugen-san. Relaxing is, ah, sometimes hard for me when I'm not around family." He grins haplessly.
Rose
Mugen could definitely relate.

As a person who struggled with some form of social anxiety all throughout his life; even to this day, to some capacity, he had a hard time relaxing around people he did not know well also. 

Smiling calmly at the boy, he turned to speak.

"**It's alright. There's nothing to apologize for. You're doing good. For us stress-filled beings, relaxation can sometimes be the hardest task of them all. Whether you manage to relax or not does not matter, what matters is the intent. When you'll see why it is good for you to relax, your mind will wander off to it automatically. So I am not worried about making progress today**" He said, crossing his arms comfortably. 

"**But if it helps, know that you are in the safest place in the world, probably, and that are being overseen by a veteran Chunin. If it doesn't, it's good also**"
Sergio
"That- that was never a concern." Shaken from his boisterous self for a few moments, he grins and settles one hand on his blade again. Scratching the back of his head with a bit of embarrassment, his hair falls over his eyes just enough to hide them from the Uchiha's view.

"Thank you for the teaching again, Mugen-san. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could we schedule regular training? If I'm honest, your style of it really works well for me - not that there's any worry if you don't have the time of course! I don't know what regular duties the Predator Unit has, but I'm sure if keeps you busy." There are rumors of course, but Oden was never one to really question what he wasn't told to question. Just a little simple like that right now. 

Regardless of the answer, he gets back to his original training eventually - reinvigorated by his tutor's method of training!
Rose
Mugen merely cackled to himself lightly, amused at Oden's break of character. Indeed, humans go through all the rainbow of emotions, from the best to the worst of them. 

Mugen bowed his head at the Genin as the latter thanked him. He had a good heart, and he was clearly brought up in a good household, for him to have such mannerisms. These are the people Mugen appreciated, as they (perhaps unknowingly) practiced the Eightfold-Path. 

"**Of course, Oden-san. I have enough time to train, do not worry about it. I would be happy to be of help, friend**" He'd say, oustretching his arm for a handshake.

"**With that said, I have to go. I have some arrangements take care of. See you soon, Oden-san!**"

He'd say, before flickering out of sight; once again, shooting off like a bolt of lightning deeper into the village.
Tom
It was honestly quite fascinating that there were still training grounds that Hikari had yet to discover. She was certain there were at least a dozen left — perhaps far more — but one she could now cross off her list was the Han Dojo. History had never been her forte (nor had anything that had to deal with rote memory, for that matter), but the redhead vaguely knew that some feudal lord's family funded this place. She really only knew that because she watched some plays as a younger girl with Kaa-chan in the concert halls, but even then she'd never really paid attention. Men and women dancing across a stage in silly clothing never held her interest. Not like practical shinobi stuff did, at any rate.

In any case, the dojo was rather plain looking — not at all what Hikari had expected of a well-funded training area. Its floors were wooden and worn, the steps of a thousand feet dulling any and all rough patches left on the flooring, and the walls that weren't tatami slides were an off-white tone. 

As well, the dojo was currently empty. Its lack of patronage as of late was probably why Hikari hadn't heard of it much until now. After all, why go to a stuffy dojo when there are open training grounds decorated in nature's splendor?

The Uzumaki paced over to a particularly open area and began a facsimile of her *Kata*, trench knives held in-hand in spite of her activities. Her dance was one of taijutsu, of punches and kicks and jumps and ducks and uppercuts and hooks and feints. With her knives added, it transformed from a mere street-brawler's body blows into something more deadly by definition, sharp twists and turns and slashing maneuvers accompanying her every hand movement. She ducked down and swung her left knife at an enemy only she could see before popping back up and whirling around with a roundhouse kick. And then she stood, panting. She'd lost track of time.