The sound was dreamlike—illusory, as if reflected through water or glass, faint and unreal.
Kaede remained unaware of it, completely absorbed in refining his chakra.
Half an hour later, exhaustion crept in, forcing him to stop. When he opened his eyes, a dull ache spread through his limbs—it felt as if he'd just run ten laps around Konoha.
"You're awake?" his father, Hoshino Yota, said while kneading his son's shoulders with practiced ease. "The first refinement is just to help you adapt. Once you can steadily produce chakra, we'll move on to the next stage."
"Remember, moderation is key. If you overdo it, your body will suffer."
He added with a faint sigh, "I didn't let you start earlier because you were too young. Usually, it's best to begin training after the age of five."
Kaede nodded in realization. Refining chakra might sound simple, but the internal strain was no joke.
Yota smiled gently. "Dad's expectations aren't that high—if you can produce chakra within half a month, I'll be satisfied."
He himself had taken about two weeks to succeed, and he'd been thrilled at the time. His expectations for Kaede were realistic; if the boy matched that pace, it would already mark him as talented—a potential future jōnin if nothing went wrong.
"Half a month?" Kaede tilted his head, rubbing his neck. "Uh… Dad, about that… your expectations might already be outdated."
Yota blinked. "What do you mean?" A sinking feeling hit him. Could it be—his son had no aptitude for becoming a shinobi?!
Kaede's slightly hesitant look seemed to confirm his fears. To Yota, it was the expression of someone who had just failed to awaken chakra.
"It's all right," Yota said quickly, his voice warm but resigned. "Even if you can't become a ninja, Dad will protect you."
Kaede's lips twitched. What kind of wild assumptions are you making…
Seeing his father's imagination spiral further, Kaede finally couldn't hold back. "Actually… I already succeeded."
"Oh, that's good—you alrea—WHAT?!"
Yota's voice shot up an octave. He froze like he'd just seen a ghost.
WHAT. THE. F*CK!!
It had barely been an hour! Surely he'd misheard?
Kaede, seeing the disbelief in his father's eyes, sighed and released a trace of chakra. It flickered for only a second—weak and short-lived, like a candle flame—but it was unmistakable.
Yota's eyes widened in shock. It's real!
No words could describe his feelings at that moment—waves crashing in his heart wouldn't be enough. His worldview was on the verge of collapse.
"Dad… you okay?" Kaede tugged at his sleeve cautiously.
In response, Yota grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes wide with excitement.
"You little monster!"
Kaede's face darkened instantly. "...Thanks, I guess?"
Realizing his wording, Yota coughed awkwardly. If my son's a freak, then what does that make me?
"Ahem. Well, since you've already succeeded, I might as well give you these ninjutsu scrolls early. Practice them when you have time."
Kaede's eyes brightened. "Really?! Thanks, Dad!"
He accepted the scrolls gratefully—but soon hesitated, as if unsure whether to speak.
Yota noticed. "What is it?"
After a moment's thought, Kaede decided not to hide it.
"While refining chakra just now… I felt something strange in my eyes."
The atmosphere immediately froze. Yota's expression darkened, shifting rapidly between confusion and dread. After a pause, he let out a heavy sigh.
"So it's happened… it seems you've awakened a Kekkei Genkai."
Kaede blinked in disbelief. "A what? A Kekkei Genkai? Our family has one?!"
From his father's tone, it was clear this wasn't unprecedented. In fact, Yota sounded uneasy, almost as though he wished the news weren't true.
Kaede had planned to use the "eye disturbance" as an excuse if needed—but it seemed reality had beaten him to it.
"Dad, did someone in our family awaken it before?" Kaede asked carefully.
Yota didn't think much of the question. His eyes softened with distant memories.
"Yes. Decades ago, your grandfather awakened it."
Kaede's pupils contracted sharply. So it's true. There was a kekkei genkai in the family.
But… why had his father never mentioned it before?
As if answering that very question, Yota continued.
"But it only lasted a few years. Your grandfather died from Bloodline Disease—ever since then, it's never appeared again."
Kaede finally understood why he'd never met his grandfather, and why Yota always avoided the subject.
The so-called Bloodline Disease was like a curse—a divine punishment against those who carried special bloodlines. Once afflicted, there was no cure. Even with modern medical ninjutsu, it was a death sentence.
"Kaede," Yota said solemnly, "if you ever feel unwell, you must tell me immediately."
In his father's dark eyes, Kaede saw a deep sorrow—pain from an old wound reopened.
Kaede forced a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I just awakened it—I feel fine. You're overthinking it."
That bright, innocent grin eased Yota's worry a little.
"You really are something…" he said, half exasperated, half proud. His son had always been unusually mature for his age.
Trusting Kaede's composure, he nodded. "Keep practicing. I'll go find your grandfather's old notes—they might help you."
With that, Yota turned and went inside, leaving Kaede alone in the courtyard.
Kaede didn't rush to open the ninjutsu scrolls. Instead, he looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then sat cross-legged atop a haystack.
Suddenly, the world seemed to lose all weight. When the dizziness faded and his vision cleared, he found himself in a dark void—
—and standing before an ancient clock.
Its surface was covered in rust, worn by the passage of time, yet it radiated an undeniable sense of grandeur and solemnity. Merely standing before it filled him with the heaviness of history.
Kaede glanced around. The surroundings were pitch black—nothing existed except the clock.
With no other choice, he focused his gaze upon it.
The dial was divided into twelve segments. Except for the section between twelve and one o'clock, every other part was dim, shrouded in shadow.
Curious, Kaede extended a finger and gently touched the dial.
Instantly, brilliant light burst forth. The radiance was so intense that he had to shield his eyes.
Then—from the only illuminated segment—
a single streak of blue light shot out, piercing straight into his pupils before he could react.
Kaede's vision flared white—
and everything went dark.