Ishiguro Renji wakes as the first light of the sun falls on his face.
He quickly rises from bed, enters the bathroom, and prepares for training.
Without waking his parents, he opens the window of his room and leaps down into the backyard.
Scaling the wall with practised ease, he jumps over and lands on the street outside.
He walks briskly through the quiet morning and, within minutes, steps into the training ground near his home.
He begins with kunai throwing, using it as a warm-up before the real work begins.
Ishiguro Renji plants his feet firmly and begins with taijutsu drills, fists cutting through the morning air in sharp, rhythmic strikes.
He pivots into kicks, low sweeps, and sudden bursts forward, pushing his body to move faster, stronger, and smoother with each repetition.
When sweat dampens his forehead, he drops to the ground and launches into push-ups, then flips onto his fingers to test his control and balance.
Switching focus, he closes his eyes, forms the hand seal for concentration, and starts drawing his chakra through his body.
The energy pulses faintly, uneven at first, before steadying into a controlled current that circles from his core to his limbs.
Renji presses his hands together, guiding chakra to his soles, and steps onto a nearby stone wall to practice the leaf concentration exercise adapted for earth-natured chakra.
Each step feels heavy, as if the earth itself resists him, but he persists, grounding his chakra until the stone beneath his feet no longer crumbles.
Sliding back down, he crouches, slams his palm onto the dirt, and attempts a simple Doton technique—raising a small wall of earth.
The first try sputters, soil trembling but not rising, so he funnels more chakra, sharpens the shape in his mind, and the ground heaves upward into a crude slab.
Panting, he grins, already calculating how to refine the control—less chakra waste, cleaner form, greater stability.
Renji wipes the sweat from his brow, steadying his breathing, when the gate of the training ground creaks open.
A chunin steps in, older by nearly ten years, the standard flak jacket tight across his shoulders.
Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and both nod politely.
Renji returns to his stance, channelling chakra, while the chunin settles in at another corner of the field.
Renji slams his palm into the ground, coaxing a ripple of stone upward into a solid wall—his first earth-style ninjutsu.
The chunin glances over, suppressing a sigh, then bites his thumb to begin clone practice, three imperfect copies flickering around him.
Renji follows with the second, grinding his chakra into the soil to pull up jagged stone spears, their edges rough but deadly.
The chunin transforms into a nearby boulder, form unstable, outline blurring as the jutsu wavers.
Renji doesn't pause, moving to the third, pressing his fists together as he hardens his skin with chakra, forming a crude shell of earth—his defence taking shape.
The chunin pushes through his body flicker drills, panting with effort, while sneaking glances at Renji's progress.
Jealousy sharpens in his eyes—Renji, barely a boy, mastering three elemental basics, while he is still chained to academy techniques with only the stone fist jutsu as his one real weapon.
Renji doesn't notice, lost in the steady rhythm of effort, sweat, and earth rising at his command.
The village hums awake, merchants raising shutters, smoke curling from chimneys, and Renji's breaths grow shallow as his chakra dwindles and hunger gnaws at him.
He stops, bows his head politely to the chunin, and says goodbye before vanishing with a crisp body flicker, his figure reappearing at his doorstep in a heartbeat.
He slides the door open, greets his parents, and his mother smiles warmly, telling him to sit because breakfast is ready.
Renji shakes his head, replying that he must wash first, then strides into the bathroom.
Minutes later, freshly cleaned, he eats quickly, his mother's cooking filling the emptiness in his stomach.
Back in his room, he sits cross-legged, refining the food into chakra, the familiar warmth spreading through his coils.
Yet something else lingers in the air—an unknown energy, faint but undeniable, seeping into his senses.
He frowns, remembering the first time he practised chakra refinement a year ago, when he felt this same strange presence but dismissed it as imagination.
Now it is clear, flowing all around him, brushing against his skin like invisible currents.
He mutters that he should ask his teacher about it, curiosity and caution mixing in his tone.
As the last traces of chakra recovery settle, his mother's voice rises from below, calling that his friends are here.
He blinks in confusion, whispering to himself that he has friends, before standing and heading downstairs.
He opens the door to find three boys and two girls his age waiting, their faces familiar from the ninja school.
He remembers—they once shared the same class before he graduated early, only six months into schooling.
Renji looks at them with wary curiosity and asks why they have come.
Renji's hand lingers on the doorframe as he studies the five standing before him, sunlight catching on their nervous faces.
The tallest boy steps forward first—Takeshi, broad-shouldered with close-cropped black hair and a scar over his right eyebrow that makes him look fiercer than he is. His brown eyes soften when he meets Renji's gaze, though his fists clench at his sides.
Beside him is Kenta, shorter and wirier, his spiky brown hair sticking out in every direction, freckles dotting his cheeks. He fidgets constantly, as if his body refuses stillness.
On Takeshi's other side stands Daichi, round-faced, a little chubby, with kind grey eyes and a hesitant smile. He seems the least martial among them, his hands tucked nervously into his sleeves.
The girls stand slightly behind. The first, Hana, has long straight black hair tied in a neat ribbon and sharp eyes that glimmer with quiet intelligence. Her voice is calm, deliberate, and her bearing makes her look older than she is.
Next to her, Yui, with shoulder-length brown hair and a bright, open face, practically bounces on her toes. Her smile is wide, but her eyes betray worry.
It is Yui who speaks first, stepping forward with sudden resolve.
"We came to ask for your help, Renji."
Renji tilts his head, curiosity piqued, and asks, "What help?"
Hana answers, her tone even but laced with concern. "Kenta… he's going to fight with Ryo Ishigami, from the Ishigami family, in a week."
Kenta bites his lip, eyes flickering away, before blurting, "You have to help me, Renji. Please. We're all just from civilian families. If I lose, I'll be humiliated—and they'll never stop tormenting me."
Renji feels the weight of their gazes—five pairs of pleading eyes locked on him.
He has never cared for the politics of civilian versus clan-born; as Tsuchikage's disciple, such divisions mean little to him.
But the sincerity in their eyes holds him still, and after a pause, he nods once.
"Yes."
Relief explodes into cheers, the five voices rising together, their joy unrestrained.
Together, they lead Renji down the street, the group's chatter rising as they make their way toward a scheduled training ground, determination already taking root in their steps.
The four—Takeshi, Daichi, Hana, and Yui—stand along the edge of the dusty training ground, their voices hushed as Kenta and Renji face each other.
Renji folds his arms, calm eyes fixed on Kenta. "Kenta, let's see your skill."
Kenta swallows hard, then nods. His expression sharpens, determination washing over the nervous tremble in his hands.
With a swift motion, he pulls kunai from his pouch and hurls them in a spread, hoping to pressure Renji.
Renji exhales, body moving fluidly as he sidesteps, one kunai grazing past his sleeve while the others glance off the ground. A flick of his wrist knocks the last aside with almost lazy precision.
Kenta grits his teeth, shouting to steady his racing heart, and charges forward.
The dirt kicks up beneath his sandals as he closes the gap, fists clenching, and swings a strike toward Renji's chest.
Renji slips aside effortlessly, his movements smooth, economical, as though Kenta's attacks pass through empty air.
Kenta follows with another punch, then a knee, then a desperate low kick.
Renji blocks them with casual ease, redirecting each strike without counterattacking, watching carefully.
The difference is stark—Kenta, only a year into the academy, still struggles with his basics, his clone and transformation sloppy, his chakra control unrefined.
Yet even so, his body moves with raw effort, the kind that only someone unwilling to give up can summon.
His breaths grow ragged, sweat dampening his forehead, but he keeps pressing forward, fists striking again and again at the unshakable wall before him.
Kenta keeps swinging, his fists cutting through the air, his legs kicking with uneven rhythm, his body trembling with exhaustion.
Renji moves like water, shifting just enough for each strike to miss, blocking only when necessary, never once counterattacking.
The sound of Kenta's ragged breathing fills the training ground, each inhale sharper, each exhale heavier.
His strikes slow, his steps drag, his shoulders slump, yet his eyes still burn with stubborn will.
Finally, his arm hangs mid-swing, too heavy to lift again, his body swaying before he stumbles back a step, chest heaving.
Renji lowers his hands, watching in silence as Kenta drops to one knee, sweat dripping to the ground.
The other four look on, worry flickering in their eyes, but no one dares break the stillness.
Renji steps forward at last, his voice calm. "That's enough, Kenta."
Kenta sits on the ground, panting, sweat streaking his face, his hands pressed to the dirt to steady himself.
The other four rush to his side, one offering a canteen, another patting his back, their voices mixing—concern, encouragement, and quiet relief that he lasted as long as he did.
Kenta waves them off weakly, forcing a grin through his exhaustion. "I'm fine… just need a moment."
Renji watches, arms folded, expression unreadable until he finally breaks the silence. "How is your practice with the three basic jutsu?"
The air stills, the other kids glance at each other, but Kenta lowers his gaze, shoulders tight.
"They're… okay?" he admits, voice uncertain, betraying the truth more than his words.
Renji's eyes narrow slightly. "Can you show me?"
Kenta swallows hard, then nods, pushing himself to his feet with trembling legs, determination flickering back in his eyes.
Renji watches Kenta fumble with his three jutsu, seeing the uncertainty in each move.
Kenta looks at him, hope flickering in his eyes.
"With your jutsu, you don't have any chance of winning," Renji says bluntly.
Kenta frowns. "Then… how can I win?"
Renji steps toward a nearby tree and begins walking along the trunk, balancing with ease before climbing onto a branch. "Let's first improve your chakra control."
The five kids' eyes widen in awe, watching his effortless movements.
Kenta approaches the same tree and tries to mimic him, but stumbles after two steps, falling to the ground. He grits his teeth and starts again, determined.
Renji turns to the other four. "You four, also climb the tree."
The four nod and begin their attempts, struggling but persistent.
Meanwhile, Renji lands on the training ground and begins practising the D-rank Earth Release: Rock Throw Technique, his movements precise and fluid, each rock thrown with controlled power.
After some time, an ANBU appears silently at the edge of the ground. "Renji, Tsukikage requests your presence," the masked figure says.