Chapter 29: The Silent Replication
One of the Uchiha boys, unable to bear the sting to their collective pride, muttered under his breath, "The Uchiha clan's true genius lies in ninjutsu, not… this crude taijutsu nonsense."
"Shut your mouth!" Uchiha Hibiki snarled, his face a mask of shame and fury. The excuse only made their poor showing sound more pathetic.
The Ino-Shika-Chō trio performed adequately. Their kunai struck the targets, though not with the pinpoint accuracy of the top performers. It was clear their training had been more balanced, or perhaps focused elsewhere.
Then, it was Hyūga Reitō's turn.
A subtle shift occurred. Given the Hyūga's legendary prowess in close-quarters combat, many expected a display of fine, controlled power. Reitō's face was impassive as he took his position. He hefted the kunai, took aim… and threw.
The first knife went wide, clattering against the edge of the target before falling to the grass. The second buried itself in the outer white ring. The third missed the target entirely, thudding into the earth behind it.
A wave of incredulous snickers, then open laughter, erupted from the Uchiha section.
"Hah! So this is the famed 'strongest physique'? Pathetic!"
"He can't even hit a stationary target!"
"Maybe he really is just a beginner who got lucky on the written test!"
Reitō remained silent, his expression unchanged, as if the mocking laughter were a distant breeze.
Uno-sensei watched, his initial curiosity hardening into mild disappointment. The boy had shown such startling mastery of the Body Replacement, but this… this was a fundamental failure. "Well," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind, "the others show satisfactory foundational skill. Reitō, you will need significant additional practice."
"Teacher," Reitō spoke, his voice clear and calm, cutting through the lingering laughter. "My focus was divided earlier. Would you demonstrate the technique once more for me?"
A request for a repeat demonstration? From someone who had just failed so spectacularly?
Uchiha Hibiki guffawed. "What a joke! Using 'distraction' as an excuse for incompetence!"
"Watching a few more times won't magically teach your arms how to throw!"
Even Uno-sensei was skeptical. Mastery came from muscle memory forged in repetition, not observation. But the boy's gaze was steady, serious. With a resigned sigh, Uno nodded. "Very well. But do not expect miracles. The body learns through doing."
He picked up a kunai. "The key," he began, adopting the ready stance, "is an integration of whole-body control. The power originates from the stance, flows through the core, is guided by the shoulder, and released through the wrist and fingers. It is not an arm motion; it is a full-body kinetic chain." As he spoke, he performed the action again in slow motion, then at full speed, the kunai thunking perfectly into the heart of the target.
Throughout the demonstration, Reitō stood perfectly still. But behind his calm exterior, his Byakugan had flared to life, unseen beneath his focused gaze. His inner vision activated, penetrating deeper than any ordinary observer could.
He didn't just see Uno-sensei's movements. He saw the minute shift of weight in the feet, the coiling of muscles in the legs and abdomen, the precise timing of the shoulder rotation, the exact angle of the wrist upon release. More than that, he perceived the flow of chakra—not a jutsu, but the natural, enhancing energy a seasoned shinobi unconsciously channels to optimize a physical action. It was a complete biological and energetic blueprint of the "perfect throw."
And as he watched, his own body, under the absolute dominion of his inner vision, began to subtly mimic. Muscles tensed and relaxed in silent echo, joints aligned at the same angles, chakra stirred in his own pathways, mirroring the flow he observed. It was a silent, internal rehearsal happening in real-time.
When Uno-sensei finished, Reitō stepped forward once more.
Seeing Reitō take his place again, the Uchiha children's disdain was palpable. "Kunai requires thousands of repetitions," Hibiki sneered. "Even for the Hyūga, you can't master it by watching a few times. Dream on."
Reitō ignored him. He closed his eyes for a brief second, recalling the perfect internal model he had just constructed. Then he opened them, and his body moved.
It was not an imitation; it was a replication. Every nuance—the solid planting of his back foot, the controlled twist of his hips, the whip-crack extension of his arm, the final, crisp flick of his fingers—was executed with a mechanical, flawless precision that exactly matched Uno-sensei's demonstration. There was no hesitation, no trial and error. It was as if his body had performed this action ten thousand times before.
Swish—THUNK!
The kunai flew in a perfect, flat arc and buried itself with a solid, authoritative thunk dead in the center of the red bullseye.
The laughter died instantly, choked off in a dozen throats.
Silence, heavier than any noise, fell over the training ground.
Uzumaki Kushina's jaw dropped, then snapped shut as a brilliant grin split her face. "Whoa! Reitō, that was amazing!"
"L-luck!" an Uchiha boy stammered, his voice weak. "It has to be! A beginner can't… he flubbed every one before!"
Reitō didn't pause. He reached down, picked up four more kunai—two in each hand. He adopted the moving-throw stance Uno had used. His body became a blur of controlled motion. He darted to the side, and as he moved, his arms snapped out in four sharp, rhythmic motions.
Th-th-th-THUNK!
Four consecutive impacts, a staccato drumbeat of success. Four kunai, clustered tightly around the bullseye, the last one vibrating from the force of its impact right in the center.
This time, the silence was absolute. No excuses remained. The evidence was embedded in the target for all to see.
Uno-sensei stared, his stern face etched with profound shock. This wasn't improvement. This was a qualitative leap that defied all pedagogical understanding. The boy hadn't just learned; he had absorbed and duplicated a complex physical skill after a single, focused observation. It was an ability that spoke of a mind-body connection so profound it bordered on the preternatural.
His earlier disappointment vanished, replaced by a dawning, electrifying realization. The "flawed" Hyūga boy he had dismissed moments ago might possess a talent far more terrifying and unique than simple speed or strength. He could copy. Not just movements, but the very essence of a physical technique. In the world of shinobi, where mastery of the body was paramount, such an ability was potentially… revolutionary.