The sun slowly arose over the village, stretching the shadows long and dark across the yard. I was already standing, in the middle of the training ground, stretching my body and reliving every virtual combat in my mind.
My body still hurt, but it was a dull sensation now—not a limitation.
Footsteps approached me from behind.
Father entered the yard, crossing his arms and narrowing his gaze. "You're early."
"Didn't sleep much," I replied, cracking my neck.
"Or you didn't sleep at all."
I said nothing. He smiled.
We began wordlessly—today, he struck first.
His motion was just as crisp, just as effective as yesterday. But I was paying attention to more than his hands and feet—I was paying attention to his intention. The tiny shift of his heel before a kick. The clench of his jaw before a switch. The slightest contraction in his shoulder.
I noticed the feint before he swung. I had countered with a clone that had detonated into smoke, and I had barely enough of an opening to duck under his swing and attack him from behind.
He spun halfway through motion—deflected my blow—and we both staggered back, gasping for air.
Then I pushed harder.
I utilized the Gale Palm to snap in close up close, backed by Mud Wolves who dispersed into different directions in order to divide his attention. One nipped at his ankle. Another attacked from behind.
He shook them off easily enough, but by then, I struck forward and found a firm connection across his shoulder.
He stumbled backward, and for one instant, we stood still.
His head slowly rotated. A grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.
"Well," he said, massaging his arm, "you've been working."
I didn't answer. I just repositioned myself.
He nodded, eyes flashing with something that could've been pride. "Your application of the field was improved. You read my movement, applied your tools, and changed the tempo in the middle of the fight. Still clumsy in execution, but the thinking's keen."
We trained hard until noon—taijutsu, ninjutsu pairings, shadow control practice. He pushed me until my muscles ached. Then, when the physical training was over, he uttered the words I wasn't waiting to hear.
"Now we train your mind."
He took me in and placed me across from him in the living room. The sunlight was weaker here, more muffled. His face was different now—not the facile grin of before, but something harder. Cold.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "You're on a mission. Three-man team. The enemy is an unknown quantity. One man's hurt. What do you do?"
"Retreat and call for reinforcement," I answered at once.
"What if backup's delayed and the enemy is closing in?"
"Then I make a diversion—use clones to throw them off, escort the hurt one away."
"What if the enemy spots the clones and pursues the real one?"
"I… then I—"
"Too slow. Your teammate's dead."
I woke up. His voice was level. Not mean. Just honest.
He went on.
"You're battling a missing-nin. High rank. He's going after a child you were ordered to guard. You can't defeat him. You can't run fast enough. What next?"
I paralyzed.
"I try to stall."
"And what if stalling involves dying? Do you want to die?"
Nothing.
He continued. Scenario after scenario. Colleagues killed. Non-combatants are used as shields. Ethical decisions no academy textbook could teach me. Each choice carried gravity. Each pause was a loss of life.
My head was thudding by the time it was evening. My gut was knotted. My fists were bunched in my lap, nails digging into my skin.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, voice lower than intended.
He gazed at me—not coldly this time, but with an expression almost like sadness.
"Because war does not wait for you to grow up. You desire power. You want to keep safe. That involves making decisions you will regret yourself for."
He leaned in.
"You're not learning to fight. You're learning to think. And thinking—under stress—is harder than everything we've done to date."
I didn't say anything. I simply nodded slowly.
He rose, stretching.
"That's enough for today. You earned your rest."
As he strode away, I sat there a bit longer—still sorting through the last scenario he'd presented to me. I'd passed some. Failed others. But I knew one thing:
Tomorrow, I'd see him again.
And I'd be stronger. Not just in the body. But where it counted most—in the mind.
The following morning, my father not much said. He gave me a bento, gestured in the direction of the Nara Forest, and said, "There is a cave. Ancient training field. You'll recognize it once you see it."
That's all.
I set out an hour after dawn. No practice fighting. No stretching. Simply nothing, as always when an important event would occur.
I spent an hour looking for it.
Concealed behind a veil of dangling vines and hidden between moss-covered rocks was the doorway—narrow, dark, and silent. I entered.
The air transformed immediately.
The farther I traveled, the farther away the world became. No light. No noise. No chakra resonance. Only. emptiness. A void in which time didn't appear to pass.
When I arrived at the center, I sat.
It was the absolute darkness I'd ever experienced.
No flutter of light. No breeze. No heat. It was a world without movement, a world defined by nothing but shadow. And I was completely alone.
"Nano," I spoke aloud in my mind. "Start environmental syncing. Help maintain chakra flow. Start analysis of Yin nature."
"Acknowledged."
I shut my eyes—not like it mattered. I was already sightless here. But training wasn't about seeing. The training was about feeling.
Shadow wasn't merely the lack of light. That was too superficial.
This was something else.
This was the content of silence. The heaviness of stillness. The cave didn't provide me with anything—it just was. And the longer I sat in it, the more I sensed the pressure of its existence. Like it wished to consume me whole. Like the shadows weren't happy to envelop me—they wished to become me.
I sat for hours. I directed chakra, again and again, into my body, into the ground, into the air—but the reaction was bizarre. Sometimes the Yin chakra came too sharply. Sometimes it fought me, curling in on itself like it was taunting me.
There were times I feared I would not escape.
Moments when I thought, What if I get trapped here? What if I vanish into the shadows, and nobody even realizes I'm missing?
But I persisted.
I shut down my mind. I ceased attempting to manipulate the shadow—and began attempting to comprehend it.
And at last, something clicked.
It came to me not as a solution, but as an epiphany.
The shadow exists both with and without light.
Shadow is not limited by time—it changes without having to grow old.
It comes from darkness, and it scatters light, but it is neither.
Shadow is the night that comes after every day, and the silhouette under everything.
It was everywhere. Even in the darkest dark, my own shadow still lingered—because I did. It was tied to me. And because of that, I could mold it.
Nano spoke once more.
"Yin Charity increased. Present Yin Chakra compatibility: 85%. Shadow understanding hit a new theoretical plateau. Recommend further practice for stabilization."
I opened my eyes—and still saw nothing.
But I could sense the shadow now. I could reach out to it with my chakra.
I practiced in silence.
Shadow Possession. No hand gestures. Just will.
Shadow Sewing. Longer, more flexible, quicker.
Again. Again. Again.
Until the techniques flowed like breath.
By nightfall, I had turned to Mind Transfer Jutsu, prepared to fuse the new control over Yin—but I reached an impasse. The method would not work with me. It needed something more. defined. Something I still hadn't discovered. I attempted it three times, but failed.
Then—rumble.
There was a low grind of rock ringing out in the darkness. The cave entrance creaked apart, light streaming through like a blade cutting into the darkness.
And there, silhouetted against the waning sun, stood my father.
Strapped around him was his flak jacket, his gear bag clutched in his other hand. His face was an unreadable mask—but the meaning of his silence was plain to see.
Time.
I slowly stood up, body aching but throbbing with something beyond adrenaline.
I emerged from the shadow.
The moon hung bright over Konoha, casting an icy pall over the rooftops as we proceeded in silence.
My father kept pace with me, his footsteps even, boots quiet on the earth's path. He had his equipment slung over one shoulder, his jonin vest zipped up, the hems of his sleeves blowing softly in the breeze.
We didn't say anything for a while.
Perhaps it was because we didn't want to squander the time on words that meant nothing. Or perhaps we simply wanted to keep the silence a little longer—before it turned to memory.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"You've changed more than I anticipated."
I glanced up at him, taken aback. He was staring down the road, not at me, but his voice was firm.
"I observed you over the past three days. Your taijutsu, your ninjutsu, the way you think now. You're no longer training. You're creating yourself. I'm proud of it."
My heart clenched. I glared down, fists knotted at my hips.
"I couldn't have done any of it without you."
He smiled weakly. "No, you could've. But I'm glad you didn't have to."
The breeze increased. Some leaves brushed against us, swaying down the road.
We moved a bit further. The gate was now not so far away. The outpost guards were already seen in the distance.
"Akira," he said softly now. "There's something you have to hear before I leave."
I nodded, trying to steady my breath.
"If you ever do decide to pursue revenge… then don't simply pursue it blindly." His tone didn't quiver. "If you need to reclaim what's been lost to you—then become greater than anyone else. Greater so that no one can ever steal anything from you again."
"But hear me out," he went on, hesitating in place.
I also halted.
He faced me. The moon illuminated the creases on his face. His eyes—always so serene—burned, serious.
"Do not lose yourself. Don't allow power to make you someone your mother would not know. Don't forget about the people who remain here."
I swallowed hard.
"You have people who love you. Me. Shikaku. Inoichi. Your aunts. Itachi." He put a hand on my shoulder, hard. "We're all here. We're with you. No matter how far you go."
He stopped.
"But… if I don't come back from this—"
"Don't," I said fast, my voice breaking.
He held my shoulder more tightly. "—if I don't… know that I tried. I tried everything to come back. But if I was too weak, or just not strong enough… don't take that burden."
He stared at me.
"Don't grieve for me. Don't fall apart because of me. Live your life. Get on with it. I'll be looking after you… with your mother. From above."
My throat was sore, but I didn't cry.
"Promise me," he said.
I nodded, voice no more than a whisper. "I promise."
He smiled again—weathered and worn, but warm through. "That's my son."
We walked on.
As we reached the gate, he slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder, exchanged a nod of acknowledgment with the guards, then turned to give me one last glance.
"Keep training. Keep growing. And when next we meet—beaten only by you I expect."
I attempted a smile. "Deal."
Then turned and disappeared into the night.
I stood at the gate a long time after he was out of sight.
And when I finally turned back towards the village, I wasn't the same boy who had walked with him.
That night, I didn't want to be alone.
The house felt. hollow. Like the walls knew he was gone. Like even the air was quieter without him. Everything was still. Not peaceful. Just—empty.
I remained in the middle of the room for a time, gazing at the ground as if it would utter something. It didn't, however. It simply remained there, quiet, as always.
It felt different now.
All the late evenings I spent fantasizing about the shinobi universe, dreaming of jutsu and chakra schemes, of watching great battles on a lighted screen, surrounded by comfort and distance—all that seemed fantasy now.
Living in it… being here—it was nothing like I thought.
The world was cruel.
It didn't ask if you were ready before it took something from you. It didn't care how much you trained, how much you prayed, how good your heart was. It just took. Quietly. Without mercy.
I turned, grabbed my shoes, and left.
The roads were deserted under the moon. Lanterns hung silently. The village slept. But the heaviness in my chest compelled me to keep going. Not towards the gate.
Towards someone who had always been there.
I knocked on Uucle Inoichi's door.
He opened it before I could say anything, eyes peaceful but gentle. He didn't ask any questions.
"You want to stay overnight?" he asked as if he already knew.
I nodded, my voice reed-thin. "Just for tonight."
He stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Then come in. You're always welcome."
Aunt Inoki was in the kitchen, already setting down a second teacup. She didn't say a word—just walked over and pulled me into a quiet hug. Her arms were warm and steady. No platitudes. No awkward words. Just comfort.
Eventually, I joined them on the floor, snuggled in a blanket with the faint scent of chamomile and aged wood. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the paper windows. The quiet between us was thick, but not unforgiving.
Inoichi finally broke his silence.
"Akira," he said, low, even. "Leaving the past behind doesn't equate to forgetting it. It equates to deciding to live despite it."
I did not glance at him.
"I can't let her go," I said. "I don't know how."
"I couldn't either," he said softly. "She was my sister. But. I learned to live with the pain. Not behind it."
My fists were clenched in the blanket. My nails were digging into the fabric.
"How am I supposed to move on," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "when it feels like the world keeps taking things from me?"
He faced me, eyes piercing with quiet truth.
"By not giving it the satisfaction of breaking you," he told me. "By remembering that you still have people who love you. You still have a father out there, fighting his hardest to come back."
I regarded him finally.
"But this world doesn't care," I told him. "It doesn't care how powerful you are. War isn't logical. Even someone like him…"
I halted.
"Where was he deployed?" I whispered. "Do you know the frontline?"
There was silence.
Then, Inoichi replied.
"Komogakure."
My air was taken.
A weird combination of fear and relief struck me simultaneously.
Because I remembered something—something I'd read in the records, in those long nights of studying war patterns and shinobi histories.
Komogakure's greatest warrior, the Third Raikage, was near his last stand.
A legend. A monster. A man who would fight 10,000 Iwagakure shinobi by himself.
And die.
That fight hadn't yet occurred—but it was imminent.
That meant, for the time being, Kumo's attention was diverted away from Konoha. They wouldn't squander their best troops fighting with other villages while their strongest lay dying.
It meant—for a little time—my father was safer than most.
My body relaxed a little. But only a little.
The burden didn't disappear.
Even if he lived this front, it didn't necessarily mean he'd live the next.
And that. that was the shinobi world.
You weren't given promises. Only decisions. Only what you battled for—and whom you battled with.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep—bunched up under the blanket, between the heat of Inoki's arm and the quiet, unyielding stillness of Inoichi's presence.
For the first time in days, the darkness didn't seem so chilly.
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Chapter length-2713 words
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