The training grounds were nearly empty at dawn.
The sky was still a shade of deep blue, caught between the fading night and the rising sun. The morning mist curled low around the ground, weaving through the tall wooden posts and worn dummies that stood like silent sentinels of past battles.
Renjiro stood there, small and motionless, his breath visible in the cold morning air. His hands were clenched at his sides. He wasn't sure why he had come.
No—he knew. He had been waiting.
And then, he felt it.
A shift in the air. A presence, quiet yet undeniable.
Takeshi had arrived.
Renjiro turned, watching as the man walked toward him, his movements steady and measured. The weight of his experience was evident in every step. He was dressed as before—his faded dark-blue shinobi robes lined with black, reinforced armor at his forearms and shoulders. His presence was different from the others in the village. He did not tower over Renjiro with disdain or wariness. He simply stood before him, as if waiting for a decision that was not his to make.
"You're early." Takeshi's voice was calm, almost amused.
Renjiro didn't respond. He had spent the entire night wrestling with the voice inside him, with the whispers that told him this was foolish.
"You're here because you want to be strong," Takeshi continued, kneeling down to Renjiro's level. His dark eyes studied him—not with fear, but understanding.
Renjiro met his gaze, his jaw tightening. He hated that look. The others in the village only looked at him with fear or disgust. But Takeshi's eyes… they were different.
They saw him.
"Then let's begin."
The First Blow
Takeshi led him deeper into the training grounds. The space was old, the earth packed down from years of training, the wooden posts scarred from countless strikes.
"Before anything else, I need to see how you move," Takeshi said, rolling up his sleeves. "Hit me."
Renjiro blinked.
"What?"
Takeshi smiled slightly. "Come at me. Show me what you've got."
Renjiro hesitated. He was five. His fists were small, weak. He had no real training.
He clenched his jaw. What kind of test is this?
"If you want to be strong, you need to fight," Takeshi continued. "And to fight, you need to know what it feels like to strike and be struck."
Renjiro inhaled sharply. His fingers curled into a fist.
And then he lunged.
His small form cut through the air, his fist aiming for Takeshi's stomach. It was a wild, untrained strike, fueled by instinct more than skill.
Takeshi didn't move.
Renjiro's fist connected—but it was like striking stone. The impact sent a sharp pain up his arm, and he stumbled back, cradling his hand.
Takeshi exhaled, shaking his head.
"Too predictable."
Renjiro's face burned. His chest ached with something he didn't understand.
"Again."
Renjiro bit his lip, forcing himself to ignore the dull ache in his fingers. He rushed forward, swinging again—this time, faster.
Takeshi sidestepped effortlessly, tapping the boy's wrist mid-swing. The impact sent Renjiro off balance, and he nearly tripped.
"Too wild. No control."
Renjiro's frustration built.
He charged again, this time throwing a feint with his right before twisting his body to strike with his left. It was sloppy, unrefined, but Takeshi raised an eyebrow.
He blocked it with ease, but this time, there was a small nod of approval.
"Better."
Renjiro clenched his teeth. He didn't want approval. He wanted to land a hit.
He wanted to be strong.
The voice inside him stirred.
"He underestimates you."
"Let me show you true strength."
For a brief moment, Renjiro's vision blurred. His pulse slowed. The world seemed sharper—clearer. He felt something coil within him, something dark and ancient.
And then—
He moved.
Faster than before.
Takeshi's expression flickered. His body shifted, and this time, his movements were more precise, more deliberate. He reached out—
And stopped just before making contact.
The air between them grew heavy. Renjiro's breath was ragged, his small frame trembling.
Takeshi studied him. His dark eyes flickered to the boy's clenched fists, then to the space just behind his irises.
"That wasn't just you, was it?"
Renjiro froze.
The voice inside him went silent.
Takeshi slowly exhaled. He knows.
And yet—he didn't step away.
Instead, he placed a hand on Renjiro's shoulder, firm but not forceful.
"Power without control is a danger—to yourself and to others." His voice was calm but steady. "You can either let it consume you, or you can learn to master it."
Renjiro swallowed. His mind raced, torn between the pull of the darkness and the steady, unwavering presence before him.
Takeshi was not afraid of him.
Not yet.
"Again," Takeshi said.
Renjiro met his gaze.
And for the first time, he chose to listen.