The damp scent of moss and packed earth filled Renji's nostrils as he crouched by the murky pond at the edge of the training grounds. Six years old, nearly seven. Two years of bone-deep fatigue, micro-tears in his chakra pathways healing thicker, and the constant thrum of calculation beneath his thoughts. Today, it needed to work. Tomorrow was the Academy.
He placed his palm flat on the surface of the stagnant water. Not pushing down. Just contact. The water felt cool, viscous. He closed his eyes, shutting out the chirping birds and rustling leaves. In his mind, the complex network of his refined chakra pathways lit up, a luminous circuit diagram superimposed on his nervous system. He focused on his palm, not flooding it with raw energy like the brutal Lunging sessions, but initiating a precise, rhythmic pulse.
Thrum-thrum-thrum.
A subtle vibration began in his core, traveling down his arm, concentrated into the point of contact. He tuned the frequency mentally, searching. Too low: just a gentle ripple. Too high: splashing, wasteful dispersal. He needed the resonant frequency of the water molecules themselves, the sweet spot where minimal input yielded maximum structural disruption.
There. A shift. The water beneath his palm didn't splash; it shimmered. Not like heat haze, but a visible, rapid oscillation. Rings of perfectly concentric ripples pulsed outwards from his palm, unnaturally uniform, spreading farther and faster than any pebble toss. He held it, the vibration a steady, controlled hum travelling up his arm bone, a familiar song now.
Kinetic Style:(Shindō Shō). Vibration Palm. Not a destructive roar, but a precision tool. A scalpel of kinetic energy.
He lifted his hand. The shimmering aura vanished instantly. The ripples faded. The pond surface smoothed, leaving only the memory of the disturbance. A small smile, devoid of childish glee but filled with hard-won satisfaction, touched his lips. Frequency modulation. Controlled resonance. Physics manifested.
He stood, brushing damp earth from his worn trousers. His chakra reserves, though significantly larger than two years ago, still felt finite. Efficient use was paramount. He walked towards the pond's edge, then stepped onto the water. Not a dramatic leap, just a simple step. His chakra molded instantly, forming a thin, perfectly stable layer beneath his sandal, interacting with the water's surface tension – another application of micro-control, learned through relentless repetition when walking wasn't the goal, but the means to understand buoyancy and cohesion. He walked a few paces, the water yielding only a slight dimple under each footfall, no splash. Control. Absolute, hard-earned control.
"Renji!"
Matron Suga's voice, laced with its usual mixture of affection and worry, cut through the quiet. She stood at the edge of the clearing, wringing her hands on her apron. "It's time! Registration starts soon! You need to wash up properly, put on your clean tunic!"
He stepped back onto solid ground, the transition seamless. "Coming, Matron Suga." His voice was calm, measured. The frantic energy of the toddler replaced by a focused intensity that unnerved some of the younger carers.
As they walked back towards the orphanage, Suga fussed. "Are you sure you're ready? It's a big step. So many children… clan heirs…" She trailed off, the unspoken 'an orphan like you' hanging heavy. She'd seen the toll his training took, the nights he'd stumble in pale and trembling, the inflamed muscles she'd gently massage with herbal salves. She still thought he'd "break himself."
"I'm ready," Renji said simply. His gaze was fixed ahead, not on the orphanage building, but on the distant rooftops of Konoha proper, where the Academy stood. Ready to test his theories against the world's expectations.
The Konoha Ninja Academy was a bustle of noise and nervous energy. Children clustered in groups, some wide-eyed and clinging to parents, others boasting loudly about clan techniques. The air crackled with unspent chakra and adolescent bravado. Renji walked beside Suga, a small, blond figure amidst the throng,(MC is blond) his expression detached, analytical. He cataloged the sensory input: the sharp scent of new wood and ink, the high-pitched chatter, the faint static tingle of varied chakra signatures brushing against his awareness. Some burned bright and dense – the Uchiha boy with the perpetual scowl, a stoic Hyūga girl. Others felt… ordinary. Like him, but without the focused hum beneath the surface.
The registration line moved slowly. At the front, a bored-looking chūnin sat behind a desk, a stack of forms and a single sheet of strange, off-white paper beside him. "Name? Date of birth? Guardian?" the chūnin droned as a girl with pigtails stammered her answers.
When Renji's turn came, he stepped forward. "Renji Kaiten. Seven years. Konoha Orphanage. Matron Suga." His delivery was flat, efficient.
"Control test," the chūnin said, gesturing to a small, shallow basin of water beside the desk. "Walk across."
This was surprising after all from what he remembered most graduates couldn't walk on water, and that was when they were 12. It looks like this world was significantly different than the one he remembered. On the other hand when he looked around he saw that every single kid fell into the water... What was the point of the test if the instructors knew they would all fail.
Renji nodded. He stepped onto the water. The surface dimpled slightly under his sandals, but held firm. He walked three steps forward, three steps back onto the wooden floor. Smooth. Effortless. Silent.
The chūnin blinked. "Huh. Good control, alright. Proceed to the courtyard for orientation." He handed Renji a slip of paper.
He joined the growing crowd of accepted children in the sun-drenched courtyard. Clan kids huddled together. The Uchiha boy stood apart, radiating simmering intensity. The loud, orange-clad blond boy – Naruto Uzumaki, the jinchuriki, Renji's mind supplied clinically – was jumping up and down, yelling about becoming Hokage. Renji stood near the back, observing. The air vibrated with pre-adolescent energy and latent power.
He closed his eyes for a moment, not in meditation, but in assessment. Two years. He could walk on water. He could resonate matter on contact. His control was razor-sharp. It felt monumental after the dirt and agony of the orphanage grounds.
But looking around, feeling the sheer density of chakra radiating from some of these children – the Uchiha's smoldering potential, the Hyūga's precise thrum, the frankly overwhelming, chaotic ocean contained within Naruto – the cold calculation reasserted itself.
It wasn't enough.
Not nearly.
The Academy wasn't the goal. It was the starting block. He flexed his hand, feeling the potential for vibration humming just beneath his skin. Physics demanded more input. The equation wasn't balanced yet. He needed greater amplitude. Higher frequencies. More efficient transduction. The real work started now.
The scrape of gravel under dozens of restless feet was the loudest sound in the sudden hush. Renji snapped his eyes open. A trio of chūnin proctors materialized on the low platform at the courtyard's edge, their expressions bored but watchful. One, a woman with a messy brown ponytail, stepped forward. Her voice cut through the murmurs like a kunai. "Alright, brats. Line up. Single file. Keep the whining to yourselves. Entrance exam starts now."
A collective intake of breath, sharp and nervous, hissed through the crowd. Renji fell into line behind a girl with trembling shoulders, his own posture unnaturally still. He cataloged the proctors: minimal gear, relaxed stances suggesting efficiency over intimidation. Standard assessment posture. The sun beat down, warming the dark fabric of his orphanage-issue tunic and baking the dusty ground. Sweat prickled on his lower back. Another kid shuffled nervously, kicking a loose stone that skittered across the packed earth. Fight or flight responses already kicking in. Predictably inefficient.
"First test: Taijutsu basics," announced the woman, her gaze sweeping the line. "Show us a basic stance, one offensive strike, one defensive block. Chain them together. Smooth transitions. No chakra." She jerked a thumb towards a series of worn practice posts set up nearby. "Targets are there. Go one after the other. Speed isn't the point. Control is. Don't embarrass your families."
A ripple of movement. The first boy, gangly and pale, stumbled forward. His attempt at a fighting stance was shaky, his punch an awkward flail that missed the post entirely. The block was late, sloppy. One proctor scratched notes onto a clipboard; the others watched impassively. Next came a girl who moved with more confidence, landing a solid palm strike on the post with a satisfying thwack, her block crisp. Renji noted the minor rotation in her hip joint – inefficient force transfer, but acceptable for this level. Then came the loud kid, Naruto. He practically bounced to the post, adopting a wild, unbalanced stance. "Yeah! Believe it!" His punch was a wild haymaker, completely missing the post, his body spinning with the momentum. He windmilled his arms wildly for his "block." Laughter erupted, quickly stifled by the woman proctor's icy glare. "Next!"
Uchiha Sasuke moved next. His stance was low, centered, textbook perfect. A sharp, efficient jab snapped forward, knuckles precisely impacting the post's center. His block was economical, forearm snapping up in a tight guard. Minimal movement, maximum effect. The proctors gave small nods. Efficient. Wasted potential without the Sharingan, Renji's analytical mind supplied coldly.
Then it was his turn. He stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his worn sandals. He settled into a basic stance, knees slightly bent, center of gravity low and balanced directly over his feet. Smoothly, he transitioned into a straight punch – not flashy, but the kinetic chain flowed perfectly from his driving rear foot, through his core, and into the knuckles striking the post. Clean impact. Without pause, he pivoted, bringing his forearm up in a solid inside block. The transitions were fluid, economical. No wasted motion. He stepped back into a neutral position, his breath even. The lead proctor gave a curt nod, "Adequate. Next."
A flush of something hot and unfamiliar pricked behind Renji's sternum. Adequate. Not efficient, not controlled. Just adequate. He bit down on the flicker of irritation. Emotional response: irrelevant. Data point: his physical form, while rigorously trained to adapt to chakra had neglected physical strength, something he aimed to rectify,
"Second test," the woman called out as the last child finished, looking relieved. "Chakra application. Demonstrate basic molded chakra control. Something simple. Leaf sticking exercise, water walking again if you can manage it, or..." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "Something novel. Impress us." She gestured towards a small trough of water beside the posts and a basket filled with dry leaves. "Use what's here. One minute."
Renji's focus narrowed. Leaf sticking? Child's play after years of micro-managing chakra pulses in his muscles. Water walking? Already demonstrated. Novel. This was the opening. Others scrambled. Naruto grabbed a leaf, pressing it frantically to his forehead, face scrunched in concentration; it fluttered to the ground. Another boy managed to stick one to his palm for a few shaky seconds. Sasuke also went to the leaf and held it to his forehead for a minute, at this age even he couldn't walk on water yet.
Renji walked past the trough. Past the leaves. He stopped beside the nearest practice post – sturdy, aged wood, scarred by countless impacts. He placed his right palm flat against its rough surface. No flare of light, no dramatic surge. Just contact.
Inside, the familiar circuit lit up. He initiated the pulse. Thrum-thrum-thrum. Not the wide-spectrum resonance he used on water. Wood had a different density, a different resonant frequency. He adjusted, fine-tuning the vibrational wavelength through his palm, seeking the harmonic node. There. A subtle shift in the feedback vibration traveling up his bones. A faint shimmering aura, visible only as a heat-haze distortion, surrounded his palm where it met the wood.
He pulsed again. Harder. A low, almost subsonic hum vibrated in the air, making a nearby leaf tremble. The wood beneath his palm groaned softly. Then, with a sharp, dry crack, a hairline fracture appeared, radiating outwards from the point of contact. Dust puffed from the fissure. He released the pulse immediately, lifting his hand. The shimmer vanished. Only the crack remained, a stark, jagged line in the old wood.
Silence slammed down, heavier than before. The proctors weren't just looking now; they were staring. The bored expression was gone from the woman's face, replaced by focused intensity. The other children gawked. Naruto yelled, "Whoa! Did you see that?!" Sasuke's eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing.
"What," the lead proctor said, her voice dangerously quiet, cutting through the murmurs, "was that?"
Renji met her gaze, his blue eyes steady, clinical. "Applied resonance. Targeted structural fatigue via precisely modulated chakra oscillation within the material's natural frequency band." He paused, seeing the incomprehension. Simplified. "I made it vibrate itself apart."
He flexed his hand, feeling the residual tingle, he still had to train more to activate Vibration Palm faster, without delay, but for now the crack in the post was proof of concept, a tiny breach in the wall of bloodline supremacy. He'd shown them something outside their precious clan scrolls. The lead proctor stepped closer, her eyes locked on the damaged post, then flicking back to Renji. She didn't speak. The air crackled with unasked questions. Renji simply waited, the faint hum of potential still echoing in his bones. The courtyard felt charged, every eye fixed on him and the cracked wood.