Renkai sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor of his dimly lit apartment, a kunai resting in his palm. The blade gleamed under the weak candlelight, but his focus was on the fine etchings along its handle—the intricate markings of a Trap-Seal Kunai, It was limited in both, range an supply, but it was better than nothing.


    He didn’t know who he would fight next—but he refused to be unprepared.


    In his past life, preparation had meant survival. He had fought against spellcasters who could obliterate entire formations with a single incantation, warriors who could shatter steel


    with their bare hands, and assassins who could kill before their target even registered their presence. Victory came from understanding the battlefield before stepping onto it.


    But here, in Konoha’s Academy, he lacked that luxury. There was no scouting ahead, no studying an opponent’s techniques for weeks before a battle. He had to rely on educated guesses, prior experience, and careful countermeasures.


    That’s what led him to this seal.


    His fingers traced over the fine lines of fūinjutsu, ensuring every marking was precise. If this kunai struck an opponent—or even the ground directly below them—the seal would activate, sending out a sudden burst of chakra


    that disrupted movement and slowed reaction speed. It wouldn’t last long, but a single moment was all he needed.


    He twirled the kunai between his fingers, testing the weight.


    His last fight against Rika had revealed a major weakness—speed. He could keep up with Shigeru’s power-driven style, but against someone like Rika, who weaved through attacks with effortless agility, he had struggled to land decisive blows. If he faced someone even faster, or someone capable of pure hit-and-run tactics, it would be dangerous.


    This was his countermeasure.


    A kunai infused with a binding seal could halt an enemy’s momentum mid-dash, slow down an overwhelming offense, or even create an opening in a fight where none existed.


    But it wasn’t just for speedsters. If he came across someone stronger than Shigeru, someone capable of blitzing through his defenses, this would level the playing field.


    He exhaled, setting the kunai aside.


    His stomach grumbled loudly, but he ignored it. Food could wait.


    But his body? That was another issue entirely.


    For all the progress he had made in developing new techniques, his physical condition was still lacking. His chakra reserves were increasing at an alarming rate, but his malnourished body was struggling to keep up. His limbs felt heavier, his movements weren’t as crisp as they should be.


    He had spent countless nights perfecting fūinjutsu instead of resting. His training had sharpened his mind—but at the cost of endurance.


    He needed to fix that.


    He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the stiffness.


    He had been working on barrier seals, trap seals, and new applications of his lightning threads—but none of it would matter if he collapsed in the middle of a real battle.


    No more training on an empty stomach.


    No more sleepless nights.


    He would eat. He would rest.


    He would sharpen not just his mind—but his body as well.


    He picked up the Trap-Seal Kunai one last time, testing the weight in his hand.


    Tomorrow, the next round of Academy fights


    would begin.


    And when it did—he would be ready for anyone.


    A few days passed, bringing with them a series of predictably easy spars—until this one.


    The Academy training grounds buzzed with anticipation. The next round of fights had been announced, and students gathered around, their excited murmurs filling the air.


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    Renkai stood at the edge of the sparring ring, rolling his shoulders. His opponent was already there, stretching his arms with the casual confidence of someone who knew he was fast.


    Hamada Itsuki.


    A taijutsu specialist.


    Renkai had seen him fight before—sharp movements, relentless pressure, and an aggressive forward momentum that left most opponents struggling to react. He wasn’t the strongest or the smartest, but he didn’t need to be. His speed and precision overwhelmed slower fighters before they could even form a counter.


    A close-range monster.


    Renkai exhaled. This was the worst kind of opponent for his style. He needed distance. Control. His fūinjutsu wasn’t suited for direct melee combat.


    Then I’ll just have to make sure he never gets close.


    Takeda Genji, their instructor, raised a hand. “Begin.”


    Itsuki didn’t hesitate.


    The instant the match started, he exploded forward—his footwork clean, efficient, and terrifyingly fast.


    Renkai had barely shifted when Itsuki was already in his space.


    A jab lashed out—Renkai swayed, dodging by inches.


    Itsuki followed up with a sweeping kick, forcing Renkai to pivot sharply backward. Too close.


    Renkai flicked his wrist, launching a kunai mid-dodge. It wasn’t aimed to hit—just to slow him down.


    Itsuki twisted mid-air, bypassing the attack entirely—and kept moving forward.


    No wasted motion. No hesitation.


    Renkai barely ducked as a fist shot toward his jaw.


    This isn’t working.


    He needed control over the pacing. He needed to create space.


    Threads.


    Renkai flicked a finger. A near-invisible chakra thread caught the kunai he had thrown earlier. He yanked.


    The kunai zipped backward toward Itsuki’s blind spot—


    —but Itsuki sensed it.


    Without even looking, he tilted his head at the last second, letting the kunai graze past his ear.


    Fast. Too fast.


    Renkai’s mind sharpened. If he can react to blind attacks, then baiting him won’t work.


    He needed to trap him.


    Itsuki’s foot pressed into the ground—his weight shifted forward. A burst step.


    He was about to go all in.


    Renkai’s hand was already moving.


    He whipped a kunai at the ground between them.


    Itsuki barely reacted. A normal kunai? Not a threat. He rushed in.


    And then—


    The seal activated.


    A sharp pulse of chakra burst outward from the kunai’s impact point. It wasn’t an explosion, but a disruptive force—one that staggered the movement of anything within its radius.


    Itsuki’s charge broke.


    His forward momentum stuttered—his body slowed for half a second.


    Half a second was all Renkai needed.


    His hand flicked—three kunai shot toward Itsuki, no longer hindered by his relentless speed.


    Itsuki twisted sharply, deflecting one, dodging another—


    But the third sliced across his shoulder, leaving a thin red line.


    A hit.


    The first solid hit of the match.


    The watching students murmured in surprise.


    Itsuki landed, his breath steady, his expression unreadable.


    Then—he grinned.


    “Didn’t see that coming.” He rolled his shoulder, testing the minor wound. “You planned that from the start, huh?”


    Renkai didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.


    Itsuki adjusted his stance. Still aggressive—but slightly more cautious.


    Good.


    The kunai trap had worked. But barely.


    If Itsuki had reacted even a little faster, he would’ve dodged completely.


    It’s not enough.


    The speed gap was still massive. And now that Itsuki knew about the seal, he wouldn’t fall for it again.


    Renkai exhaled. I have one more shot at this.


    If he didn’t finish this soon, Itsuki would close the gap.


    Renkai took a step back.


    Itsuki narrowed his eyes. “Running?”


    Renkai didn’t answer.


    Instead—he lifted both hands.


    And pulled.


    The chakra threads attached to his previously thrown kunai all snapped forward at once.


    Itsuki’s eyes flickered in understanding—but too late.


    Four kunai infused with Lightning Release—all controlled by four separate threads—ripped toward him from different angles.


    The death zone.


    Itsuki reacted instantly.


    A burst of movement—a blur of sidesteps, ducks, and desperate blocks. The kunai sliced through the air, skimming past his arms, legs, and ribs—each one barely missing.


    For the first time, he was forced back.


    He landed at the edge of the sparring ring, panting slightly.


    His hands trembled.


    Renkai’s attack had almost hit.


    Itsuki grinned, exhaling. “That was really frightening.”


    Renkai didn’t move.


    His vision blurred slightly.


    The exhaustion hit all at once.


    Lightning chakra. Kunai control. Trap-seal activation. All of it had drained him.


    If the fight continued any longer—he wouldn’t have enough stamina to keep going.


    Itsuki straightened.


    Renkai tensed.


    But then—


    Itsuki smirked.


    “…I can’t step out, but if I rush in again, you’ll land another hit.” He exhaled. “Yeah, no thanks. Not worth it.”


    Renkai blinked.


    Itsuki lifted a hand in surrender.


    Gasps rippled through the crowd.


    “I give up,” Itsuki said casually. “I don’t feel like getting impaled.”


    Silence.


    Then—Takeda Genji raised a hand. “Winner: Renkai.”


    The murmurs grew louder. Some students stared at Renkai, their expressions unreadable.


    Takeda Genji, however, simply watched him.


    As Renkai stepped off the ring, feeling the fatigue settle into his bones, he caught the way his instructor’s gaze lingered.


    A flicker of something unreadable.


    Later—when the matches ended and students began leaving—the instructors gathered near the training fields, discussing the results.


    Genji crossed his arms. “His style is… unconventional.”


    One of the older instructors frowned. “That kunai trap… it wasn’t just about skill. That was real battlefield tactics.”


    Another nodded. “He didn’t just react—he forced his opponent into a bad position. That’s… not how an Academy student should be fighting.”


    Genji hummed. “It’s advanced for his age. And the barrier fūinjutsu he developed…”


    He trailed off.


    Renkai wasn’t just another Academy student.


    He was something else entirely.