The Academy's training field still held the chill of dawn as Ren passed through the side gate.
The packed earth was damp enough to darken beneath his sandals, marked by old grooves, overlapping footprints, and scars left behind by years of repeated training. Wooden fences framed the wide space, and the logs used as targets bore splintered edges, deep fissures, and circular marks where metal had accumulated over time.
Nothing there was new.
And that was precisely the point.
Above Konoha, the sky remained covered by pale clouds, filtering the morning light and softening the shadows. The cold air filled his lungs easily, keeping his body alert without demanding effort.
Ren adjusted the equipment strap at his waist and walked to the throwing line etched into the ground. He wore the Academy's simple uniform — a light long-sleeved shirt, already worn at the elbows, dark trousers secured at the ankles, and sturdy sandals shaped by constant use.
He spun a shuriken between his fingers, feeling the familiar weight settle into his palm.
He threw.
The metallic sound echoed sharply as the blade embedded itself into the log on the right, slightly below center. There was no frustration. Only acknowledgment.
Ren adjusted his footing, corrected the angle of his hips, and released another.
Cleaner.
Closer.
"Right…" he murmured, almost satisfied.
Repetition was part of the process. Not only for the body, but for the mind as well. Each movement occupied enough mental space to prevent wandering thoughts, leaving only what was useful.
Accuracy was one of the Academy's evaluated foundations.
But foundations never stood alone.
Strength without control created bad habits.
Speed without consistency led to failure.
A gust of wind crossed the open field, subtly diverting the next throw. The shuriken grazed the side of the log and dropped into the damp soil.
Ren observed the result for a moment before picking up another.
"I anticipated too much," he concluded, without irritation.
Several meters away, other students trained. One of them threw with excessive force, as if trying to pierce straight through the target. On a particularly poor attempt, the blade ricocheted and fell dangerously close to his own feet.
"Control before power!" an instructor's voice echoed.
Ren didn't need to look to know who it was.
Foundation before force.
He resumed his rhythm.
Between one throw and the next, his thoughts shifted toward planning. Not the immediate kind, but what accumulated over time. Chakra control, physical endurance, fine coordination. Everything needed to grow in parallel.
And there were areas not yet taught in practice.
Fūinjutsu.
Even without being able to apply advanced seals, learning the symbols, recognizing patterns, and understanding the logic behind them was already an advantage. Identifying a seal in combat, grasping its function, avoiding a trap — that, too, was training.
The next shuriken struck the exact center of the target.
Ren paused for a second, observing the point of impact.
"So that's it…"
It wasn't a sudden breakthrough. It was fine adjustment.
He collected the scattered blades from the ground and stepped forward, increasing the distance. Making things too easy bred comfort. Making them too difficult bred excessive error.
As he walked, laughter carried from the other side of the field. Two students chatted animatedly during a break, and one of them was clearly trying to impress a girl who ignored him with nearly cruel efficiency.
Moments later, the same boy returned to training alone, overly focused, his face still faintly red.
Ren looked away.
Better to learn early, he thought.
The training continued for some time, broken by short pauses to drink water and assess his body. When his arm began showing clear signs of real fatigue — not discomfort, but limit — he stopped.
Pushing beyond that wouldn't bring gains.
He sat in the shade of one of the old trees bordering the field, feeling the rough bark against his back. Around him, the environment remained active: instructors moved about, students failed, corrected themselves, tried again.
Everything followed its course.
Ren closed his eyes for a moment.
The plan remained simple.
Train the foundations.
Deepen theory.
Maintain consistency.
Avoid shortcuts.
When the school year came to an end…
He opened his eyes.
"One step at a time."
He stood, gathered his equipment, and left the field alongside the other students, blending into the Academy's natural flow.
That day's training had fulfilled its role.
No weight.
No rush.
Just another solid layer built.