Reiji sat cross-legged in the Hokage's office, staring at the small, ornate box on the desk in front of him.
Inside was the seal.
A neatly folded slip of parchment inscribed with fine, intricate calligraphy, bordered by a frame of chakra-imbued ink. It looked simple. Unassuming.
But he could feel its pull already.
"So," Hiruzen said, leaning back in his chair, "do you know what you're asking for?"
Reiji did not look up. "Yes."
"A gravity seal is not a toy," Hiruzen continued. "Even among chuunin, it's a rare training tool. It will slow your movements, strain your muscles, even crush you if you do not respect it. Many grown men have failed to handle its weight. You're still just a boy."
Reiji finally raised his eyes. "Then I will not fail."
The Hokage chuckled softly. "You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish."
"Both," Reiji said flatly.
For a moment, Hiruzen simply studied him. This boy was strange. He spoke little, his tone never shifted, and yet there was something unshakable in his gaze. It was not arrogance. Not exactly.
Perhaps obsession.
Hiruzen sighed. "Very well. But I want you supervised. If I find you collapsed in the training grounds because you decided to triple the seal's weight on your first day, I will revoke it."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Hiruzen asked, stroking his beard. "Reiji, strength is a long path. You cannot sprint through it. You'll break yourself."
Reiji reached for the seal. "If I break, I'll rebuild stronger."
The old man smiled despite himself. "You sound like a Sarutobi. Shameless and stubborn."
Reiji didn't respond.