The clearing welcomed him in absolute silence.
Morning light filtered through the closed canopy in uneven beams, illuminating particles of dust and vapor slowly rising from the damp ground. The nearby stream flowed steadily, its gentle sound masking any noise that might betray his presence. The air was cold and heavy, thick with the scent of wet leaves and ancient wood.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No hidden eyes.
It was exactly what he needed.
He stopped at the center of the clearing, set his feet shoulder-width apart, and took several deep breaths, feeling his own body. Today was not exploration. It was not observation.
Today… was real training.
Carefully, he pulled a single green leaf from his pocket, still fresh, its veins clearly visible. He held it for a moment, almost as if mentally preparing himself, then placed it against his forehead.
He closed his eyes.
— *Control before power… always.*
He turned his focus inward. He tried to feel his chakra as he had before, but now with a clear objective: to keep it stable, thin, constant.
The chakra responded poorly.
It surged too fast, like a wave crashing against rocks. The leaf trembled… and fell.
He opened his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and bent down to pick it up.
— *Again.*
He placed the leaf on his forehead once more.
This time, he regulated his breathing more carefully. He inhaled slowly, held it for a moment, then released the air little by little. He imagined chakra not as something explosive, but as a thread being stretched with precision.
A faint warmth spread beneath the skin of his forehead.
The leaf trembled… and stuck.
His eyes opened immediately.
It held.
Not firmly. Not perfectly. The edges vibrated slightly, as if any distraction would be enough to make it fall. Even so, it remained there.
He kept his focus.
Seconds passed.
The effort was not visible, but it was constant. The muscles in his face began to tense, his legs stiffened, his entire body demanded absolute concentration. It was not direct physical exhaustion—it was mental strain.
Sweat slowly ran down the side of his face.
After a little more than a minute, the chakra wavered.
The leaf fell.
He did not get frustrated. He simply took a deep breath and noted it mentally.
— *One minute… better than nothing.*
He repeated the process.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each attempt lasted a little longer. Sometimes he failed in seconds. Other times, he managed to keep the leaf for nearly two minutes. The pattern was still unstable, but the sensation of control was beginning to form.
When he finally felt his mind too heavy to continue, he removed the leaf and sat down for a moment, placing his hands on the ground.
— *Chakra control isn't brute force… it's endurance.*
After a few minutes of rest, he stood up again.
Now came the physical part.
He started simply. Short runs around the clearing, weaving between roots and stones. His body was still young, not fully developed, but he pushed the pace within safe limits. Then push-ups, fists pressed into the uneven ground, feeling his muscles protest. Squats. Jumps.
Nothing sophisticated.
But consistent.
His body burned. His breathing shortened. Sweat soaked his clothes. Still, he continued, knowing that no amount of chakra could compensate for a weak body.
When he finally stopped, panting, he sat in the shade of a tree.
That was when his mind turned to something practical.
— *Weapons.*
Kunai. Shuriken. Basic tools of any ninja.
Later that day, he discreetly passed through a commercial area of the village. He observed simple shopfronts, blacksmith stalls, and specialized stores.
And he almost laughed.
— *Expensive…*
Too expensive.
Each kunai cost more than he considered reasonable. Shuriken in quantity were practically a luxury. For someone with no fixed income, no missions, no clan support… it was impossible.
— *Being a ninja isn't just about training… it's about maintaining equipment.*
As he walked back, the solution came naturally.
— *Wood.*
Back at the clearing near the end of the afternoon, he selected sturdy branches that had fallen recently. With a simple knife, he began carving. They wouldn't be real weapons, wouldn't pierce like metal, but they would serve for throwing practice, aim, and movement.
The work was slow. His hands hurt. Wood chips piled up on the ground.
But in the end, he had something functional.
Wooden kunai.
Simple shuriken, irregular but balanced.
— *Not pretty… but usable.*
As he organized the pieces, another thought surfaced.
— *Jutsu.*
More specifically… the first one.
The **Academy Clone Jutsu**.
Not the Shadow Clone.
Not a physical duplicate.
Just an illusion solid enough to fool inexperienced eyes.
— *The most basic jutsu there is…*
And precisely because of that, the most accessible.
His thoughts returned to the small number of belongings his parents had left behind. Few clothes. Some personal items. And simple scrolls, kept more out of sentiment than value.
Among them… he was sure there was one.
— *Every ninja learns this.*
— *Every basic manual teaches it.*
It was too common to be secret. Too simple to be forbidden.
— *If there's one jutsu I can learn on my own… it's this one.*
Sitting in the clearing, surrounded by leaves, wooden weapons, and the constant sound of the stream, he began to plan.
Mornings: chakra control.
Afternoons: physical training.
Nights: studying the clone jutsu.
No rush.
No drawing attention.
No unnecessary mistakes.
He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his body exhausted, but his mind strangely clear.
— *This is the rea
l beginning.*
And for the first time since arriving in that world, he was certain of something:
It wouldn't be talent that kept him alive.
It would be method.
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