The house smelled of hearth-smoke and nervous sweat. His parents knelt before him, their hopeful gazes pressing heavier than any god's judgment.
"Nayra," his father began, calloused hands resting on bony knees, "it's time."
A pause thick enough to choke on.
"All four-year-olds awaken their first chakra."
His mother's smile trembled at the edges. "You're strong, my heart. I know you can feel it."
Nayra let his lower lip quiver—just slightly. Not enough to seem weak. Just enough to seem real.
He'd practiced this moment in his mind a hundred times.
"But..." His voice wavered, the perfect note of childish doubt. "What if nothing's there?"
His mother's hands fluttered to her chest. "Close your eyes, my love. Breathe. The energy will come."
Nayra clenched his small fists—not in effort, but in theater.
He shut his eyes.
And did nothing.
The power was there, of course. A coiled serpent beneath his skin, ready to strike. But he let it sleep.
Instead, he forced his breath ragged. Made his hands shake. Let a single bead of sweat trail down his temple.
"I... I don't feel it!" he whispered, cracking his eyes open with masterful despair.
His father exhaled through his nose. "Some seeds take longer to sprout."
His mother pulled him into her arms. Her heartbeat thudded against his ear—quick, anxious. "Shh, my brave one. There's no shame in waiting."
Nayra buried his face in her shoulder.
Let them feel his silent "tears."
Let them believe his "failure."
Behind the facade, his mind was winter.
They believe.
Good.
The Zabuza Academy is the place that teach the child to unlock there potentials.
Nayra's parents had scraped together what little they had to send him here—a place where the peoples go and learn to survive and get better.
To the other students, it was a chance.
To Nayra, it was a stage.
So he played his part.
The average student.
Not dull enough to be pitied. Not bright enough to be remembered.
And he was seated at the last seat because he have no chakra opening.
The teachers and Headmaster are at 2nd Chakra stage mean they have not to sleep and eat for energy there body automatically take direct energy from nature...and all students are at 1st chakra stage mean they can just control there physical power and aura.
The instructor's calloused finger tapped the slate.
"Nayra. Read."
The letters were crude, the words simpler than breathing.
He let his finger tremble over the wood. Hesitated. Mouthed silent false starts.
Then, in a voice carefully frayed at the edges:
"T-The… sun… rises… in… the… w-west?"
A sigh. "East, Nayra. The sun rises in the east." Teacher said with mocking.
He ducked his head—not too fast (guilty), not too slow (defiant). Just right.
"S-sorry, teacher."
The teacher take the ruler and Beat me at My knuckles so I made my hand away in pain. As after some time the lesson moved on.
Nayra vanished into the background once more.
Perfect.
When the other children ran laughing through the streets, Nayra went to the dead fields beyond the Maoga city.
There, where no eyes could see:
• His punches cut the air—slow, precise, building muscle memory instead of showy strength.
• His breath steadied into rhythms that sharpened his mind like a honed blade.
Others chased power.
Nayra cultivated perseverance—the kind that outlasted empires.
Because strength could be stolen.
But discipline?
Discipline was the bone structure of gods.
And Nayra would be more than a god.
He trained not from weakness, but from a refusal to accept any limit at all.
The dying sun stretched Nayra's shadow long across the barren field. His small hands—raw, bruised—stayed clenched.
Muscles screamed. Bones trembled.
He didn't stop.
Couldn't.
The world had crushed him. Erased him.
Yet—
His heart beat steady. His gaze stayed fixed on the bleeding sky.
And in the silence of his mind, the truth echoed:
"I screamed until my voice became the wind.
I wept until my tears turned to dust.
I grieved until my soul forgot how to tremble.
I rejoiced until joy meant nothing at all.
Now?
Only this remains—
A face carved from stone.
Eyes darker than the void between stars.
And in my chest?
Not a heart.
Not a dream.
Just perseverance.
This is my truth.
This is NAYRA."
He kept moving.
Not for vengeance.
Not for glory.
Simply because stopping would mean the world have won.
And Nayra?
He didn't want to lose.
As the next day the village school house creaked as a hot morning wind rattled its poorly fitted shutters. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight that cut through the gloom, illuminating rows of children bent over wooden slates. At the back of the room, where the shadows clung thickest, Nayra sat with his shoulders hunched, his small fingers gripping a piece of chalk too tightly.
"Next!" barked Instructor Goran, his calloused hands clasped behind his back as he paced between the rows. "Nayra! Read passage seven."
A ripple of snickers spread through the classroom. Nayra felt twenty pairs of eyes turn toward him, some amused, others already bored with the familiar spectacle. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
"The... the..." Nayra began, his voice barely above a whisper. He squinted at the symbols carved into his slate as if they were written in some foreign tongue. "The chakra...are ten types?"
The explosion of laughter was instantaneous. From the front row, Liam Torvin – a hulking boy nearly twice Nayra's size – slammed his meaty palms on his desk, howling with exaggerated mirth.
"By the gods!" Liam gasped between laughs, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. "Even my baby sister knows that! There are only seven types of chakra"
Nayra shrank into his seat, his cheeks burning with carefully manufactured shame. He gripped the edges of his slate until his knuckles turned white, his shoulders trembling just enough to be noticeable.
"Silence!" Instructor Goran's voice cut through the laughter, though his lips twitched with barely concealed amusement. He fixed Nayra with a withering stare. "Tell me, boy, are you truly this dull, or do you simply enjoy wasting my time?"
Nayra's lower lip quivered. "I-I'm sorry, Instructor. I'll try harder."
"See that you do," Goran sighed, turning away with a dismissive wave. "Liam, perhaps you can help our village idiot after lessons. Though I fear even your patience has limits."
Liam smirked, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Oh, I'll help him alright."
The training yard baked under the midday sun, the packed earth radiating heat like a griddle. Sweat poured down Nayra's face as he struggled to hold a wooden practice sword in what Instructor Goran called the "basic ready stance." His arms shook visibly, the tip of the sword dipping toward the ground.
"Pathetic," Goran muttered, shaking his head. "Pair up! Liam, you take Nayra. Let's see if you can teach him what I clearly cannot."
Liam's grin was predatory as he swaggered forward, twirling his own practice sword with casual ease. "Don't worry, Instructor. I'll be gentle."
The other children formed a loose circle, their faces alight with anticipation. Nayra adjusted his grip, his fingers slipping on the sweat-slicked wood.
"Begin!" Goran barked.
Liam moved like a striking snake. His first blow caught Nayra across the ribs with a sickening thud, sending the smaller boy sprawling into the dust. The impact knocked the breath from Nayra's lungs, but he bit back any sound of pain.
"Get up," Liam taunted, poking Nayra's ribs with his sword. "Come on, weakling. Show us what you're made of."
Nayra pushed himself up on trembling arms, his breathing ragged. He barely had time to raise his sword before Liam struck again – a brutal overhead swing that shattered Nayra's weak guard and sent him crashing to his knees.
"Please," Nayra gasped, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "I can't—"
"You can't what?" Liam interrupted, delivering a sharp kick to Nayra's side. "Breathe? Think? Swing a gods-damned sword like a normal person?"
The circle of children erupted in laughter. Even Instructor Goran chuckled as he leaned against the fence, making no move to intervene.
Nayra curled into a ball, his arms raised in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Through the gaps between his fingers, he watched Liam raise the practice sword for another strike – and in that moment, behind the mask of fear and pain, Nayra's eyes were utterly calm.
The full moon cast long shadows across the abandoned field outside the village. The air smelled of damp earth and wild thyme, the only sounds the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. And the rhythmic thud of flesh striking wood.
Nayra moved through the darkness like liquid shadow, his bare feet silent on the cool earth. The crude training dummy – little more than a log wrapped in straw – shuddered under the precision of his blows. There was no hesitation now, no trembling limbs or fumbling hands.
Left jab. Right cross. Spin kick. The movements flowed like water, each strike landing with perfect accuracy. Sweat glistened on his brow despite the night's chill, his breath coming in controlled bursts.
"Again," he whispered to the empty night.
He imagined Liam's face on the dummy. Instructor Goran's. All the sneering children who thought him weak. His fists flew faster, harder, the impacts sending tremors up his arms. The dummy's bindings began to fray.
A sudden noise from the tree line froze him mid-motion. Nayra's head snapped up, his body coiling like a spring. For a heartbeat, he was no longer a cowering child but a predator sensing danger.
Then the moment passed. Just a fox, perhaps, or the wind in the branches. Nayra exhaled slowly, unclenching his fists. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and resumed his training.
The moon climbed higher in the sky, its pale light glinting off something metallic tucked beneath a nearby rock – the edge of a small, carefully hidden blade. Nayra's fingers brushed against it as he paused to drink from his waterskin. The cold metal sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the night air.
"Tomorrow," he murmured, more to himself than the silent world around him. "Tomorrow we begin in earnest."
And with that, he slipped back into the shadows, leaving no trace of his presence but the shuddering training dummy and the faintest indentation in the grass where his feet had been. The village idiot was gone. In his place stood something far more dangerous – a blade being sharpened in the dark.
As at academy others students that think they are powerful beat him.
And he take there beats and even cry.
[Even the cry is fake. But no one doubt him]
As he sitting on the last bench and thinking
"This academy student Power dynamic is interesting."
he said it himself because there are faction in the Academy.
•Black Wolf Faction
•Red Hawk Faction
•Golden Snake Faction
Black Wolf Faction- This Faction believe in equality and sharing and teamwork at most.
Red Hawk Faction- This Faction believe in Freedom and Singularity and self importance at most.
Golden Snake Faction- This Faction believe in only one thing Self-interest and money and womens and power.
He chuckled by thinking about it...
"One day u all will be mine" he faintly mutter to himself.
As he know from his Previous life in some day later there will be a challenge that prize will be "BONE-TEMPERING WEED" that will boost his plan very well.