[ Ken Shimura POV ]
Training Ground 3 was empty when I arrived at dawn, the sky still caught between night and morning. Mist clung to the practice posts scattered across the clearing, and the air smelled of wet earth and pine.
I'd debated coming. Gai's invitation had been enthusiastic—overwhelming, even—but training with him meant exposure. Still, the opportunity to spar with Rock Lee, to test my enhanced reserves against someone with real skill, was too valuable to pass up.
A green blur materialized from the treeline.
Rock Lee landed in the center of the clearing, his arrival so sudden I barely tracked the movement. He straightened, saw me, and his face split into that earnest smile.
"Shimura-san! You came!"
"You said dawn training."
"Yes! Gai-sensei will be pleased!" Lee gestured toward the practice area. "He is completing his morning run—two hundred laps around the village. He will return soon."
Two hundred laps. Before breakfast. I kept my expression neutral.
"You usually train alone until then?"
"I practice the forms Gai-sensei taught me. Repetition builds strength!" Lee moved into a ready stance, his movements crisp despite the early hour. "Would you like to warm up? Light sparring?"
Light sparring with someone who trained under Might Gai. I ran a quick assessment—Lee was older, probably fifteen or sixteen, with years of dedicated training. My system-granted knowledge gave me technical understanding, but Lee had actual combat experience.
This would be educational.
"Sure."
We moved to the center of the clearing. Lee maintained his stance—textbook Academy form, but refined, polished through countless repetitions.
"Standard rules? No strikes to disable, match ends at first solid contact or submission?"
"Works for me."
Lee bowed. I returned it.
Then he moved.
Fast. Faster than I'd expected from someone still in the Academy standard stance. His opening combination was basic—jab, cross, low kick—but executed with precision that made basic dangerous.
I blocked the jab, redirected the cross, shifted back from the kick. My body responded with the muscle memory the system had provided, movements flowing without conscious thought.
Lee's eyes widened slightly. He pressed forward with a different combination, testing my defense.
I caught the pattern—he was probing, looking for weaknesses, adjusting his approach based on my responses. Smart fighting. Tactical.
I countered with a simple combination of my own, nothing fancy, just enough to force him to react rather than attack.
He blocked cleanly, then surprised me with a sweep I almost didn't see coming. I jumped back, reset my stance.
"You have good fundamentals," Lee said, and he sounded genuinely pleased. "Your blocks are solid!"
"You're faster than you look."
"Gai-sensei says speed without strength is incomplete, but strength without speed is useless!" He came in again, this time with a more complex sequence.
I defended, looking for openings. The problem was Lee didn't leave many. His form was too clean, his transitions too smooth. Every attack flowed into the next, every defense positioned him for counter-strikes.
This was what real training looked like. Not system-granted knowledge, but years of daily practice under expert instruction.
I needed to adapt.
Lee threw a high kick. I ducked under it, closed distance, aimed a body shot—
He twisted away, already moving into his next combination. The exchange accelerated, both of us testing limits, neither landing solid contact.
My reserves made the difference. Where I should have been tiring, breathing hard from the sustained pace, I felt fine. The chakra enhancement wasn't just about capacity—it improved my body's overall efficiency.
But Lee wasn't slowing either. His stamina was incredible, built through whatever insane training regimen Gai had designed.
We broke apart, circling.
"You are better than you appeared during our run," Lee observed.
"You're better than most Academy students."
"I cannot use ninjutsu or genjutsu. Taijutsu is my only path." He said it matter-of-factly, without bitterness. "So I must become excellent at it."
Before I could respond, another voice boomed across the clearing.
"LEE! I SEE YOU HAVE FOUND A SPARRING PARTNER!"
Might Gai appeared at the edge of the training ground, not even breathing hard despite apparently completing two hundred laps. His smile was blinding in the early light.
"YOSH! SHIMURA-KUN! EXCELLENT DEDICATION, ARRIVING SO EARLY!"
"Gai-sensei." I bowed properly.
"I HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOUR MATCH!" He strode over, studying me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "YOUR FUNDAMENTALS ARE SOUND! YOUR FOOTWORK SHOWS PROMISE! BUT—" He raised one finger dramatically. "—YOU HOLD BACK!"
"I'm just—"
"SPARRING IS TRAINING, NOT COMBAT! BUT TRAINING WITH HESITATION BUILDS HESITANT HABITS!" He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rock me forward. "YOU MUST COMMIT FULLY TO EACH TECHNIQUE, EVEN IN PRACTICE! THIS IS HOW WE IMPROVE!"
Lee nodded enthusiastically. "Gai-sensei is correct! Half-effort creates half-results!"
"Lee, demonstrate the form we practiced yesterday," Gai instructed.
Lee moved to the center of the clearing and began a kata I didn't recognize—flowing combinations that transitioned between offense and defense, each movement building on the last. It was beautiful in its efficiency, every motion purposeful.
"THIS IS THE STRONG FIST STYLE!" Gai announced. "DIRECT, POWERFUL, OVERWHELMING! EACH STRIKE COMMITTED FULLY! WATCH HOW LEE'S WEIGHT TRANSFERS WITH EACH MOVEMENT!"
I watched Lee's form channeled through perfect technique.
When he finished, Gai turned to me. "NOW YOU TRY! COPY WHAT YOU SAW!"
Impossible request. That kata required months of practice to execute properly. I'd seen it once.
But my system-enhanced memory had recorded every movement. And my body had the muscle memory for similar techniques.
I moved through the sequence slowly, breaking it into components, feeling out the transitions. Not perfect—nowhere close—but recognizable.
Gai's eyebrows rose. "IMPRESSIVE! TO REPLICATE EVEN PARTIALLY ON FIRST VIEWING SHOWS EXCELLENT BODY AWARENESS!"
"It wasn't very good," I said honestly.
"IT'S A BEGINNING TO GREATNESS!" He grinned. "AND BEGINNINGS CONTAIN THE SEEDS OF MASTERY! COME! WE WILL WORK ON YOUR FOUNDATION!"
The next hour was brutal. Gai put me through drills that targeted every weakness in my form, corrected my stances with hands-on adjustments that were surprisingly gentle, and demonstrated variations on basic techniques that revealed depths I hadn't considered.
Lee trained alongside me, performing the same exercises despite clearly having mastered them long ago. Leading by example, Gai called it.
By the time the sun cleared the horizon, I was sweat-soaked and genuinely tired—the first real fatigue I'd felt since the chakra enhancement.
"EXCELLENT WORK, SHIMURA-KUN!" Gai handed me a water bottle. "YOU HAVE POTENTIAL! CONTINUE TRAINING WITH THIS DEDICATION AND YOU WILL BECOME STRONG!"
"Thank you, Gai-sensei."
"WILL YOU RETURN TOMORROW?"
I hesitated. Tomorrow was the competition. The day after...
"Maybe the day after tomorrow."
"YOSH! WE WILL BE HERE!" He gave me a thumbs-up, teeth gleaming "REMEMBER—TRAIN WITH FULL COMMITMENT, OR DO NOT TRAIN AT ALL!"
I bowed to both of them and headed back toward the village, body aching in ways that felt earned rather than system-granted.
The training had been valuable. Gai saw things I couldn't—inefficiencies in my movement, gaps in my understanding. His corrections would make me better.
But with the techniques he taught me was half step to rise in tomorrow competition.
And for the rest half, I'd be spending time with my clone to correct my flaws in openings.
. . .
Aunt Yuki was waiting when I got home, dressed in civilian clothes, her hair down.
"You're up early," she observed.
"Went to train."
She tossed me a towel. "Clean up. We're going out."
"Where?"
"Flower shop. Then the memorial." Her tone was casual, but I caught the weight beneath it. "Usually go alone, but figured you might want to come."
The memorial stone. Where my parents' names were carved alongside thousands of other shinobi who'd died in service to the village. Where her husband's name sat three rows from the bottom.
I'd been once, right after arriving in Konoha. The stone had been overwhelming—so many names, so many dead. I'd stood there not knowing what to feel, disconnected from parents I barely remembered.
"Okay."
Twenty minutes later, showered and changed, I walked beside Aunt Yuki through morning-quiet streets toward the commercial district. Shops were opening, vendors setting up stalls, the village transitioning from dawn to day.
Yamanaka Flowers sat on a corner lot, its windows already bright with arranged bouquets. The shop was larger than I'd expected, well-maintained, clearly successful.
A bell chimed as we entered.
The interior smelled like earth and growing things—dozens of flower varieties arranged in careful displays. Everything was color-coded, organized, beautiful in that deliberate way that spoke of expert curation.
"Yuki-san!" A woman emerged from the back room, blonde hair pulled into a practical ponytail, her smile warm and genuine. "Right on schedule."
"Wouldn't miss it, Ayame-san." Aunt Yuki moved to the counter where several wrapped bouquets waited. "These are perfect."
Yamanaka Ayame—I recognized the clan name from Academy lessons. She noticed me and smiled.
"You must be Ken. Yuki's mentioned you" She packaged the bouquets with practiced efficiency. "You're in the Academy, yes? Final year?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"My daughter Ino is in her final year too. Yamanaka Ino—do you know her?"
I'd seen her around. Blonde hair, always surrounded by friends, usually near the Uchiha kid that half the girls obsessed over. We'd never spoken.
"I know who she is."
"Smart girl. Top marks in theory." Ayame handed the flowers to Aunt Yuki. "Though between you and me, she spends too much time worrying about boys and not enough time on her practical skills."
"Ayame," Aunt Yuki said, her tone gently warning.
"What? It's true. The monthly competition is tomorrow and she's finally entering, but I'd bet money she's doing it to impress Sasuke Uchiha rather than actually test herself."
The shop bell chimed again. A blonde girl entered—speak of the devil—stopped short seeing her mother, then noticed Aunt Yuki and me.
"Mom, I thought you'd be in the back—oh." Her eyes flicked to me, brief assessment, then back to her mother. "I need money for lunch. Sakura and I are—"
"Ino, this is Yuki-san from the hospital, and her nephew Ken. He's in your year at the Academy."
Ino looked at me properly this time. "Shimura, right? You sit middle row."
"Yeah."
Awkward pause. Her mother watched with barely concealed amusement.
"Are you entering the competition tomorrow?" Ayame asked her daughter.
"Yes." Ino's tone was defensive. "I've been training."
"I'm sure you have." Ayame handed her some coins. "And you had to fight Sakura"
"Maybe." Ino pocketed the money. "I should go. Sakura's waiting."
But she hesitated, glancing at the wrapped bouquets. "Memorial visit?"
"Yes," Aunt Yuki said quietly.
Ino's expression softened. "That's... I'm sorry. For your losses."
"Thank you."
She left with a small wave, bell chiming behind her.
Ayame shook her head. "She's a good kid. Just distracted lately. That Uchiha boy has half the girls in her class tied in knots."
"Young love," Aunt Yuki said taking a glance at me, as I sighed.
Ayame smiled "Anyway. Ken—good luck tomorrow. Show them what you can do."
Outside, walking toward the memorial, Aunt Yuki glanced at me.
"First time meeting Ino?"
"First time talking to her."
"Seemed nice enough."
"Seemed distracted."
"Most Academy students are." She shifted the flowers to her other arm. "You're not, though. You've been focused lately. Training hard."
I didn't know what to say to that. She noticed more than I gave her credit for.
"The competition matters to you," she continued. It wasn't a question.
"It's a chance to test what I've learned."
"Just don't forget—it's also just a competition. Win or lose, you're still you. Still learning. Still growing." She smiled slightly. "No need to prove anything to anyone but yourself."
Simple advice. The kind aunts gave. But hearing it settled something in my chest I hadn't realized was tense.
"Thanks."
We walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
The memorial stone stood in a quiet grove on the village's edge, names carved in neat rows across black granite. Hundreds of names. Thousands.
Aunt Yuki placed flowers at the base, her fingers tracing over three specific names—her husband, my father, my mother.
"They'd be proud of you," she said quietly. "Your parents. Seeing you work hard. Becoming your own person."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to feel about parents who were just names and faded photographs.
"Your uncle was a great Shinobi as well" She smiled faintly. "We met at the hospital. He was terrible at following post-mission care instructions. Kept coming back with preventable injuries
"Ambush during the Nine-Tails attack. He was trying to evacuate civilians." She touched his name again. "Died doing what he believed in. Can't ask for more than that."
The simplicity of her grief struck me—no dramatic declarations, no theatrical mourning. Just quiet acceptance and memory.
We stood there for a while, morning sun filtering through the trees, village sounds distant and muted.
Finally, Aunt Yuki straightened. "Come on. You've got a competition tomorrow. Need proper rest."
Walking back, I thought about names on stone. About people who'd died for the village, whose legacies were carved granite and fading memory.
Heavy thoughts for a thirteen-year-old.
But shinobi didn't get the luxury of avoiding heavy thoughts.
The Academy training ground was packed by the time I arrived the next morning, students clustered around the competition brackets posted near the entrance. The atmosphere buzzed with nervous energy and competitive excitement.
I found my name in the preliminary bracket—first match against Taro Miyamoto, a second-year I vaguely recognized. Scheduled for third bout of the morning.
Takeshi appeared at my elbow, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
"Did you see? I'm in the fourth match! If we both win, we could face each other in round two!
The main training hall had been converted into a proper competition venue—central mat for matches, judges' table along one side, seating areas for spectators. Students filled the stands, their conversations creating a constant background hum.
Iruka stood near the judges' table with two other instructors, reviewing paperwork and occasionally glancing at the gathered competitors.
I spotted Ino in the warm-up area.
Near her, Sakura stretched while both watching Sasuke Uchiha, who sat alone with his eyes closed, clearly visualizing his matches.
The Uchiha was entering, I noted from the bracket. He was fully confident for sure to win this based on his consistent top-tier performance in class.
Ino would face someone named Reina Akimoto in the second match of round one. Another girl I vaguely recognized but had never spoken to.
"ATTENTION!" Iruka's voice cut through the noise. "Competitors, find your designated areas. Spectators, take your seats. We'll begin in five minutes."
The crowd settled. Competitors moved to the warm-up section, stretching and running through shadow techniques.
I found a quiet corner and centered myself, running through mental preparations. The plan was simple—win convincingly enough to advance.
The announcer—one of the instructors—called the first match.
Two students I didn't know took the mat, bowed, and began their bout. Standard Academy techniques, enthusiastic but unrefined. The match ended in ninety seconds with a clean throw.
"Second match—Ino Yamanaka versus Reina Akimoto!"
Ino walked to the mat with confident posture, her expression focused. Reina looked nervous but determined.
They bowed.
"Begin!"
Ino moved first, testing with a quick jab combination that Reina blocked awkwardly. But Ino didn't press—she circled, looking for openings, fighting tactically rather than aggressively.
Smart. She was reading her opponent, letting Reina make mistakes.
When Reina overcommitted to a high kick, Ino swept her supporting leg and followed up with a controlled strike to score the point.
The judge's hand came down. "Match! Winner—Ino Yamanaka!"
Polite applause from the stands. Ino helped Reina up, exchanged a few words, then walked off.
As she passed the warm-up area, her eyes met mine for a brief second. A small nod—acknowledgment between competitors.
I nodded back.
"Third match—Ken Shimura versus Taro Miyamoto!"
I walked to the ground, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes tracking my movement. Taro was already there, a stocky kid with confident posture and taped knuckles.
We bowed.
The judge raised his hand. "Begin!"
Taro came in hard and fast, opening with an aggressive combination clearly meant to overwhelm. But I could see the gaps in his form, the telegraphed transitions, the weight distribution that left him vulnerable to counters.
My body wanted to exploit every weakness. The system-knowledge screamed at me to end this in seconds.
Instead, I defended conservatively, blocked his strikes, gave ground.
Let him think he was in control.
Then I countered with simple combination from textbook Academy technique and caught him off-balance. He stumbled, recovered, came back angrier.
Time to finish this.
I feinted high, went low, swept his legs cleanly. Taro went down hard. I followed up with a controlled strike that stopped just short of contact—clear point under competition rules.
The judge's hand came down "Match! Winner—Ken Shimura!"
Polite applause from the stands. Taro accepted my hand up, looking frustrated but not angry.
"Good match" he muttered.
"You too"
I walked off, heart rate barely elevated, breathing normal. Behind me, the announcer was already calling the fourth match—Takeshi versus some student I didn't recognize.
First round complete.
Fifteen more matches to go before round two.
Where the real test would begin.