Chapter 48: The Hidden Training Ground
The sun had barely risen when Minato dismissed Akira from morning drills. His chakra paper still haunted Minato's mind—dust crumbling in his hand, a sign that Akira possessed every chakra nature. But Jiraiya's warning echoed in his ears: "Keep it secret. Even the Hokage must not know, or the boy will be smothered under politics."
That afternoon, Akira slipped into the Academy classroom beside Kakashi. They didn't speak much during lessons anymore—since Sakumo's fall, Kakashi's sharp eyes had grown colder.
When the instructor began the lecture, Akira leaned close and whispered,
"Want to skip?"
Kakashi frowned. "What do you mean?"
Akira grinned, forming a single seal. "Shadow Clone Jutsu."
In a puff of smoke, an identical Akira appeared, sitting cross-legged at the desk, perfectly still. Kakashi's eyes widened as Akira explained quietly,
"The clone stays. The real me goes."
Kakashi's mind whirred. He was a genius, but this use was… different. He smirked beneath the tension. "Hn. I can do that too."
A flick of chakra—and a clone of Kakashi sat where he had been. The real Kakashi stood, eyes glinting.
"Follow me," Akira said.
Together, the two boys vanished into the glow of the Golden Byakugan's portal.
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Inside the dimension, the world was alive with light and warmth. Fairies darted over vibrant fields. A newly built house stood proudly in the clearing, and at its edge waited a familiar figure—Sakumo Hatake.
The White Fang smiled as his son and Akira approached. "You both came."
Kakashi's chest tightened, but he covered it with a terse nod. "We don't have much time. Teach us."
Sakumo's eyes softened but he understood. He drew his blade. "Very well. If you're going to carry swords, then you'll train with a real one."
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The session that followed was relentless. Sakumo's movements were smooth, precise, unforgiving. He corrected Kakashi's stance with sharp taps to the wrist. He guided Akira's grip until the boy's strikes no longer wavered.
Between sparring drills, Sakumo also had them combine kenjutsu with ninjutsu—lightning crackling along Kakashi's blade, wind chakra whistling around Akira's edge. Each clash sent sparks flying, the sound echoing across the dimension's fields.
Sweat poured. Arms shook. But neither boy stopped.
At last, when the day dimmed inside the timeless dimension, Sakumo lowered his sword. "Enough. You've done well."
Kakashi's chest heaved. Akira fell back on the grass, laughing breathlessly. "Better than Academy classes, right?"
Kakashi actually smiled—small, rare, but real. "Yeah."
And far away, back at the Academy, their silent clones kept staring at the chalkboard, keeping up the illusion that nothing unusual was happening at all.
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