Three months passed in a steady, rhythmic blur.
Akira found himself genuinely amazed by the Academy's curriculum. It wasn't just throwing kunai; they actually taught science, geography, and history. However, the school only operated for half a day, and children from noble clans were frequently granted special holidays.
The reason was obvious: the village expected the clans to spend their afternoons drilling secret family techniques. Combined with a two-day weekend, Akira had an immense amount of free time to exploit.
For the first ninety days, life in Class 3A was remarkably mundane. The civilian children spent most of their energy debating playground drama—the girls ranking the "most handsome" boys, while the boys bickering over the "most beautiful" girl. Akira successfully kept his name off both lists.
That peace fractured on a crisp Tuesday morning.
The classroom door slid open, and Daichi-sensei dropped a heavy clipboard onto the podium.
"Alright, quiet down!" Daichi-sensei barked. "Three months of theory is over. Today is your first official practical sparring test. Everyone outside to the rings."
The class groaned and shuffled out to form a circle around the dirt ring. The matches proceeded exactly as Akira expected—clumsy and overly aggressive. He waited patiently near the back until Daichi-sensei scanned his clipboard.
"Next match: Hyūga Akira versus Uchiha Rio!"
A sudden murmur rippled through the students. Uchiha Rio stepped into the ring with an obnoxious smirk, pointing right at Akira.
"You should probably just throw in the towel now, Hyūga," Rio bragged loudly. "An average branch kid like you doesn't stand a chance against an elite bloodline. Try not to cry too hard in front of the class."
Behind the line, several civilian girls immediately giggled. "Go get him, Rio-kun!"
Akira stepped into the circle, his face a flawless mask. He didn't drop into the traditional Gentle Fist stance—doing so would broadcast his true discipline. Instead, he stood in a loose, completely basic Academy posture.
"Match begin!" Daichi-sensei yelled.
"Don't blink!" Rio shouted, lunging forward with a heavy, highly telegraphed right hook aimed directly at Akira's jaw.
To Akira, the Uchiha boy was moving through deep mud. He didn't use a single drop of chakra. As Rio's fist closed the distance, Akira simply stepped inside the strike's blind spot, capturing the boy's overextended wrist with a fluid touch. He pivoted on his heel and gave a precise, gentle pull—perfectly redirecting Rio's massive forward momentum against him.
Rio's eyes widened in sudden panic as his own speed dragged him right off his feet. With a clumsy stumble, the Uchiha boy sailed cleanly over the white chalk border, crashing hard into the dirt outside.
The courtyard fell into dead silence.
"Match over! Winner: Hyūga Akira!" Daichi-sensei announced.
Following protocol, Akira stepped forward and extended his fingers. Rio, pushing himself up while turning a bright, furious red, reluctantly raised his hand to complete the traditional Seal of Reconciliation. Both boys showed the formal peace sign.
But the moment their fingers separated, Rio snapped. "That was garbage! You didn't even fight like a real shinobi! You didn't use ninjutsu, you just tripped me like a coward!"
Akira simply turned his back, entirely ignoring the boy's outburst. He walked calmly back to his place in line.
The moment the final bell rang, Akira grabbed his canvas bag, offered a quick goodbye to his friends Yuki and Daiki, and took the quietest path back to his isolated home.
He unlocked the front door, shaking his head faintly at the sight in the courtyard. Po was fast asleep, his massive, fluffy body squeezed entirely inside the large wooden training wheel. Nearby, Snowy was sitting elegantly on a stone post, playing with small snowflakes that danced through the air around her feathers.
Heading straight into the kitchen, Akira opened the refrigerator, slicing a large, cold watermelon to hydrate. Then, he fired up the stove to prepare a massive meal of crispy chicken fry and a mountain of steaming white rice.
He neatly placed the pet food portions into the wooden bowls on the porch before sitting down to finish his own massive plate.
With his meal finished, the real work began. Akira stepped into the living room and formed a precise hand sign. With two synchronized poofs of white smoke, a pair of identical Shadow Clones materialized.
"You know the parameters," the original Akira said calmly.
The two clones nodded.
The first clone walked over to the low wooden desk, unrolling a dense scroll on basic seals, and began to study and copy the characters. The second clone walked out to the quiet courtyard, sitting cross-legged to control and manipulate long, thin strands of blue chakra threads in the air.
Meanwhile, the original Akira turned toward the kitchen counter, pulling out a stone mortar and pestle along with a collection of raw medicinal plants he had gathered.
He began processing the herbs, grinding the roots and leaves with measured pressure. As the crushed ingredients combined and began heating over a small clay burner, a deeply pungent, incredibly smelly green potion began to concoct, filling the room with a sharp, medicinal odor.
Akira watched the bubbling liquid, his expression neutral, waiting patiently for the formula to finish.
With a calm, steady hand, Akira poured the sour, bubbling green mixture into a rough clay cup. It looked thick, smelled terrible, and tasted even worse. Without hesitating, he knocked it back in a single gulp, coughing slightly as the bitter liquid burned a trail down his throat.
"Ugh... that never gets any better," he muttered to himself, wiping his mouth.
Leaving the empty cup on the counter, he walked over to the living room and collapsed onto the soft fabric of the sofa. Almost immediately, a deep, heavy warmth began to bloom in the center of his chest. It didn't hurt, but it felt as if his entire skeleton was slowly soaking in a thick, dense weight. He could feel his muscle fibers absorbing the nutrients, his deep bone density strengthening millimeter by millimeter under the skin. The exhaustion of the day caught up to him, and he closed his eyes, drifting into a deep, restorative sleep.
An hour later, a sharp poof echoed through the quiet house.
Akira's eyes snapped open as a sudden rush of information flooded his brain. The first shadow clone, which had been sitting at the desk studying the basic sealing arrays, had dispersed. Dozens of stroke order corrections, geometric alignments, and detailed structural notes on Fūinjutsu locked perfectly into his active memory.
He rubbed his temples, letting the new knowledge settle. "Alright, so the lower anchor line needs a tighter curve to hold the chakra stability. Good to know."
He closed his eyes again, letting his body continue to process the heavy, grounding heat of the medicinal soup.
Exactly one hour after that, a second poof drifted in from the courtyard.
Another wave of mental feedback washed over him. This time, it was the raw, physical memory of micro-managing the seventeen-meter chakra threads through the air. His fingers twitched slightly on the sofa as his brain registered the exact tension, density, and flow required to keep the thin blue lines from snapping against the wind.
Akira sat up, stretching his arms until his back popped. The heavy, lead-like feeling in his limbs was finally fading, replaced by a deep sense of solid, compact strength.
This was his absolute routine. Every single day, hidden away from the prying eyes of the Hyūga clan and the competitive gaze of the Academy, he repeated these exact steps—quietly engineering his own physical growth while relentlessly expanding the library of knowledge inside his head.
Outside the window, the sun was just beginning to dip below the tree line. Akira stood up, looking out at Po and Snowy, completely satisfied with another day of invisible progress.