The floor of the Hyūga dojo gleamed like polished ivory, reflecting the soft, warm light of lanterns hung meticulously from the wooden pillars. Every corner smelled faintly of tatami and aged wood, a scent that reminded Akihiro uncomfortably of discipline and expectation.
The silence was absolute, except for the sharp, dry sound of footsteps, the thud of strikes landing, and the occasional slap of palms as the young Hyūga trainees practiced under the watchful eyes of instructors whose gazes seemed to pierce through the body to the very soul.
At the center, Hyūga Akihiro assumed his combat stance, his pale eyes narrowing slightly. Feet planted firmly, arms raised, body tense—but calm on the surface.
In theory, he looked ready. In practice… it was the perfect storm of disaster waiting to happen. Every instinct screamed that he was about to fail, yet he pushed himself forward anyway.
"Advance," the master's voice cut through the air, colder than stone and as unforgiving as the laws of nature themselves.
Akihiro drew a deep breath. He let chakra flow through his tenketsus, as he had done countless times in private, visualizing the perfect strikes, the flawless circulation, the graceful precision he had yet to attain. He moved toward his training partner, hands open, movements meant to be fluid, like water flowing around rocks.
Or at least, that was the plan.
The strike went horrifically wrong. The chakra misaligned, the precision faltered, and instead of targeting the opponent's pressure points with pinpoint accuracy, Akihiro's hand slammed against the other boy's arm like an awkward slap.
His partner reacted effortlessly, deflecting the attack and countering with a blow that sent Akihiro stumbling backward. The tatami floor offered no mercy.
"Unacceptable," the instructor's voice rang out, sharp and merciless. "You are a Hyūga. A bearer of the Byakugan. The Gentle Fist demands perfection. If you cannot achieve it, it is because you were not born for it."
Silence settled like a heavy fog over the dojo. Some of the trainees stared with pity, others with the cruel fascination of those who delight in witnessing failure. Akihiro felt their eyes on him, weighing him, judging him, labeling him a failure before he even had a chance to rise.
Lying on the floor, he let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Yeah… I guess I was born with the eyes, but without the instruction manual."
A few muffled chuckles arose from the other students. The instructor, unsurprisingly, did not find it amusing.
"Get up. Again."
And so it continued. Attempt after attempt, failure after failure. Every incorrect strike was a reminder not only of his lack of talent, but of the weight of destiny pressing on him.
He was merely a branch family member, condemned to bear the cursed seal, forever under the shadow of the main branch. No glory, no choice, no escape.
Akihiro lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling, watching the faint shadows the lanterns cast across the floor. His mind, however, was not resting.
"No matter how many times I try, this body betrays me. I don't have the delicacy of a martial artist.
Not even close.
But… maybe that's the wrong approach. Maybe punching people in the chest isn't my path. Maybe, instead of focusing on gentle strikes, I should be thinking bigger… like uprooting trees instead of arms."
The thought of Senjutsu sparked again, a faint pulse in the depths of his mind.
He had felt this strange resonance before—during quiet moments, during meditation, even while resting after a training session. It was as if the world itself had a heartbeat, and he could feel it pulsing through the air, the trees, the soil.
This was no ordinary chakra. It was something primal, something natural.
Perhaps… this was his way out of the cage his destiny had built for him.
Of course, his isekai brain could never let things stay purely serious.
"And here I am, sweating to not die young… while in the future I'll have to deal with adult Hinata. If I survive long enough… huehuehue, jackpot unlocked."
He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Adult Hinata, confident, brave, and yet still carrying that shy, delicate charm when she looked at him.
That tiny, quiet smile she reserved only for him. The idea alone was a strange mix of motivation and absurdity.
"I'm not dying before I see that. I swear it."
The night training ended, and Akihiro slipped quietly through the clan gardens. Moonlight bathed the world in silver, casting long shadows across the manicured hedges and polished stones. He moved toward a secluded grove, away from prying eyes, where the whispers of nature could speak to him without interruption.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and let the sensations of the world wash over him.
And then he felt it.
The world was alive. The wind caressed him like a lover's hand. The leaves shimmered with energy, vibrating subtly, as if the very essence of life pulsed through them. He could see the invisible streams of chakra flowing through nature itself. This was no trick of the mind. This was real.
He reached out his hand, and for a moment, it felt as if the universe itself inhaled and exhaled with him.
A shiver ran down his spine—the same thrill he had experienced reading the manga about Sage Mode. Only now, it wasn't fiction. It was a tangible, almost sacred promise.
"What a strangely pleasurable feeling…"he murmured, reverently.
His pale eyes glimmered in the moonlight.
"Destiny may want to cage me… but if I find a way out, no cage will hold me."
And, deep in the recesses of his mind, a thought less noble but far more intoxicating took root:
"And that's when I'll finally become the protagonist of this story. Waifu secured, OP powers, and if things go right… I'll even rub it in Neji's smug face."
He laughed softly, a mix of madness, hope, and excitement.
The kind of laughter that only comes from someone who knows they are standing on the edge of something enormous and terrifying, yet refuses to look away.
Akihiro's mind wandered further, imagining the forest's chakra weaving into his body, amplifying his senses, his reflexes, his very soul. Perhaps he wasn't destined for perfection with the Gentle Fist—but maybe perfection wasn't the point.
Maybe the point was survival, growth, and forging a new path that even the Hyūga main family hadn't dared to tread.
"Yes… I may fail at their ways. I may stumble, fall, and get slapped down. But I will find my own way. And when I do… this world will finally bend to me."
The wind stirred, and Akihiro felt alive. More alive than he had ever been in any world he had known.