The months bled into one another in a relentless cycle of discipline and exhaustion. For Ryu, the world shrank to the size of the training clearing behind his house, the surface of the river in the nearby woods, and the pages of his father's old scrolls. His progress was a testament to the unyielding will of a man trapped in a child's body.
His taijutsu, once a clumsy imitation, now possessed a startling fluidity. The academy stances were second nature, and the simple katas his father taught him were performed with a precision that defied his three years of age. He was small and lacked true power, but he was fast, his center of gravity was impeccable, and his mind saw patterns and openings with an adult's clarity.
Chakra control had become his meditation. After months of grueling effort, the leaf no longer just stuck to his forehead; he could make it dance from one finger to another, a small, green extension of his will. Now, he faced a new challenge: water walking. Every afternoon, Kizashi would take him to a calm stretch of river. The first hundred attempts had ended with a sputtering splash. But now, he could manage a few frantic steps, his small feet kicking up frantic ripples before his concentration inevitably broke and the cool water enveloped him. Each successful step was a hard-won victory.
This relentless focus, however, came at a cost Mebuki was no longer willing to let him pay.
One bright afternoon, she found him in the yard, drenched from the river, yet already practicing his stances. His face was a mask of fierce concentration. Her heart ached.
"My baby," she said, her voice soft but carrying a steel edge that made him pause. He looked up, his emerald eyes wide. "You can't spend your whole life just training. You're a child, Ryu. You need to play. You need to see the sun."
"Training is more important," he stated, the childish pitch of his voice clashing with the grim finality of his words.
"No," she countered, kneeling in front of him and taking his small, callused hands in hers. "Nothing is more important than having a life to protect. What good is all this strength if you seal your heart away to achieve it?"
Her logic was undeniable. And so, Ryu found himself being led by the hand to the bustling village park, a place teeming with the one thing he had actively avoided: other children. The air was filled with shrieks of laughter and the thud of rubber balls. To Ryu, it was chaos. He stood awkwardly by a bench, a silent observer in a world he didn't feel a part of.
That's when a furry whirlwind of white and gray cannonballed into his leg, yipping excitedly. It was a puppy, an Inuzuka ninken, followed closely by a girl with the clan's signature feral energy. She had wild brown hair, distinctive red fang markings on her cheeks, and an air of untamed confidence.
"Oi! Get back here, Kuromaru!" she yelled, skidding to a halt in front of Ryu. She looked him up and down, her gaze sharp and appraising. "Hey! You're not crying even though my brother just attacked you. You're pretty serious! Wanna fight?"
Before Ryu could formulate a response, the girl was in a low, four-legged stance, a playful growl rumbling in her throat. This was Hana Inuzuka, he realized. Kiba's older sister. "I'm Ryu," he said, reflexively dropping into his own basic stance.
Their "fight" was a flurry of motion. Hana was all instinct and aggression, her movements mimicking her ninken. She was fast and unpredictable. Ryu, in contrast, was a rock. He weathered her wild charges with precise, economical blocks, his small form a bastion of practiced defense.
It was their third impromptu match, a few days later, that drew the attention of another. Sitting alone beneath a tree, away from the chaos, was a boy with hair as black as polished obsidian and eyes that held a quiet, unnerving depth. He was practicing hand seals, his fingers a blur of motion. Itachi Uchiha.
Hana, ever the catalyst, noticed him watching. "Hey! You!" she shouted, pointing a finger at him. "Come spar with us! You look strong!"
Itachi's calm gaze shifted from Hana to Ryu. He saw something in Ryu's steady stance and focused eyes that resonated with his own nature. With a silent nod, he stood and walked over, his movements possessing a liquid grace that was utterly captivating.
The dynamic shifted immediately. The three of them formed a triangle. Hana, the wild card; Itachi, the prodigy; and Ryu, the strategist.
Their spars became a daily ritual, a silent conversation spoken in the language of taijutsu. Hana would explode into motion, a whirlwind of mock claws and bites. Itachi, a phantom of efficiency, would flow around her attacks, redirecting her momentum with a simple turn of his wrist or a perfectly timed sidestep, his movements the flawless embodiment of the academy style. Ryu, unable to match Hana's ferocity or Itachi's genius, became the anchor. He used his understanding of balance and timing, taught to him by his father, to counter and parry, his mind always working, predicting, analyzing.
"You think too much, Ryu!" Hana would pant, grinning after he'd blocked one of her charges.
"You don't think enough, Hana," Itachi would reply with a rare, small smile, effortlessly deflecting a surprise swipe from her.
Ryu found, to his own surprise, that he was enjoying himself. The loneliness that had been Blake's constant companion was being chipped away by a wild-hearted girl and a quiet genius. This was friendship. It was a new and precious sensation.
His bond with his parents deepened as well. One evening, Kizashi brought out a small, blank piece of paper. "Time to find out what nature you were born with, son," he said, a tremor of excitement in his voice.
He explained how to channel chakra into the paper. Ryu, holding the delicate sheet between his thumb and forefinger, did as he was told. He pushed a steady stream of his energy into it. The result was instantaneous and shocking. The paper sliced itself cleanly in two, and then both halves crumpled into tight, wrinkled balls.
Silence. Kizashi and Mebuki stared, their eyes wide.
"It… it split…" Mebuki whispered. "That's Wind."
"And it wrinkled," Kizashi added, his voice full of awe and a new, heavy dose of fear. "That's Lightning. Two primary affinities. Ryu… that's… that's incredibly rare."
They looked at their son, this small, four-year-old boy who held the potential of a Kage within him, and the weight of his future pressed down on them. That night, as Mebuki tucked him into bed, she held him a little tighter.
"Are you happy you made friends, Ryu-chan?" she asked, her hand stroking his pink hair.
Ryu thought of Hana's infectious laugh and Itachi's quiet, understanding gaze. He thought of the thrill of their spars, of pushing himself not just to survive, but for the joy of the challenge.
"Yes, Mama," he said, his voice soft with sleep and a contentment he had never known before. "I am."
Strength, he was beginning to understand, wasn't just about protecting a life you had. It was about building a life worth protecting. And for the first time, his life was filled with more than just a mission; it was filled with people. It was filled with light.