The morning sun spilled gold through the window, painting faint lines across Mizuki's small apartment. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles and the earthy scent of Konoha's morning dew. He stretched, every muscle in his young body aching from yesterday's relentless training.
Mizuki groaned softly."Man… my arms feel like lead."
He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. The ache was sharp but satisfying—a sign that his body was adapting. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Pain meant progress.
After washing up and pulling on his academy uniform, Mizuki grabbed a rice ball from the table and stepped outside. The streets were quiet, except for a few vendors opening their stalls. The distant chatter of shinobi filled the air—Jonin heading to missions, Chunin patrols swapping shifts.
It reminded him that even in peace, this world was built on blades.
As he walked toward the Academy, he kept a slow, deliberate rhythm to his breathing—Total Concentration Breathing, just as he'd practiced the night before. Each inhale filled his lungs like a bellows, expanding his capacity. Each exhale sharpened his focus.
"Focus the mind. Strengthen the body. Sharpen the edge," he whispered, repeating the mantra he'd borrowed from his memories of shonen heroes.
Mizuki arrived at the training grounds before dawn again. The grass was still wet with dew, and mist curled along the field like wandering spirits.
He placed a few kunai targets at varying distances, then took a stance. His throws were cleaner than yesterday—his wrist snapping sharply, his form tighter.Thunk.One kunai hit near the center. The next landed wide. Another went high.
Still, it was better.
"Thirty percent hit rate," he muttered, jotting notes in a small journal he'd started keeping. "Angle correction—two degrees lower. Adjust breathing before release."
This journal wasn't just for ninja training; it was his strategy log—a habit from his past life. Progress was measurable. Data meant improvement.
He practiced until sweat drenched his shirt and his fingers trembled. When he finally stopped, the sun had climbed high enough to chase away the mist.
A slow clap echoed behind him.
"You're here early again," said a familiar voice.
Mizuki turned to see Iruka, rubbing his eyes, a grin on his face. "You're gonna burn out at this rate."
"Then I'll burn brighter," Mizuki shot back, smirking. "Besides, the early bird gets the chakra control."
Iruka blinked. "You mean worm."
"I like my version better."
They both laughed—a small, fleeting moment of camaraderie. But in the back of Mizuki's mind, something tightened. Iruka… always the kind one. I can't let him surpass me.
Not out of hatred—but survival. In this world, the kind ones rarely lived long.
By the time they reached class, Mizuki had already regained his composure. The Chunin instructor—same Hyuga as before—stood at the front of the room, stoic as ever.
"Good morning, students. Today, we'll continue basic chakra exercises," he announced.
A chorus of groans echoed through the room.
Mizuki, however, leaned forward, intrigued. Perfect opportunity.
"Pair up," the instructor said. "One partner will release chakra into an object, the other will observe and describe any changes."
Mizuki ended up paired with Iruka again. They sat cross-legged, a small rock between them.
Iruka placed his hands over the stone, concentrating. His brow furrowed, and a faint shimmer of blue appeared before fading.
"Not bad," Mizuki said. "Try adjusting your breathing. Breathe through the nose, steady the exhale. You're letting your chakra leak when you lose focus."
Iruka blinked. "How do you know that?"
Mizuki smiled faintly. "Just a hunch."
When it was Mizuki's turn, he placed both hands on the stone. He could feel the energy pulsing within him, warm and heavy. Slowly, he guided it through his hands, careful not to push too hard.
The rock trembled slightly—tiny cracks forming across the surface.
The Hyuga instructor's eyes flicked toward him. "Interesting. Good control for your age."
Mizuki bowed slightly. "Thank you, sensei."
But inside, he was already thinking. Still too unstable. Chakra output too dense for a fine object. Need to refine control further.
Every lesson became data. Every mistake, feedback.
At lunch, Mizuki sat beneath the same tree as yesterday, nibbling his rice ball and sketching notes in his journal.
A shadow fell across him.
"Yo, Mizuki!" It was Might Guy again, radiating his usual hurricane of enthusiasm. "Training alone during lunch? The flame of youth never rests, huh?"
Mizuki smirked. "Neither does the pain of exhaustion."
Guy plopped down beside him. "Then you must be feeling twice as youthful!"
Mizuki couldn't help but chuckle. "Something like that."
They talked for a while—mostly about training. Guy bragged about his father's regimen: running with weights, push-ups until collapse, and endless sparring. It sounded insane… but Mizuki's eyes gleamed.
"That's… actually a brilliant idea," he said. "You're pushing your body to adapt to constant stress. The stronger the foundation, the greater the potential."
Guy blinked. "Uh… yeah! That's what Dad says too!"
"Would you mind if I joined one of your training sessions sometime?"
Guy's face lit up like a torch. "Of course! We'll push each other to our limits!"
As Guy bounded off, Mizuki leaned back against the tree, smirking. Might Duy's training methods are brutal… but effective. I can use that. Combine it with breathing and chakra control—build the perfect base.
His mind was already racing through plans.
The afternoon dragged with lectures on history and shinobi ethics. Most students dozed. Mizuki, however, listened closely—not to the words, but to the names.
Hiruzen Sarutobi. Tobirama Senju. Hashirama.The Will of Fire.
Every mention stirred something inside him. A strange mix of admiration and bitterness. He knew the history—and how much blood was buried beneath that ideology.
The Will of Fire sounds noble… until you're the one it burns.
When class finally ended, Mizuki didn't go home. Instead, he slipped quietly toward the older training grounds behind the Academy, where fewer students practiced. There, he began his next step—Leaf Concentration, refining his chakra control.
This time, instead of balancing the leaf on his hand, he placed it on his forehead, closing his eyes.
He visualized his chakra—an invisible river, steady but wild. He guided it upward, holding the leaf still. The first few attempts failed. The leaf fell again and again.
But with each breath—inhale, hold, exhale—his control sharpened.By sunset, he could hold it for a full minute.
Back in his small room, Mizuki sat cross-legged on the floor, a candle flickering beside him. His hands formed the Tiger seal as he cycled his chakra slowly, deliberately.
He could feel his body growing stronger—his chakra coils expanding little by little. But he also knew how far behind he still was. Kids like Kakashi and Gai were already monsters in the making.
If I want to survive this world, he thought grimly, I can't aim to be average.
He looked down at a small vial on the table—his "poison project." Inside was a faintly green liquid, distilled from wild herbs and mild toxins he'd identified in an old herbology book.
He dipped a toothpick, then lightly brushed it against his tongue.Bitterness burned his mouth. His stomach turned, but he forced himself to breathe deeply through the nausea.
"Control," he whispered. "Everything… is control."
He took out his notebook again, writing:
Training Log • Substitution Jutsu: 80% success rate.• Kunai accuracy: 35%.• Chakra control (Leaf): Stable for 1 minute.• Breathing technique: improving endurance.• Toxin resistance: Stage 1 begun.
He exhaled, leaning back.
For a long moment, he just sat there—watching the candle flicker, its flame dancing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
In another life, he'd been ordinary. Just a guy grinding through the monotony of work and routine. But here, every day mattered. Every mistake could mean death.
And strangely… it thrilled him.
"I'm not just Mizuki," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm rewriting what Mizuki becomes."
The next morning brought a small but crucial event—the weekly assessment. The Hyuga instructor stood in the courtyard, clipboard in hand.
"Today," he said, "we will test your progress in three areas: chakra control, taijutsu form, and basic jutsu application."
Mizuki's heart thumped. Finally.
The first test was chakra control—balancing on a vertical pole using chakra to anchor the feet. Most students wobbled, some fell immediately. When Mizuki's turn came, he focused his breathing, visualizing chakra as invisible threads gripping the surface.
His first step held. Second step too. By the fifth, he was standing tall on the pole.
Iruka clapped from below. "You did it!"
Mizuki grinned faintly but didn't respond. He didn't want to show off. Quiet progress was safer.
Next came taijutsu sparring. Mizuki faced a taller student—a clan kid with smug eyes. The boy came in swinging wide punches. Mizuki ducked, weaved, and countered with quick jabs aimed at pressure points—not strong, but precise.
He lost the match narrowly but earned the Hyuga's praise for technique.
Finally, jutsu application. The students had to perform any one E-rank technique successfully.
Most picked Clone Jutsu. Mizuki went for Substitution.
His hands blurred through the seals."Tiger, Boar, Ox, Dog, Snake—Substitution Jutsu!"
Puff!A log appeared in his place just as a thrown chalk stick whizzed by.
The instructor nodded approvingly. "Efficient use of chakra and timing. Excellent."
Mizuki bowed. "Thank you, sensei."
Inside, he could barely contain his grin. It's working. Every late night, every bruise, every breath—it's working.
That evening, as classes ended and the sky turned orange, Mizuki lingered on the training field again. He sat on the fence, legs swinging lazily, watching the sunset.
Footsteps approached—it was Obito.
"Hey," Obito said quietly. "You train even after class?"
Mizuki smiled. "Every day."
Obito scratched his head. "I wish I had your motivation."
"You do," Mizuki said. "You just don't believe in it yet."
Obito looked surprised. "You really think so?"
Mizuki nodded. "You've got spirit. That's half the battle. The rest is turning that spirit into habit."
They talked for a while—about dreams, about Kakashi, about wanting recognition. Obito's insecurities showed through every sentence, and Mizuki found himself sympathizing.
He's just a kid, Mizuki thought. A good kid. And he's going to die young in the canon timeline… unless something changes.
When Obito finally left, Mizuki remained, gazing at the stars.
He clenched his fists. If I'm really changing this world, maybe I can save at least one person.
Later that night, Mizuki returned home and collapsed on his futon, staring at the ceiling.
His mind drifted to the future—the wars, the betrayals, the tragedies that shaped the shinobi world. Orochimaru. The Uchiha Massacre. Pain's assault. He remembered it all, like spoilers he could never unsee.
He took a deep breath."I can't fight fate head-on," he muttered. "But I can prepare."
He turned to his notebook again, writing in bold letters:
Objective: Survive and grow stronger without drawing early attention.Long-term goal: Become Chunin before age 12.Methods:– Master E and D-rank techniques within 1 year.– Continue physical conditioning with Guy.– Develop poison resistance and stealth skills.– Research chakra nature combinations (Fire + Earth → Lava Release possibility?).
He underlined the last note twice.
"Lava Release…" he murmured. "If I can combine them… I could create something entirely new."
The candle flickered once more before dying out, plunging the room into shadow. Mizuki closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady—Total Concentration Breathing guiding him into sleep.
The next morning came like any other. The village bustled with life, laughter echoing from vendors and children alike. Yet beneath the surface, tension rippled. Rumors of unrest along the borders. Whispers of mobilization.
Mizuki overheard a pair of Jonin speaking as he walked to class.
"…border patrol's doubling… they say Iwa's been probing again."
"Probably nothing serious. But the Hokage's taking precautions."
Mizuki's chest tightened. So it begins.
He looked toward the Hokage Monument, the faces of heroes carved into stone. Heroes who'd lived—and died—for their village.
He clenched his fists. "If war's coming," he whispered, "I'll be ready this time."
With that, he walked through the Academy gates—calm, determined, and quietly resolute.