The soft chirping of seabirds outside pulled Kaito from his sleep. He blinked at the faint glow of moonlight still filtering through his window. When he glanced at the small wooden clock on the shelf, the hands pointed at 5:00 AM.
Early enough, he thought, rubbing his eyes.
He sat up, resting his chin on his knees, and let his thoughts wander. He couldn't train like an adult shinobi yet. His body was still that of a child, fragile in some ways, though burning with energy. If he pushed himself too far, he risked injury, exhaustion, and setbacks. But if he was too lenient, he would waste the years he had before the storm that would one day swallow this village.
"I need balance," he whispered.
He imagined what a proper routine should be. Something that honed body, mind, and chakra equally.
First, physical conditioning: running, climbing, stretching—building stamina without overstraining. His Uzumaki vitality gave him an edge, but even that had limits. Next, combat drills: practicing stances, simple strikes, and defense. He'd seen enough martial theory in his past life to know repetition built instinct.
Then came chakra refinement. He remembered how Naruto struggled at first with control, wasting energy constantly. Kaito had an abundance of chakra, even more than most Uzumaki, but that didn't mean he could afford to squander it. He needed to sharpen his flow, learn precision before power.
Finally, study: understanding the human body, weak points, leverage, and later, the basics of sealing techniques.
A cycle formed in his mind: mornings for body, afternoons for combat and chakra, evenings for study and reflection. A routine that grew with him, sustainable, yet relentless.
Kaito stretched his arms, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yes… this will work."
And more than that—he wanted to share this growth with someone. His thoughts immediately turned to the girl with the scar. To Soka.
"Let's see if she'll join me."
He stood, washed quickly, tied his red hair back, and stepped into the fresh dawn air.
The path to Soka's home wound through quiet streets bathed in pale light. Fishermen were already heading toward the sea, carrying nets and baskets, while shopkeepers yawned as they prepared to open stalls. The village had a peaceful rhythm at this hour, one Kaito found oddly comforting.
Soka's house sat near a cluster of small gardens. He approached quietly, then knocked on the wooden door. No answer. He waited, knocked again, and listened. Silence.
Curious, he peeked through the side window. There, bundled under thick blankets, was Soka—still fast asleep, her red hair spilling across the pillow. Her small chest rose and fell steadily.
Kaito chuckled softly. She looks so peaceful. Waking her up now would be cruel.
He leaned against the wall of the house, arms crossed, watching the street come alive as villagers passed by. A group of children ran past chasing a stray cat, while an old man greeted him with a nod. Kaito returned the nod politely, then glanced back at the window.
Maybe she's not used to waking early. I guess I'll wait.
Time stretched slowly. Kaito tapped his foot, hummed a tune from his old world, even practiced small breathing exercises to refine his chakra while standing there. The wait didn't bother him much—it felt… nice. Strange, but nice. As if patience itself was part of training.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Soka appeared, rubbing her eyes, still dressed in a loose sleeping robe. When she saw him waiting there, her face turned red instantly.
"K-Kaito?! Y-you've been standing there all this time?"
He smiled playfully. "Since dawn. I thought I'd give you a head start… but looks like you needed more sleep than I thought."
Her embarrassment deepened, but a small laugh escaped her lips. "Wait for me. I'll get ready."
Kaito nodded, amused. Worth the wait.
They walked side by side toward the training grounds, the morning sun now painting the village in warm colors. The fields were quieter than yesterday, most shinobi still asleep or on missions. Perfect for them.
Soka stretched nervously as they arrived. "I… I'm not really good at this. I've only practiced the basics."
"That's fine," Kaito said calmly. "Everyone starts somewhere. I'll help you."
He guided her through stances first—how to keep her feet grounded, how to shift her weight. Then he demonstrated simple strikes and blocks.
"Here," he said, tapping the side of her neck lightly. "Pressure point. Dangerous if you hit too hard, but good to know."
He pointed to her ribs, abdomen, and thighs. "Weak points. Use them wisely. And remember—defense matters more than attack when you're starting out. Protect yourself first."
Soka listened intently, eyes focused, determination shining through her scarred face. Kaito corrected her posture, gently adjusting her arms, showing how to twist her hips for stronger punches.
When she grew more confident, he shifted the lesson. "Chakra control. You have plenty, like all Uzumaki. But you need to refine it. Too much at once, and it's wasted. Too little, and the jutsu fails."
He showed her a simple exercise: balancing a leaf on her forehead using chakra. Soka struggled at first, the leaf either falling off or crumpling from too much flow. But she kept trying, sweat beading on her brow.
Kaito smiled faintly. She has spirit. That's what matters.
After setting her on her exercises, he moved to his own training. He began with push-ups, squats, sprints across the field, his small body straining yet pushing forward. He felt the burn in his muscles, but welcomed it—it was proof of growth. Hours slipped by in rhythm: movement, breathing, chakra refinement.
By the time the sun stood high in the sky, Kaito's body screamed in exhaustion, but his eyes gleamed. He could feel it— approximately an 8% improvement in his physical strength and endurance. It wasn't much by adult standards, but for a child training without rest, it was remarkable.
Meanwhile, Soka had managed to balance the leaf for several seconds. She beamed with pride. "I… I did it!"
Kaito nodded. "Good. You're learning fast. Not just strength—you're sharpening your mind too."
By 3:00 PM, both of them were drenched in sweat, their breaths heavy, but their spirits alight.
"Hungry?" Kaito asked.
Soka's stomach growled in answer. She blushed, nodding quickly. "Very."
They walked back to her house, half-laughing at their aching legs. The moment they stepped inside, Kaito rolled up his sleeves. "Let me cook. I have something special in mind."
Soka tilted her head. "You? Cook?"
"You'll see."
In the small kitchen, Kaito searched through the pantry. Fish, rice, vegetables—simple, familiar. But he remembered recipes from his old world, flavors unknown here. He set to work with determination, slicing vegetables, seasoning fish, blending spices.
Soka peeked over his shoulder, fascinated. "What are you making?"
"It's called fried rice. A dish from… far away. You'll like it."
Soon, the sizzling aroma filled the room. Rice mixed with eggs, vegetables, and bits of fish, all tossed together in perfect harmony. Soka's mouth watered.
When he placed the steaming plates on the table, she gasped. "It looks amazing."
"Try it," Kaito urged.
She took a cautious bite. Her eyes widened instantly. "It's… delicious! I've never tasted anything like this!"
Kaito chuckled softly. "Told you."
They ate eagerly, the exhaustion of training melting away with each bite. Between mouthfuls, they talked—about the village, about silly things, about dreams. Soka confessed she wanted to grow stronger, not just to defend herself but to protect others someday.
Kaito listened, nodding. "You will. You just need the right training, and the right partner."
Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she smiled. "Partner… I like that."
By the time they finished, both plates were empty, their bellies full, and their laughter lingering in the air.
As evening fell, Kaito thanked Soka for her hospitality. "Tomorrow, we'll train again," he promised.
She nodded eagerly. "I'll wake up earlier this time!"
He chuckled and waved goodbye, walking back to his quiet home.
The house felt colder now, emptier after the warmth of shared food and laughter. But Kaito didn't let the loneliness consume him. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes.
Chakra flowed through him like an endless river. He slowed his breathing, focusing on refining the current. Inhale, exhale—directing energy to each coil, smoothing the turbulence, sharpening the flow.
Minutes stretched into hours as he honed his control. His vast reserves remained intimidating, but little by little, he felt the edges smoothing, the energy responding more readily to his will.
When fatigue finally settled in, he opened his eyes. The moonlight streamed through the window, bathing his room in silver glow.
Today was good, he thought. I grew stronger. And I gained something even more important—a friend.
With that comforting thought, Kaito lay down, letting sleep claim him as the village around him settled into peaceful slumber.