《Naruto: The Ghost in the Rain》 Reincarnation Pain It was the first thing Leonard knew. A raw, searing pain that seemed to sink into his very being and coil through his soul as if circulating blood. The sensation was akin to molten lava flowing through his veins, his nerves fried from the unimaginable sensation. His lungs strained, pained parts of an incomplete breath rushing in and out. They refused the infusion of oxygen into his blood with fervour. It was as if his body rejected the very idea of life, tempering his soul to its demise through forced closure of bodily functions. Leonard reached for the glass of water placed near his hospital bed, but he felt..weak. His arms merely twitched and his legs dangled in the air, as if lacking the required length to reach any surface from their perch atop his butt. All the while, the venom of agony raged in his veins, and the pain of the soul reached the body. Slowly but surely, his brain became somewhat capable of distinguishing pain from other sensations, and his vision gained some sort of autonomy. He forced his eyes open. His eyes darted around, gazing at an eerily quiet room. ''No..'' It was..wrong. This air, the environment and even this body. No.. Everything. Everything was wrong. His ears also recovered enough to contribute their efforts towards regaining his five senses. There was an incessant sound of downpour. The sound of unrelenting rain kissed his ears. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of damp cloth and old metal. The faint murmur of voices drifted through the room, hushed whispers, the occasional soft coo of a mother calming her child. But beneath it all was a bitter scent. Like medicines and not the proper ones. He turned his head around in an attempt to take in the unfamiliar sights. Blurred shapes. Was he in jail? No a crib? He was in a crib. And not just him. Rows upon rows of them, stretching out into the dimly lit ward. Some were occupied, tiny forms barely shifting beneath thin sheets. Others were empty, cold and abandoned. But the room wasn¡¯t warm. It was moist. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. A medical ward? He questioned but none answered him, other than the urge to scream, accompanied by the same searing pain. There was a constant moist feel to the environment. Leonard really hated it. It didn''t provide any solace to the burning blood in his body. Rather it seemed to be like a fuel intensifying the blaze on his soul. His breath hitched. His body was wrong. Too small. Weak. And yet¡ªhis mind, his thoughts¡ªthey weren¡¯t new. They shouldn¡¯t belong to a child. The realisation slammed into him like a knife to his heart. This wasn''t his body! He should be older. Taller. Stronger. But here he was, barely more than an infant, trapped in a body that didn¡¯t feel like his own, wrapped in pain he couldn¡¯t escape. The sound of laughter distracted him and yanked him out of the incessant pain. He again turned his head, this time very conscious of the weak muscles that barely responded to his will. Sluggishly, his gaze settled on a figure at the far end of the damp ward. A woman. Around his age, if he had to make his guess. Well, not anymore. But she seemed to be in her late twenties. She sat on a simple stool, her arms wrapped around a small bundle, her movements soft and careful, rocking her child. The baby cooed in response, tiny hands reaching for her face, fingers curling into the fabric of her uniform. His gaze flickered upward, settling on the cloth tied firmly around her forehead. A headband The symbol etched into it was unmistakable. His heart clenched. He knew that symbol. He had seen it before¡ªon screens, in books, in a world that should have been nothing more than fiction. Naruto. It was the sign of Amegakure. The Hidden Rain. The village would be torn apart by war and paranoia. The village of Hanzo the Salamander. The birthplace of the Akatsuki. His lungs again strained to take in a satisfying breath. This time, his worry, anxiety and panic imbued in his inhale, and as he exhaled, realisation dawned on him. Just a breath and his life had gone from sound sleep to a dream. But this wasn''t an illusion, it couldn''t be. The pain coursing through him was anything but phantom, it was the realest sensation he had felt. More genuine than his first heartbreak. He had been reborn into the world of Naruto. And not just anywhere. He was in Amegakure. Not Konoha. Not the safety of the Hidden Leaf. No Will of Fire to protect him, no powerful clan to shelter him. He was in one of the most brutal, war-torn villages in shinobi history. His eyes lingered on the woman. Had he been married, he''d also have had a beautiful wife like her. And...and maybe even a small child like that of his own. This wistful stare lasted just as long as the tick of a clock and he returned to reality. The woman was by no means normal; her shoulders seemed tense, and her eyes and ears sharp like that of a predator. He had no doubt. War did horrible things to his world too. This one was no different. The moment was burned in his memory. His first sight, the first glimpse into this wretched world. The scene of a mother cradling and smiling at her child while wails of other orphans rang around the ward. The woman was unperturbed. She ignored the others and kissed her child. War had abandoned these children and he was one of them now. Abandoned and alone. But he was alive. And if he was alive, he could survive. If this was Amegakure, then what time was it? Was this the den of Akatsuki or the territory of Hanzo, the Salamander? He had to figure that out and plan accordingly. Leonard turned his gaze back to the ceiling, the flickering light above casting long shadows across the walls. His eyes then cast down at his tiny hands, a paper note tied to them. It read- "Maybe I''ll never call your name, but Mother will always be there for you, Kager¨­." A small smily was doodled at the end instead of a full stop. Leonard now Kager¨­ smiled, his baby lips curling into a small uplift that seemed like almost a giggle would escape his mouth. But there was none, just as there was no one for this small baby in this whole world. He had no clan. No Kekkei Genkai. No safety net. His internal monologue was interrupted by a sudden, almost robotic but slightly intimidating call. "Hanzo-sama!" Mark of the Salamander "Hanzo-sama!" A shadow fell over him. Even in his weakened state, Kager¨­ could sense the shift in the room. The whispers that had once filled the ward had vanished, replaced by an uneasy silence. The air felt heavier as if the walls themselves held their breath. Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured. Metal boots clicked against the wooden floor, each step precise and unhurried. The presence approaching was not in a rush. It didn¡¯t need to be. Then came the voice. "Which one?" It was deep, commanding, but not loud. The kind of voice that carried authority, not because it demanded it; but because it expected nothing less. "Here, Hanzo-sama," came the hushed reply. A doctor? ''I didn''t see one. But then again, these new eyes don''t provide the best vision.'' Kager¨­ couldn¡¯t see him clearly, but he could hear the subtle tremor in his voice. Fear. It was clear in the way the doctor breathed, the way he hesitated before speaking. Hanzo had that effect on people. The ruler of Amegakure did not need to shout or threaten to inspire fear. His presence alone was enough. Another step forward, and the figure finally entered Kager¨­¡¯s view. Hanzo the Salamander. The ruler of Amegakure. The warlord who would one day be overthrown. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His armor was dark, shaped with segmented plates that curved like a carapace. A gas mask covered the lower half of his face, its vents shaped like the jaws of a beast. His hair was slicked back, blonde and damp from the endless rain outside. A small black salamander rested on his shoulder, its beady eyes glinting in the dim light. It was motionless, coiled against his neck like a living shadow. Kager¨­¡¯s tiny, aching body wanted to shiver. This man was death itself. The doctor, an older man with deep lines on his face, shifted uncomfortably. He was thin, almost sickly looking as if life in Amegakure had drained him dry. His robes were damp with sweat, though the room was anything but warm. Hanzo turned his head slightly, his mask hissing softly as he inhaled. "You''re sure?" The doctor swallowed hard. "Yes, Hanzo-sama," he answered quickly. "The fever should have killed him, but his body is still holding on. It¡¯s¡­ unnatural. His blood rejects the chakra instead of accepting it. He should be dead." A pause. Hanzo stepped closer. The doctor stiffened, his shoulders tightening like a man standing before an executioner. Hanzo said nothing. Then, he moved. A gloved hand entered Kager¨­¡¯s vision, dark fabric slick with some kind of oily substance. It clung to his fingers, gleaming faintly in the dim light. The doctor took a half-step back, just slightly. A normal man wouldn¡¯t have noticed it. Hanzo did. His gaze flickered toward the doctor for the briefest moment. The doctor paled. Kager¨­, though barely conscious, felt the tension suffocate the room. At last, Hanzo ignored him and lowered his hand. Fingers brushed against Kager¨­¡¯s forehead. Then, chakra. Raw, unfiltered energy poured into him, spreading like liquid fire through his tiny body. His muscles seized, and his nerves screamed. He wanted to cry, to wail, to beg for relief but his body was too small, too weak. His veins burned. His bones ached. His mind fractured under the pressure. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun¡ª The pain stopped. Hanzo pulled his hand away. A long silence followed. The salamander on his shoulder stirred, shifting slightly as if tasting the air. "This child should be dead," Hanzo murmured. His voice was unreadable. "Yet he is not." The doctor hesitated. "Then¡­?" Hanzo stood. His presence withdrew slightly, but the weight of his gaze remained. "Mark him." There was movement. The doctor hesitated again. "Hanzo-sama, do you truly think¡ª?" Hanzo¡¯s masked gaze turned toward him. "I believe in what I see," he said, voice cold. "This boy endured where others would have perished. That is enough." The doctor¡¯s fingers twitched. He did not argue further. "If he lives, bring him to me when he turns four," Hanzo continued. "If he does not¡­ then he wasn¡¯t worth considering in the first place." Boots turned. The presence faded. Then, as Hanzo left, he spoke one last time. "Survive, young one. If you can." Then he was gone. Kager¨­ lay there, his body still weak, his breath still painful. But his mind was clear. Hanzo had spared him. For now. The door creaked open again. A figure stepped in¡ªan Ame Jonin. His uniform was dark, his armored vest slick with rain. A metal mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. The doctor bowed deeply, nearly pressing his forehead to the damp floor. The Jonin exhaled, arms crossed. ¡°I expected a promising recruit, not a newborn.¡± His gaze drifted to Kager¨­¡¯s crib, then to his neck. ¡°But Hanzo-sama¡¯s interest is¡­ rare.¡± With no further hesitation, he pulled a senbon from his pouch, the needle¡¯s tip faintly glowing with chakra. The doctor flinched but did not protest. The Jonin leaned over, pressing the senbon¡¯s tip against Kager¨­¡¯s neck, right under his ears. Slow, precise etchings carved a fuinjutsu seal into his skin. The sting was sharp and cold. But the mark was just that, an etching. Ofcourse, Ame lacked the fuinjutsu knowledge konoha possessed. Kager¨­ wondered how the jonin would complete this ritual. With a single hand seal, a puff of smoke erupted. A red salamander emerged, sleek and glistening, its golden eyes blinking lazily. It slithered onto Kager¨­¡¯s crib, sniffing the mark. Then, it struck. Fangs sank into his neck. It was still for a moment, Kager¨­ tilted his head a little in thought. It was comical. The infant stared with wide bulbous eyes at the red salamander. The jonin seemed perplexed. But something reacted. The seal pulsed. The poison fought something inside him¡ªhis chakra. A small, almost invisible force, but it resisted. The venom attacked, trying to overwrite it. His chakra pushed back, clinging to existence. The Jonin observed, arms crossed. The doctor hesitated. ¡°This reaction¡ªshould I¡ª¡± ¡°Do not disturb the assimilation.¡± ¡°But, Jonin-sama¡ª¡± A sharp glare. ¡°Do. Not. Interfere.¡± The doctor bit his tongue, his hands trembling. The salamander hissed softly before slithering away, its task complete. The seal dimmed, the venom settling into his veins. The Jonin turned toward the door. Without looking back, he spoke. ¡°If the child dies¡ªthen that was what he would have amounted to in the end." And then, he was gone. ''Well, I hope these people leave me alone now. A baby has to ponder upon his existence upon birth. There''s no privacy in this shinobi world.'' With that thought, Kager¨­ drifted to sleep. The exhaustion of chakra infusion wore him to sleep. The Chosen and the forsaken The Chosen and the Forsaken Kager¨­ woke to whispers and the sound of feet, the beating rhythm of the rain on the ward''s tin roof a perpetual accompaniment in the background. His frame was refreshed, his muddled mind clearer than yesterday. He was quite more lively for a fresh baby. He blinked drowsily, his tiny frame hardly reacting, but his vision keenly noting. The room had changed. It was emptier. Mothers cradled their infants, fathers let out sighs of relief, their whispers soft but tinged with something odd. Not happiness, not grief. Relief. Kager¨­''s eyes wandered to the group of people growing near the doors. He couldn''t move his head a lot, but he heard them. "Thank the gods¡­ Our baby wasn''t selected." "He''s normal." "He didn''t pass the test. We can return home now." A mother cried, her tears dampening the bundle in her arms. But her tone was one of thanksgiving, not sorrow. "My little boy is safe¡­ he doesn''t need to become one of them." Kager¨­ was confused. What were they rejoicing? What had their children lost? Then he noticed. The babies being led home had no scars on their skin. No salamander branded on their necks. His head spun, fitting the pieces together. This ward was not a unit for babies. It was a sorting ground. This was where potential shinobi were selected. The newborns scanned for talent even before they met their parents. But unlike the other villages where clans prepared their future leaders for greatness, here, in Amegakure, being selected was not an honor. It was a curse. The parents were not rejoicing at the survival of their children. They were rejoicing at their escape. The infants disappeared one by one, taken away into the grateful arms of families, their futures secure. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. But not Kager¨­''s. By nightfall, only six cribs were still filled. Six children, left behind, waiting for their destiny. The door groaned open. A woman walked in. Her robes were wet from the rain, her face etched with fatigue. A nun, one of the caretakers of the orphaned children of Amegakure. Her eyes scanned the room, sweeping in the other infants. But when her eyes hit Kager¨­, her face altered. She scowled. Her lips curled into a thin line as if she had wished not to see him here. A soft sigh slipped from her mouth before she turned to the doctor, her voice laced with unspoken annoyance. "Why did this one get marked so early?" The doctor hardly glanced up from his pad. "He activated his chakra." The nun''s shoulders tensed. "What?" The physician put down his clipboard, massaging his temple. "He awakened his chakra; it led to poisoning because it was unfocused and tearing wildly through his body. Hanzo-sama pushed chakra through his tenketsu, releasing it all. It almost killed him. As a reward for that clemency, he was branded for the shinobi program." The nun looked at Kager¨­ for a very long time. "He''s just a baby," she whispered. The doctor tried to offer comfort, his voice weak. "He will be raised well. Respected. Cared for under Hanzo-sama''s guidance." The nun''s eyes fluttered shut, shaking her head. "We both know the truth," she stated. The doctor said nothing. "Amegakure has no future," she whispered, shaking her head. "A civilian would suffer, but a shinobi¡­ a shinobi of Ame is sure to die." A lone tear slid down her cheek. "No difference between the two," she went on, hollow-voiced. "Merely survival, or death. The salamander''s jaws, or the battlefield." She turned and moved away with heavy steps. Again the door was flung open, and another contingent of dark-clad nuns came in, their expressions grim. Still not a word spoken, the last of the orphans was carefully lifted out of the crib by the next wave of dark figures. There were no singing cradles. No comforts. Only whispered submission. He was no baby anymore. He was a distinctive shinobi of Amegakure. The Village hidden in Rain. Kager¨­ was carried through the cold, dark hallways of the hospital, wrapped in thin cloth, his small frame against the shoulder of the nun. The fabric was wet, the heat hardly enough to protect him from the cold that permeated the very air of Amegakure. And then, the doors opened. For the first time, he saw the world outside. It was nothing like he had envisioned. The anime had given glimpses of Amegakure. A city of metal spires, rain that seemed to fall forever, and the tyranny of a tyrant, but even those moments had not encapsulated the gravity of this place. The rain poured down in unyielding sheets, not gentle or tranquil, but bitter and suffocating. It pounded against the rooftops, spilling down rusty pipes and bursting over gutters, creating black puddles in the uneven streets below. The scent of wet metal, rust, and something faintly chemical, such as industrial fumes blended with stagnant water, filled the air. Giant monoliths of steel and concrete towered above, reaching towards the storm-filled sky. They were not the beautiful, carved structures of Konoha, with tiled roofs and wooden supports. No, Amegakure was a city constructed out of need, not aesthetics. The structures were tall, brutal, and featureless, their sides patched with makeshift repairs, bulging pipes, and knotted wires that writhed like veins through the city. Heavy walkways and bridges spanned the buildings across several levels, casting profound shadows over the roadways below. Some were shrouded by flickering lights of neon hue, their pale glow extinguished by the falling rain, whereas others loomed in pure obscurity, the reason behind being unclear. Away in the horizon, he gazed at the largest building among them. Hanzo''s Tower stabbed up into the clouds like an iron needle, the top hiding under the thick vapors in the sky. This location¡­ it was not a village. It was a fortress. A prison where the sky was perpetually grey. And unlike Konoha, with its warmth, its blue skies, and its serene streets, Amegakure was drowning. The citizens were a reflection of their city. Silent, furtive forms scurried through the streets below, their heads bent beneath hoods or improvised umbrellas, their footsteps swift, their shoulders bent as if anticipating some unseen danger at any given moment. No children playing in the streets, no vendors loudly hawking their wares, no laughter. Just the relentless rain. Kager¨­ shivered ever so slightly as a cold drop of water trickled down his cheek. The nun carrying him didn''t flinch. She walked with determination, her expression set in tired resignation as if she had long since given up trying to battle the city''s perpetual gloom. They moved past a row of buildings, where rusty pipes ejaculated water, forming murky streams that mingled with the muck in the alleys. In one of these, Kager¨­''s hazy vision picked up a man huddled under a shabby cloak, his body half-immersed in a puddle. He didn''t stir. Nobody checked to see if he was alive. Amegakure was a cemetery where the dead were not buried. This was home now. A universe of cold rain, steel, and silence. Kager¨­ allowed his small fingers to weakly clutch the material of the nun''s robes, his baby brain still not able to fully comprehend everything. But one idea planted itself deep within his soul. If he was to survive in this city, he could never be weak. Chakra They would all confirm that he was born here. That this cold, damp, inhospitable place was where he came into the world. And that they wouldn''t be lying. The documents stated his name was Kager¨­, in neat, sharp script and wrapped around his wrist with a tiny white band. If questioned, the nurses would smile with professional ease and reply, "Yes, born in the third-week storm. Room C of the Orphan''s Ward. The one with the mark." If pressed, they¡¯d point to the back of his neck where a faint red seal in the shape of a salamander¡¯s fang was etched into his skin. A mark of property. A mark of fate. To them, it was proof that he belonged to Amegakure¡¯s future. That he was to be shaped into a tool. A soldier. A shinobi. Perhaps, if he lived long enough, even a killer. But they¡¯d be wrong, too. Because before he was Kager¨­, before the poison had seared itself into his veins before chakra screamed through his small vessels like fire, he had been another person. A nobody. Not a soldier. Not a genius. Just some kid who read books. A boy from a world without chakra, where war was a fading dream and life, flawed as it was, quiet, forgettable, and secure. Eventually, he could not recall his former name. It was like attempting to capture mist in a clenched fist, always elusive, never resting. But he recalled enough to understand that this existence was not his initial one. He recalled death. Or something akin. A silent drifting away, and then darkness. No god. No judgment. Just. the sensation of falling. And pain. No gentle transition. No solace. Simply waking up in a crib, lungs incapable of screaming, nerves on fire from the inside. Even now, lying swaddled in thin cloth, held in the arms of a worn nun, he still wondered if this was real. Maybe it was a delusion. A dream. But pain does not lie. __________________________________ The orphanage took care of his survival. That much, at least, remained the same. His needs were addressed in plain form. Fed, bathed, dressed. When he wailed, someone was there. When he gazed too intently without a blink, someone fretted. And when his small frame folded into sleep too soon, a doctor was called in. But nobody looked beyond appearances. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Kager¨­''s own mind, clear and hot underneath its infant facade, was sinking under monotony. There were no books. No speech. No movement but jerking limbs and the shiver of metal cribs in the wind. His sole refuge was inwards. Into that warm, alien presence that curled just beneath his skin. Chakra. As a kid in his previous existence, he''d always been curious about what it would be like to possess supernatural abilities. To sense magic, or energy, or ki moving through his veins. Would it feel like electricity? Flame? Air? The reality? It became stale. Quickly. Yes, it was warm and fuzzy the first few times, like sipping hot cocoa after a cold walk outside. It was his rush. His high. But like all highs, it crashed. Left him tired. Drowsy. Drifting off to sleep without warning.The nurses believed he was sick. The doctors tested for fevers, parasites, and chakra collapse early onset. Nothing definitive. To them, he was simply one more peculiar child in a rain-drenched orphanage of ghosts and state secrets. But Kager¨­ knew better. -------------------------------------------------------- With days of painstaking experimentation¡ªof spasmodic brows and furrowed, chubby-faced grimaces under his blanket¡ªhe at last achieved something new: Stillness. Not the stillness of sleep. Not the stillness of observation. A state of meditation in which he might sense chakra without draining it. Where it ran just below the surface, not thrust, not pulled, merely existing. It was like dipping a brush into paint but never drawing across the page. He remained there for hours. Suspended in his own breath. Sucking slowly on his bottle when hunger pangs arose, then withdrawing once again into himself. His grown-up brain trapped in a toddler''s body had discovered its first real respite from powerlessness. He did not try anything reckless. No muscle upgrades. No energy surges. No forced awakenings. He''d learned enough xianxia novels back in his previous life to know better. One misstep and he might be the cautionary tale: a baby who brashly propagated energy and cooked his own heart like a potato chip. And he didn''t even have a benevolent sect elder in reserve to mend him with pill clouds and dragon blood. No. He would go slow. -------------------------------------------------------- That''s when he saw it. His chakra..altered. Initially, it had been like mist. Light. Thin. In a hurry to get away. It dissipated immediately when he barely touched it. Gaseous. But with time¡ªprecisely after successive, cautious passage through his body¡ªit condensed. Coalesced. What had been vapour was now a stream. Denser. Heavier. Still flowing but with mass. It wasn''t a sight, but he could sense it. The manner pressure is sensed in your ears before rain. It no longer disappeared the instant he willed it to stop. It persisted. Chakra, he found, could change. And not merely in application. In essence. __________________________________ He started constructing a hypothesis. Chakra, as the world described, was created through the fusion of physical energy from the body and spiritual energy from the mind. But what if those two elements were unequal in most individuals? What if an individual possessed excess of one side? In his case, an adult''s mind had been stuffed into the newborn body. His spiritual power¡ªhis will, his awareness, his experience¡ªwas twenty or thirty years in advance of his body. The chakra he generated was initially unstable. All mental energy is precariously attached by physical capability. Gaseous. Inapplicable. Ungraspable. But the more he had cycled it, the more his body increased¡ªeven incrementally¡ªthe more it steadied. The more it is balanced. The spiritual force flowed, tied itself to his limited physical force, and became functional. Liquid chakra. It was still delicate. It drained him after too much time inside it. But it no longer disappeared like breath on a windowpane. It held. He couldn''t tell if this was specific to him, or if it was simply the way chakra developed naturally in all people. But this change¡ªthis inner alchemy¡ªfelt like advancement. So he gave it a name. Not out loud, of course. His baby tongue was still too awkward for words. But in his head, he referred to it as: "Usable Chakra Reserve." Not big. But actual. Measurable. A cup of water rather than mist in the air. __________________________________ He considered what this was telling him. If chakra was spiritual and physical energy, then a person''s chakra reserves would be tied to their potential¡ªbody and mind synchronized. The body was simpler to cultivate. Diet, exercise, training. All normal. But the mind? The mind was more complicated. And he had no way of knowing how long his cognitive edge would last. He hadn''t been a genius in his previous incarnation. No prodigy. Just interested. Just hungry. Perhaps by the time he was six or seven, his advantage would wear off. Other kids would catch up. Their chakra would stabilize. They''d be taught. Trained. Fed jutsu and shaped into weapons. Kager¨­ couldn''t risk being just on par with them by then. Especially considering how shinobi from the major villages had better resources, teacher, environment and even cheats like sharingan. He had to be ahead. Desperately. Because average in this world meant one of two things: You died in the crossfire of someone else''s ambition¡­ Or you were a pawn in someone else''s war. And in Amegakure? You weren''t even recalled. __________________________________ Kager¨­ then meditated. And learned his breath. And observed his chakra move. As the rain murmured against the windows and the ward lights burned in exhausted cycles, Kager¨­ slowly formed himself. Not a shinobi. Not yet. But something much more dangerous at present: A child who knew the system. And intended to destroy it. Routine Kager¨­ spent his days in a blur of routine and rain. Morning always started the same: the dripping condensation from the rusting metal ceiling, the creaking wheels of the orphanage nurse''s cart. He didn''t know her name initially, only the smell she had. The smell of burnt tea leaves and antiseptic. It was only later he heard someone address her as Mera-san. Hard-faced, plain, with stern lines under her eyes that even the rain couldn''t soften. She wasn''t nasty. But she wasn''t kind either. Just utilitarian. Her hands were coarse from washing years'' worth of linens and changing infants. When she picked up Kager¨­ to change him or feed him, it was with the same matter-of-fact approach one might take with military rations. Nothing wasteful. No softness lingered. Just what was necessary. And curiously, Kager¨­ seemed to value that. He wouldn''t take pity. Pity became questions. Questions became noticed. And notice, in the environment of Amegakure, was danger. Being another kid in Mera''s ward¡ªhungry and crying, full and sleeping¡ªwas survival. Nevertheless, he observed her. Mera-san hummed softly sometimes, never an entire song. Just fragments. Low, barely audible hums that dissolved into the beat of the rain. She mumbled names sometimes too. Names of children who were no longer there. Never his though. He wondered if anyone knew his name "Shura would have cried louder than this one," she said at one point, scrubbing Kager¨­''s hair dry with a frayed towel. "Quiet ones don''t survive long." That said something. She remembered the ones who didn''t survive. That evening, he watched her carefully, eyes half-closed in pretended sleep, limbs relaxed. She sat by the broken window, drinking watery tea, shoulders hunched inwards like a person struggling to keep in too much sorrow. Her uniform was mended in spots, but not out of affection. Her boots were worn down to the heel. A kunai pouch hung at her hip. Always. Even in the nursery. He remembered watching her sketch it with breathtaking haste. A shinobi kid, older, perhaps five, had attempted to pilfer rations from her cart. She didn''t reprimand him. She simply shifted. Quick, hard, frightening. The boy was paralyzed, his small hands still buried in the rice crackers. "Stealing''s a quick path to the grave," she had stated bluntly. "Quicker than the war, even." Then she gave him one. Just one. Mera was complex like that. And Kager¨­, despite all his present softness and smallness, made a mental note: People like her live. Not because they are loved. Not because they are kind. But because they are sharp and needed. The world had respect for that. __________________________________ His days had a rhythm that blurred the boundaries between sameness and survival. Mornings: feedings, diaper changes, and half-hearted lullabies. Afternoons: sleep, punctuated by meditation. Evenings: chakra tracing and watching. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Occasionally he''d simulate babbling or grasping toys to maintain suspicion at bay, but actually, he was always tuning in inward, either on the chakra flow in his body or on adults passing along the halls. Guards changed shifts at the same hour every day. The youngest of them, Kura, kept forgetting to re-strap his armor. Another, older one, Rekan, limped, always turning on his right side. Kager¨­ recalled each of them. He learned the scent of rust and gunpowder. He memorized the flavor of iron in his milk. He learned to sleep with one eye just barely open. Not because anyone would hurt him now. But because one day, they could. And he didn''t want to die crying in a crib. __________________________________ His second discovery was slower in coming. Unlike the first, which had burst upon him with sensation and warmth, this one insinuated itself. Quietly & Systematically. A whisper, not a revelation. Kager¨­ set out mapping the flow of chakra in his body, not only sensing its presence but tracing it. In which direction it flowed. What rhythm does its pulse beat? How it felt against his skin. It wasn''t enough to sense chakra now; he must know it, chart it with the desperate ravenousness of a starving man for power, for purpose. His mind, adult in attention, infant in constraint, worked as best it could. Silent hours were spent motionless, eyes half-closed in false sleep as his attention shifted entirely inward. The tenketsu were numerous, far too many for his little body to comprehend them all at one time. So he worked in segments, arms one week, back the following. Chest, neck, head. Down to the tips of his toes. Each node an entrance. Each line between them a route. Each misstep a collision with exhaustion or lightheadedness. Chakra ran like water, but water as well could be molded. It could be dammed. It could be redirected. It could be frozen or boiled or poisoned. His chakra control was not close to complete. Sometimes it flared and went out at mid-palm and left him with tingling, stiffened fingers. Occasionally, he over-channeled and passed out in the middle of his breath, waking up battered and drowsy. But slowly, steadily, it came easier. Not easily...but sort of like a second skin. The meditation aided. And so did the questions. Why did chakra seem to come together after traveling? Why did it become denser, heavier, and more manageable the longer it remained in him? Why did mental exhaustion numb his flow so badly? And, perhaps most disturbing of all, why did it seem to be alive? He didn''t know. Only guesses. Hypotheses. But while others would have left it at confusion, Kager¨­ recorded patterns. And patterns, he knew, were only the surface of understanding. One day, they might turn into principles. And principles could turn into techniques. Maybe even jutsus of his own. __________________________________ Most fascinating to him, as of late, was the peculiar duality of chakra''s elements. The spiritual and the physical. The spiritual was simpler, in a way. It obeyed will. It originated in the mind. But it was transitory, capricious. It went wild when his mind was keen and concentrated but dulled rapidly when fatigue took hold. The mental exhaustion struck like a hammer: a haze behind the eyes, a throbbing pain at the nape of the neck, and the crawling feeling that his thoughts were oozing away from him like sand leaking through his fingers. The physical aspect was recalcitrant. More difficult to call up, more difficult to sustain. It was drawn from the body, and the body did not surrender it without a struggle. With each effort to draw upon it, he was left more hungry. He could sense the loss of it as if meat was being carved from bone. And when that occurred, the body struck back. His limbs would hurt. His stomach would twist. He''d collapse into sudden, suffocating sleep. Once, he even passed out, eyes wide but empty, for a minute. The matron had believed him dead and slapped him hard on the back to wake him up. He didn''t make that error twice. And the seal. The accursed mark Hanzo had burned into his neck. It responded when he had used too much chakra. Initially, it was frightening. A slow, smoldering ooze of pain, like venom seeping from an invisible injury. The feeling wasn''t bodily, it was one of energy. Like something within him was disintegrating, warning him. He believed it could kill him. But it didn''t. Three months went by, and he saw something. With every cycle of exhaustion, his chakra would persist a little bit longer. His body was developing. Physical strength, though meager, was being pulled with greater efficiency. The venom spread less. Still hurtful. Still deadly. But controllable. It was as if his resistance was increasing. He started recording, mentally, the mechanics of energy consumption. Chakra was the coming together of body and mind, but sometimes they did not wish to combine. One grew with movement and food. The other with meditation and thoughts. Balancing them was difficult. More or less impossible. And worse yet: his food was limited. An orphan didn''t receive second helpings. Which meant he couldn''t muscle his way to bigger reserves, not physically. Not until he achieved independence. Until then, he''d have to depend on honing his spiritual advantage. Developing that aspect of the equation. But even there, constraints awaited. His mental maturity was borrowed from another life. A bonus he¡¯d stolen from death. But there was no reason to believe it was infinite. He hadn¡¯t been a genius in his last life. Eventually, the gap would close. He¡¯d reach the mental maturity of his current body and the advantage would vanish. He needed more data. --- Mera, in her non-stop muttering, provided some. She spoke more than she knew. Perhaps because she assumed babies didn''t know. Or perhaps, just perhaps, she found a kind of therapy in speaking to someone who couldn''t reply. Kager¨­ didn''t mind. He listened. She talked of "dull-eyed ones" who cried too early. Of babies who "fell silent before their time." And once, when she changed his diaper with her characteristic gruffness, she said something that hit him like a lightning bolt: "The quiet ones always die first." Kager¨­ couldn''t get it out of his head. Kruna, another of the boys, was one step away from being comatose every day. He didn''t cry, even when his diapers were well past due for being changed. He didn''t move much at all. And when he did, it was slow and reluctant. Kager¨­ had seen that stench before Mera had. He had seen Kruna writhing in agony and say nothing. He wasn''t alone. A number of the quiet children, those who cried less, fidgeted less, lived less, were pale and thin and slow to grow. Their chakra, when he reached out just far enough to feel it, was weak. Barely there. As though the spark within them had already burned low. But the loud ones, the screamers, the tantrum-throwers, the emotionally unstable, had intense spiritual power. They illuminated the nursery like firecrackers. But they burned out fast. Their bodies could not handle the burden of their feelings. Their chakra sputtered and disappeared, leaving them flushed and out cold. Neither group prospered. From this, Kager¨­ developed a theory: reserve growth needed balance. Body and mind needed to meet. Not enough physical energy and the spirit flailed. Too much mental energy with no fuel burned itself out. Both needed time, training and resources. He had none of those. So he''d improvise. Now, if only he had more test subjects. Six months of rain Chapter: Six Moons of Rain Kager¨­ rested quietly in his crib, sipping lazily from the warm bottle of milk held between his hands. The rain pattered lightly against the windowpane, quiet and relentless like the pulse of Amegakure itself. Today was six months since he was born. Six months since he''d opened his eyes to the drab ceiling of the orphanage ward, the stale smell of antiseptic, and the quiet mumbling of overworked caregivers. Six months. He was not sentimental. It was too soon for that. But it was difficult not to think back. His mind, however, confined in a small body, was still adult in its reasoning. Time held meaning for him. Progress meant everything. And he had progressed. He''d learned to control his food consumption, eating slowly and deliberately, balancing his body''s growth against his energy output. Each spoonful of baby food was calibrated; not by amount, but by impact. How much physical energy did it provide him? How long could he flow chakra before his limbs began to throb and his eyelids drooped? It had taken him weeks to have that ratio exactly. He still was growing behind the others, and Mera had caught on. She''d been sneaking him a bit larger portions. Additional mashed vegetables. Additional milk. He pretended not to know, and she pretended not to care. Honestly, he appreciated it. The chakra exercises were agonizingly dull. The same meditative stupor. The same tracing inside. The same rhythm of slow breath and soft circulation. He did it every hour he was awake, every moment he wasn''t eating or sleeping. He had even learned to crawl. Slow at the beginning, then increasingly more sure of himself. It aided his chakra control. He''d begun applying chakra to stick things to him. Things like blankets, cutlery, and anything that was small enough to pull or lift. It was a basic exercise, but one which taught him about the mechanics of chakra interaction with outside matter. Then there was the flip side of the coin. Sticking himself to objects. It had initially seemed simple. A wall. The ground. The wood rails of his crib. But the vacuum effect, created through chakra thrusting against gravity, proved too strong for his infant body. His small arms groaned with the strain, his joints hurt, and more than once he''d slipped back onto the crib floor in an ungraceful thud. He soon abandoned attempting tree walking and focused instead on sticking objects to his body. He understood something crucial: the forces were inverted. Object-sticking conditioned the inward pull of the chakra, keeping hold of outside targets. Surface-sticking conditioned the outward push, to counter gravity or inertia. Two sides of the same skill. It trained his control, direction and stability. He did not have the body to train push, so he excelled at pull. Glueing things to his skin was now his favourite pastime. The material of his clothes, a wet napkin, even the handle of a spoon at one time. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Mera had reprimanded him at the time, thinking he''d done it with his hands. She''d been fleetingly surprised but attributed it to baby clumsiness. Kager¨­ stayed silent, only blinked at her, and saved her reaction for later. She babbled a lot, Mera. A solitary woman who spoke to fill the void, to make sense of a world that would not. Kager¨­ had learned of the economic stresses between the Hidden Rain and the Rain Daimyo through her. Evidently, though the nation was small and bloody, it wasn''t really destitute. The Rain Daimyo gained riches through their advancement in infrastructure and architecture, a need born out of a nation that had to rebuild frequently. They provided most of the construction services to the other nations. The issue was war. It always was. Mera whispered as she wiped her face, her hands acting on muscle memory. "They want to draft the guards again. What''ll become of the orphanage if the war comes here, huh? Who''ll keep these children safe? The Daimyo doesn''t care. He just assigns missions to Rain and calls it duty. Hanzo, that son of a¡ª," She looked around in slight fright. "He makes it work. But at what expense?" She continued in a low voice, almost afraid of completing her statement. Her muttering ceased that afternoon. She''d left the children in charge of the two orphanage guards, Kura and Rekan. Shinobi who were soldier more than ninja. The type you deploy on guard duty to intimidate bandits or waste time holding up actual dangers. Kager¨­ knew their chakra. Rudimentary, a little seepy, the sort that was a result of men too exhausted to bother. They bent over his crib, looking down at him with a mixture of pity and interest. Kura traced the edge of the seal on his neck. "Poor bastard," He muttered. "Marked already. No choice left for him." Rekan leaned forward, squinting. ¡°You say that like we¡¯re better. We were the same. Only difference is, his misfortune came earlier.¡± "Yeah, but look at him," the younger voice, Kura exclaimed, bracing himself. "Hanzo''s marked him. That''s training. Actual training. Not like us, thrown into war zones with paper armor. Maybe he gets to be elite. We were cannon fodder." There was a pause. The second man''s face clouded. "If the demi-god is so merciful," he sneered. "What if it doesn''t work? What if the boy is sent onto the frontlines before he''s even got teeth? You think Hanzo gives a shit? If he dies, they''ll just say it was fate." The first remained silent after that. Their words stuck in Kager¨­''s head like a stain. Hanzo. A man revered and feared in equal proportion. The sole possession of Amegakure that could be termed power. They had no shield. Only Hanzo, the salamander. The demi-god of war. He didn''t know what to make of the man yet. He hadn''t seen him since the mark had been given. But the name¡­ it rang through the orphanage like thunder. Every adult winced at it. Mera came back soon after, hearing the end of their discussion. "Don''t talk such rubbish in front of me," she snapped venom in her tone. "Hanzo who beat the Sannin¡­ that Hanzo is dead and gone. All that''s left is fear. Fear of losing what little authority he has. And that fear will kill us." The men did not dispute. They looked at each other in grim understanding. Soon, they departed with silence trailing behind them. Mera sat next to Kager¨­''s crib, quiet for a while. Then, for the first time, she leaned down and stroked his cheek. Soft. Tentative. Her eyes sparkled with moisture. "I just wish you wouldn''t die, too. Kager¨­." He had no idea why, but what she said cracked something open within him. His throat constricted. His tiny fists tightened, and then¡ª He wailed. Loud and abrupt. Full of confusion and grief and something else he didn''t know how to name. Mera blinked and then gave a small, wet laugh. ¡°There, there. Still a crybaby, huh? Too early to grow up.¡± She brushed his hair back gently. ¡°You¡¯re safe for now. Just¡­ for now.¡± Kager¨­ quieted. He blinked up at the ceiling, bottle long forgotten. He had six months behind him. And wars ahead. But for the time being, there was warmth in his gut, heaviness in his arms, and the initial flavor of what feeling like was in this little, brittle body. Enough to continue. For now. Rain pounded at the window. Kager¨­ shut his eyes. A candle in the rain Chapter: A Candle in the Rain Outside, the sky was its typical gray, the sort of soft, indefinite drizzle characteristic of Amegakure. The rain itself was a fixture here, as regular and ubiquitous as breathing. But today, in the muted heat of the orphanage nursery, things were different. Lighter. Softer. Kager¨­ blinked open to the scent of something sweet, and not the standard mashed fruits or formula. His green eyes transitioned to the morning light passing through the pale curtains, rivulets streaking across the glass in a soft rhythm. There it was, perched on the little table next to the crib area: a wee cake. Wobbly in form, lopsided in frosting, and topped with half-melted candies pushed into the sides by little, clumsy fingers. But it was perfect. His eyes opened a little wider. The shock wasn''t in the cake itself, he had overheard the kids whispering the day before, attempting to be covert while shoving sweets under their pillows, but in the attempt. The intent. A dozen of the little toddlers gathered around the table, cheeks puffed with anticipation, eyes shining as they watched Mera place a solitary candle in the center. The candle teetered precariously. It wasn''t burning. They didn''t have any matches. But the idea was there. "Kager¨­," Mera''s voice whispered from the doorway, a bit winded. She was carrying two newborns wrapped in cloth, and another tied to her side with a sling. Her hands were full, her hair disheveled, and her apron stained with formula and the disarray of a morning rush. But her eyes were warm. "Happy birthday, little soldier." He sat up in his crib, dangling his legs over the side as he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Two years. It had been two years since he''d opened his eyes on this earth. Since the seal had been branded into his neck. Since he''d first known the burn of chakra, the sting of venom, and the odd warmth of Mera''s humming as she rocked the babies to sleep. He fell off the crib, coming down with practiced facility. He was moving controlled, cautious. Not stiff like a grown-up doing a child act, he''d adjusted by this time, but cautious, thoughtful. Kager¨­ had always walked as if he knew where he was going and never made unnecessary trips. The other children scampered around him with joy, pushing small gifts into his hands. A scribbled drawing on a leaf. A piece of smooth stone. A red button. A handful of crushed candy. "Happy Birthday, Kage-nii!" a girl named Riko beamed, tugging on his sleeve with syrup-stained hands. "Yeah! You''re two now! That''s like. almost a grown-up!" said Yuta, the loudest of the lot. Kager¨­ smiled at them softly, the smile natural on his face for all the turmoil of thought that was going on behind his eyes. "Thank you," he responded quietly, his voice firm but gentle. To them, he was simply Kage-nii. The big brother. Since the day he had learned to crawl, he''d assisted Mera in small gestures. If there was a crying baby, he''d tug her apron strings softly. If someone had been soiled, he''d scrunch up his nose and gesture. He''d rock cribs when her arms were laden, and give his blanket to sleep when another child couldn''t. It wasn''t always a matter of being efficient. It was about steadiness. Mera, for all her strength, was stretched thin. And Kager¨­ had long decided that if he had to survive here, it would be not just with skill, but with goodwill. And so, Kage-nii was born. A little boy with dark, curly black hair that used to be so long now, all grown wild and silky with the dampness. His green eyes always observed, always saw. His calm, quiet demeanor was like an old soul trapped in a child''s body, oddly reassuring. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "Blow out the candle!" someone chirped. "It''s not even lit," another said. "Pretend!" Riko commanded. Kager¨­ leaned over the wonky candle. The others leaned over as well, faces tense. And he blew. They cheered like he''d summoned a jutsu. Mera laughed, exhausted but joyful, and stepped closer as she gently rocked the newborns. Her voice lowered to a murmur only Kager¨­ could hear. "You''ve grown so much, haven''t you?" He looked up at her, holding one of the candy-smeared paper drawings in his hands. His lips twitched upward again. "So have you," he replied, deadpan. She blinked. Then laughed, again. "Smartass." But her face softened. Her eyes rested on his face, his longer hair, his serious eyes, the faint burden that never seemed to lift from his shoulders. It frightened her sometimes. That he wasn''t actually a child. That he carried something older, heavier. She didn''t realize how correct she was. "I just hope." she began, then faltered. Kager¨­ cocked his head. "What?" Mera smiled and shook her head. "Nothing. It''s your birthday. You don''t have to worry about anything today." He didn''t believe her. He never did. But he nodded nonetheless. She leaned forward a little, balancing the baby on her arm with practiced ease, and laid a soft kiss on his temple. "You''re still just a little boy, Kager¨­. It''s okay to be one. At least for today." Kager¨­ didn''t say anything. He turned around to the other children, allowing himself to be tackled into a hug of sticky hands and warm laughter. And for a fleeting instant, just for this day¡ª He allowed himself to be two years old.
The scent of sugar still lingered in the air. The cake was already devoured. Or rather, destroyed in a mess of sticky hands and laughter. Kager¨­ had just succeeded in pulling Riko off his back when it occurred. A figure came into the room. Sudden. Weighty. The atmosphere changed. A wave of chakra tension swept through the nursery like a tempest, closing down the laughter. All the children looked toward the door through which stood a figure that cast a severe shadow across the wood floor. The same man. Kager¨­ saw him at once. He donned the Hidden Rain flak vest, the same rebreather mask hanging off his jaw, and a chilly countenance like damp steel. His eyes were impassive. But they latched onto Kager¨­ with a purpose that was too intense for any ordinary call. Kager¨­ got to back up one step before the jonin shifted. His hand shot out, swift and without ceremony, hauling Kager¨­ up by the back of his tunic as if he were some rogue cat. The instant shift in weight caused Kager¨­ to grab the jonin''s forearm reflexively, eyes pinching tight, not in terror, but in measured, icy calculation. The jonin sneered. He set two fingers to Kager¨­''s forehead. There was a soft ripple of chakra through the contact spot, and his face flashed with shock. "Genin-level chakra already," he grumbled, voice rough and pleased. "I knew you were special when we marked you." The hand on his tunic clenched. "Now, prepare to move to the Shinobi Ward. Your training starts." The room erupted into chaos. "No! You can''t take him!" Riko cried, holding his leg. "Where''s he going?! Why now?!" another screamed. Mera advanced, voice shaking. "He''s only two¡ª! That''s too early!" The jonin spun, his sneer slow and deliberate. "Don''t get too sentimental, caretaker," he spat, the word dripping with contempt. "You think orphans are raised for sentiment? They''re war fodder. Raised just long enough to wield a kunai. Trained just enough to die in place of those who are important." His words cut the room like a kunai against glass. Cold, brutal and final. Kager¨­ didn''t blink. But something moved in his chest. Not anger, not sorrow. A determination that pushed against his ribs like armor being hammered within his skin. The jonin regarded him once more, his voice strangely paternal, near proud. "Forget this place, boy. It isn''t part of the life that lies before you." Kager¨­ gazed back at him. He was two years old. Little. Barefoot. Smudge on his face from crumbs. And yet, deep within him, he knew. He knew more than the jonin would ever comprehend. But forget? How could he possibly forget this place? The warm food. The hushed concerns of Mera at night. The first time a baby stretched out to him rather than her. The patter of rain against the nursery window when the world outside seemed a distant land. He couldn''t forget. And he wouldn''t. This place wasn''t just his beginning. It was his purpose. His purpose to grow. His reason to fight. His reason to win. Because if this was the world of war, then he would be its specter. Its blade. Its secret cutting edge. He faced the children. His siblings. Their cheeks were smeared with tears, bewildered, frightened, not old enough to know what this actually was. But they held on to him in any case. Kager¨­ smiled at them faintly. It hurt the fear like sunlight cutting through clouds of storm. "I''ll come back," he told them. His voice, barely more than a whisper, silenced the room. "I''ll make it so none of you ever have to leave this home." Then he turned to Mera. Her eyes were glassy. She suppressed the tears with a will he was all too familiar with, her back rigid, her jaw locked. But when he put out his hand and gently touched her hand, she fell to the ground, arms wrapped around him as if she never wanted to release him. "Kaa-san," Kager¨­ whispered, just loudly enough. She shattered. A choked sob broke out of her as she buried her forehead against his shoulder. "You''re still just a child," she whispered. "It''s too early. It''s too early for you to leave¡­" But Kager¨­ had already accepted it. Early or not, he had to go. And one day, he would come back. As something more than a branded orphan. As something greater than fate. He stepped out into the room with the jonin, the noise of rain thundering in his ears louder than it ever had been before. And behind him, the warmth of a home gradually faded, until it became a promise The Warehouse of Steel Chapter: The Warehouse of Steel Rain hadn''t ceased from dawn. Manju, the jounin, hurried ahead, pulling Kager¨­ along by the wrist with the practiced nonchalance of one who''d led dozens of orphans down this same path before. Gravel path underfoot gave way to steel-plated floor as they went past the orphanage gates. Kager¨­ looked back. The orphanage stood behind them, a crumbling, large structure of concrete and rusted roofs. It didn''t impress from the outside, but now, from afar, Kager¨­ realized what it was: a fortress of survival. A reminder of the war economy. Its broad campus was bounded by industrial warehouses, like tired siblings too apathetic to care. Not small at all. Not fragile. Just. forgotten. The wind whistled through the alleys as they walked past the fenced-in lots and broken-down carts. Kager¨­''s eyes narrowed as he absorbed it all. Every corner, every door. The land would one day count. Manju came to rest at last in a warehouse with corrugated steel walls and swinging iron doors. The soft hum of chakra vibrated from within like static. Kager¨­''s breath misted in the chill as Manji ripped the door open with a scream. Inside there were children. A dozen of them, at least. Some were bundled in threadbare training gear. Others still wore patched civilian clothing. Most looked around four years old. Older than Kager¨­ by a solid year or two. Some were clearly orphans like him, wide-eyed, underfed, cautious. Others held the relaxed poise of shinobi-raised kids, eyes sharp, bodies already disciplined. He stepped inside, quietly. No welcome stares. Manju released him with a grunt. "Wait here. You''ll be assigned soon." Then he disappeared into one of the side passageways, leaving Kager¨­ to stand alone under the unforgiving glare of overhead lights. Kager¨­ maintained a blank face. He didn''t talk. He didn''t cower. He watched. He saw the older children argue in hushed tones, eyes flicking to each newcomer like predators sizing up competitors. Others rehearsed kunai forms in slow, jerky movements, clumsy, but intent. This was it. The shinobi ward. Where children ceased to be children. He could sense the eyes upon him, some inquisitive, others taunting. A little two-year-old pulled into the lion''s den. The youngest in the room, hands down. But Kager¨­ didn''t experience fear. He experienced concentration. This was unavoidable. He''d considered concealment of power before, mimicking frailty, playing the long game. It wouldn''t be feasible here, however. Not in Amegakure. Not in a country of steel, rain, and survival. This wasn''t Konoha. There was no easy academy. No safety net. There was only war, and the long shadow it cast on everything that breathed. War would come, and it would take. Resources. Homes. Mera. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Kager¨­ clenched his fists. No. That couldn''t be allowed. If power was the only thing that protected, then he would gather it, cultivate it, and wield it without mercy. He didn''t need a kekkei genkai. He didn''t need a tailed beast. Not really. He thought of legends, shinobi whose names echoed louder than bloodlines. Minato Namikaze, who ripped through enemy ranks like lightning, his speed unmatchable, his accuracy impeccable. Tobirama Senju, the master of innovation, whose jutsu continued to influence modern warfare. Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor, who warped every element to his command through sheer study and mastery. These weren''t monsters born, they were forces created. Kager¨­ could tread that path. That would be sufficient. He simply needed to hone it. To shape it. To endure the heat of this crucible. Movement at the other end caught his attention. A trio of older boys laughed while pushing aside a smaller child during sparring practice. One sported a branded shoulder, most likely clan-born, the way he swaggered. The smaller boy whined but didn''t strike back. Kager¨­ remained still. Not yet. He wouldn''t attract notice today. But he noted it. One of the boys finally approached him, seduced by his silence or his height. "You lost, pipsqueak?" the older boy sneered. Kager¨­ gazed back unblinking. The boy''s smirk collapsed. Then he snorted and strolled away. Kager¨­ let out a slow breath. He was beneath notice, for the moment. But that would change. And when they finally noticed him, they would never look away again. He sat down against the wall, legs crossed under him. Rain drummed on the high metal roof. Out of nothing, he thought, Legends are born. The lights soon faded Then the side gates swung open¡ª ¡ªand Hanzo walked in. ___________________________________________
He had his mask on. The black, ribbed rebreather hissed with each breath he drew. It warped the air around him, made him seem more substantial, ill. His armor was dulled grey and reflected the warehouse lights, streaked with rusted orange where the joints were. A tiny red salamander attached itself to his shoulder, eyes shining like coals in the fog. Hanzo did not say anything at first. He strode down the middle aisle with a step like judgment, measured, quiet, unstoppable. The instructors bowed. The children dipped their heads. Even the hardest-looking shinobi stiffened as he went by. He came to a stop in front of the children. He did not glance at them. He gazed through them. And then, in that low mechanical growl, he started. "You stand here today not as children¡­" "But as candidates for war." "This country, your country, will not protect you." "The Land of Rain is not a cradle. It is a crucible." "We are a nation drowned between giants. Konoha, Iwa, Suna¡­ They tower over us, and they crush us beneath their boots when it suits them." "They have their beasts. Their bloodlines. Their legacies." "We have none of that." "We have only me." "Hanzo¡ªthe Salamander. I alone stand the line. I alone hold this village back from being swept away." "That is not arrogance. It is truth." "You live because I am feared." "You live because I killed enough to make them hesitate." "But I am one man." "And I age." "Which is why you are here." "You were marked not for pity¡ªbut for use." "Each of you will be honed, tempered, tried." "Not to become shinobi." "To become weapons." "A sword does not ask its master." "It cuts." "And if it will not cut¡­" "It is thrown away." "Rain does not forgive." "Rain does not wait." "You will train. You will fight. You will kill." "Or you will rust beneath the rest." He stopped there. The warehouse was so silent, even the storm fell silent. Kager¨­ gazed at the man. The demon. The symbol. The self-styled protector of a fractured nation. There was no cheering. No nods of approval. No motivational speeches regarding bonds or courage. Only command. And then Hanzo wheeled, his breathing rattling like a dying engine, and disappeared back into the shadows from which he emerged. The salamander spat once, and they disappeared into the tempest. Chapter 9: The Shinobi Induction Test 1 No one said anything after the man with the mask walked away. The silence he had left was not frightening. Just...heavy, like when the grown-ups speak of serious matters and they don''t remember there are still children in the room. A scarred man, tall, approached next. Kager¨­ recognized him. ''Manju'', he thought. He didn''t have his mask on; maybe it was to hide the chin-splitting scar he had. He didn''t smile, but he didn''t yell either. He had the expression of a man who didn''t care to waste words. "Heard what the commander said, right?", He drawled as if too bored to care for the proceedings. No one reacted. They just stared. "Creepy kids..." The jounin muttered under his breath. Kager¨­ gave him an offended look. ''Their conversations are too advanced for kids to understand. What do they expect, patriotism?'' He was pulled out of his reverie by the scarred man. "Four days," he said to them all. "Today, we test your body. Tomorrow, your chakra. Then your hands with weapons. And the final day. We''ll see where you fit." And then he turned and strode, expecting everyone to follow. Which they did, shuffling out of the warehouse-like chicks following a cranky rooster. Kager¨­ trailed behind. Outside, the testing ground wasn''t particularly dissimilar from the courtyards at the orphanage, simply flatter, slightly muddy, with high steel walls all around. There were sticks and boxes and fences and wire. Everything seemed sort of like a playground that someone had gotten bored building. Their first test was easy enough to grasp. A trench had been dug straight into the earth, not deep, but extremely narrow, and lined with sharp metal plates on either side. The roof was low as well and had wire covering it. If you needed to cross over, you crawled. And crawl cautiously. Manju had named it "The Crawl Pit." The older kids went first. Some of them grunted and some of them scraped themselves trying to go faster than they were supposed to. One even yelped when a piece of wire caught his pants and tore them. But he didn''t quit. That was apparently the point. When it was Kager¨­''s turn, no special words were said. Manju just gave him a glance that said, Your turn, and nodded. Kager¨­ dropped down. The metal was cold on his arms, and the floor was slick with the damp. He didn''t hurry. His little body fit just enough into the space to slide through without bumping his head, although once or twice, his elbows brushed a corner, and he winced. He didn''t cry. Didn''t even frown. Just kept crawling, belly flat, kicking legs behind him. The wire above only just touched his hair. His breaths were soft and even. He wasn''t the strongest or quickest, but he was cautious. He observed the way the wire bent and surmised where it was okay to creep next. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Halfway, he saw another boy in front of him, one of the clan children, he assumed. The boy walked through the mud as if it were something he did daily, not caring about the grit or the narrow passage. Someone at the periphery called him Rei. Kager¨­ observed his movements. He glided like a salamander; shoulders down, elbows in, head never raised. It was effective. Kager¨­ did not mimic it exactly (he was too small), but he recalled the rhythm. His arms ached by the time he made it to the end, and one elbow was a bit scraped, but it was not so bad. He crawled out and waited quietly, unsure of what would come next. Manju didn''t comment, but he did look at his clipboard and scribble something on it. And that was it. No applause. No rebuke. Just one test was administered. Kager¨­ glanced back at the pit, then the other children. Some were still crawling. A few were already sitting, panting or pouting. He sat too, not far from Rei, who leaned against a fence now, scraping mud beneath his nails with a twig as thin as a hairpin. Kager¨­ said nothing. Neither did Rei. But the silence wasn''t painful. There was more where that came from. He knew that. But for now, he''d succeeded. And he hadn''t wept. Which, in a location such as this, felt like a sort of victory. The Crawl Pit covered the majority of the children''s elbows and knees with dirt, but nobody cried too hard about it. A couple of the older ones just murmured at each other, comparing times, poking each other in the ribs as if it was all in fun. Kager¨­ was quiet. His elbow had already stopped bleeding. The cut was not deep. Manju gave them little time to rest. "Up," he said, voice sharp but not unkind. "Next station. And they were off again, led in loose procession across the yard, to a wide, shallow rectangular pool. It was hardly knee-deep for the big kids, but it was wide. Underneath it floated poles and ropes, beams and boards, each one shifting ever so gently in the wind. It seemed a little like someone had constructed a playground in the air and lost interest in completing it. "This," said Manju, waveling his chin, "is The Balance Gauntlet." There were no questions. They''d got the rules down by now. Fall in the water? You fail. Get across dry? You pass. The first girl to go was already ascending the ropes before anyone was properly attending. Her name, it was whispered, was Yuni. She was not of a shinobi family. She wore hand-stitched clothing and was slightly too clean, clean enough that it indicated someone had made the effort to tend her. Her skin was dark and sun-kissed, and her braids swung after her like tassels on a celebratory dancer. Kager¨­ observed her walk. Yuni didn''t charge ahead like the clan boys, who attempted to run and fell into the water with splashing crashes. She jumped, not high, but ethereal, as if on invisible strings flying her. Every step was light. Every pole or rope flexed under her but not too far. As she whirled about one of the support beams before leaping onto the next, a few children actually gasped. She wasn''t just walking. She was dancing. When she splashed down on the distant platform, dry and smiling, someone applauded. Only once. Manju didn''t flinch. But he jotted something down. The rest of the children made an effort. Some were fast. Others were clever. One boy cursed all the way across. And Most got soaked. And then it was Kager¨­''s turn. He approached the starting platform, little and reserved, still in wet clothes from the crawl pit. The older children chuckled slightly. One of them grumbled, "Someone brought a baby to take a big kid''s test." Kager¨­ did not react. ''I am not happy being here, either'', he''d have liked to retort, but reigned himself in. He climbed onto the first beam and got down low. He knew his legs were too short. His balance was good, but not at a run. If he attempted to bound from beam to rope like the others, he''d fall for certain. So he didn''t. He crawled on all fours. It wasn''t pretty. But it was steady. He crawled like he had in the crawl pit, hands around the wood, feet cocked for purchase, body close to the surface. Each time a rope lurched, he hesitated. Each time a pole shifted, he stopped. ''Slow and steady wins the race'', he chanted in his mind, knowing well he wouldn''t win this race. But never falling. His hands throbbed and his knees burned by the time he reached the opposite side. His clothes dripped with mist and wind. But he was not wet. And he hadn''t slipped. Manju looked down at his clipboard again. Scratched something in the corner. Kager¨­ climbed down and found a patch of ground to sit on. Yuni was nearby, swinging her legs and humming to herself. She glanced at him as he sat. "You''re weird," she said, not unkindly. Kager¨­ blinked. "So are you." That earned him a smile. Then Manju called again. "Rest''s over. Everyone up. Third station. Move." And so, the second test was conducted. The next would soon start Chapter 10: Shinobi Induction Test 2 The new test was indoors, within a thin hall lined with dark panels. It was warmer here, the air still and faintly metallic, like old wiring and sweat. Flickering dim lights hung overhead, and chalk lines were drawn across the floor, one for each child. At the far end, the wall shimmered. Then lit up. Three glowing balls blinked into being¡ªred, blue, green. And then three more, on the floor. Six in total. Their light pulsed gently at first, casting soft glows across the children''s eager faces. Manju stood by the door, arms folded. "This is the Reaction Node sequence," he said. "Each ball will flash in a sequence. You hit the color. Miss a color, or hit the wrong one, and you get zapped. Easy." The children uncoiled. A few knuckle-cracked. One massaged his fingers, grumbling something about practicing on festival games. Kager¨­ did not hurry. He merely observed. The orbs started to flash. Red. Green. Blue. Blue. Red. Then they were moving in an accelerating cycle. Red-green-blue. Blue-red-blue. Green-green-red. The older kids went first, striking with swift, broad movements. Some were wild, slapping at lights, laughing as the panels hissed and sent a low chakra jolt through their arms when they missed. Others were more focused. Then it was Yuni''s turn. She twirled into position and tapped each light with a dancer''s grace. She missed a few near the end; too much flair and not enough precision, but it was still good. Then a new one arrived. A gangly boy with soft features and heavy eyelids. "Dazuro," someone grumbled behind Kager¨­. "Isn''t that the kid who lost his way during warmups?" Dazuro didn''t impress. His hair was too long. His shoulders were slumped. He looked like he''d sleep on his feet. The lights burst. Red-blue-green. He shifted. Every tap was just in the right place, fingers sweeping the orbs as if he knew where they would be between blinks. No flash of light, no theatrics, just smooth, steady motion. One at a time. Even Manju flinched in surprise. Dazuro withdrew without comment and went back to the wall, eyes half-lidded once more. Kager¨­ watched him intently. Then he was up. He moved forward. The lights stood taller than he had anticipated, high up against the wall and far apart. He would never reach them with speed. Short arms. A small body. He did not attempt to go as fast as the others. He waited. The first grouping flashed¡ªred, green, blue. He hit them. Tense with measured patterns already forming in his mind. Then again¡ªblue, red, blue. His hand lingered close to the next light before it flashed. He wasn''t responding anymore. He was anticipating. Committing the timing, the sequence to memory. He couldn''t go any quicker. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. So he went smarter. It wasn''t flawless. He was sluggish. He missed a cue once, not the incorrect color, just a fraction too late. The orb hissed. A spark bit his fingertips like nipping static. He didn''t blink. He completed the sequence. Then moved quietly out of the way. "Speed: low," one of the instructors whispered. "Accuracy¡­ very high." Manju said nothing. He simply clicked his tongue and said, "Next group." The children went through. Some cried. Some laughed. Some were arrogant until the shocks. Kager¨­ sat again against the wall, observing them all. Memorizing names, faces, responses. Yuni spun again on her way back, giving him a wink. "Still weird." Dazuro said nothing. He simply nodded once when their eyes crossed. Kager¨­ nodded back. By the time the next test was arranged, the sun had started leaning to the west. Shadows crept long across the practice ground, but the instructors gave no indications of quitting. Manju clapped once, hard, sharp, impatient, and gestured toward a row of highly polished wooden dummies. Each softly glowed with chakra, their joints vibrating with pent-up memory. One at a time, they activated, moving through taijutsu poses with the smooth, deliberate ease of old campaigners. Elbows bent, knees crouched, palms cupped. Then again, even quicker. "Flexibility Mirror," Manju said, not glancing at them. "Copy the poses. Best imitation wins." Some of the older boys groaned. A few stretched their arms with mock flair. Yuni, however, lit up like someone had handed her candy. She dropped into the first pose with a snap of her wrist and flowed from one form to the next with almost lazy elegance. Her braids swung behind her like a ribbon as she cartwheeled into a crouch, her limbs loose and confident. "She''s not even trying," one child whispered. "She doesn''t have to," another grumbled. Rei, on the other hand, moved stiffly. His was a grounded, muscular body. Too grounded. He could lock stances with power but struggled to change mid-movement. He gritted his teeth as his foot lost its grip, then regained it, cautiously, angrily. Dazuro just gazed at the dummy, then spread his arms to replicate it, slow, precise, as if he were reading the stances live. He wasn''t quick. He wasn''t limber. But every joint of his limbs fell into perfect place, like a puppet moved by skilled strings. Then came Kager¨­''s turn. He approached slowly. The dummy flickered, dipping low with one leg drawn way back. Kager¨­ tilted, then fell into the pose with minimal effort. His movements were small but fluid, his body untypically supple for a youth so young. Mera''s morning stretches, always accompanied by her singing, had rendered him considerably more flexible than anyone had anticipated. He couldn''t do the high kicks, the flips, not really. His legs were too short. His center of balance entirely off. But he replicated the shape of them, adapted the shape to his body, and made it flow. As the dummy picked up speed, he started falling behind. Not for lack of memory, but for the constraints of bone and muscle. Yet he persisted, arms locked, toes splayed just so. In the end, he bowed his head and returned to the group, breathing evenly. "He''s like a rubber rope," one ch¨±nin whispered. "Or a wet cat," the other said. "Keeps squirming into the correct forms." Manju didn''t say anything. He merely scratched something on his clipboard. "Last one," he said. "Sprint and Chaos." The training field fell silent. A narrow passageway yawned open to their right, overhead covered in low steel beams and dark paper tags. Mist curled lazily along the floor, humming with concealed chakra. "This one is easy," Manju instructed. "Run to the end. As quick as you can. Don''t stop, don''t scream and don''t panic." Nobody questioned what the paper tags were for. The initial children ran like rabbits, pounding feet and waving arms. The corridor flashed suddenly with crackling lights, with whispers that were not whispers, with a thousand voices crying out in one breath. There were some children who screamed. One tripped and began weeping. Another survived but continued shaking uncontrollably. Rei steadied himself, took a breath, and charged straight in. He stumbled halfway, shoulder-checked the wall, but heaved forward with a grunt. When he came out, he turned back once, with narrowed eyes and a tight mouth, but he didn''t say anything. Yuni plugged her ears as she ran. She just made it. There were tears in her eyes, but she blinked them out quickly. Then Dazuro appeared. He strolled along as if he was running late for breakfast. Lights flashed in his face, whispers crept around his ears¡­ and he blinked, exhaled, and continued walking. When he stepped out, he turned to someone in general and said, "Loud." Then sat down. Kager¨­ didn''t run. He walked in, his feet making no sound. The mist rolled around his ankles like a friend from long ago. A shriek sounded at his ear, illusion, something half-learned from scrolls of war. The flash of burning leaves, a mother calling for her child. He did not know the sound, so it was meaningless to him. The lights flared white. Then red. A face took shape in the mist. Then disappeared. Kager¨­ blinked once. Walked on. He was not brave. He just didn''t feel it. As he came out, one of the instructors noted something. Another leaned over to Manju. "Creepy kid." Manju did not react. Merely went through his list, then to the group. "That''s enough," he growled. "Back to the dorms. Same time tomorrow. Chakra testing." A couple of the kids groaned. Some drifted away without a word. Yuni flipped a braid and waved at Kager¨­ as she walked away. Rei clenched his jaw, staring forward. Dazuro yawned. Kager¨­ stood for another moment, hearing the rain outside the warehouse. Then he turned, and walked off into the dusk. Looking forward to spending his time in the orphanage once he became a shinobi Chapter 11: Shinobi Induction Test 3 The dorms weren''t constructed for comfort, they were gutted warehouses. Partitioned and hastily repurposed into inductee dormitories for shinobi. The walls were thin, the floors creaked, and the cold crept through each rusted pipe like it was home. Kager¨­ had never requested comfort. He woke up before dawn, a habit etched into him from the earliest morning at the orphanage with a cacophony of wailing infants. The room was dark, with the gentle breathing of other boys wrapped in their allocated futons. Some snored. Others flailed in their sleep. One mumbled incoherently about kunai and frogs. Kager¨­ sat up. Quietly. He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and padded barefoot across the icy concrete floor. His designated corner wasn''t much, merely a folded futon, a straw mat, and a cracked basin containing last night''s water. He knelt down and started his routine. First: Stillness. His palms pressed together. Fingers aligned. Back straight. He shut his eyes and listened, not to the dorm, but to himself. The vibration of Chakra under the flesh. The deep regular beat of his breathing. The soft throbbing of energy through the system he''d learned to understand was a second heartbeat. It was calm now, unaroused, latent and always awaiting him. He started to move it. Gently. Leading it from his spine down his limbs, through his fingertips, and back up again. With each pass, he attempted to broaden the paths, stretching them out softly, as one might encourage a river to create its own channel. The openings around his shoulder joints. He accessed them now, as he''d vowed. The soles of his feet were narrower than the others but gradually relaxing. It was tedious work. Silent work. And it made him stronger. Then came movement. He moved into the flexibility sequence Mera had conditioned him to. It wasn''t flashy. Merely long, slow poses that flowed into each other. His little body bent with ease, more than most adults could ever hope for. One leg forward. Arms out. Chest up. Hold. Breathe & Flow. Even in the cold factory dorms, the march warmed things up. He enjoyed this segment. It made him think of home and the orphanage and of mornings when Mera hummed to herself as she counted blankets. When he finished, the light outside had changed just enough to gray the windows. Faraway footsteps creaked past the door. Someone else was awake. Likely Rei or Dazuro. Kager¨­ knelt once more at his mat and retrieved the thin, rolled-up parchment he''d concealed in the creases of his blanket. It wasn''t official. Only lines and loops he''d sketched from memory, the flowchart of his chakra coils. When the whistle blew across the grounds, summoning all inductees to the testing floor, Kager¨­ was already standing by the door, hair tied back in a neat ponytail, breath calm. The day would try them all. But he''d already passed his most crucial test: Waking up and deciding not to be weak. ______________________________________________ Rain drummed gently on the steel roof, as if even the clouds were happy to just sit and listen. The warehouse was empty once more, rows of training equipment pushed to the side. In their place stood a new array of equipment. Raised platforms, chakra measuring discs, and teachers who seemed much too serious to be teaching a group of kids who were still getting used to tying their sandals correctly. Manju stood at the front, arms crossed, scar catching the light as usual. He didn¡¯t yell this time. Just gave them all a long, unreadable stare before he spoke. ¡°Today¡¯s not about speed. Or strength. It¡¯s about your chakra. What you¡¯ve got inside.¡± A few kids straightened up. Some looked confused. Others¡­ just tired. ¡°These discs will tell us your capacity. How deep your well goes, and how heavy each drop is.¡± He shifted to his right, motioning toward the discs arranged on low pedestals. "Touch the seal. Channel chakra into it. The disc will rotate more quickly the more you provide. But it''s not speed alone. It''s how your chakra acts. Some of you have more. Some have less. Doesn''t matter at the moment. What does matter is control and how you develop from here." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Kager¨­ stood in the crowd, hands loosely at his sides. His face remained unchanged, but within him, a small thread of interest began to vibrate. Volume and density, he repeated to himself. He had ideas, but no real reference point. And so the first names were called. A long-sleeved girl and wide-eyed stepped forward first. The disc shuddered ever so slightly when she handled it, turning enough to bring some nods of approval. Not bad. Later on, some rotated slowly. Some hardly glimmered. A couple of kids scowled as they tried, face growing red. Then Rei was summoned. The clan boy strode with effortless assurance. Dark hair was pulled back, posture impeccable. He wasted no time; simply pressed his hand over the seal and let it flow. The disc accelerated smoothly. Firm rotation. Better than most. And his chakra shone around it, controlled and close. "Solid chakra density," one teacher whispered. "Not flashy, but he has a good foundation." Rei moved back, gaze serene. He wasn''t smug-looking but his eyes swept the room until they found Kager¨­. Yuni was next. She moved more like a dance than a walk, light-footed. Brown complexion, neatly plaited hair, and an unobtrusive smile that didn''t sit well with the nervous jumping of her fingers. She handled the seal as though it might nip. Her disc turned slowly¡­ but the chakra was lovely. Delicate, nearly silver in appearance, it moved across the metal like silk. "Very refined chakra," someone breathed. "It''s rare for a civilian." Yuni executed a little courtly bow before skipping away. Kager¨­ caught her glance for a moment. She smiled. He blinked, then turned away. Then Dazuro. The quiet boy stumbled up like he was asleep. His disc rotated slowly, but it kept spinning¡­ and spinning. And the chakra surrounding it didn''t falter. It remained stable. Manju squinted. "That''s too uniform for it to be natural..." "Right?" another instructor said. "That boy''s keeping something secret." And then¡ª "Kager¨­." His name, that was all that was said. Quiet. Simple. No expectation behind it. But all eyes trailed after him. He stepped up to the platform. Smaller, shorter than all the others thus far. Some of the older children snickered under their breath. What was a toddler going to do? Pass out? Kager¨­ put his hand on the disc. And let it rise. The response wasn''t quick. It gathered. A vibration, like a muted bell struck underwater. Then the disc spun. Once. Twice. Then quicker. It started to buzz. And then it roared. The chakra halo burst into being, surrounding the disc and then elongating. Enlarging. The radiance condensed into a ring that was almost twice the size of the disc. The teachers hunched forward. "Wait¡ªwhat?" "He''s only two¡ª" "That''s not mere raw volume¡­ look at the density!" The shine around the disc was heavy. Dense, but controlled. Not wild. Not running. Kager¨­ didn''t blink. Just observed the disc rotating, then raised his hand in a calm motion. Silence. Even the whispers ceased. He turned and strode back to his seat without saying a word. Only the slightest nod of his head, like he''d done no more than take a breath. But he''d just blown the top off the test. Even Manju, who hadn''t flinched all morning, grunted in acknowledgement. "Watch out for that one." Rei gazed at Kager¨­ with a flash of something new in his eyes. Yuni grinned, impressed. And Dazuro? The silent one? He nodded once, as if he''d just been vindicated about some secret only he was privy to. "Ten minutes," Manju yelled. "The next test begins then. Leaf-sticking exercise. Don''t stray." Kager¨­ sat cross-legged on the floor, allowing the residual buzz of chakra to settle into his body again. He wasn''t fatigued. Chapter 12: Shinobi Induction Test 4 Following the chakra capacity test, there had been a quiet tension in the air. A kind of buzz that hadn''t previously been there. Whispers accompanied Kager¨­ wherever he went now. Not quite loud enough to hear. But quite loud enough to be noticed. Manju had spoken loudly once the discs were removed. "Next test," he said, holding a flat leaf between two fingers. "Leaf-sticking. Keep it on your forehead with chakra for three minutes." The kids seemed overjoyed. Although young, all these children had been prepared since a young age to become shinobi. Even in civilian families, children with potential would be scouted through simple tests and encouraged to train and bring glory to their name through war merits. Hence, most of them had prepared enough to know this exercise. "Easy, right? Lose it, and you begin again." Some kids grumbled. One stumbled over their words asking if it was graded. Manju disregarded them. Kager¨­ didn¡¯t need instructions. He¡¯d done this hundreds of times. On paper, on clothes, even on cups when no one was looking. He took his leaf and found his spot. There were no mats, no shelter, just the wide yard under a gray sky and the soft hiss of wind against the factory walls. He sat cross-legged. Held the leaf to his forehead. Inhaled. And let his chakra flow. It was smooth now. Natural. Like turning a page or lighting a candle. He left the chakra nestled under the leaf; level and firm, a still stream that was neither too much nor too little. Just enough. The wind picked up halfway through. Someone sneezed behind him. A leaf blew onto the ground. Kager¨­ didn''t shift. But he compensated. Easy. As if he were breathing using a second set of lungs. He adjusted the angle of chakra ever so slightly to resist the change in wind pressure. The leaf did not even waver. And then, with no reason whatsoever but curiosity, he drew two more leaves out of the pile at his elbow. He laid one on each hand. ''Let''s try this.'' One on the forehead. Two on the palms. Different skin, different pressure points and different muscle tensions. He held them. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two. All three leaves remained. At the three-minute mark, when Manju blew the whistle, Kager¨­ gently let them fall into his lap. He glanced up. One of the instructors by the clipboard was scowling at him as if he''d sprouted an extra head. "Three?" one of them growled. "Is he¡­ experimenting?" whispered another. Manju didn''t say anything. Just made a note. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The others had finished around him. Rei sat stiff, sweat dripping down his temple, but his leaf remained. His control was good, but obviously took effort. Yuni had bungled at the beginning, her leaf dropping off twice, but on the third try, she did something strange. She remained still but pulled her foot under her, and slowly, consciously, channeled chakra through her toes. She smiled when the leaf finally adhered. "Told you dancing teaches balance," she said to no one in general. Dazuro did not bat an eye the whole time. His leaf was stuck there like glue. The quiet was so tense like he''d petrified himself. Manju applauded once. "Not bad. We''ll see who can sustain it." Then, as nonchalantly as ever, he gestured to the other side of the yard. "Next test station. Move." Kager¨­ joined the others. And just as he was about to leave, he stooped down and picked a fresh leaf from the ground. He wasn''t finished testing yet. ___________________________________________ The queue went at a slow pace around the next station, broad ceramic stepping stones placed along a raised rail. Dull and pale at initial observation, but when Manju placed one foot upon one, it glowed steadily blue under the sandal. "Those are chakra tiles," he explained, moving back. "Charge chakra through the soles of your feet as you walk. If your control is good, the tiles glow evenly. If it''s not¡­ you''ll find out." Some children giggled nervously. Others looked down at their feet as if they''d forgotten they had them. Kager¨­ stood in wait silently. Fists behind his back, fingers tapping gently to the rhythm. He had never set foot on these tiles, yet chakra through the feet? That made sense. Rei tried it first. He strode like one attempting to march through the sand. Firm strides with heavy shots of chakra. The first several tiles ignited with a brilliant, near-white light. But the light soon began to struggle, flickered, returned in a burst, then weakened. "Hn," Manju snorted, unfazed. Rei scowled but didn''t protest. Yuni was up next. She stood with a dancer''s stance, light and elegant. Her initial steps were good, every tile shining like a firefly. But in the middle, her shine disappeared. Her foot slipped, and she staggered with a small gasp before regaining her balance. She still smiled at the finish. "That was fun." Dazuro was next. He stumbled out onto the pathway as if he didn''t care. But tiles glowed continuously under him. Thump. Thump. Thump Silent and uniform. As if he were marching to a step only he knew. Manju cocked his eyebrows. ''This brat..who is he?'' Kager¨­ came forward. The tiles were chilly under his feet, even over his scuffed sandals. Breathe. Letting chakra accumulate downward, through his legs and into the soles of his feet, he started walking. No stutter. No flash. The tiles illuminated below each step with a soft, consistent color. Calm and clear. Like a lake reflecting a peaceful sky. Kager¨­ had reached the halfway point and slowed for a moment. On purpose. Then, with a curious cock of his head, he tweaked his output just a little and proceeded to walk. The light grew stronger, but not better. It cost more effort. He could feel the drain on his reserves. It was wasteful. Less¡­ elegant. He tucked that away. In the end, Manju was observing him intently. "That one is using this chakra reactive field like his training grounds." one teacher whispered to his side. Kager¨­ didn''t grin. But he bowed his head graciously and moved aside for the next child. Behind him, Rei was biting his lip. Yuni tussled her hair to the side and whispered, "Show-off." Dazuro nodded only once as if he''d been taking notes as well. Manju checked the clipboard. "Last control test coming up. Ten minutes break. Don''t waste it." Kager¨­ sat on a stone slab and tucked his legs under him. He learned something new today. Too much chakra wasn''t strength. It was just noise. ___________________________________________ Following the chakra tiles, they were taken to a quieter part of the testing ground, a room with mats unrolled across the floor and low benches heaped with jars of thick, dark ink. Manju motioned for them to sit. "Next one''s voluntary," he replied, his tone flat. "Most don''t try it. No penalty if you succeed. No benefit either." The kids shifted uncomfortably. "Chakra Coil Visualization," he went on. "Ink gets drawn on your core points. You flow chakra. If you''re careless, the ink pools or drips. If you''re effective¡­ it charts the routes your chakra follows." Rei snorted under his breath. "What''s the use of this one? "Knowing your own body," Manju replied quietly. "It makes a difference." Kager¨­ already knew he would take it. He moved forward as the instructors indicated, tugging up the plain cloth tunic they all wore. The ink was cold when the brush drew upon his stomach. A swirled pattern above his navel, then lines down his arms and legs, along the collarbones and spine. It smelled faintly metallic, like wet steel and old paper. "Start," the instructor instructed. Kager¨­ shut his eyes. Breathed in. Out. Chakra stirred. He pushed it slowly, evenly, over the tenketsu around his navel and out, up his body, branching along arms, towards fingertips. Down his legs, curving through calves and toes. A moment later, he felt the ink react, cool filaments pulling across his skin as they traced the hidden rivers beneath. He continued. He sensed resistance around his left shoulder. It was hard to penetrate. Same around his right ankle. That''s new, he thought, redistributing pressure. He hadn''t paid attention there at all in meditation. Too superficial, too readily overlooked. The ink got there anyway. Eventually. When he opened his eyes, the instructors were already packing in tighter. The ink had flowed evenly. Beautifully, even. Delicate, defined branches curled down his limbs like meticulous brushwork. Even some capillary lines at his wrists and elbows had darkened. "Not just immaculate flow," one teacher grumbled. "He''s consciously controlled his chakra." Another leaned forward, peering. "See the lateral coil marks. Did you notice that on the last child?" "No, that''s more control than they''re trained to have." Kager¨­ overheard it all but said nothing. He was already marking the skipped areas. The shoulder. The ankle. The meditation tomorrow would be there. Rei was up next. His ink filled quickly but mainly on his chest and belly. It just grazed his elbows. The instructors nodded. Strong, but in a small area. Yuni shifted while they painted her. Her arms shone with ink following circulation, but her legs were weak. Her concentration was obviously upper-body. Dancer''s training, perhaps. Dazuro remained absolutely still during his turn. The ink crept forward slowly, painfully so, but eventually, all four limbs were stamped. A flawless map, inscribed with precision. Manju said little. He examined the patterns, granted each a grunt of approval, then bellowed: "Clean up and grab some lunch. Take the rest of the day off." Kager¨­ scrubbed the ink from his skin with a damp rag. The marks were erased. But the pathways remained noted in his mind.