The days settled into a rhythm, a steady beat against which we honed ourselves. Morning, wake up to the existential jolt of being in the wrong body, which was slowly fading to a dull throb of acceptance. Then, the walk to the Academy with Satoru, our conversations a mix of the future and commentary on the absurdities of our past lives. Academy lectures and exercises. Then, the real work at Training Ground 3, pushing our new bodies and burgeoning powers until muscles screamed and chakra reserves ran dry. Finally, a restorative bowl of heaven at Ichiraku, often sharing the counter with a blissfully ignorant Naruto, before collapsing into our respective futons.
It was a grind, monotonous and demanding, but it was working.
My sword, once stiff and thoughtful, were becoming a second language to my body. The blade was no longer a foreign object but an extension of my will, moving in fluid, deadly arcs that felt as natural as breathing. The ghost of Musashi's skill was slowly seeping into my own muscles, overwriting a lifetime of sedentary gaming with the muscle memory of a master swordswoman.
Satoru's progress was less physical and more terrifyingly conceptual. He spent his evenings on the training post, not just levitating leaves, but deconstructing them. He'd use his chakra to separate a leaf into its component fibers without breaking them, or make a droplet of water defy gravity and trace complex patterns in the air. He was learning the very grammar of chakra, and the Six Eyes were his Rosetta Stone.
Our system screens reflected the effort. Slowly, painstakingly, the numbers crept upwards.
[Host Status:]
Name: Musashi
Synchronization Rates:
Miyamoto Musashi (Saber): [0.62%]
Senji Muramasa (Saber): [0.03%]
Minamoto-no-Raikou (Berserker): [0.00%]
It was a crawl, not a sprint, but it was progress.
One particularly bright afternoon, Iruka-sensei led us not to the sparring rings, but to a different section of the training grounds dotted with wooden targets. A cart filled with kunai and shuriken stood nearby.
"A shinobi's weapons are an extension of their will!" Iruka announced, holding up a gleaming three-pronged kunai. "Today, we practice shurikenjutsu. The goal is accuracy, precision, and efficiency. Do not waste movements, and do not waste ammunition!"
He gave a flawless demonstration, sending three kunai and five shuriken into the dead center of a distant target in a single, fluid motion.
The students were called up in groups. Naruto, predictably, was a disaster. His throws were wild, embedding his kunai in the ground, the trees, and even the fence behind the targets. Kiba was a bit better, his aggressive style translating into powerful, even if not entirely precise, throws. Sakura, ever diligent and motivated by the Uchiha sitting nearby, managed to get most of hers on the board.
And Sasuke… Sasuke was a natural. Each throw was a perfect, economical movement. His kunai and shuriken all landed clustered tightly around the bullseye, a testament to his Uchiha bloodline and his own relentless training.
Then, it was Satoru's turn. He strolled up to the line, picking up five shuriken. He didn't even seem to aim. With a series of lazy, almost dismissive flicks of his wrist, he sent them flying. He wasn't even looking at the target, his head turned to observe a cloud in the sky.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
All five shuriken were embedded in the target, forming a perfect circle around the absolute center point of the bullseye.
Sasuke's eye twitched. It was a display of such casual, arrogant perfection that it was more insulting than a direct challenge.
"Show-off," I muttered under my breath.
"Musashi! You're up!" Iruka called, his voice holding a note of anticipation. After our taijutsu performance, he had come to expect the unexpected from us.
I walked to the line and picked up a kunai. It felt different from my katana, smaller, weighted for throwing rather than cutting. But it was still a weapon. I took my stance, my body naturally settling into a position of stability and power, a gift from my burgeoning 'Fifth Form' skill.
I looked at the target, a simple circle of painted wood fifty feet away. As I focused, something strange happened. The world didn't slow down, but my perception of it sharpened to an impossible degree.
[High-stress situation involving a bladed weapon has stimulated the user's perception.]
[Innate Skill 'Heavenly Eye' (Inactive) has momentarily flickered to life.]
For a breathtaking instant, I saw it. A faint, shimmering blue line arced through the air, originating from my hand and ending in the precise center of the bullseye. It wasn't a guess; it was a fact. It was the 'optimal path', the undeniable route to success.
My arm moved, following the line. I didn't think about the angle, the force, or the release point. I just… threw.
The kunai sailed through the air, spinning perfectly, following the ghost-line I had seen.
THWACK.
It struck the bullseye with a solid, definitive sound that was immensely satisfying. It had landed exactly where Satoru's shuriken-circle had left the center point untouched.
Iruka's eyebrows shot up. The other students murmured. I picked up another kunai, then another. Each time, the blue line appeared, a perfect, guide. Each throw was a perfect bullseye. For my final throw, I picked up one of Satoru's shuriken that he'd left on the table. Taking aim at the first kunai I had thrown, I let it fly.
Clang!
The shuriken struck the metal ring at the end of my kunai's hilt, splitting the air with a high-pitched ringing sound and embedding itself right next to it. It wasn't quite splitting the arrow, but it was close enough.
Silence.
Then, Satoru started to clap, a slow, deliberate sound. "Not bad, Musashi-chan. Not bad at all. Looks like I've got some competition." He said it with a grin, but I could see through his sunglasses—thanks to the Six Eyes, he'd undoubtedly seen the faint flare of chakra around my own eyes and knew something special had just happened.
[Successful application of a Template's core abilities has been registered.]
[Miyamoto Musashi (Saber) Synchronization Rate has increased to 0.85%.]
[Innate Skill 'Heavenly Eye' has progressed. Can now be activated intermittently under specific conditions.]
I felt a thrill of victory. I finally had an area where I could match his casual genius. My path was through weapons, and today, I had proven it.
A days later, we tackled the next of the three core Academy jutsu: the Bunshin no Jutsu.
"The Clone Jutsu is different from the Transformation Jutsu," Iruka explained, chalking the hand signs on the board—Ram, Snake, Tiger. "You are not changing your own form. You are creating an illusion, a duplicate of yourself made entirely of chakra. These clones have no physical substance. They are for diversion and confusion. While it's a basic E-rank technique, it requires precise chakra control."
This was it. The jutsu that would be Naruto's downfall at the graduation exam. As if on cue, Naruto was vibrating with determination. This was his chance to prove himself.
He was one of the first to be called up. He performed the hand signs with furious concentration. "Clone Jutsu!"
Pooof.
The smoke cleared to reveal a single, pale, sickly-looking clone lying on the floor. It looked more like a flattened, waterlogged version of Naruto than a proper illusion. It gave a pathetic little gasp and then dissipated.
The class erupted in laughter.
"NARUTO!" Iruka face-palmed. "That's a failure! Again!"
Naruto's shoulders slumped. He looked utterly dejected as he walked to the back of the line, ignoring the jeers. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. His massive chakra reserves and lack of fine control made this simple jutsu almost impossible for him.
One by one, the other students tried. Sasuke made three perfect clones. Sakura made one. Well most of the class managed at least one.
Satoru, when his turn came, looked bored. He did the hand signs with one hand. "Bunshin."
Poof! Poof! Poof! Poof! Poof!
A dozen perfect Satorus appeared, surrounding him. One was leaning against the chalkboard. Another was waving to the girls in the class. A third was examining its fingernails with a critical eye. It was an obnoxious, overwhelming display of talent.
"Is this enough, sensei?" the real Satoru asked blandly.
Iruka just nodded, looking weary. "Yes, Satoru. That's more than enough."
Then, my turn. I stepped forward, feeling less confident than I had at the target range. This wasn't about form or weapons. This was about creation from nothing. I performed the hand signs, feeling the chakra gather in my stomach. I drew on that conceptual understanding from my Muramasa template. Forging. I am forging a copy of myself from raw energy.
"Clone Jutsu!"
Poof!
A single clone appeared next to me. It was a perfect copy, but it flickered slightly, like a bad hologram. It held its form for about ten seconds before dissolving into wisps of chakra.
"A success, Musashi! A bit unstable, but the form was perfect. Good work!" Iruka praised.
It was a pass, but it was a struggle. It was clear where my strengths and weaknesses lay. I excelled at anything involving physical application—taijutsu, weapons. Satoru excelled at anything involving pure chakra manipulation—the very fabric of jutsu.
That evening, as we were leaving the Academy, the sky opened up. A sudden downpour sent students scattering for cover. Satoru, with his usual flair, simply held up a hand, and the raindrops sizzled and evaporated an inch from his body, creating a personal, invisible umbrella. My own shirt was getting soaked.
"You could share, you know," I grumbled, pulling my hand to shielding my head from rain.
"And deprive you of the authentic Konoha weather experience? Never," he teased.
As we rounded a corner, we saw a scene that made us pause. Under the awning of a closed shop, a group of three older, bigger boys had cornered a smaller figure. It was Hinata Hyuga. She was backed against the wall, looking terrified, her pale lavender eyes wide with fear.
"Look at her," the lead bully sneered. "The great Hyuga princess. Those creepy eyes of yours see everything, right? Can you see me about to mess up your perfect little face?"
Hinata flinched, tears welling in her eyes. "P-please… leave me alone."
My fists clenched. Before I could even think, I started walking forward. Satoru sighed dramatically but fell into step beside me.
"Hey," I called out, my voice sharp. The three boys turned, their sneers shifting to surprise when they saw us. They were probably a year or two older, maybe fresh genin dropouts. "Leave her alone."
The leader scoffed. "Who are you? Her bodyguard? Get lost, pinky."
Satoru stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. The rain still refused to touch him. He pushed his sunglasses down his nose, peering over them at the bullies. The full, unfiltered pressure of his presence, amplified by the Six Eyes, washed over them.
"You're in the way," he said, his voice quiet but carrying an unnerving weight. "My friend and I are trying to get home, and your pointless display of insecurity is a detour I have no time for. Disappear."
The bullies froze. They couldn't see his chakra, but they could feel it. The predatory stillness of a tiger in the grass. The air grew heavy, charged with an energy that made their instincts scream.
The leader, trying to save face, took a shaky step forward. "Wh-what did you say, you white-haired freak?"
Satoru didn't even look at him. He flicked his finger. A tiny pebble from the street shot through the air with an audible whizz, faster than a bullet, and embedded itself in the wall a hair's breadth from the bully's ear.
CRACK.
The plaster around the pebble fractured.
All three of them went pale. They stared at the pebble, then at the utterly unconcerned Satoru, and then they scrambled away, falling over each other in their haste to flee.
The sudden silence was broken only by the drumming of the rain.
I walked over to Hinata. She was still trembling, staring at us with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Th-thank you…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Are you alright?" I asked, softening my voice.
She nodded mutely, clutching the front of her jacket.
Satoru walked closer, his analytical gaze fixed on her eyes. "The Byakugan," he murmured, almost to himself. "A 359-degree field of vision, x-ray capabilities, the ability to see the chakra pathway system. Fascinating Dōjutsu. But it makes you a target."
Hinata flinched at his blunt assessment.
"Satoru, be nice," I chided. I gave Hinata a reassuring smile. "Don't mind him. He's… tactless. Do you live near here? We can walk you home."
She seemed startled by the offer but gave a small, grateful nod. We walked her to the edge of the Hyuga compound, a massive, walled estate that screamed old money and older secrets. She bowed deeply to us before hurrying inside.
As we walked away, the rain began to lighten.
"So, the Hyuga's 'Caged Bird' seal," Satoru said thoughtfully. "A curse mark placed on the branch family members to ensure the main family's control and the secrecy of the Byakugan. She's a main family member, so she's safe from that, but she's still a prisoner of their expectations. It's no wonder she's so timid."
"You got all that from just looking at her?" I asked, impressed despite myself.
"The Six Eyes sees all," he said with a shrug. "Structure, chakra, flow. It's all just information."
We arrived at Training Ground 3, the earth damp and smelling of rain. The encounter had left a strange feeling in my chest. It was one thing to know about the cruelty of this world from the manga; it was another to see it directed at a terrified child right in front of you.
"It makes you want to get stronger, faster, doesn't it?" I said, drawing my katana.
"Yeah," he agreed, his usual smirk gone. "It does."
That evening, my training had a new intensity. Every swing of my sword was fueled by the memory of Hinata's frightened face and the bullies' ugly sneers. I pushed myself harder, faster, channeling my frustration into the steel. On my final swing, I focused all my intent, all my chakra, trying to replicate the feeling of throwing the kunai.
For a single, brilliant moment, the blade of my katana glowed with a faint blue light. It was barely visible in the twilight, but it was there. Chakra, flowing through the blade.
[User has successfully performed a rudimentary form of Chakra Flow.]
[Miyamoto Musashi (Saber) Synchronization Rate has increased to 0.90%]
[Senji Muramasa (Saber) Synchronization Rate has increased to 0.05%. Understanding of 'imbuing' an object has deepened.]
I gasped, the glow fading as my concentration broke. I had done it. The first real step to combining my swordsmanship with the power of this world.
Satoru gave a low whistle from his post. "Now we're getting somewhere."
That night, back in my room, I couldn't stop thinking. The world was bigger than just our training, and the plot was more than just a series of events to be survived. It was made of real people with real fears. People like Hinata. People like Naruto. Hell even normal people.
Protecting them wasn't some distant, abstract goal. The need for it was right here, right now. And for the first time, looking at the slowly climbing numbers on my screen, I felt like I was forging myself into the very tool needed to do it. The grind wasn't just for me anymore. It was for them.