The first morning in Konoha was nothing like the sterile gyms or packed arenas of my past life.Here, the air carried a mix of crisp mountain breeze and the faint aroma of freshly cut wood. It was calm… almost too calm.No roaring crowds, no blinding lights just the subtle rustle of leaves and the rhythmic tapping of shopkeepers opening their stalls.
I pulled myself out of the thin futon in the corner of the small room the orphanage had given me.My body felt… different. Not weaker, but unfamiliar. My limbs were smaller, the muscle memory of years in MMA compressed into the frame of an 8-year-old boy.I rolled my shoulders, rotated my wrists, and immediately noted the limited range of motion. It was like being forced into a sparring match after dropping several weight classes overnight.
"So this is my starting point," I muttered under my breath. No point in mourning the loss adaptation was survival.
I stepped outside to an open training yard behind the orphanage. No one else was there yet. Perfect.
The dirt beneath my bare feet was cold and uneven. I sank into a horse stance, the same way my Muay Thai coach had drilled me until my legs trembled back in my old life.
Thirty breaths.By the tenth, I already felt the burn in my thighs. Smaller body, smaller stamina.By the thirtieth, sweat was running down my neck.
I transitioned into shadowboxing slow, precise strikes. I wasn't just punching; I was mapping this new body.Every jab told me how the muscles engaged. Every kick showed me the balance points.
"No matter the world, biomechanics don't lie."
Later that day, I walked through Konoha's streets, keeping my eyes sharp for movement patterns.Two chunin passed me, chatting casually, but their strides were telling smooth, weight-shifting like a cat ready to spring. Their breathing was shallow but controlled.
I recognized the gait.These were people trained to fight without wasting a single calorie of energy. The kind of thing you couldn't learn in a few weeks at a dojo. This was muscle memory etched since childhood.
Then, in a nearby training field, I spotted it a genin practicing Taijutsu.It wasn't flashy, just basic forms, but I caught glimpses of something familiar.The stance reminded me of Kyokushin Karate, except looser in the hips.The pivoting footwork resembled Savate, but with better guard control.
If these kids were learning such hybrid styles already, then mastering and combining them would be my best weapon.
I didn't plan on finding anything big today, but fate had other ideas.Passing an alley near the training grounds, I overheard two chunin talking.
"yeah, the old man says he's not teaching Hachimon Tonkō to just anyone."
"Makes sense. Last guy who tried without preparation nearly tore his muscles apart."
My ears locked onto those words. Hachimon Tonkō the Eight Inner Gates.A technique that pushes the human body beyond its natural limits, even if it burns itself in the process.It was risky… but for someone like me, who already knew how to push past exhaustion, it could be the ultimate tool.
If I could get it.
That night, I lay in the futon, staring at the ceiling.If I wanted the Eight Gates, I'd need three things:
Base Strength – My current body couldn't handle the strain. I'd need months of progressive training.
Observation – I'd have to locate someone who knew the technique.
Trust – They wouldn't hand it to a random orphan kid.
Which meant I'd need to climb the ranks the old-fashioned way prove my skill until they couldn't ignore me.
I clenched my fists.No romance. No distractions. Just the art of combat, refined beyond what this world had ever seen.
Just before sleep claimed me, I felt something.A presence.Someone watching from the window.
I turned my head slowly, but saw nothing only the faint sway of leaves outside.Still, my instincts screamed.In MMA, you learned to trust that primal warning. It meant someone had their eyes on you.
Whoever it was… they'd be back.