The Academy wasn't what I expected.
I had imagined a place where children learned jutsu, practiced in perfect harmony, and grew up surrounded by laughter and camaraderie. The reality was… messy. Kids stumbled over hand seals, shouted at each other when clones collided, and more than once I saw someone end up with a black eye after a training session gone wrong.
I adjusted the strap of my small satchel and walked toward the entrance, forehead protector already tied loosely around my neck. Officially, I wasn't required to wear one yet, but the orphanage had gifted me a small, ceremonial headband, more symbolic than anything. I liked it. It reminded me who I was — who I could be.
I stepped into the classroom.
The chatter stopped when I entered, but it wasn't fear or respect. Just curiosity. A small, unremarkable orphan had joined their ranks, and for a brief moment, everyone wondered if I was going to be another one of those kids who stumbled through lessons like the rest of them.
I found a seat in the back. Out of sight, out of mind.
That was my approach to the world: observe first, act when necessary.
⸻
First Day Observations
Iruka-sensei introduced himself with the usual enthusiasm, hands clasped behind his back. "Welcome, students! Today marks the start of your journey as a shinobi. You will learn control, discipline, and above all… respect for life."
Respect for life. I smirked faintly. Words were easy. Living up to them was much harder.
I scanned the room quietly. There were familiar names, children from well-known clans. Hyūga, Sarutobi, a few smaller clans whose names carried subtle weight. And then there was him.
Itachi.
I had seen him before, near the training grounds. Even now, seated neatly in the front row, he exuded the same quiet intensity. No one dared interrupt him. He was focused, perfect, untouchable. And I realized — as I often did — that this boy would be my mirror, my rival, my measure.
I smiled faintly to myself. Let's see who breaks first.
⸻
Early Friendships and Rivalries
The first exercises were basic — chakra control, water walking, tree walking. Simple tasks, really, but they revealed everything about a student. Strength, coordination, patience. And mistakes.
I watched, silently, as others struggled. Hyūga children moved with elegance and discipline, yet some stumbled when controlling their chakra to the extreme. Others shouted when their clones collided, betraying impatience.
I did not shout. I did not stumble. I moved with precision, letting my chakra flow naturally. Yet, to everyone else, I was… average. Just a kid trying his best. Perfectly average.
Itachi, predictably, moved with perfection. Every motion fluid, flawless. I watched him from across the courtyard, not with jealousy, but with a quiet calculation. I would need to surpass him — not today, not tomorrow, but someday.
A boy named Kenji — brash, loud, self-assured — noticed me sitting quietly on a bench. He grinned. "Hey, you're new, right? Don't tell me you're one of those orphans who can't do anything!"
I looked up at him, expression neutral. "I do what I need to."
Kenji blinked. Not quite an insult, not quite a threat. "We'll see about that," he muttered, stalking off to annoy someone else.
I smirked faintly. Another minor obstacle. Nothing I couldn't handle.
⸻
Secret Training
After classes, I retreated to a quiet section of the village I had discovered months earlier — a grove of tall trees near a creek. Hidden from view, away from teachers and peers, I trained.
Water-walking became easier. Tree climbing faster. Chakra control sharper than any of my classmates — though none suspected it. I never let my full potential show. Not yet. The world wasn't ready for what I could do.
And then there was Itachi.
Sometimes, I followed him discreetly. Not to spy — that felt too invasive — but to learn. To understand. How did he move? How did he breathe? How did he carry himself with such confidence at such a young age?
We sparred once in secret, a brief clash under the fading sunlight. Hands flicking, shadows moving, subtle manipulations of chakra that left neither of us bruised, yet both aware of the other's skill. I didn't hold back, though I kept the intensity controlled. Neither of us said a word afterward. Words weren't necessary.
He's good, I thought. But he doesn't see the whole board yet.
⸻
Lessons Beyond the Classroom
The Academy taught more than jutsu. Strategy, teamwork, and observation were just as important. I quickly realized that I could outperform most of my classmates with minimal effort — yet I chose restraint. To show too much would draw attention, and in Konoha, attention came with expectations.
I began building quiet alliances with other observant students. Some noticed my skill, some didn't. But I learned who would follow, who would betray, and who could be trusted when the stakes rose.
Itachi remained an enigma. Calm, perfect, talented — yet distant. I didn't envy him. I merely watched, learned, and waited.
⸻
The First Lesson in Patience
Weeks passed. Tests came. Assignments, missions, exercises. And through it all, I stayed quiet. I learned without drawing notice. I trained without revealing the depth of my skill. I became a shadow among the sparks of rising stars.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the village's rooftops, I sat on the edge of the training grounds and observed Itachi practicing alone. The way he moved, the way he focused — it was admirable, yes, but also predictable. And I realized something vital: patience, control, and foresight were just as powerful as raw talent.
I will surpass him, I whispered. Not today, not tomorrow… but when the time comes, I will be ready.
And for the first time, I truly understood the weight of this life I had been given. Not just the knowledge of the future, not just the power I could wield, but the choices I could make — each one a thread that could unravel or repair the world.
I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was planning.