It was the end of the week, and Reiji stood alone in the garden.
The sun hung high above—heavy and oppressive—its heat pressing down in slow, suffocating waves. The air shimmered faintly, carrying the dull hum of summer, but none of it seemed to reach him. Clad in his kimono, he stood perfectly still at the edge of the pond, feet rooted to the earth, hands pressed together before him. His attention was not on the world around him.
It was turned inward.
Ever since returning home that evening—since his conversation with his father—he had retreated into the only thing that ever brought him clarity.
He trained.
The physical aspect had faded into the background. No more endless repetition of strikes or footwork, no more pushing his body to exhaustion for its own sake. Now, everything revolved around a single problem—the one that had come to define his growth.
His kekkei genkai.
Reiji took pride in what he had achieved with his Hyōton so far. Anyone his age would struggle to produce even a stable effect, let alone use it in combat. But pride did not blind him. He saw the gap clearly—between what he could do and what he needed to do.
He had barely scratched the surface.
His Ice Release was born from the fusion of two chakra natures—wind and water—forced together into something new. It was powerful, yes, but unstable. Incomplete. Every time he used it, it felt like holding something that wasn't fully his.
His fights—especially against Minato—had made that painfully clear.
His current technique, Ice Palm, was flawed.
It took too long to form. It required too much preparation. And even when it worked, the result didn't last long enough to matter in a real fight. Against an opponent who moved quickly, adapted, and gave him no time to think, those flaws were more than weaknesses.
They were openings.
Reiji already understood the root of the problem.
He wasn't using hand seals.
Hand seals weren't merely tradition or habit. They were the product of decades—centuries—of refinement: a structured system designed to guide chakra flow, stabilize transformation, and shape techniques with precision. They reduced complexity, eliminated variables, and turned instability into reliability.
They made things easier.
Reiji didn't have that luxury.
Everything he did, he did manually.
Every step—every single one—had to be controlled consciously. He had to separate two chakra natures, maintain them independently, merge them at precisely the right moment, and then shape the result—all without any external framework to support the process.
There was no room for error.
Not even the smallest.
It demanded focus—constant, unbroken focus. It demanded discipline, control, and awareness of every movement within his body.
And more than anything—
It demanded time.
Time he wouldn't always have.
He had heard of shinobi who reached a level where hand seals became unnecessary—where techniques that once required long sequences could be performed instantly, the body remembering what the mind no longer needed to guide. But those shinobi had begun with something complete. They learned the system first, mastered it, and only then refined it into instinct.
Reiji was doing the opposite.
He had nothing to start from.
No structure. No guidance. No existing technique to build upon. Everything had to be created from nothing—shaped through trial and error until it became usable.
And yet—
He didn't resent it.
If anything, the thought drew a faint, almost amused exhale from him.
It made him… happy.
His hands slowly parted.
A thin mist escaped from his palms, pale and cold, drifting upward in faint spirals before dissolving into the heat. He raised one hand slightly, watching the chill brush against his skin—subtle, but real. It responded to him.
It was there.
Just not enough.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and plunged both hands into the pond. The water trembled at the sudden disturbance, ripples spreading outward before settling once more. From where his fingers touched, ice began to form—thin, uneven, fragile. It crept slowly across the surface, extending outward before stopping, as if it lacked the strength to go further.
Reiji withdrew his hands, droplets sliding from his fingers as he studied the result in silence.
A faint smile formed.
The spread was wider.
The duration—slightly longer.
It wasn't much. On its own, it barely mattered.
But it was still progress.
He had been pushing the technique relentlessly, forcing it—again and again—into something more usable. Reducing the time it took to form. Extending its duration. Expanding its reach, even if only by fractions. Each improvement came slowly, almost imperceptibly—but they were there.
And together—
They accumulated.
His smile deepened, just slightly.
Difficulty didn't discourage him. If anything, it drew him in. There was something deeply satisfying about the process—about a power that refused to come easily, that demanded precision at every step. Once, he had feared stagnation—a point where effort stopped mattering, where no amount of training would yield results.
Now—
Even the smallest improvement was enough to keep him moving.
Still, he couldn't afford complacency.
The problem remained.
His control wasn't sufficient. Not yet. He couldn't freely manipulate two chakra natures and merge them seamlessly. The process was unstable, inefficient, incomplete. If he wanted to improve, then the first step was obvious.
He had to isolate them.
Separate wind and water within his body before attempting to combine them.
Which raised a more important question:
What came after that?
Reiji's gaze lowered, his thoughts turning inward once more.
What could he actually do with that?
His goal was simple in theory—eliminate the need for his hands. If he could activate his technique without bringing them together, everything would change. No preparation. No visible cue. A technique that could be used instantly, without warning.
Almost impossible to read.
Unless the opponent possessed a dōjutsu… or exceptional perception.
His thoughts slowed.
Focused.
Isolate the chakra…
Two hands joining…
Two…
He stilled.
Then blinked.
A moment later, his hand rose and tapped lightly against his forehead, a quiet groan slipping past his lips.
"…Why didn't I think of that?"
The idea felt obvious now—almost frustratingly so.
But that didn't make it easy.
If anything, it made what came next more dangerous.
He would need someone who understood exactly what they were doing.
A faint smile formed on his lips, sharper this time.
"I know the right person."
The thought settled quickly.
And once it did—
Reiji didn't hesitate.
***
Reiji stood before the house, his gaze lingering on the closed door a moment longer than necessary. The structure itself was unremarkable—clean lines, well maintained—but that wasn't what held his attention. His thoughts were already elsewhere, turning over the idea again and again, refining it, testing it before ever putting it into practice.
Then he raised his hand and knocked.
The sound echoed faintly through the wood. He waited—still, patient—counting the seconds without realizing it. From inside, a voice called out, light and quick:
"I'll get it!"
Footsteps followed—soft, hurried—approaching the entrance.
The door slid open.
And both of them froze.
"What are you doing here?"
Their voices overlapped perfectly.
Reiji blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second as his eyes settled on her.
Mikoto Uchiha stood in the doorway—but something was off.
It took him a moment to place it.
She wasn't wearing her usual academy uniform. Instead, she wore a simple kimono, neatly tied, the fabric understated but clean. Her hair had been arranged with more care than usual, a small pin holding part of it in place, giving her a composed—almost refined—appearance.
It didn't match the image he had of her.
She looked—
…different.
She looks… kind of cute?
The thought slipped through before he could stop it.
Reiji stiffened, a faint shiver running down his spine as if he had stepped into something unpleasant.
What the hell am I thinking…?
His expression twisted slightly, irritation flickering across his face as he shoved the thought aside.
Did I hit my head or something? She's a damn harpy.
Mikoto's eyes narrowed almost immediately, her brows drawing together as she caught the shift in his expression.
"What?" she snapped. "Do you have something to say?"
Reiji straightened at once, his features smoothing into something neutral—almost innocent.
"Nothing," he said lightly. "Just surprised to see you like this."
He gestured vaguely toward her, as if that alone explained everything.
Mikoto followed the motion, glancing down at herself before pausing. Understanding flashed across her face, and a faint flush crept up her cheeks despite her attempt to remain composed.
"Ah… this?" she said, her tone wavering before she forced it steady. "What? I'm a girl. I can dress like one if I want."
She lifted her chin, gaze sharpening as she met his eyes again.
"…Does it not suit me?"
"Yes."
The answer came instantly.
Smooth. Effortless.
A lie.
Mikoto's eye twitched.
"You—"
"Who is it, Mikoto?"
The voice cut cleanly through the tension.
Reiji's attention shifted past her as Fugaku stepped into view, his presence altering the atmosphere immediately. Where Mikoto's reaction had been sharp and emotional, Fugaku's was measured and controlled—though his surprise was still evident as his gaze settled on Reiji.
"…Reiji-kun?"
He blinked once.
Reiji's demeanor shifted just as quickly. Whatever irritation lingered vanished, replaced by a grin that spread across his face as if Mikoto had already ceased to exist.
"Just the man I needed," Reiji said without hesitation, stepping forward. "I need your help with my training."
Fugaku's eyebrow lifted slightly. A brief pause followed as he considered him, something measured passing through his gaze before he responded.
"Well, I'd be glad to help," he said calmly, "but right now is a bit…" His eyes flicked over his shoulder toward the room behind him. "…busy. Could you come back later?"
Reiji shifted his weight, already about to nod. It wasn't unreasonable—
"Actually," Mikoto cut in smoothly, her voice light but deliberate, "Fugaku, maybe now is a good time."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. The look she gave him said enough.
Fugaku blinked, caught off guard—not by her words, but by the intent behind them. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, reading something unspoken. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved upward.
"I see."
Understanding settled in.
He inclined his head slightly, correcting himself.
"You're right. My apologies, Reiji-kun. It seems I was mistaken—I am free after all."
Reiji's gaze moved between them, narrowing faintly. He was missing something. That much was obvious.
After a second, he exhaled through his nose and let it go.
"Well… works for me. Thanks."
Fugaku gave a short nod.
"Come with me. I just need to inform my father before we leave."
He turned immediately, stepping back into the corridor without waiting for a response.
After a brief pause, Reiji followed, his attention flicking once more toward Mikoto as he crossed the threshold. She met his gaze without hesitation and gave him a small, satisfied nod—as if confirming something had gone exactly as planned.
…Strange.
He didn't dwell on it.
They soon arrived in a spacious living room that opened onto a garden through a wide patio. Two men sat across from each other at a low table, deep in discussion.
One wore the Konoha Military Police uniform, posture straight, black hair neatly kept. The other was dressed in a loose kimono, brown hair slicked back—his presence quieter, but no less composed.
"Father."
Fugaku's voice cut through their conversation.
Both men stopped and turned. Their gazes settled on Reiji, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
"It seems we have a guest," the man in uniform said, a polite smile forming. "Fugaku, would you care to introduce him?"
Fugaku nodded.
"This is Homura Reiji, a classmate of Arata and Mikoto."
He turned slightly.
"Reiji, this is my father—the head of the Uchiha clan, Uchiha Kagami. And beside him, Uchiha Engetsu—Mikoto's father."
Kagami inclined his head with a measured smile. Engetsu followed with a small nod, his gaze resting on Reiji with quiet curiosity.
Then Kagami's expression lit with recognition.
"Ah—Reiji-kun!"
He stood at once and approached, his demeanor suddenly far more open than expected. He reached out, clasping Reiji's hand firmly and shaking it with surprising energy.
"I've been meaning to meet you," he said with a light chuckle. "My apologies it took so long. With everything involving my son—and my duties—I simply haven't had the time."
Reiji blinked, caught off guard by the enthusiasm. This was not what he had expected from the head of the Uchiha clan.
"I—it's nothing, really," he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm the one intruding."
Kagami waved it off.
"Nonsense. You're always welcome here."
His smile remained easy.
"Now—what can I do for you?"
"Actually," Fugaku interjected, "I promised Reiji I would help him with his training. I had… forgotten."
Kagami's gaze flicked briefly toward his son, something subtle passing between them, before he nodded.
"I see. In that case—my apologies, Engetsu, it seems—"
Engetsu raised a hand, cutting him off calmly.
"Don't worry about it. We were finished." His gaze shifted to Reiji, a faint smile forming. "It's good to see the next generation taking their training seriously."
He studied him for a moment.
"I've heard about you, Homura-kun. It's a pleasure to meet you in person."
Reiji frowned slightly.
"You've… heard of me?"
His eyes flicked toward Mikoto. She shook her head, equally confused.
Engetsu's smile widened just a fraction.
"Of course. It's not every day a new kekkei genkai appears in Konoha." He paused. "You've become something of a… notable figure."
His gaze sharpened.
"For good reason."
Reiji's expression tightened, but he said nothing. He could feel the shift in the room—the attention, the weight behind the words. Beside him, Mikoto's eyes widened slightly, and even Fugaku looked surprised.
Kagami let out a quiet groan, rubbing his temple.
"Honestly, Engetsu… a little tact wouldn't hurt."
Engetsu shrugged lightly.
"Why? He didn't seem interested in hiding it. If anything, he used it openly—as he should." His eyes returned to Reiji. "Power like that isn't something to be ashamed of."
Then, more curiously:
"But tell me—why do you need Fugaku's help?"
Reiji hesitated briefly. Fugaku would likely tell them anyway—and it wasn't truly a secret.
"I want to learn the Great Fireball Technique."
Fugaku blinked, clearly surprised.
"…Why?" he asked. "You don't have a fire nature. Shouldn't you focus on your own first?"
He didn't say the rest—but his look was enough.
Reiji understood.
He's talking about my problem… and he didn't tell them.
That alone was… interesting.
"Not exactly learn it," Reiji clarified. "I want to study it. See if I can use it as a basis to create something similar with my Hyōton."
Silence followed.
Kagami and Engetsu exchanged a glance.
"…What an interesting idea," Kagami murmured.
"Ambitious would be more accurate," Engetsu added, amusement flickering in his tone. "An academy student already trying to create his own jutsu…"
He lifted his sleeve, revealing a seal inscribed along his wrist. With a quick hand seal—
Poof.
A scroll appeared in a small plume of smoke.
He caught it and tossed it toward Reiji.
Reiji caught it instinctively. His eyes flicked to the markings:
Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique.
His brows rose slightly.
"…Is this really okay?"
Kagami smiled.
"It's hardly a secret technique. You would find it in the Konoha library eventually—but as an academy student, you don't yet have access."
Reiji looked at them for a moment—then bowed.
"Thank you."
Kagami waved a hand.
"Don't thank us. If anything, I should be thanking you."
His tone softened slightly.
"For putting the matter with my son behind us."
Reiji straightened but did not answer, offering only a small nod.
Engetsu rose to his feet.
"Well, I believe it's time for us to leave."
Kagami stood as well.
"I'll walk you out."
Engetsu nodded and stepped forward, passing them. As he did, he briefly rested a hand on Fugaku's shoulder before stopping beside Reiji.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Homura-kun," he said. "Take care of my daughter in class, will you?"
"Of course," Reiji replied automatically.
Mikoto scoffed beside him.
Engetsu's brow lifted slightly in quiet amusement, but he said nothing more and continued toward the exit as Kagami followed.
Watching them leave, Fugaku let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Reiji glanced at him.
"What?"
Fugaku shook his head lightly.
"Nothing. I was just… bored. I'm glad I have an excuse to get out."
Reiji studied him for a moment. It was not the full truth, but he did not press. Everyone had their own problems. It was not his place to pry.
Instead—
"Can we go now?"
Fugaku looked at him, faint amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Yes, we can." He turned toward the exit. "If you want to study the Great Fireball Technique, there's a large pond not far from here. It'll be more suitable. Follow me."
Reiji nodded and fell into step behind him.
His thoughts, however, were elsewhere.
As they walked, Reiji barely registered the quiet order of the Uchiha district around him—the still water of garden ponds, the polished wood of verandas, the careful spacing of houses, all arranged with the same restrained precision he had come to expect from the clan. His attention kept circling back to the same problem, turning it over from every angle with the stubborn persistence of someone unwilling to leave a flaw unresolved.
His limitation.
And the shape of a solution.
If he wanted to improve his Hyōton despite the instability of his control, then the first principle remained obvious: wind and water had to be separated cleanly before they could be merged. That part no longer confused him. He understood it now in a way he hadn't before. The two natures could not simply be forced together at random and expected to behave. They needed structure. Isolation. Stability. Only then could fusion follow.
What he still lacked was a proper method.
Until now, he had relied on his arms, guiding one nature down each side and forcing the point of contact through his hands. It worked, in a rough and limited way. The symmetry helped. His body understood the pattern. But that was exactly the problem: it required a fixed posture, intense focus, and close range. Too slow. Too obvious. Too restrictive. In a real fight, anyone with half a brain would see it coming before he ever finished.
He needed another point of convergence.
Something faster.
Something more natural.
His gaze drifted ahead as he walked behind Fugaku, and his thoughts returned to what he had just seen in the scroll.
The Great Fireball Technique.
A mass of chakra gathered near the chest and expelled through the mouth.
Reiji's eyes narrowed slightly.
The lungs.
He had two of them.
If he could gather chakra along the pathways near his lungs first—neutral, stable, undisturbed—then begin the nature transformation there, changing one side into wind and the other into water while keeping the two flows separate, then he would not need to carry already transformed chakra all the way up from deeper in his body. He could prepare each side where it was meant to be used, then bring them together higher up—not in his hands, but in his throat.
Not through the contact of his palms.
Through a rising convergence.
A single outlet.
A single breath.
The thought settled into place with surprising ease.
He had never seen the internal mechanics of the Great Fireball Technique with his own eyes, but he knew enough about chakra pathways to understand how such a structure might work. The idea had merit.
It was also dangerous.
That much was obvious.
Forcing chakra toward the chest and throat was one thing. Beginning two separate nature transformations there, then trying to merge them before release, was something else entirely. A mistake there would not be clean. Best case, he wasted chakra and scorched his own throat. Worst case—
He dismissed the thought.
The last thing he wanted was to die a stupid death because he had grown impatient with his own theory.
So he would do it properly.
Step by step.
Methodically.
They stopped soon after at the edge of a broad pond that looked more like a small lake within the district. A narrow wooden platform extended over the water, its planks darkened by age and damp air. Fugaku led the way onto it, and the wood gave a quiet creak beneath their weight before both of them came to a halt near the edge, the surface of the pond shifting faintly below them in the evening breeze.
Fugaku turned to face him, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
"So," he said, his tone casual but attentive now, "what was Engetsu talking about? You really have a kekkei genkai?"
Reiji did not answer.
Instead, he brought his hands together.
His breathing slowed. His attention narrowed inward. Chakra gathered beneath his skin, split across familiar channels, and a moment later a thin stream of cold mist began to seep from the narrow space between his palms. It thickened gradually, pale against the dark water behind him, and the air around them changed with it. The temperature dropped just enough to be felt on exposed skin.
Fugaku's expression sharpened.
"…Cold," he murmured, more to himself than to Reiji. "Your kekkei genkai… ice?"
Reiji gave the faintest nod.
Fugaku's eyes lingered on his hands, then narrowed slightly.
"That's strange," he said. "The shape you're making with your hands looks close to the Snake seal some Doton users favor. But this clearly isn't earth chakra."
Reiji kept his eyes shut, his concentration fixed on the flow.
"It's not a hand seal," he said. "Use your Sharingan."
Fugaku fell silent.
Then his chakra shifted.
Reiji did not need to look to know the dōjutsu had activated, but he felt the change in attention almost immediately. The gaze on him became sharper, more invasive, tracking not just movement but the subtler logic behind it. Fugaku was no longer looking at posture alone. He was reading the minute changes in muscle tension, the pathways of chakra through Reiji's arms, the separate currents being held apart before converging.
A few seconds passed.
Then Fugaku said, very quietly:
"…What?"
Reiji waited until the mist had stabilized, then separated his hands. The cold thinned at once, the vapor dissolving into the open air above the pond.
"Do you see it now?" he asked.
Fugaku remained still for a moment, Sharingan active, gaze fixed on him with a new intensity. When he finally spoke, his voice had slowed slightly, as if he were still arranging the pieces in his head.
"…Yes. I think so."
Something close to respect flickered beneath his usual composure.
"You're guiding two different chakra natures at the same time," he said. "And trying to merge them." He paused, then added with clear honesty, "I'm not sure I could do that."
Reiji shrugged lightly.
"It's less impressive when those are your natural affinities."
"Water and wind?"
Reiji nodded.
Fugaku exhaled softly and let the Sharingan fade, though his eyes did not leave Reiji's face.
"There's still something I don't get," he said. "Why use the Great Fireball as a model? That's not exactly a simple technique to build from. And trying to create your own jutsu from it…"
He let the thought hang.
Reiji sighed through his nose.
"It's not like I have better options."
Then, because there was no point in hiding it now, he explained.
The instability.
The control issue.
The way he had only been able to force the merge through close contact so far.
And the idea he had formed—using the Fireball's internal structure as a framework for release rather than shape.
Fugaku listened without interrupting. Reiji noticed that. He did not jump in too early or pretend to understand before the explanation was complete. He simply listened, his expression growing more focused as the pieces aligned. And when Reiji finished, he remained silent for several seconds, staring out over the pond while he organized the idea in his own head.
"…I see," he said at last.
He stepped closer to the edge of the platform, one hand lifting slightly as if tracing the sequence in the air.
"The Great Fireball isn't really about flames," he said. "That's just what people remember. The important part is the sequence."
Reiji's attention sharpened immediately.
"First, chakra is gathered and directed toward the chest—along the main pathways near the lungs." Fugaku glanced at him. "Not inside them. Close enough that release through the mouth is natural, but still controlled."
He lowered his hand slightly, then raised it again.
"Then the nature transformation begins there—in that area. The chakra is changed before release, while it's already positioned near the chest. If the transformation is incomplete, the technique collapses before it ever becomes stable enough to expel properly."
Fugaku continued, his tone growing more deliberate.
"After that comes compression. The chakra is condensed and stabilized into a controlled mass. That's what gives the fireball shape. Without it, you don't get a fireball—you get scattered flame and wasted output."
He exhaled lightly through his mouth, almost as if illustrating the final stage.
"And then you release it. The breath doesn't create the technique. It pushes it. Directs it. By the time it leaves the body, the chakra is already prepared."
Reiji said nothing. He was already running the sequence backward through his own idea.
Gather.
Position.
Transform there.
Compress.
Merge.
Release.
Fugaku looked back at him.
"If you're trying to adapt that with two natures, then your real problem isn't just the merge."
His finger lifted slightly toward Reiji's chest.
"It's stability."
The explanation lingered in the air between them.
Reiji didn't answer right away. His gaze rested on the dark surface of the pond, but his focus had turned fully inward, tracing pathways he had only imagined until now. There was no point in delaying further. The logic made sense. The only thing left was the test.
"…Alright."
He stepped forward, closer to the edge of the platform. The water below reflected a faint distortion of his outline, broken by wind and soft ripples.
Fugaku's posture changed immediately. He didn't move to stop him, but he grew more alert, his weight settling through his feet, his attention fixed entirely on Reiji.
"Don't force it," he said. "If it destabilizes, stop."
Reiji gave the barest nod and closed his eyes.
The world narrowed.
First came gathering.
He drew chakra up and guided it toward his chest, spreading it carefully along the main pathways near the lungs. Not transformed yet. Not split into opposing natures. Just chakra, held in position, balanced and waiting. Even that felt wrong. His body resisted the change in habit, unused to holding raw chakra there instead of pushing it outward through his arms. The pressure built subtly against his ribs, as if something were coiling too tightly beneath them.
Then came division.
He separated the gathered chakra into two distinct currents, one on each side. Left. Right. Equal enough to hold. Different enough to work with. He kept both flows suspended there for a moment, testing for tremors, feeling for the slightest instability before committing further. His breathing slowed unconsciously, his chest barely rising as he maintained the balance.
Then, slowly, he began the transformation.
Not from the core.
Not along the full path upward.
There.
At the lungs.
One side shifted first—wind, lighter and sharper, quick to respond once he imposed the structure. The chakra there thinned, becoming restless, almost eager to move. The other followed—water, denser, smoother, resisting him for a fraction longer before settling into place with a heavier, more grounded presence. The contrast became immediate and physical. It pressed against the inside of his chest like two opposing weights sharing the same space, held apart only by precision.
The strain increased.
A faint tightness crept into his breathing, his chest no longer expanding as freely as before.
But it held.
He drew in a slow breath.
Held it.
Then pushed both transformed currents upward.
They rose through his chest in parallel, separate but dangerously close now, guided toward a single narrowing point in his throat. The pathways tightened. The pressure followed. He felt it clearly this time—the friction, the resistance, the unnatural proximity of two incompatible forces being driven into alignment.
At the base of his throat—
They met.
For one instant, it worked.
The contact held.
Not violently. Not clumsily. Precisely.
Cold bloomed there at once—sharp, invasive, scraping along the inside of his throat like frozen air dragged through too narrow a space. His breath stalled, caught between control and release. The sensation was wrong, deeply wrong, like something forming where nothing should.
His eyes snapped open.
Then the balance slipped.
The two currents failed to settle into a clean fusion. Instead, they grated against each other, unstable and resistant to cohesion. The structure fractured almost immediately, the merged point collapsing before it could stabilize. Chakra surged unevenly through the narrowing channel, threatening to recoil back into his chest.
Fugaku stepped forward at once, Sharingan flaring red.
"Stop."
But Reiji didn't.
Not yet.
He had felt it.
That instant of alignment—clean, controlled, real.
That was enough.
He forced the release.
His breath tore out of him, sharper than intended.
A burst of pale mist shot from his mouth—not wide, not stable, but real. The air in front of him turned white with cold, and the surface of the pond reacted instantly. Frost spread in a jagged rush across the water, thin ice forming with a faint cracking sound that carried across the still air. The wooden platform beneath his feet vibrated slightly as the temperature shift rippled outward.
Then the structure failed.
The ice fractured almost at once, splintering into thin lines before breaking apart. The mist unraveled into scattered vapor, drifting unevenly before dissolving into nothing.
Reiji staggered half a step.
His footing slipped just enough on the damp wood to force a quick correction, his weight shifting sharply through his hips to regain balance. One hand rose instinctively to his throat as his chest tightened, his breath catching hard for a moment before he coughed once—short, rough, enough to leave a faint burn lingering deep inside.
It wasn't damage.
Not yet.
But it was close enough to matter.
Silence settled over the platform, broken only by the soft lap of disturbed water against the dock.
Then Fugaku said, with unmistakable disbelief:
"…You actually did it."
Reiji straightened slowly, forcing his breathing back under control. His chest rose more carefully now—measured, deliberate.
"It didn't hold."
"That's not the point."
Fugaku's gaze remained fixed on him, Sharingan still active, as if replaying the flow he had just witnessed.
"You gathered chakra near your lungs, changed each side separately, merged them inside your throat, and released the result through your breath," he said. "On the first try."
He paused, then added with blunt honesty:
"Most shinobi wouldn't even attempt that. Let alone get this far."
Reiji didn't answer. His attention had already shifted back to the pond, to the last fragments of thin ice drifting across the dark surface before melting away completely. His mind retraced the sequence again, slower this time.
The point of contact.
The brief instant of stability.
The exact moment it broke.
"…The location is right," he said at last, more to himself than to Fugaku. "But it collapses before I can stabilize it."
Fugaku nodded immediately.
"Because you're doing too much at once," he said. "You're trying to complete every stage in a single motion—the merge, the compression, the release. There's no time for the structure to settle."
Reiji lowered his gaze slightly.
Yes.
That was it.
He had treated release like escape—as if exhaling would solve the instability before he truly controlled it. But the sequence mattered. It always had.
Stability first.
Then compression.
Then release.
Not all at once.
The realization clicked into place with clean, almost satisfying precision. A faint smile touched his lips before he could stop it.
"…I see."
He lifted his gaze.
"…Again," he said quietly.
Fugaku didn't object this time. Reiji didn't need to turn to know the older boy had straightened slightly, his attention narrowing again. Even without looking, he could feel the weight of that gaze settle between his shoulder blades—patient, measuring, the kind that missed very little. If Fugaku thought this was reckless, he kept it to himself. That, at least, was useful.
Reiji closed his eyes.
This time, he did not rush.
He began with neutral chakra, drawing it upward through his coils and guiding it carefully toward his chest, distributing it along the main pathways near his lungs. He did not transform it yet. That was the point. Position first. Control first. He held the gathered chakra there, letting it settle into place, feeling the tension in his own body as though he were bracing two loaded mechanisms without triggering either of them.
Then came the split.
He divided the chakra evenly, separating it into two distinct currents along the mirrored lines of his chest. Left. Right. Balanced enough to hold, but still neutral. He let them rest there for a breath, testing for tremors, listening inward for any sign of slippage.
Nothing.
Good.
Only then did he begin the transformation.
On one side, he imposed the lighter, sharper structure of wind, letting the chakra change along the pathways near one lung. On the other, he guided the opposite transformation, working the denser, smoother quality of water through the mirrored side. The difference between them became immediate. Wind wanted movement. Water resisted before settling. Reiji adjusted both with deliberate care, refining the balance, smoothing the roughness that had undermined the first attempt. The process was slower now, but cleaner.
He could feel the strain pressing faintly against his focus.
Still manageable.
He drew in a slow breath.
Held it.
Then he pushed both transformed currents upward.
They rose through his chest again, traveling in parallel lines toward the narrowing point beneath his throat. The path felt tighter than before, the pressure more obvious now that he was paying closer attention to it. The currents drew nearer. The margin for error thinned. But this time, instead of driving them together with force, Reiji controlled the pace and let the contact happen only when the lines aligned on their own.
The two natures touched.
Cold formed between them at once—sharper than before, denser, more concentrated. Reiji felt it bloom high in his throat like a splinter of winter driven into the channel of his breath. His brow tightened, but he did not release it immediately.
He held it there.
Stabilized it.
For a brief second, the merged chakra resisted him. It shifted unevenly, wind and water grinding against one another beneath the surface of the fusion, threatening to peel apart before the structure settled. Reiji adjusted at once. He tightened his control, compressed the mass just enough to keep it from unraveling—
—and for an instant, it wavered again.
A slight imbalance. A flicker of collapse at the edge of the structure.
He caught it.
Barely.
Beside him, Fugaku inhaled softly.
"He's holding it…"
Reiji barely heard him.
The pressure built fast. His throat tightened, the cold scraping along the inside of his airway, his breath stalling between control and release. His chest resisted the strain now, muscles tightening instinctively, a faint tremor running through his shoulders as the merged chakra pressed harder against the narrowing point.
Not yet.
One more moment.
Then he exhaled.
This time, the release was different.
A concentrated stream of pale frost burst from his mouth, tighter and denser than the scattered mist from before. It cut forward in a narrow line over the pond, clean and focused, the air along its path turning white in an instant. The surface reacted immediately—ice spreading outward from the point of contact in a thin, continuous band, racing across the water for several meters before slowing.
Reiji watched it closely.
It didn't shatter at once.
It held.
One second.
Then another—
A faint distortion ran through the frozen surface.
Not a clean formation.
Uneven.
Cracks began to creep through it soon after—thin fractures at first, then deeper ones, splitting the layer from within until the structure gave way and broke apart into floating fragments that sank back into the dark water.
Reiji lowered his head slightly, letting the last of his breath leave him in a controlled exhale. His throat still burned faintly. His chest felt tight, the strain lingering in the muscles and pathways he had forced to adapt too quickly.
But it had held longer.
That mattered.
He straightened slowly.
"…Better."
Fugaku didn't answer right away.
When Reiji glanced at him, the Sharingan was still active, red eyes fixed on him with a focus that felt almost surgical.
At last, the Sharingan faded.
"…That wasn't just better," Fugaku said.
There was no hesitation in his tone now.
"That was a technique."
Reiji turned his gaze back toward the pond.
"It's incomplete."
"Of course it is," Fugaku replied, calm as ever. "You built it ten seconds ago."
A brief pause followed, and when he spoke again, his voice lost the last trace of disbelief and settled into something more serious—more technical.
"You changed the chakra near your lungs first, kept both sides separate while bringing them upward, then stabilized the merge before release. That part worked." His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over the fading ice on the pond. "Your output is still inefficient, and the structure collapses too quickly once it hits the surface—but the foundation is there."
His gaze sharpened.
"You're already past the hardest part."
Reiji's eyes lowered slightly, though his mind had already moved ahead.
The stream.
The pressure.
The exact instant where instability tried to break through.
It wasn't just a release.
It was convergence forced into a single breath.
Compressed.
Directed.
Controlled—barely, for now.
The faintest smile returned.
"…Yeah."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft lap of water beneath the wooden platform and the faint creak of damp wood shifting under their weight.
Then Fugaku spoke again.
"…Congratulations."
Reiji looked up.
Fugaku met his gaze directly. His expression was composed, but there was no mistaking the weight behind his words.
"You created a new jutsu."
A short pause.
"And without hand seals."
That seemed to matter to him.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in open approval.
"That's a real advantage," he said. "Most opponents won't understand what they're looking at. No seal sequence. No obvious warning. By the time they realize you're building something, it'll already be leaving your mouth."
Reiji glanced back toward the pond, where the last fragments of thin ice had already disappeared.
Yes.
That part mattered.
No hand seals meant no clear tell. No familiar pattern. No warning—only the result.
In a real fight, that gap in understanding would be enough.
Fugaku let the silence linger a moment longer before asking, "What will you call it?"
Reiji didn't answer immediately.
His gaze rested on the dark surface of the water, but his focus had turned inward again—toward the structure, the breath, the precise instant in which two incompatible natures were forced into alignment and held together just long enough to become something new.
A technique born from convergence.
From pressure.
From control sharpened to a single moment.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Hyōton: Hyōsoku."
Ice Release: Ice Breath