Chapter 3: Foundations in Fire and Wire
The sky was overcast by the time we stepped into the forest clearing behind the Academy.
Perfect.
The trees filtered soft light onto the dirt, casting long shadows over scattered rocks and old training stumps. This clearing had been used for years—if the old wire scars on some tree trunks were any clue—but today, it would mark a new beginning.
I stood at the edge, clipboard in hand, the class lined up in uneven rows before me.
"This isn't about winning," I began, voice steady. "It's about showing me how you move, how you think, and how you react under pressure."
Some students looked intrigued. Others looked nervous.
Naruto was already bouncing on his heels.
Behind the clearing, I'd set a modest course: five short sparring bouts per student, followed by a trap challenge—a short run through flagged terrain filled with tripwires, pressure seals, and hidden ink bombs. Nothing harmful. Just messy.
The students would rotate in groups. I'd observe every inch of their movement.
And when it was over, I'd plant the seeds for something bigger.
---
Sasuke's POV
I watched the others go first, arms crossed. Some of them were decent. Most weren't.
Naruto fell into a trap halfway through his first run—got blasted with purple ink and looked like an eggplant. Shikamaru didn't care enough to avoid anything, muttering "troublesome" before walking right into a tripwire. Kiba charged through barking like a mutt.
Idiots.
When Iruka-sensei finally called my name, I stepped forward silently.
Sparring came first. I faced Kiba.
He was fast, aggressive, and all noise. I stepped inside his guard and swept his legs. Simple. Clean. Efficient.
Next came traps. My goal wasn't just to pass—it was to prove something.
I leapt the first wire, landed soft, spotted the pressure seal disguised as a patch of moss—and slid my weight around it.
Three steps forward. Disarm tag.
Duck.
Roll.
Clear.
I reached the end clean. Iruka-sensei gave me a small nod. I pretended not to care, but I felt it: a flicker of recognition.
---
Naruto's POV
That stupid trap! I thought, wiping purple gunk from my eyes. The ink stung and it smelled like old fish.
"Stupid seal! Stupid wire! Stupid—"
"Naruto!" Iruka-sensei called.
I froze. "Y-Yes?!"
"Next sparring match. You're up again."
I groaned and stumbled back into the circle. This time, I was up against Sasuke. Great.
"Try not to fall in love when I beat you," he said flatly.
"YOU WISH!"
I rushed him—fast, strong, wide swings. Big mistakes. He ducked under my punch and tapped my ribs hard. I fell on my butt.
"Again!" I yelled, jumping up.
We clashed again. I missed. He didn't.
But something was happening. I didn't feel bad about losing. Just more fired up.
Iruka watched me quietly. When I finally staggered out of the ring, he handed me a towel and said, "You've got raw energy, Naruto. But energy without form is just a spark. Let's turn it into a flame."
That made me feel weird.
Good weird.
Like… I was worth building.
---
Kiba's POV
Sparring was fun. I liked the smell of dirt and sweat and movement. I liked Akamaru barking encouragement from the sidelines. I liked the feel of impact—when my fists met something solid.
But traps? Traps were dumb.
I didn't sneak. I charged. I got blasted with an ink puff, then fell in a pit—luckily only two feet deep.
"Too loud, too fast," Iruka said afterward. "You're a frontliner. But even frontliners need finesse."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not some sneaky type."
He crouched next to me. "You don't have to be. But imagine this: you bait the enemy into a trap. That takes awareness. Strategy. Sound and silence. Think on it."
I didn't get it right away. But Akamaru tilted his head like he did.
So maybe it was worth thinking about.
---
Choji's POV
I hated sparring.
Not because I was bad. I was just… slow. Not slow-slow, but chunky. I always felt like I was getting in my partner's way.
During traps, I tried to stay low, tried to keep up. I set off two ink pouches and almost slipped on a grease tag.
My face burned with shame.
But Iruka didn't laugh. He knelt next to me and offered a napkin.
"You're strong," he said simply. "But strength without roots gets blown over."
I blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means we're going to build your strength into a foundation—footwork, balance, core movement. Karate from a world that prizes solidity and precision. It'll suit you."
"…You think I can do that?"
"I know you can."
No one had ever said it like that before. Not even Dad.
---
Sakura's POV
I wasn't worried about traps. I was smart. I could spot details. I avoided three out of four wires and even disarmed one tag. That had to count for something.
But sparring with Ino?
Ugh. It was all hair-pulling and insults. No technique. No grace.
Iruka-sensei watched quietly. When we were done, sweaty and irritated, he didn't scold us. He just said, "You two cancel each other out because you mirror each other. Let's build a rhythm instead."
I didn't get it.
But when I saw the way he moved through the trees—fluid, precise—I realized he wasn't talking about music.
He was talking about control. About how I could use me to move better. Think sharper. Maybe even fight stronger.
I wanted that.
---
Ino's POV
I stepped lightly across the traps, chakra flaring just enough to soften my landings.
Aesthetics mattered. I wasn't about to get covered in mud like Naruto.
Sparring was more annoying. I was paired with Sakura—ugh, as if I didn't see her enough—and she kept glaring like I'd insulted her ancestors.
Our fight turned into a slapfest within ten seconds.
"Control," Iruka-sensei said afterward. "Neither of you lacked chakra. You lacked rhythm. Harmony. Try to feel each other's pace next time."
He wrote something on his clipboard.
Rhythm?
Was he teaching us music or ninja work?
But later, when I watched him move between trap wires, barely touching the ground, I realized he had a flow. Like a dance. And I wanted to learn it.
---
Shikamaru's POV
This was the worst kind of day.
Sparring. Traps. Trees. Dirt.
I avoided every trap, but not out of effort—I just walked where no one else did. No explosions. No wires. Just a straight line.
When I sparred with Choji, I let him win after three moves. Not because I couldn't beat him. Just because it wasn't worth the effort.
Iruka-sensei still called me over.
"I'm not lazy," I told him before he could say anything. "I'm just practical."
"I know," he said. "Which is why you need to start viewing strategy as motion, not just thought."
"Huh?"
"Learn how rhythm and timing apply to movement. Not just theory. I'll show you."
He said it so casually, like he wasn't trying to change my whole life.
---
Hinata's POV
The sparring was hard.
I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want them to look at me. I just wanted to… move quietly. Stay useful. Not fail.
Shino was my partner. He was kind in his silence. We flowed, slow and steady, a calm spiral of strikes and gentle redirection.
The trap course was harder—but I listened. I watched the air. The motion of the leaves. My breath stayed calm.
Iruka-sensei smiled when I reached the end. He said nothing. Just smiled.
Later, he approached both me and Shino.
"You two are precise," he said. "Deliberate. You don't waste movement. You'll be learning a style from another world. One that emphasizes leverage, posture, and control. A martial art used by thinkers and surgeons."
Shino nodded. I blushed.
"But it will take time," Iruka added. "Trust and practice."
I did trust him.
That scared me.
---
Shino's POV
I appreciate silence.
It teaches you more than words ever could. It lets you feel intent, pressure, change.
Hinata understood that. Our sparring felt more like communication than combat.
I completed the trap course without fanfare. Anticipation, weight, shadows—these things telegraphed every threat.
Iruka-sensei noticed. He didn't praise loudly. He just nodded once and said, "You'll do well with jujitsu. The quiet kind. Efficient. Like insects—calm until they strike."
I liked that.
He understood more than he let on.
---
General POV
By the end of the day, the field was torn up, the kids were exhausted, and my clipboard was full.
I sat them down under the trees.
"You each have your own talents. Your own pace. Your own rhythm," I told them. "From today forward, I'll be giving you specific paths to explore—through physical drills, partner exercises, and a bit of… unorthodox wisdom."
I saw their curiosity ignite, even in the quiet ones.
"Some of you will be learning martial forms from a man named Orochi Doppo. Others will master body control, chakra rhythm, and a movement trick called Rhythm Echo. And a few of you will study the joint techniques of a grappler named Akisame."
They didn't know the names. Not yet. But they felt the weight in my voice.
"Your graduation is a year away," I said. "By then, I want you all to be more than ninja. I want you to be ready."