Sleep was a traitor.
Kelvin stared at the ceiling, watching moonlight crawl across cracked plaster like a thief. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it—his father's blood soaking into the grass, that weak smile, the way his body folded like paper.
Hey… champ.
The words echoed. Hollow. Wrong.
His father didn't do "weak." Thomas Stone was the mountain that didn't move, the fire that didn't die, the man who caught knives thrown at his neck without looking. Seeing him crumple at the village gates broke something in Kelvin's understanding of the world.
And the whispers he'd heard outside that hospital room—
"Your son will change everything."
Who said that? The Hokage? Someone else? His brain wouldn't stop spinning, replaying the conversation in fragments, trying to piece together meaning from half-heard sentences.
Kelvin rolled over, punched his pillow, and waited for morning.
It took forever.
The academy courtyard smelled like sweat and teenage ambition. Students stretched, sparred, or pretended to stretch while actually watching popular kids spar. Somewhere, a girl was trying to summon a water clone and creating a puddle instead. A boy threw a kunai that hit a tree, a bird, and somehow his own foot in succession.
Kelvin ignored all of it.
His eyes found Gifted immediately—leaning against the equipment shed, tossing an apple in one hand, looking like he'd already solved life's mysteries and found them boring.
Kelvin marched over.
"Train me."
Gifted caught the apple mid-air. Blinked. "Good morning to you too, sunshine. Sleep well?"
"No."
"Dreams?"
"Nightmares."
"Same thing." Gifted took a crunchy bite. "What's the magic word?"
Kelvin stared at him. "Please?"
"Wrong." Another bite. "Try 'Oh mighty Gifted, whose wisdom surpasses the sages and whose muscles defy gravity—'"
"I'm going to hit you."
"Violence." Gifted sighed dramatically. "Always violence with you clan kids."
"I'm not a clan kid."
"You've got the attitude." Gifted pushed off the wall, circling Kelvin like a vulture examining roadkill. "So. Training. Personal. Physical." He said each word like he was tasting something suspicious. "Why me? Rank forty-nine, remember? Explosion boy? Probation pending?"
"Because you're good."
"Boring answer."
"Because you're annoying and I want to punch you legally."
Gifted grinned, sharp and sudden. "Better. But still wrong." He leaned in close, apple breath assaulting Kelvin's nose. "The real reason is you saw me fight during entrance exams. You know I'm holding back. Just like you are."
Kelvin's jaw tightened.
"Ah." Gifted straightened, satisfied. "There it is. The 'oh no, he knows' face. Classic."
"I don't know what you're—"
"Save it." Gifted tossed his apple core over his shoulder. It hit a passing student in the head. "Sorry! Wind currents! Very mysterious!" He turned back to Kelvin, all business suddenly. "Fine. I'll train you. But you should know—I don't do 'nice.' I don't do 'encouraging.' And I definitely don't do 'let's take a water break, I'm feeling delicate.'"
"I don't need nice."
"You need a miracle." Gifted started walking toward the training grounds. "Come on, Rank Ninety-Seven. Let's see if you can survive being mediocre."
"Again."
Kelvin threw a punch. Gifted leaned left. The air sighed where his face had been.
"Slow."
Another punch. Gifted leaned right.
"Predictable."
A combination—jab, cross, hook. Gifted danced backward, hands in his pockets, yawning.
"Boring. Boring. tragically boring."
Kelvin snarled and lunged with a spinning backfist. Gifted ducked, stuck out his foot, and watched Kelvin eat dirt.
"Also," Gifted said, looking down at him, "your balance is terrible. Did you train on boats? In storms? During earthquakes?"
Kelvin spat out grass. "I hate you."
"Good. Hate is fuel." Gifted offered a hand, then pulled it back when Kelvin reached for it. "Psych. Up you get, lazybones. Break's over."
"We didn't have a break."
"Exactly."
During recess
They sat on the equipment shed roof, legs dangling, watching other students fail at basic chakra control below. One kid had accidentally set his own hair on fire. Another was stuck to a wall via static electricity.
"Your problem," Gifted said, tearing into an onigiri he'd stolen from somewhere, "is you think too much."
"I think too much," Kelvin repeated flatly.
"Yeah. Every punch, you're calculating angles, predicting counters, planning three moves ahead." Gifted talked with his mouth full, rice spraying. "Fighting isn't chess. It's…" He searched for the word. "Jazz."
"Jazz."
"Improvisation. Flow. You ever watch a river? It doesn't plan how to get around rocks. It just goes."
Kelvin wiped sweat from his eyes. "This is terrible advice."
"Probably." Gifted finished his onigiri, licked his fingers, and stood. "Back to work. This time, no thinking. Just react."
"How do I not think?"
Gifted smiled. Then he kicked Kelvin off the roof.
"AAHHH—!"
Kelvin hit the ground rolling, somehow managing not to break anything. When he looked up, Gifted was already descending, flipping casually through the air like gravity was optional.
"See?" Gifted landed in a crouch. "You didn't think about that landing. You just did it. Muscle memory. Instinct." He straightened, brushing off his knees. "Now try to hit me while you're angry."
Kelvin was already moving.
Something shifted.
Kelvin stopped planning. Stopped calculating. His body moved on its own—dodging, weaving, striking. A punch slipped through Gifted's guard, grazing his shoulder. A kick forced him to actually block instead of just leaning away.
Gifted's eyes widened. "There. That's it."
"What?" Kelvin gasped, not stopping.
"That!" Gifted parried a flurry of strikes, actually working now. "You're not thinking! You're just—moving!"
Kelvin felt it too—a strange emptiness in his head, like static. His father's voice, the nightmares, the hospital room—all of it faded to white noise. There was only his breath, his heartbeat, and the next movement.
He feinted left, spun right, and drove his elbow toward Gifted's ribs.
Gifted caught it—barely—twisted, and threw Kelvin over his hip. But Kelvin rolled through it, came up swinging, and forced Gifted to actually backpedal.
They separated, both breathing hard.
"Better," Gifted admitted. "Still sloppy. Still slow. But better."
Kelvin grinned despite himself. "High praise."
"Don't get used to it." Gifted stretched his neck, popping something. "One more hour. Then we see if you can actually apply this in a real—"
The academy bell rang. End of day.
Gifted checked the sky, surprised. "Huh. Time flies when you're torturing friends."
"We're friends now?"
"Don't make it weird." Gifted started walking toward the gates. "Same time tomorrow?"
Kelvin hesitated. "You'd really keep doing this?"
Gifted stopped. Didn't turn around. "You know why I failed theory?"
"Because you didn't study?"
"Because I couldn't read." Silence stretched. "Not 'didn't.' 'Couldn't.' Letters move around for me. Always have. Teachers thought I was lazy. Stupid." He finally looked back, something sharp in his expression. "But I can fight. I can move. And when I'm moving, the world makes sense in a way books never will."
Kelvin didn't know what to say.
"So yeah," Gifted continued, normal again, "I'll keep training you. Because you actually listen. Because you're not terrible. And because—" he smirked "—watching you suffer is the highlight of my day."
"You're a terrible person."
"Rank forty-nine, remember? Terrible is my brand."
——
The sun bled orange across the training grounds. Long shadows stretched like fingers reaching for something they couldn't grasp.
Kelvin couldn't feel his arms.
"Up."
"Can't."
"Up."
"Literally. Cannot. Feel. Arms."
Gifted nudged him with his foot. "Then use your legs. Crawl. Slither. I don't care. We're not done."
Kelvin lay on his back, staring at darkening sky, wondering if death would take him before Gifted did. They'd moved from hand-to-hand to weapons—wooden swords that left bruises even through protective gear. Gifted had beaten him like a drum for forty minutes straight.
"You look," Gifted observed, circling him like a shark, "like a sad noodle. Like a deflated balloon. Like someone whispered 'taxes' to a child."
"Shut. Up."
"Like a—"
Kelvin threw a rock. Gifted caught it, because of course he did.
"See? Still got energy." Gifted tossed the rock aside. "One more round. Winner buys dinner."
"I don't have money."
"Then don't lose."
Gifted tossed him a wooden sword. Kelvin caught it—barely—and staggered to his feet. His legs shook. His vision blurred at the edges. Somewhere, a responsible adult was probably horrified by this.
"Ready?" Gifted asked, not waiting for an answer.
He came in fast—faster than before, actually trying now. Their wooden blades clashed, the impact vibrating up Kelvin's arms like lightning. Gifted pressed forward, relentless, and Kelvin gave ground, step by step, until his back hit the fence.
"Cornered," Gifted sing-songed. "Trapped. Doomed. Like a—"
Kelvin dropped.
Not fell—dropped, deliberately, letting his knees buckle. Gifted's strike whistled over his head. Kelvin drove upward, shoulder catching Gifted's stomach, and kept pushing—up, up, until they both went over the fence in a tangle of limbs and cursing.
They hit the dirt on the other side. Kelvin somehow ended up on top, wooden blade pressed to Gifted's throat.
Both stared at each other.
Then Gifted laughed—really laughed, loud and genuine and surprised.
"Cheater!"
"Improvisation," Kelvin gasped, rolling off him. "Jazz."
"Oh, you're learning. You're actually learning." Gifted sat up, wiping dirt from his face, grinning like a maniac. "Tomorrow, we start ninjutsu. I want to see if you can actually do more than punch things."
Kelvin groaned. "You're going to make me explode something, aren't you?"
"Probably." Gifted stood, offered his hand—actually helped Kelvin up this time. "But first, food. I'm starving, and you owe me a victory dinner."
"I didn't lose?"
"You didn't win either. That was a mutual humiliation." Gifted slung an arm around Kelvin's shoulders, leaning on him heavily. "Come on, Sad Noodle. Let's find ramen."
They limped toward the village together—two bruised, exhausted boys who'd somehow become something like friends.
Behind them, the training grounds fell silent.
And somewhere in the darkness, red eyes watched.