"Higher! Throw it higher!" Yuki shouted from across the plaza, her dark pigtails bouncing as she jumped to catch the cloth ball I'd tossed her way.
I put more strength into my next throw, watching the ball arc through the afternoon sunlight. At four years and three months old, I was getting better at judging distances and force, though I still sometimes overdid it when excited. The ball landed perfectly in Yuki's waiting hands, and she grinned triumphantly.
"Got it! Now catch this one, Tetsuya!"
The game of catch had started simple enough, but with four of us playing, it had evolved into something much more complex. Kenji and Masa, two boys I'd met during my village trips with Father, had joined us in the small plaza near the market district. What began as basic throwing had become a challenging game of keeping the ball moving between all four players without letting it touch the ground.
"Here comes a tricky one!" Kenji called out, sending the ball in a high arc that would require me to run several steps to catch it.
I sprinted toward where I thought it would land, my shorter legs working hard to cover the distance. The ball came down faster than expected, but I managed to get both hands under it just before it hit the stone pavement.
"Nice catch!" Masa said approvingly. He was the oldest of our group at five years old.
These afternoon games had become a regular part of my week. After morning training with the clan, I would often ask permission to visit my new friends. The games we played were simple but fun like catch, tag, and various made-up adventures where we pretended to be merchants, guards, or explorers.
"Let's play the traveling game," Yuki suggested when we'd grown tired of catch. She had a gift for organizing our group activities and coming up with creative scenarios.
Our "traveling game" involved one person leading an imaginary journey while the others played different roles like guards, guides, or fellow travelers. Today Yuki decided we were traders carrying goods through mountain passes, and I got to be the guard watching for danger.
The game was fun because it let me use some of what I'd learned in training. When Yuki described bandits attacking our caravan, I suggested positioning ourselves behind the stone formations around the plaza's edge for better defense.
"That's really smart thinking," my friend Kenji said admiringly. His parents ran a tool shop, and he always appreciated practical solutions.
"My cousin saw real ninja guards once," added Masa, who was five and the oldest of our group. "He said they could sense danger from far away."
As spring turned to summer, these friendships became an important part of my routine. My clan training was progressing well, I could now stick a leaf to my hand for almost a full minute, and my exercises were getting much more complex. But playing with village children taught me different lessons about cooperation and imagination.
"Tetsuya," Yuki said thoughtfully one afternoon as we shared snacks in the plaza's shade, "are you excited about starting at the Academy soon?"
The question made me realize something I'd been taking for granted. "Are you planning to go to the Academy too?"
"Of course!" Yuki said with excitement. "Papa says anyone can apply if they're willing to work hard. I want to learn ninja techniques and go on missions!"
"My parents aren't sure yet," Kenji admitted. "They think it might be too dangerous. But I want to try. Ninja get to travel and see amazing places."
Masa puffed out his chest proudly. "My older brother is already at the Academy. He's learning to throw kunai and everything! I definitely want to go."
"That's great!" I said, genuinely pleased. "We could all be classmates together."
"Won't you have advantages though?" Kenji asked curiously. "Since you're already training with your clan?"
I thought about that seriously. "Maybe some advantages, but the Academy teaches things my clan doesn't. And everyone brings different skills. Yuki's really good at organizing people, and Masa knows about construction, and you understand how tools work."
"Plus," Yuki added with determination, "if civilian kids couldn't become good ninja, they wouldn't let us try at all, right?"
"My brother says some of the best students in his class aren't from ninja families," Masa confirmed. "They work really hard because they want it so much."
The conversation shifted to what we hoped to learn at the Academy and what kinds of missions we might go on someday. It felt good knowing that my village friendships might continue even after we all started formal ninja training.
As summer progressed, I noticed changes in myself beyond just physical training. The tactical thinking from our imaginary adventures seemed to connect with lessons from clan training. When Elder Genzou taught us about positioning and awareness during exercises, I found myself remembering strategies I'd invented during games with my friends.
The village children also taught me about different kinds of families and work. Yuki's father the baker worked before dawn to have fresh bread ready when the village woke. Kenji's parents helped farmers and craftsmen by providing quality tools. Masa's family maintained the village's stone buildings and walls.
Ninja protects everyone, but we also depend on everyone else for food, tools, shelter, and countless other things.
---
By late summer, my training had advanced enough that I could sense my own chakra more clearly and even feel slight variations in the chakra of others when we held hands during clan exercises. This new sensitivity sometimes helped during games with my friends. I could tell when someone was about to change direction during tag, or when they were trying to surprise me.
"How did you know I was hiding behind that rock?" Masa asked after I'd found him quickly during a hiding game.
I wasn't sure how to explain the chakra sensing without making it sound like I was cheating. "I just... felt like you were there," I said honestly.
The summer also brought new challenges in training. Elder Genzou continued developing my meditation techniques, requiring me to sit perfectly still for longer periods than before. Some days my legs would fall asleep, and I'd struggle not to fidget even more than when we'd started at the memorial stone.
"Patience, young one," he would say. "The mind must learn to be as disciplined as the body."
But the hardest part wasn't the physical discomfort, it was learning to quiet my thoughts enough to truly focus for these extended sessions. My mind wanted to wander to plans for games with friends, or curiosity about what Mom was making in the forge, or excitement about techniques I might learn tomorrow. The peaceful moments I'd found at the memorial stone seemed harder to reach when asked to hold them longer.
"Everyone struggles with meditation at first," Emi-nee told me one afternoon when she noticed my frustration. At six years old, she was starting to attend Academy classes, but still joined our family training on weekends. "I used to count my breaths to help focus my mind."
Her suggestion helped. Counting gave my wandering thoughts something specific to do, and gradually I learned to extend the peaceful quiet moments longer.
As autumn approached, I realized how much had changed since my first nervous training session. My body was stronger, my chakra control was improving, and I was making real friends both within the clan and in the village. The games with Yuki, Kenji, and Masa had taught me as much about working with others as formal training exercises.
"You've grown a lot this year," Mom observed one evening as she measured me for new clothes. "Not just taller, but more confident."
"I feel different mom," I agreed. "Like I understand more about how things work."
"What kind of things?"
I thought about it. "How the village fits together. How training connects to real life. How being part of a family means helping each other."
Mom smiled and ruffled my hair. "Those are important lessons. And you're just getting started."
That night, as I lay in bed listening to the familiar sounds of the compound settling into evening quiet, I reflected on the past few months. I was still very young, but I was beginning to understand what it meant to be part of something larger than myself.
Outside my window, the first leaves of autumn were beginning to change color.