Okay, here is
Iruka's words echoed in Kenji's mind long after class ended: profound aptitude... pursue this. It felt less like advice and more like a lifeline thrown. Fuinjutsu. A recognized discipline, complex enough that 'innate talent' might actually serve as a plausible explanation for some of his unusual understanding. The next day, Kenji bypassed his usual lunchtime haunt under the Academy trees and headed straight for the library's quietest corner.
The Fuinjutsu section was small, almost an afterthought compared to the rows dedicated to Ninjutsu or Konoha's history. Dust motes danced lazily in the slivers of light filtering through a high window, and the air smelled thick with the scent of old paper and drying ink. It felt hushed, forgotten, which suited Kenji perfectly. He pulled a basic introductory scroll from the shelf – 'Principles of Seal Design: Volume 1' – and carefully unrolled it on a secluded table.
The intricate black lines inked onto the aged parchment leaped out at him, instantly familiar yet profoundly different from his internal sight. He saw the diagram for a simple 'Object Storage Seal', the kind used to pack gear into scrolls. He could perceive the golden runes the seal was meant to invoke – 'containment', 'spatial folding', 'stasis' – shimmering beneath the ink. But the inked symbol itself was a flat, two-dimensional representation, a codified grammar designed to guide chakra and intent towards that specific runic effect.
It was fascinating, like comparing a complex engineering blueprint (the runes) to a user-friendly interface button (the seal). The Fuinjutsu masters of the past hadn't needed to see the runes as he did; they had observed effects, experimented endlessly, and painstakingly developed these symbols as reliable ways to achieve consistent results. Genius, in its own right.
But Kenji also saw the inherent rigidity. The scrolls warned sternly against modifying established formulas without deep knowledge, emphasizing the risks of backlash or failure. He understood why instantly – changing a single stroke in the inked seal was like altering a critical line of code without understanding the whole program. It could corrupt the entire function, break the delicate balance needed to anchor the desired rune.
Excitement warred with caution. Standard seal users had to rely on memorization and careful imitation. Kenji, however, could potentially design seals from the ground up, translating the functional runes he saw directly into the most efficient ink patterns. The potential was staggering.
But first, the basics. He pulled out his worn notebook, a cheap ink pot, and a brush borrowed from the library's dwindling practice supplies. He decided to try replicating the simple 'preservation' symbol Iruka had demonstrated in class, the one meant to slow wilting. He knew the rune it represented, felt its gentle energy signature. Translating that into precise ink strokes, however, proved infuriatingly difficult.
His hand, used to the rough freedom of charcoal sketching, felt clumsy and awkward holding the delicate brush. His first attempt at the symbol was a mess – lines too thick here, shaky there, the proportions skewed. He could see the perfect golden rune shimmering in his mind's eye, could visualize the crisp, balanced strokes required for the seal, but his muscles simply wouldn't obey.
Concentrate, he told himself, dipping the brush again. He tried again, focusing intensely on replicating the shape from the scroll. Better, but still flawed. The ink bled slightly at a corner, one curve was slightly flattened. He could perceive how these tiny imperfections would create weak points, making the resulting runic anchor unstable.
Frustration began to prickle. Knowing wasn't the same as doing. His sight gave him the answer key, but it didn't magically grant him the penmanship to write it down correctly.
He was so engrossed in his struggles, hunched over the paper, that he didn't notice Sakura Haruno until she spoke, making him jump.
"Kenji? Wow, Iruka-sensei wasn't kidding. You really are studying this stuff." She peered over his shoulder at the messy practice symbols. "Looks really hard. All those squiggly lines… What does that one even do?"
Kenji instinctively covered his latest, flawed attempt. "Ah, Sakura. Just… practicing the basics. This one's supposed to help preserve things, like keeping a flower fresh longer."
Sakura wrinkled her nose. "Huh. Seems like a lot of work for a flower. I'd rather practice something useful, like… well, you know." She glanced pointedly towards the library entrance, likely hoping for a glimpse of Sasuke. Her own runic signature pulsed with familiar 'infatuation'. "Anyway, good luck with your… squiggles." She wandered off, leaving Kenji alone again in the dusty silence.
Her casual dismissal, however well-intentioned, solidified his resolve. This was useful. This was the bridge. He took a deep breath, pushing aside his frustration. He picked up the brush again. This time, he didn't just focus on the shape on the scroll, nor solely on the perfect rune in his mind. He tried to hold both – the physical requirements of the calligraphy, the precise angle and pressure needed for each stroke, and the underlying runic intent, the energy he wanted the symbol to hold.
He drew slowly, deliberately, feeling the bristles glide across the paper, infusing the movement with the faint hum of chakra and the concept of preservation. The lines were smoother this time. Not perfect, perhaps, still bearing the mark of a beginner's hand, but balanced. Stable.
When he finished, the symbol on the paper felt different. In his runic sight, the anchored construct wasn't as pure or potent as his direct mental projections could be, inevitably filtered through the approximation of the seal. But it held. It felt solid, latent, waiting.
He didn't have a flower to test it on, but he felt a small, quiet sense of accomplishment. He was learning the grammar. It wasn't enough to just read the hidden language; he had to master the physical script as well. It would take hours, countless sheets of practice paper, endless repetition. But looking at the stable, if simple, seal on the page, Kenji knew he was finally on the right path. He would learn to write the lines, not just see them.
--- End of Chapter 7 ---