Renkai sat in the dim glow of a single candle, his back pressed against the cold wooden wall of his tiny apartment. The ink on the scroll before him shimmered faintly under the flickering light, the complex seals drawn across the parchment forming intricate patterns only he could truly appreciate.


    He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His fingers ached from hours of precise chakra control exercises. His stomach was empty—again. The last of his money had gone to ink, parchment, and materials for his fūinjutsu training.


    Food was secondary.


    Sleep? Even less important.


    He had been improving his application of seals without manually drawing them.


    He was close to breaking a level that should be far beyond his years.


    His insight from his past life helped. Back then, spellcasting required an understanding of formulas, of pre-constructed energy structures that could be activated in an instant. If he could translate that logic into fūinjutsu, he could apply even more complicated seals with a single touch.


    A sharp knock at the door broke his focus.


    Renkai exhaled, standing slowly. His joints protested from hours of sitting in the same position. He ignored it.


    Opening the door, he found Rika standing there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.


    “You look like a corpse.”


    Renkai raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”


    Rika sighed, stepping inside without waiting for permission. Her eyes flicked around the room, taking in the stacked scrolls, half-used ink pots, and complete lack of any food.


    “You’ve been skipping meals again, haven’t you?”


    He didn’t answer. That was enough of a confirmation.


    She walked over to his desk, picked up a kunai, then tapped it against an unfinished seal on the table. “You know, most people train like normal human beings. Eat, sleep, fight. You? You’re trying to rewrite how shinobi even use fūinjutsu. Maybe don’t starve yourself while you do it.”


    Renkai sat back down, rubbing his temples. “Money doesn’t come out of nowhere. The village stipend isn’t enough.”


    Rika sighed, tossing a small pouch onto his table. “There. Get food.”


    He stared at it. Then at her.


    She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with the pride thing. Just take it.”


    He picked up the pouch and weighed it in his hand. Not much, but enough for a few meals.


    “…Fine.”


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    Rika smirked. “You’re welcome, by the way.”


    Renkai ignored her, rolling up a failed fūinjutsu scroll and setting it aside.


    The Academy graduation exam was approaching fast. He needed to refine his Lightning Release before then.


    But more than that—he had to fix his biggest weakness.


    For his entire life, magic had been controlled through rigid formulas and structured calculations—every spell a precise equation. Chakra, however, required instinct, fluidity, and subconscious molding, making the transition feel unnatural and frustrating. His precise, methodical approach worked against techniques that demanded seamless energy flow, leaving him struggling with even the most basic ninjutsu.


    It had frustrated him endlessly.


    He had better control over fūinjutsu than he did over something as simple as a Clone Jutsu.


    And that was unacceptable.


    He sighed, standing up.


    “Let’s go,” he said.


    Rika blinked. “Go where?”


    “Training ground. I need to work on something.”


    She raised an eyebrow but followed anyway.


    The training ground was empty this late at night, the moon casting long shadows across the dirt.


    Renkai stood still for a moment, then raised his hands.


    “Clone Jutsu.”


    A puff of smoke.


    Then—failure.


    The clone that appeared was transparent, flickering like a half-finished drawing.


    Rika whistled. “Yikes.”


    Renkai couldn’t adjust to ninjutsu which conflicts with his previous life experience.


    “Again.”


    He forced himself to weaken his control, spreading his chakra less rigidly.


    Another puff of smoke.


    The clone was slightly more stable—but still wrong.


    Rika crouched nearby, watching. “Y’know, most people suck at this because their control is bad. You suck because yours is too good.”


    He already knew that.


    But knowing didn’t make it easier.


    He exhaled. His Lightning Release training had only made it worse, sharpening his control even more and making these crude, instinct-based jutsu even harder.


    If he kept failing this, he’d never make it past the exam.


    So he needed a workaround.


    There was no subtle technique. No advanced fūinjutsu trick. No hidden insight from his past life.


    Just brute force.


    He inhaled sharply, forcing his chakra into submission—manually restructuring its shape, guiding it through sheer willpower.


    It resisted him.


    He forced it anyway.


    Smoke puffed.


    The clone was stable—but the effort was ridiculous.


    Renkai hated it.


    The technique felt sloppy, unnatural, and painfully inefficient. In his old world, spellcasting had been refined to perfection. It was fluid—not this crude, muscle-memory-dependent mess.


    And this method wouldn’t work for higher-level jutsu.


    If something as simple as the Clone Jutsu was this difficult, then what about elemental ninjutsu?


    He couldn’t afford to rely on brute force forever.


    But for now, it was all he had.


    Rika studied him for a moment before laughing. “You finally did it!”


    This was only the beginning.


    Now that he had found a temporary solution for his issue, it was time to focus back on his Lightning Release.


    The brute force method was not for him. While he would not use his lightening chakra for ninjutsu, infusing Lightning chakra into his threads might work. Since he wasn’t applying any jutsu, it would simply increase his Lightning chakra concentration. With time, it would become his default. And with his growing chakra reserves, he wasn’t worried.


    He turned, picking up a kunai.


    The moment he pulsed chakra into it, the blade vibrated with raw energy.


    But he needed more than raw power.


    Renkai threw the kunai that was connected with two chakra threads, then jerked his first chakra thread—sending a forced pulse of Lightning through it.


    The kunai accelerated mid-air, faster than before.


    Rika’s grin widened. “Now we’re talking.”


    He wasn’t done yet.


    He forced even more Lightning chakra through the second chakra thread, then redirected it mid-air with another Lightning pulse.


    The kunai curved unnaturally, snapping toward a tree behind him and accelerating even further to an incredible speed before smashing through the small trunk. A direct hit.


    This—this was what he needed.


    A fighting style that was his own.


    Something that would rewrite how fights were fought.


    He still had a long way to go.


    But now, he knew exactly how to get there.