Chapter 74 – The Brilliance of Nature
The sun in Mount Myōboku rose brighter than in the world of men. Its golden light spilled across towering stone statues and emerald moss, glimmering in the mist of waterfalls that never ceased to sing. The air was thick, alive, vibrating with unseen currents.
For Akira, the first day was agony.
Seated on the wide stone slab carved by time, his palms rested on his knees, body coated with the strange toad oil. He could feel it seep into him, forcing his chakra to mingle with the currents of nature. At first, the sensation was overwhelming, like trying to breathe while drowning. His skin stiffened. His limbs grew heavy. His heart raced as stone began to creep up his arm.
"Focus!" Fukasaku's sharp croak snapped like a whip. "Don't cling too tight, don't resist too hard. Flow, boy, flow!"
Akira gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. Flow…
He closed his eyes. His Sharingan spun open, the deep blue tomoe dancing, following the natural energy around him. He saw it—not with his eyes, but with his spirit. The breeze carried threads of power. The ground breathed with rhythm. The waterfalls pulsed with energy that spread through every drop of mist.
Slowly, his chakra stretched, reaching outward. Instead of fighting the current, he began to align with it. The stone on his arm cracked and fell away. His breathing steadied. For the first time, the world's pulse beat alongside his own.
Fukasaku's eyes widened. "…Ho. The brat's doing it."
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The second and third days tested his endurance.
He ran through the forests of Myōboku with gigantic toads at his heels, each leap forcing him to draw natural energy in motion. He sparred against Shima, whose deceptively small frame hid bursts of strength that sent him crashing into rocks. Jiraiya, watching from the sidelines, only barked, "Get up, brat! The enemy won't wait for you to catch your breath!"
Akira pushed himself beyond his limits, his clothes torn, his muscles burning. Each time his control slipped, his skin would harden, his body threatening to petrify. But each time, he recovered quicker. His Sharingan guided him, allowing him to see where the balance faltered.
On the fourth day, his movements flowed with an unnatural grace. He could sense attacks before they landed, feel the shift of air before a fist connected. When he leapt, it was as though the ground pushed him higher; when he struck, his strength carried the weight of the mountains.
"Natural energy ain't just about power," Fukasaku lectured between bouts. "It's about unity. World and self together. You lose balance, you lose yourself. Understand?"
"I do," Akira panted, wiping blood from his lip. "And I won't lose myself."
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By the sixth day, Akira no longer needed the toad oil. His body itself had learned to drink from the world around him. Sitting on the highest pillar of Myōboku, he meditated.
The blue of his Sharingan swirled. Slowly, his form changed. Orange pigmentation spread around his golden eyes, the air thickened, and his chakra bloomed like the sun. The trees bent gently as though bowing, the streams rippled in harmony, and every toad nearby instinctively turned toward him.
When he opened his eyes, they glowed like twin suns, warm yet commanding. His body felt lighter, faster, sharper—yet also grounded, as though the mountain itself lent him strength.
Jiraiya's jaw tightened. He remembered his own failures—his inability to truly master Sage Mode without help. But Akira… Akira had done it in mere days.
Fukasaku's voice trembled with awe. "…Natural Sage Mode. Perfect balance."
Akira stood, the energy radiating from him warm and fierce. His steps made no sound as he descended from the pillar. Power pulsed in every breath, every glance, yet his expression remained calm.
"…So this is Sage Mode," he whispered. His voice carried not just through the air, but through the earth itself.
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The seventh day was sparring.
Jiraiya faced him directly, summoning a massive toad with a poof of smoke. "Alright, brat. Show me if you're ready."
The battle was a storm. Akira moved like lightning, weaving between strikes, his fists cracking stone with casual ease. When Jiraiya launched a Rasengan, Akira countered with his own enhanced strike, the clash shaking the training field. His speed rivaled Minato's; his strength echoed the Sannin before him.
And yet, his control remained. He struck without cruelty, defended with precision. There was no wildness—only balance.
At last, Jiraiya called the fight off, panting. His grin spread wide, pride shining in his eyes. "Brat… you've done it. In a week, you've gone where I couldn't. You're a Sage now."
Akira exhaled, the orange markings fading as he released the energy. His shoulders relaxed, but his spirit burned brighter than ever.
"…Then it's time," he said softly. His thoughts turned to Konoha, to his family, to the storm of war waiting just beyond the horizon.
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That evening, standing atop the stone arch of Mount Myōboku, Akira gazed out at the endless horizon. The sun dipped low, painting the world in gold.
"I'll protect them," he murmured. "No matter what it takes."
And with Jiraiya and the elder toads watching, Akira prepared to return to the village—not just as a shinobi, but as a Sage.
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