Kushina's warning stuck to me long after she left. I was grateful she cared. I also hated the idea of hiding behind anyone.
So I trained.
"...one hundred twenty‑six... one hundred twenty‑seven..."
Sweat pattered off my nose and turned the floorboards dark. My arms shook. Breath in, breath out. The number climbed because I made it climb.
"...two hundred thirty‑one... two hundred thirty‑two..."
By the time my elbows felt like hot wire, I was past last week's ceiling. "Two hundred seventy‑six" had been the wall. I hit three hundred. Three‑twenty. My shoulders went numb, the kind of numb that meant stop. I didn't.
"Three forty‑five." My elbows finally gave and I kissed the floor. Air sawed in and out of my chest. The puddle I'd made spread under my cheek.
Good. If I wasn't breaking limits, I wasn't moving.
I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling until the room stopped pulsing. Then I stood and set my feet shoulder‑width.
"Squats. One hundred."
Thighs burned. Knees complained. At ninety, I wanted to quit. At one hundred sixty, I did quit—on purpose. I needed to be able to walk tomorrow.
I crawled to the cot and passed out without even glaring at the barrel.
Morning found me whole. That was the nice thing about chakra even when you couldn't mold it into jutsu: it ran through you anyway. It repaired what effort broke—slowly, honestly.
I broke two limits, I thought as I squeezed my hands. Strength sat there now, a size bigger than yesterday. It made me smile.
Outside, the ridge path was cool and crusted with last night's dew. I headed for the clearing to check the thing that mattered more than numbers.
"Let's try again."
I bent my arm, drew chakra into the forearm, and let the tight skin form over my fist. A pale halo shimmered.
Fwwoof.
I punched.
Pfwah. Spider‑thin cracks flashed in the air, faint but sharper than last night's. The push was stronger too.
"Better." The grin died as fast as it came. "Still short."
The quake reached only about a meter from my knuckles before it broke up. For now, I lived in grappling range. No long reach. No safe distance.
An idea arrived like it had been waiting. I pulled a kunai from my pouch and let the halo creep along the blade. The metal wore a skin of pale light for a breath—then accepted it.
"Go."
I threw.
Thuk!
The kunai nailed the far tree at an easy practice distance. The white film collapsed with a crisp prick, and fine cracks snapped into the bark around the wound.
Krk—krkk—grmm. The outer layer of wood flaked and fell. The tree shivered top to root and then settled.
"Not bad," I said, walking over to tug the kunai free. Up close, the damage was shallow. "But it bleeds power into the steel."
Imbuing a weapon worked, but the quake felt thinner—like water poured through sand. Still useful. A thrown tremor was better than none. I wiped the blade and slid it home.
"Later I'll try it with chakra nature," I told the tree. "See if wind or earth helps it bite." That was a future project. For today, I needed to keep energy and joints.
No heavy training on exam day.
I grabbed a quick meal back at the room, tucked Kushina's salve bag into my belt—this time I remembered—and headed for the academy.
The Shinobi Academy sat on the slope like a cluster of old teeth: sturdy, a little worn, still chewing through generations. The Second Hokage had built it when the village needed soldiers fast and steady. It still did.
Inside, desks filled with faces that looked everywhere but at me. Clan kids gathered in knots. A boy with the Uchiha fan on his sleeve leaned back in his chair and smirked without trying to hide it.
Kushina waved me down the moment I stepped through the door. "You came," she said, as if there'd been a chance I wouldn't.
"I did." I set my bag beneath my desk.
"Did you bring the ointment?" she pressed, eyes narrow.
I patted my belt pouch. "This time, yes."
She made an exasperated noise anyway. "You're careless, Naito‑kun! What will you do if you get hurt?"
Across the room, someone snorted. A couple of boys traded looks.
Heat crawled up my neck. I swallowed it. "I'll handle myself."
Kushina puffed her cheeks out—half angry, half worried. "Just surrender if it gets bad. I mean it."
I gave her a small nod because arguing in front of an audience would only make her louder.
She thinks me getting hurt is a sure thing, I thought, and pretended that didn't sting. She doesn't know everything I learned last night.
A door banged at the front of the room. Instructor Daishi—thick shoulders, clipped beard, flak vest—walked in with a clipboard and a look that said he was already tired of us.
"Pair evaluations today," he said. "Standard rules. Submissions and strikes allowed; pulls at first blood; no killing blows." His gaze skimmed past me as if I were a window. "Outsiders will demonstrate effort."
A couple of boys smiled at that last part.
We filed out to the practice yard behind the classrooms. Dust lay flat under the sun. Chalk lines marked the spar zones. A rack held wooden kunai and staves for those who weren't trusted with steel.
Daishi rattled off names. Teams moved to their squares. Some fights started with bows, others with smirks.
"Naito Yu," he called.
I stepped forward and felt a dozen eyes land on me.
"Opposing: Uchiha Genma."
Genma stood, smooth as a cat, and sauntered into the far square. He was taller by a head and wore his clan's crest like a promise. He rolled his shoulders and grinned at me like I'd already lost.
"Try to last a minute," he said. "I'd like a workout."
Kushina hissed from the sideline, but she didn't shout. She clutched her braid like it was a rope.
I took my mark on the chalk.
Close is clean. Far is messy. Keep the halo small. No indoor echoes. Watch your joints. I breathed once, twice. The world narrowed to the white chalk line and the boy beyond it.
Daishi raised his hand. "Begin."
Genma didn't rush. He walked me in slow, measuring, dark eyes on my feet. He wanted me to panic and swing wild. He wanted to show everyone how easy I was.
I didn't swing. I gave ground without leaving the square, feet sliding, hands high. When he flicked a testing jab, I parried and felt the shape of his speed. Quick, but not blinding. He smirked again.
"Not completely hopeless," he said, and twisted into a kick that would've taken my ribs if it landed.
I stepped past it. My heel kissed dust. The halo formed without the bright shine—small, tight, just at my knuckles.
I threw a short cross into empty air.
Pff—
The push bloomed at handspan range and ran along the floor between us. Chalk dust jumped.
Genma's front foot skidded an inch.
His eyes widened.
No one else noticed. To anyone not watching the ground, it looked like I'd punched nothing.
"Cute," he said, and came in for real now.
I smiled back—small, like a secret. My hands didn't shake. The pop in my ears was soft and right.
Whatever came next, I was done being the boy everyone looked through.