The sky over Konoha was covered by light clouds that morning, an irregular mantle that allowed the light to pass through diffusely, softening the shadows along the stone streets. The residual cold of the night still lingered, enough to make the air feel cool against the skin and leave one's breath faintly visible.
Ren left home early, wearing the Academy's simple uniform: a light long-sleeved shirt, already slightly worn at the elbows, dark trousers adjusted to allow movement, and sturdy sandals marked by constant use. There were no adornments, nothing that drew attention. That was not negligence — it was a choice.
The path to the Academy was familiar, yet never identical. Some shops were beginning to lift their wooden doors; merchants swept the fronts of their establishments; the smell of warm bread and morning broth mixed with that of still-damp earth. Older ninjas crossed the streets or rooftops naturally, speaking in low voices. The village awakened in layers, each at its own pace.
The Academy courtyard was already partially occupied when Ren arrived. Small groups of students formed almost by instinct: contained laughter, childish provocations, comparisons of notes, and nervous attempts to form hand seals in the air. Others simply observed in silence, trying to appear more confident than they truly were.
Ren moved a little away from the center of the courtyard and leaned against the trunk of an old tree, feeling the roughness of the bark against his back. He let his gaze wander, absorbing the environment.
That was when he noticed him.
Might Duy stood near the main building, speaking with an older instructor. He wore clothes far greener than the village's discreet standards, but clean and well cared for. His posture was open, almost exaggeratedly confident, contrasting with the lukewarm attention he received around him.
Some students whispered.
— That strange genin…
— Never moved past the basics…
— What is he doing here?
Ren heard them, but did not react.
Duy laughed at something the instructor said, gesturing energetically, as if each word carried weight. He did not seem to care about the looks or the comments. He was there because he needed to be. That was enough.
Shortly after, the instructor walked away, and Duy remained standing for a moment, observing the courtyard. His gaze swept across the students without apparent focus until it met Ren leaning against the tree. Duy's eyes lit up, and he waved — a wide, sincere gesture, almost childish.
Ren hesitated only for an instant before responding with a slight nod.
Duy seemed satisfied and crossed the courtyard with long strides.
"Hey!" he said, stopping at a respectful distance. "You're the kid from yesterday, right?"
"I am," Ren replied. "Ren."
"Might Duy!" he said, thumping his own chest with pride. "I'm helping today with some observation points for the practical class."
"Observation?" Ren asked.
"Yes!" Duy replied, animated. "The Academy wants to better evaluate physical effort. Not just results, but consistency. So they asked a few genin to help mark things."
That made sense. The Academy did not seek only immediate talent. It observed patterns. Persistence. The ability to repeat without giving up.
"I understand," Ren said. "Yesterday you mentioned I could train there another time."
"Of course!" Duy answered without hesitation. "Whenever you want. I'm no master, but…" — he shrugged, smiling — "…I don't give up easily."
Before the conversation could continue, the bell echoed through the courtyard, deep and prolonged. Voices fell silent almost at once, and the students hurried to line up. Duy stepped away, raising his thumb toward Ren before joining the other observers.
Training took place behind the Academy, on a wide field of packed earth, surrounded by low fences and a few ancient trees. The ground bore marks of years of use: running grooves, old footprints, darker patches where moisture stubbornly remained.
"Today is fundamentals," announced the instructor in charge. "Running, endurance, and coordination. No bursts."
At the signal, the students began to run.
At first, the group advanced in a disordered manner. Some sprinted ahead, trying to stand out. Others fell behind almost immediately. The irregular sound of sandals against the ground mixed with hurried breathing.
Ren maintained a moderate pace.
Controlled breathing. Short strides. No waste.
By the third lap, excesses began to show. Gaku Inuzuka pushed too hard, already panting. Masaru Uchiha maintained a high pace, clearly bothered by not leading. Hiashi Hyūga ran with almost mechanical precision.
Duy observed attentively.
Whenever someone stumbled or slowed too much, he leaned slightly forward, as if trying to push that child invisibly. When someone managed to regain their stride, a thumb rose — quick, discreet, almost imperceptible to most.
By the seventh lap, some students began to fail. One stumbled, another had to stop for a few seconds. The instructor did not interrupt.
When the run ended, the group was fragmented, heavy breathing, trembling legs.
Coordination exercises followed.
Jumps. Squats. Alternating movements.
Simple, repeated, without pause.
During a poorly calculated jump, one student nearly fell. Duy made a brief grimace, then smiled — a smile far too open for the rigid environment of the Academy — and murmured something low, more encouragement than criticism. When the student executed the movement correctly on the next attempt, the thumb rose once more.
The smile was not yet the exaggerated mark that would become legendary.
But it was clear. Direct. Without malice.
During chakra training, leaves were distributed. Many fell almost immediately. Others lasted seconds. Ren kept his adhered while walking slowly, adjusting the flow whenever someone passed too close.
Duy watched in silence, jotting something down from time to time.
In the final throwing exercise, simple and fixed targets. Nothing impressive. Just fundamentals.
When class ended, the students began to disperse. Duy approached Ren, dust on his clothes, but the same easy smile on his face.
"You keep your pace," he commented. "You don't try to impress."
"Impressing is tiring," Ren replied.
Duy laughed, raising his thumb almost unconsciously.
"That lasts longer than speed."
Ren nodded.
There was no promise there. No guarantee.
Just someone who trained when no one was watching.
And that, for Ren, was enough for now.
The school day went on.
And, silently, another foundation was built.
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