It was only a few nights after his spar with Reina and Samui, but Raizen still felt it in his bones.
Every bruise had a voice.
His ribs complained when he inhaled too deep. His shoulder throbbed when he lifted his arm. Even his thighs—where the spear stance had burned new muscle into existence—felt like they were being wrung out every time he took a step.
And Raitaro's training didn't care about bruises.
If anything, it treated them like proof you were finally doing things right.
Raizen dragged himself through the front door, limping, hopping once when his stomach twinged—Samui's kick still living rent-free inside him.
The seals on his body hummed faintly beneath his clothes, a constant pressure like the air was heavier in this house than it should've been.
3.5×.
That number was insane.
Every step felt like walking through wet sand while someone pressed a hand to the back of his neck. His legs didn't just get tired—they filled, like his muscles were trying to swell into stone.
Absolute death, he thought, jaw tight.
But—
He shut the door behind him, exhaled slow, and kept moving anyway.
Normal life. That's what you did. Even when your bones begged you not to.
The living room lights were warm and soft. The couch sat where it always sat. The smell of tea and old paper drifted through the air.
And there was Jairo Tsukihana.
His father lounged like he didn't have a care in the world—newspaper open in both hands, one leg crossed over the other. Calm. Clean. Unbothered.
When he heard the door, he didn't even look up right away.
"Mm," Jairo said, turning a page. "Well if it isn't Raizen Tsukihana."
He finally glanced over the top of the paper.
"…You're a rare sight these days."
Raizen didn't answer. He just shuffled forward like an injured animal returning to its den and dropped onto the couch beside him with a heavy thump.
Jairo's eyes slid over him—taking in the limp, the stiff shoulder, the careful way Raizen didn't lean too far back.
Then his mouth twitched.
And he laughed.
"AHAHA—" Jairo tapped the newspaper against his own knee, delighted. "Looks like those two girls are still whooping your ass."
Raizen groaned and let his head fall back against the couch.
"Can you not," he muttered.
Jairo only laughed harder.
"You know," he said, voice warm with amusement, "Raitaro talks about you three every day."
That got Raizen's head to lift.
"…He does?"
Jairo folded the newspaper slightly, grinning like he was enjoying this way too much.
"He says you're annoying," Jairo said. "And that you all need to grow some heart."
Raizen's brow furrowed. "That sounds like him."
Jairo leaned in and flicked Raizen's collarbone lightly.
Raizen recoiled with a sharp inhale, pain snapping up his chest.
Jairo's grin widened.
"I'm just playing," he said casually, like he hadn't just hit a bruise with surgical precision. "He also said you're a tough kid. That you work hard. And that you're improving at an incredible rate."
Raizen blinked, trying to pretend that praise didn't loosen something in his chest.
Then he scoffed.
"Wow," Raizen said dryly, "so much praise… from Kumo's golden child."
Jairo gave him a look over the top of the paper—half offended, half entertained.
"I hate that nickname," he said. "And yes—people are noticing you."
Raizen's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
Jairo didn't answer directly. He set the newspaper down on the arm of the couch, the humor draining from his expression just enough to feel serious.
"That's not the point," he said. "The point is this: when is Team Eleven scheduled to take their first C-rank?"
Raizen's mind flashed to Raitaro's voice. The way he'd said it like it was a promise and a threat at the same time.
"We're planned to take our first at the end of Month Three," Raizen said. "As long as we don't mess up."
Jairo nodded once.
"Perfect."
Raizen's stomach tightened. That single word meant his father had already decided something.
Jairo stood, smooth and unhurried, and placed the newspaper neatly on the table like he was done pretending tonight was casual.
"I'm going to introduce you to one of Kumo's quieter training techniques," he said.
Raizen's exhaustion evaporated about twenty percent.
He pushed himself up too fast, then instantly regretted it when the 3.5× seal pressure reminded him he had legs.
Still, he followed—because how could he not?
Jairo walked down the hall and into his study, and the moment Raizen stepped inside, the air changed.
It smelled like ink, aged parchment, and old cedar shelves.
Scrolls lined the walls. Some were stacked with neat labels; others looked older, handwritten, protected with sealing wax. There were ledgers too—thick records with Tsukihana names written in careful script.
Raizen stood there a second, quietly awed.
"This…" he murmured. "Do you manage all of this yourself?"
Jairo glanced back at him.
"I used to," he said. "Now I leave it to your mother, Taro… or whichever clan member I'm trying to punish that week."
Raizen huffed a quiet laugh.
Jairo moved to the shelves and ran his fingers over a section that felt older—more guarded. His tone shifted into something heavier.
"Everything in here is too secret for outsiders," he said. "But as my son—our heir—you can take whatever you want from these shelves. Whenever you want."
Raizen's heartbeat kicked up.
Jairo pulled out a scroll case, set it on the desk, and tapped it once.
"But today," he said, "I want you to learn about something called Lightning Body Tempering."
Raizen repeated it slowly.
"Lightning Body Tempering…"
The words tasted strange in his mouth—like a technique name that carried weight behind it. Like it wasn't just a jutsu.
Jairo nodded. "Good. Because this isn't a flashy attack you throw at someone."
He leaned on the desk, eyes sharp now.
"It's old," Jairo said. "Getsurei Tsukihana built early versions of it back when Kumo was still becoming Kumo. But the Third Raikage…"
A small quirk of respect touched Jairo's mouth.
"He took it to a level nobody else could."
Raizen's eyes widened. "Wait—"
Jairo nodded like he already knew what Raizen was thinking.
"Yeah," he said. "This is the foundation that eventually leads to the Lightning Chakra Armor."
Raizen felt excitement shoot down his spine.
"The Lightning Cloak…" he whispered, almost reverent.
Jairo chuckled. "Relax. I'm not teaching you that."
Raizen snapped his head up. "What? Why not?"
"Because I'm not the one training you," Jairo said, too casually.
Raizen blinked. "You're… pawning me off?"
"Absolutely," Jairo said with zero shame. "I'm pawning you off to a Yotsuki."
Raizen's brain caught on the name like a hook.
Yotsuki.
The clan of the Third and Fourth Raikage. The lightning giants. The people built like walls with chakra coils like engines.
Raizen frowned. "Why aren't you training me?"
Jairo's expression softened—not weakly, but like he was proud of the question.
"It's not because I don't want to," he said. "It's tradition."
He gestured around the study, then out—toward the village.
"In Konoha, clans hoard their techniques," Jairo said. "They treat each other like rivals first and allies second. But Kumo isn't built like that."
His voice gained a quiet edge.
"In Kumo, the clans are a brotherhood. If a prodigy from another clan has the potential, we don't lock the door. We open it." Jairo's gaze held steady. "That's part of why the Third Raikage became what he was."
Raizen's eyes narrowed. "Getsurei trained him."
Jairo smiled. "Exactly. And that bond made the village stronger."
Raizen sat with that.
It wasn't just power. It was culture. It was trust.
It was the difference between a village of families and a village of factions.
Raizen exhaled slowly.
Kumo isn't perfect… but it's ours.
He looked back at his father.
"So," Raizen said, voice steady, "who is this guy that's going to be training me?"
Jairo's smile shifted into something that looked like warning.
"His name is Daigo Yotsuki," he said. "He trained the Fourth Raikage. He trained Killer Bee. And you might pick up more than just tempering from him."
"Daigo…" Raizen tested the name. "What's he like?"
Jairo's shoulder actually twitched, like the memory had teeth.
"I can show you better than I can tell you," he said. "Just be prepared. He can be… a bit much."
Raizen didn't think that was a big deal. He spent most of his day with Reina.
"How bad could it be," Raizen muttered.
Jairo's smile widened.
"Famous last words."
⸻
The next evening
The upper training compound sat high against the mountainside, far from the main roads of the village.
Stone walls rose thick and weathered, etched with old lightning seals that hummed faintly in the evening air. Torches burned along the perimeter, their flames bending subtly whenever thunder rolled overhead.
A single guard stood at the gate—tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakably Yotsuki.
Sweat ran down the side of his face, though the night air was cool.
Because Daigo Yotsuki was yelling at him.
"HAHAHA—NO, NO, NO!" Daigo bellowed, voice echoing off the walls. "You're telling me you tripped during patrol?"
"I—sir, I didn't trip," the guard said, teeth clenched, back ramrod straight. "There was loose gravel—"
SMACK.
Daigo's massive hand came down on the guard's back like a thunderclap.
The sound cracked through the courtyard.
The guard staggered forward a half-step, face flushing bright red as the impact rattled his spine.
"LOOSE GRAVEL?!" Daigo roared, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. "SON, IF GRAVEL CAN DROP YOU, THE ENEMY WON'T EVEN NEED A JUTSU!"
"I—yes, sir!" the guard barked, fighting to stay upright.
Daigo clapped him on the back again—harder.
SMACK.
"RELAX!" Daigo said cheerfully. "If you're not bruised, you're not alive! If you're alive, you can get stronger!"
The guard looked like he might pass out.
From the path below, Raizen slowed mid-step.
"…Is he assaulting that guy?" Raizen whispered.
Jairo didn't even blink. "That's him."
Daigo finally noticed them.
His head snapped toward the gate with sudden sharpness that didn't match his laughter. His eyes locked onto Jairo—then slid to Raizen.
And stayed there.
For a moment, the noise died.
Then Daigo's face split into a massive grin.
"JIROOOO!" he shouted.
Before Jairo could react, Daigo crossed the courtyard in three heavy steps and slammed a hand onto Jairo's shoulder, rattling him in place.
"You're late!" Daigo laughed. "That means you brought something interesting!"
"I brought my son," Jairo said dryly. "Try not to break him."
Daigo's eyes dropped to Raizen.
"…Oh?" he said.
Then, without warning—he was right there.
Daigo grabbed Raizen by the shoulders and spun him slightly left, then right, hands squeezing muscle like he was checking fruit at a market.
Raizen yelped. "Hey—!"
Daigo ignored him.
He poked Raizen's chest. Hard.
Raizen staggered back half a step.
Daigo pressed two fingers into Raizen's ribs, then along his spine, then down his arm. Not gentle—clinical.
"Muscle density's good," Daigo muttered. "Frame's stubborn. Bones haven't learned fear yet."
Raizen blinked. "What does that mean?"
Daigo dropped into a crouch and slapped Raizen's thigh—right where the spear stance had been burning muscle all week.
Raizen hissed.
"Oh, yeah," Daigo said approvingly. "That's new growth pain."
He stood abruptly and yawned—a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.
"…Mm." He rubbed his eyes. "Did I sleep today?"
The guard at the gate stared like he'd just watched a thunderstorm talk.
Daigo's eyes closed.
For a heartbeat, Raizen thought—
Is he—?
Daigo's chin dipped. Shoulders slackened.
He fell asleep standing up.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then his eyes snapped open like nothing happened.
"LIGHTNING," Daigo barked, pointing at Raizen. "Show me."
Raizen flinched. "W-what?"
"INSIDE," Daigo snapped. "No sparks. No flare. Just circulate."
Raizen hesitated, then focused. He drew lightning chakra inward, letting it hum beneath his skin instead of bursting outward.
The air around him tightened faintly.
Daigo's grin returned, slow and dangerous.
"There it is," he said softly. "You feel that, Jiro?"
Jairo nodded. "I do."
Daigo leaned in close to Raizen, voice dropping into something quiet—but heavy.
"That buzz?" Daigo said. "That's your body asking if it should panic."
Raizen swallowed.
"Good news," Daigo continued. "It didn't."
He straightened, laughing again, clapping his hands together once.
"CONGRATULATIONS, MOONWIRE!" Daigo declared. "You're not fragile!"
Raizen blinked. "Moon—what?"
"MOONWIRE," Daigo repeated proudly. "Pale bones. Lightning veins. If you snap, the whole village gets shocked."
Jairo sighed. "He's named you."
"THAT MEANS YOU'RE MINE NOW," Daigo said happily.
He slapped Raizen's back—hard enough to make Raizen's teeth click.
"Tomorrow," Daigo added, already turning away, "we teach your chakra how to breathe."
Raizen rubbed his back, stunned.
"…Sensei," he said slowly, "how bad is this training?"
Daigo paused. Looked over his shoulder.
Grinned.
"If you survive," he said, "you'll thank me."
Then he yawned again and wandered off, already half-asleep.
Raizen stared after him.
Then looked at Jairo.
"…You could've warned me."
Jairo smiled.
"I did."
⸻
The next day
The moment Raizen finished training with Raitaro, he didn't go home.
He didn't even want to go home.
His muscles were still heavy from the 3.5× seals, his ribs still sore, and his shoulder still carried the dull throb of yesterday's mistakes—but Daigo's presence had lodged itself in his head like a crack of thunder.
So he went straight to the Yotsuki compound.
He'd gotten a letter that morning—if you could even call it a letter.
A scrap of paper with handwriting that looked like it had been carved into the page:
Brat. Be at my house after your training.
—Daigo
That was it.
No greeting. No time. No respect.
Raizen had laughed when he read it.
Maybe age really is taking over, he'd thought.
But when he reached the mountain steps and the air started to taste like ozone again… he wasn't smiling anymore.
Soon, the Yotsuki gate came into view.
And sure enough—the same guard from yesterday stood watch, broad as a wall, posture perfect, expression carved into something stoic.
Except…
When Raizen approached and their eyes met, the guard's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
More like… sympathy.
He gave Raizen a slow, mournful nod.
Good luck, that look said.
Then he stepped aside and opened the gate without a word.
Raizen exhaled and walked in.
Immediately, he understood why people spoke the Yotsuki name with a certain weight.
Their compound wasn't just large.
It was alive.
Big houses clustered like a small neighborhood behind the walls. Training rings carved into open courtyards. Heavy stone weights sitting by doorways like decorations. The sound of impact—fists on wood, feet on stone—never fully stopped.
Even the kids were absurd.
A group of boys—no older than six or seven—were sprinting laps around a practice ring, shirts off, muscles already defined like they'd been born doing push-ups.
They laughed loud and fearless.
Raizen slowed.
There were dark-skinned kids like him everywhere, running, shouting, wrestling, belonging.
No stares. No whispers. No "who's that?"
Just… Kumo.
Just… home.
Raizen didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out.
Then he followed directions deeper into the compound until he found the house that felt like Daigo.
It wasn't the biggest.
It didn't need to be.
Training posts were stuck into the ground outside like warning signs. The porch boards were scuffed. The doorframe had dents in it.
And the air carried faint electric pressure—like lightning lived there even when no one used jutsu.
Raizen walked up, lifted his hand—
Knocked once.
His knuckles barely left the wood before the door whipped open so fast the hinges groaned.
Daigo filled the doorway like a thundercloud given human shape.
He towered over Raizen, hair a mess, flak jacket loose, eyes half-lidded like he'd just woken up…
…yet somehow fully awake.
Then Daigo grinned.
"OHHHH!" he boomed. "MOONWIRE! You actually came!"
Raizen opened his mouth to respond—
Daigo didn't let him.
A heavy hand clamped onto Raizen's shoulder and dragged him inside like he was a bag of groceries.
Raizen stumbled. "H-hey—!"
Daigo shut the door behind them with his foot.
"No wasting daylight!" Daigo announced, already marching toward the back of the house. "You think lightning waits for you to feel ready? Lightning doesn't care about your feelings!"
Raizen regained his footing, jaw tightening. "I just finished training. I'm already—"
"GOOD!" Daigo barked, delighted. "Tired bodies tell the truth!"
He glanced back, grin sharp.
"Now," Daigo said, "take off your shoes, stop talking, and show me you can breathe without whining."
Raizen swallowed.
Then followed.
Because one thing was already clear—
Daigo wasn't going to teach him slowly.
Daigo was going to teach him right.
⸻
The back room wasn't a sacred training hall—just worn mats, a low table, a kettle that smelled like strong tea. The kind of place where a man could either nap or forge monsters depending on his mood.
Daigo leaned back in his chair like he'd already decided this would be funny.
Then he jabbed a finger at Raizen's chest.
"Alright, Moonwire," Daigo said. "Before I let you run lightning through your body like a fool… tell me something."
He lifted his hand and drew a lazy circle in the air.
"You know the circuits?"
Raizen blinked. "Circuits… like chakra pathways?"
Daigo's eyes sharpened.
"Not pathways," he corrected. "Pathways are roads. Circuits are loops. Roads go out. Loops come back."
He tapped Raizen's sternum twice.
"Lightning is not meant to spill. Lightning is meant to return. If it doesn't return, it burns you. Understand?"
Raizen swallowed. "Yeah."
Daigo's mouth quirked. "Good. So—circuits."
Raizen's mind reached back to his father's study. To the thick book on chakra science and Aether Lightning. Diagrams of heart, lungs, shoulders, arms branching like rivers into streams.
"The Pulse Circuit," Raizen said, more confident now. "Heart to lungs. Lungs to shoulders. Shoulders to arms. Arms to fingers. Then back."
Daigo stared at him for half a heartbeat.
Then he slapped the table.
"WOW!" Daigo boomed, grinning. "Look at that! Little Jiro actually taught you something!"
Raizen's ears warmed. "He—he gave me a book."
"A book," Daigo repeated like the word was suspicious. Then he leaned forward, suddenly intense. "Books are fine. But I don't care what you know. I care what you can do while tired."
He poked Raizen's forearm.
Raizen winced.
Daigo nodded like that answered something.
"Mm. Still sore. Good. That means your body's honest today."
He rose and planted a hand on Raizen's shoulder.
"Stand."
Raizen stood. The 3.5× seal pressure tugged at his joints like gravity had decided to take the day personally.
Daigo circled him once like a craftsman inspecting a blade.
"Pulse Circuit," Daigo muttered. "It's real. It works. That's why Kumo's lightning doesn't run wild like a tantrum."
He thumped Raizen lightly in the center of the chest.
"But you said it wrong."
Raizen frowned. "I did?"
Daigo raised a finger.
"You described the map," he said. "Not the rule."
He tapped Raizen's sternum again—soft this time, like marking a starting point.
"The rule is: core to limb, limb back to core. That's it." His finger slid down Raizen's arm and stopped at the wrist. "If lightning goes out and doesn't come back, it becomes heat. It becomes injury. It becomes fear."
Daigo squeezed Raizen's wrist gently—then tightened like a clamp.
Raizen's eyes widened.
Daigo's voice dropped, calm and deadly serious.
"And fear," he said, "is what makes you spike your output."
Raizen held still, breathing carefully.
Daigo released him like nothing happened. The grin returned.
"That," Daigo said brightly, "is why we do circuits. Not because we're special. Because we're disciplined."
He yawned mid-sentence, then snapped alert again as if sleep was optional.
"Now," he said, waving a hand like shooing excuses, "show me."
Raizen hesitated. "Show you… what?"
Daigo pointed at Raizen's right arm.
"Make lightning," he said. "But if I see a spark outside your skin, I'm throwing you into the yard."
Raizen exhaled slow and gathered chakra in his core. He converted a thin slice into lightning—careful, restrained.
A faint hum rose under his skin.
Daigo nodded—then scowled.
"Too proud."
Raizen's eyes snapped open. "What?"
Daigo walked over and flicked Raizen's forehead.
"You're trying to show me how controlled you are," Daigo said. "That means you're thinking about me. Stop thinking about me. Think about the loop."
Raizen ground his teeth and closed his eyes again.
Daigo's voice went sing-song.
"Core," he said. "Limb. Return."
Raizen pictured the circuit as a closed ring. Not power. Not damage. Not speed.
Just flow.
He guided the current down into his shoulder.
Instantly, his arm twitched.
A sharp buzz crawled into his bicep like a swarm of needles.
Raizen hissed.
Daigo didn't move to help. He only spoke—quiet, precise.
"Voltage is a shout," Daigo murmured. "Tempering is a whisper. Lower it."
Raizen forced the current down—less bite, more glide.
The needles softened into a steady vibration.
His arm stopped twitching.
Daigo's grin returned like sunrise.
"There," Daigo said. "Now you're not fighting your own nerves."
Raizen guided the current lower: shoulder to elbow.
His forearm tightened. His fingers curled involuntarily.
A flicker of numbness kissed the tips of his fingers—dangerously close to losing feeling.
His heart rate spiked in response, fast and sharp, like his body tried to panic without permission.
Daigo's hand snapped out and caught Raizen's wrist—not to stop him, but to feel the tremor.
Daigo's eyes narrowed.
"Return," he ordered.
Raizen exhaled hard and imagined the current curling back up the same path it came down—like pulling thread back through cloth.
The numbness backed off.
His heartbeat steadied.
The vibration smoothed.
Daigo released his wrist and nodded once.
"Stage One," he said.
Raizen opened his eyes, sweat gathering at his temples despite the stillness.
"Stage one?" Raizen repeated.
Daigo stepped back and raised one finger.
"Body Amplification: Single-Limb Loop." His tone made it sound like an oath. "One arm. One circuit. No heroics."
He pointed at Raizen's sternum.
"Start here," Daigo said. "Run it down your right arm to your fingertips. Then bring it back to your core. If it spikes, you stop. If it pools, you stop. If it turns to heat—"
He smiled wide.
"You stop," he said, "or you scream. Either works."
Raizen swallowed. "How long?"
Daigo yawned. Eyes drooped—then snapped open again.
"Thirty breaths," he said.
Raizen's stomach tightened. "Thirty?"
Daigo nodded, delighted by the fear.
"Thirty smooth breaths," he repeated. "Not fast. Not proud. Just steady. Like a heartbeat."
He leaned in, voice low.
"If you can keep that loop clean for thirty breaths…" Daigo's grin sharpened. "I'll let you touch your second arm tonight."
Raizen stared at him, then looked down at his right hand.
His fingers trembled—not from weakness, but from the strange, new sensation of lightning sitting inside muscle instead of leaping out into the world.
He closed his eyes.
In—two—three.
He began the loop.
Out—two—three.
And Daigo Yotsuki—boisterous, brilliant, half-asleep and wholly dangerous—watched him like a storm deciding whether it respected the wire.
⸻
Raizen slowed his breathing until the rest of the room stopped mattering.
In—steady.
Out—steady.
The ache in his ribs dulled. The weight of the seals faded to a distant pressure instead of a constant drag. He let his shoulders drop, jaw unclench, body soften without going slack.
Then, with his mind's eye, he reached inward.
From his core, he guided chakra into his right arm—not forcing it, not pushing—inviting it along the path Daigo had shown him.
Sternum to shoulder. Shoulder to elbow. Elbow to wrist. Fingers.
And then—back.
Once the loop closed, he changed its nature.
The chakra didn't flare.
It didn't crackle.
It didn't fight him.
It accelerated.
As its speed increased, it transformed—cleanly—into lightning chakra.
Raizen's muscles reacted immediately.
A soft vibration bloomed through his arm. Not painful. Not sharp. Like the deep hum of a tuning fork struck just right.
He adjusted instinctively, keeping the current from running too fast or too slow.
Too slow, and it pooled.
Too fast, and it bit.
He found the middle.
The lightning that usually felt rugged and chaotic inside him smoothed out into something calm—controlled. A quiet storm instead of a raging one.
Breath after breath, he fed more chakra into the loop.
Not more power—just more flow.
The circuit sped up. The return tightened. The vibration deepened.
A faint, pale blue glow began to show beneath his skin—starting at his sternum, running down his arm like moonlight trapped under armor.
Raizen passed thirty breaths without noticing.
The sensation was strange.
Pleasant.
Like someone was kneading tension out of his muscles from the inside, each vibration loosening knots he didn't know he carried.
The warmth wasn't heat.
It was relief.
The world narrowed.
He stopped thinking about where the chakra was going.
He just felt it.
The rhythm of the loop synced with his breathing.
Breathing synced with heartbeat.
Heartbeat synced with the current.
Raizen slipped—quietly—into a shallow meditative state.
Sixty breaths passed.
Then a hundred.
Daigo didn't speak.
He sat back in his chair, eyes no longer half-lidded. His posture stilled, attention fully locked on Raizen's arm.
The vibration became visible now—a subtle blur under the skin, like heat distortion without heat.
Yet there wasn't a single spark.
No stray arc. No ozone bite. No crackle.
Just perfect containment.
Daigo watched, stunned despite himself, as the boy continued to circulate lightning through his body like it belonged there.
Like it had always been meant to.
And the wire held.
⸻
Minutes turned into hours.
Daigo tested the silence with one glance, decided not to ruin it, and quietly left the room.
Outside, the compound still lived.
Torches burned. Training rings echoed. Somewhere a child cried and a mother soothed. Somewhere else laughter carried through open courtyards.
Daigo wandered like a man taking a walk—except everyone who saw him moved aside.
Two young kids nearly collided with him and froze, terrified.
Daigo looked down at their bruises and scraped knuckles.
"Why are you still here?" he asked.
"Training, sir," one said, swallowing hard.
Daigo squinted, then nodded like that was the only correct answer in life.
"Good. Now go eat." He waved them off. "If you pass out, I'll throw you into the soup pot."
They bolted away.
At the gate, the guard stiffened as Daigo approached.
"Sir."
Daigo yawned. "People whining yet?"
"…A few parents asked why their kids weren't home," the guard admitted.
Daigo rubbed his eyes. "And?"
"I told them you were overseeing special training."
Daigo nodded once. "Good."
Then he leaned in like sharing sacred village intelligence.
"If anyone gets loud," he murmured, "tell them their kids are lucky I didn't train them."
The guard didn't smile. Not openly.
But relief loosened his shoulders.
"Yes, sir."
Daigo patted his back—mercifully light this time—and wandered inside.
⸻
When Daigo returned, it was deep into the night.
The compound had quieted. The torches burned low. Even the mountain wind sounded softer, like the world had finally decided to sleep.
Daigo slid the door open.
The kettle's scent had faded. The candle on the table was a stub.
And Raizen was still there.
Same posture.
Same calm face.
Same steady breathing.
In… two… three.
Out… two… three.
Daigo's eyes narrowed.
Then widened.
Because it wasn't just the right arm anymore.
Both arms vibrated—smooth, constant, controlled.
His sternum glowed faint pale blue, stronger than before, feeding two loops like it was nothing.
Daigo stepped inside without a sound and crouched a few feet away.
Most shinobi would've been empty by now—dry as drained reservoirs, shaking from depletion.
But Raizen looked… comfortable.
Like he could do this all night.
Daigo stared at the boy's face.
That serene expression wasn't "focus."
It was enjoyment.
A quiet kind of joy.
Daigo's grin slowly spread.
Because in that moment, something dangerous woke up in him—old ideas he'd never used, training methods too brutal for normal bodies, too demanding for normal reserves.
They'd always broken.
They'd always overheated.
They'd always panicked.
But this boy—
This boy was sitting in the middle of a storm like it was a warm bath.
Daigo rocked back on his heels, eyes gleaming.
I finally found it, he thought. A wire that doesn't melt.
He leaned forward slightly, voice barely more than a whisper—more to himself than to Raizen.
"…Perfect."
Raizen didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
He just kept looping, calm as moonlight.
Daigo's grin sharpened.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, delighted, "we find out what breaks first—your nerves… or your pride."
He stood quietly and backed out, sliding the door shut with gentle hands—like he was protecting something fragile.
But Daigo's eyes said the truth.
Raizen wasn't fragile.
He was rare.
And Daigo Yotsuki had just found the first student in years who might actually survive the crazy part of his training.