Daigo didn't wake Raizen up with a shout.
He didn't throw water.
He didn't slap him either—though the thought clearly crossed his mind when he slid the door open and found Raizen still sitting like a statue, both arms humming like a trapped storm.
Daigo crouched in the doorway and watched for a long moment.
Raizen's breathing was steady.
In—two—three.
Out—two—three.
The pale glow beneath his sternum pulsed faintly with each exhale, like the loop itself had found a heartbeat.
Daigo's grin spread, slow and satisfied.
"…Yeah," he murmured. "You're mine."
He stepped inside, quiet as a thief, and set a small bowl beside the mat.
Rice. Salt. A chunk of meat. A jug of water.
Then he sat down across from Raizen and waited.
Because you didn't yank a wire while it was carrying current.
You waited until it chose to rest.
Minutes later, Raizen's eyelids fluttered.
His breathing broke pattern for half a second—like he'd forgotten he had lungs—then he blinked fully awake and stared at Daigo.
"…How long?" Raizen croaked.
Daigo yawned. "Long enough that the village started blaming me for your funeral."
Raizen's head turned slowly, stiff. "I didn't… I didn't mean to—"
"I know." Daigo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp. "That's why I didn't stop you."
Raizen flexed his fingers.
No numbness.
No pain.
Just a deep warmth in his forearms, like he'd been holding a heated stone all night.
Daigo's gaze dropped to Raizen's sternum—then back to his eyes.
"Eat," Daigo ordered, like it was a jutsu.
Raizen looked at the bowl.
Then at Daigo.
Daigo stared back.
Raizen ate.
Halfway through, his stomach growled again like it was offended by the portion.
Daigo's grin returned. "Good. That means your body believes me now."
Raizen swallowed. "Believes you about what?"
Daigo tapped Raizen's sternum twice—same spot, same anchor.
"Lightning tempering isn't a move," Daigo said. "It's a lifestyle."
Raizen's brows knit. "A lifestyle."
Daigo nodded solemnly.
Then immediately ruined it by yawning so hard his eyes watered.
"Two weeks," he said, wiping one eye. "That's how long you get."
Raizen froze. "To do what?"
Daigo lifted one finger.
"Make the full circuit," he said.
Raizen stared at him. "In two weeks?"
Daigo tilted his head. "You don't like it?"
Raizen opened his mouth—
Daigo cut him off with a raised palm.
"If you don't like it," Daigo said pleasantly, "you can go back to stabbing air and getting kicked by girls."
Raizen's jaw tightened.
"…Fine," he said.
Daigo's grin sharpened.
"Good," he whispered. "Now we start where most people fail."
He pointed at Raizen's legs.
"Down."
⸻
Day One
Daigo didn't teach with speeches.
He taught with problems.
He dragged Raizen into the yard barefoot, shoved him onto packed dirt, and pointed at a thick wooden post.
"Touch it," Daigo said.
Raizen blinked. "Why?"
Daigo's eyelids drooped. "Because I said so."
Raizen walked up and placed his palm on the post.
Daigo's hand slapped the back of Raizen's knee.
"Leg circuit," Daigo said. "One leg. No sparks. Thirty breaths."
Raizen inhaled and tried to guide the loop down his thigh.
The moment the lightning formed, his leg buckled like it had forgotten how to exist.
Raizen caught himself on the post, teeth gritting.
Daigo didn't laugh.
He just watched.
"Your arms were easy," Daigo said softly. "You've lived your whole life putting lightning in your hands."
Raizen's breath shook. "Yeah."
Daigo tapped the side of his own temple.
"But your legs," Daigo continued, "don't trust you."
Raizen tried again—core to hip, hip to thigh, thigh to knee.
A sharp buzz flared behind his kneecap.
His foot jerked.
A spark tried to escape his skin.
Daigo flicked Raizen's ear.
"NOPE."
Raizen hissed. "Ow!"
Daigo's grin returned. "If it leaks, it bites. Return it."
Raizen forced the current back up.
He steadied his breathing and tried again—lower, quieter, less proud.
On the third attempt, the vibration softened.
It stopped feeling like needles.
It became… a hum.
A slow, controlled thrum through his thigh.
Raizen's stance steadied.
Daigo leaned back like he was impressed against his will.
"…Good," he said.
Raizen didn't answer.
He kept looping.
When the thirty breaths finished, Raizen's leg didn't collapse.
It just felt… warm.
Heavy.
Alive.
Daigo stood and slapped his shoulder.
"Eat again," Daigo said.
Raizen stared. "I just ate."
Daigo nodded. "And you just trained. Eat."
Raizen opened his mouth to argue.
Daigo's eyes went half-lidded.
Raizen sighed—and ate again.
⸻
Day Three
By the third day, Raizen started noticing the little things.
He'd wake up and the bruise on his collarbone—where his father had flicked him—was already a dull shadow instead of a bright ache.
He'd shower and realize the shallow cut on his forearm from sparring had stopped stinging.
He'd step outside after Raitaro's training and his legs would still be tired…
…but they wouldn't feel broken.
Daigo didn't compliment him.
Daigo just raised the bar.
"Both legs today," Daigo said, pointing down like the earth was his command.
Raizen sat on the mat, closed his eyes, and tried to form two loops at once.
The moment he did, his heartbeat snapped fast and sharp.
His body tried to panic.
Two currents. Two risks. Twice the chance of leakage.
Raizen's fingers twitched.
A faint numbness kissed his toes like a warning.
Daigo didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He just watched—eyes open, posture still, like a hawk waiting to see if the rabbit would bolt.
Raizen swallowed the fear down.
Not by force.
By rhythm.
In—two—three.
Out—two—three.
Core. Limb. Return.
The numbness backed off.
His heartbeat smoothed.
The loops stabilized.
Both legs began to vibrate—quiet and steady, like drums under the skin.
Daigo's mouth quirked.
"…There it is," he murmured.
Raizen opened his eyes afterward and stared at his feet like they belonged to someone else.
He stood.
His balance felt cleaner.
Like his body corrected itself a heartbeat faster than it used to.
Daigo yawned. "Now go move. Don't embarrass me."
Raizen blinked. "Move how?"
Daigo shrugged. "Spar. Run. Fight a wall. I don't care. Just move."
⸻
Day Five
Raitaro noticed first.
Not with words.
With silence.
Team Eleven lined up for conditioning at sunrise, seals humming, lungs still half-asleep.
Raizen moved.
And something was different.
His steps were quieter.
His posture was… set.
When Reina lunged in during rotation drills—fast, sharp, cruel—Raizen didn't flinch back like he used to.
He slid.
One small angle.
One half-step.
Her blade missed air by a finger's width.
Reina's eyes narrowed.
Samui stared like she'd just watched a trap spring.
Raitaro's gaze flicked to Raizen's legs—then to his sternum.
Then away, like he'd seen enough.
Later, during spear drills, Raizen's grip didn't burn out.
His forearms stayed steady after two hundred thrusts.
When he finally lowered the spear, his hands didn't shake.
He didn't even realize how abnormal that was until Samui muttered, "What the hell…?"
Raizen didn't answer.
Because he didn't know how to explain it.
He just knew that inside his body, something had started running even when he wasn't thinking about it—like his chakra had learned a new default.
That night, Daigo made him sit again.
"Arms and legs," Daigo said. "All four. No leaks."
Raizen closed his eyes.
This time, his body didn't panic.
It just… listened.
Four loops formed.
Four quiet hums.
Daigo watched, suddenly very awake.
"…You're not supposed to be this fast," he muttered.
Raizen's voice came out soft. "Then stop me."
Daigo grinned.
"No."
⸻
Day Seven
The first time Daigo pushed him into the torso circuit, Raizen almost threw up.
Not from pain.
From sensation.
Daigo pressed two fingers into Raizen's lower ribs and said, "Breathe into this."
Raizen tried—and the moment lightning touched his core muscles, his diaphragm seized like it didn't trust him.
His breath caught.
His heart slammed once, hard.
A sharp bloom of heat flickered behind his sternum—danger, instant and real.
Raizen's eyes snapped open, panic rising.
Daigo's hand clamped onto the back of his neck.
Not hard.
Just… grounding.
"Return it," Daigo said calmly. "Don't fight it. Bring it home."
Raizen forced the current back.
The heat vanished like it had never been.
He exhaled shakily.
Daigo's eyes narrowed. "That's the price of full body. Your core will lie to you. It'll pretend you're dying."
Raizen swallowed. "And if I believe it?"
Daigo smiled—bright and terrible.
"Then you spike," he said. "Then you cook."
Daigo yawned mid-stare.
"Try again."
Raizen closed his eyes.
He breathed.
Slowly.
He guided the loop—not into the muscles first, but around them. Like tracing a boundary. Like teaching the storm where it was allowed to live.
The hum returned.
This time, the diaphragm didn't seize.
This time, the heartbeat stayed steady.
Daigo's mouth opened slightly.
Then he shut it.
He didn't interrupt.
He just watched Raizen do what most shinobi couldn't do until they were grown.
The wire carrying current through the place it mattered most.
⸻
Day Ten
By the tenth day, Raizen's body looked the same…
…but moved like it didn't.
He woke up before his alarm without pain screaming at him.
He ran to training and didn't feel his lungs clawing for air as early.
He got hit during drills and the ache didn't linger for hours—it faded like his body was already fixing it.
His chakra felt… deeper.
Not infinite.
Just deeper.
Like the bottom of the well had dropped another few feet.
And when he formed lightning now, it didn't crackle wild.
It didn't hiss like an angry snake.
It hummed.
Quiet.
Clean.
Contained.
That night, Daigo stood in the center of the back room and clapped once.
"Alright, Moonwire," he said. "Full circuit."
Raizen sat.
Closed his eyes.
Breathed in.
Core.
He guided the current down both arms, both legs, across the torso—careful, precise—then returned it, all of it, back to center.
For a moment, his body tried to rebel.
A flicker of numbness in his left hand.
A whisper of heat near his heart.
A sharp spike of fear.
Raizen didn't chase it.
Didn't fight it.
He returned the current and let rhythm overwrite panic.
The hum spread through his entire body.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Just… present.
Daigo watched from the doorway now, like he didn't want to be too close in case the storm decided it didn't like him.
Minutes passed.
Raizen didn't leak.
Didn't spike.
Didn't burn.
He just kept circulating, serene as moonlight.
Daigo's grin kept widening until it looked like a man who'd finally found a weapon worth the trouble.
When Raizen finally opened his eyes, he didn't look tired.
He looked… awake.
Daigo whispered, almost reverent:
"…There you are."
Raizen exhaled.
"What now?" he asked.
Daigo's eyes gleamed.
"Now," Daigo said softly, "we see what you can do while moving."
Raizen blinked.
Daigo yawned.
Then smiled like a threat.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we run lightning through your body… and we make you fight anyway."
Raizen's spine prickled.
Daigo stepped back into the hall, voice drifting like thunder behind a cloud.
"And Moonwire?"
Raizen looked up.
Daigo's grin sharpened.
"If you pass out," Daigo said, "I'll carry you home."
He paused.
"…After I laugh."
Then the door slid shut.
And Raizen sat in the quiet, whole body humming, realizing three things at once:
His body was healing faster.
His chakra was growing deeper.
And whatever Daigo had planned next—
was going to hurt in a way he'd never felt before.
⸻
Day Eleven
The next day started with Daigo's fist in Raizen's face.
Not a punch.
A shove—two knuckles pressed into his forehead like a drill bit.
Raizen's eyes snapped open.
Daigo loomed over him, hair a mess, flak jacket half-on, one eye squinting like he'd been asleep five seconds ago.
"Up," Daigo said.
Raizen sat up too fast, and the circuit wobbled.
A sharp spark of heat flared near his sternum.
His breath hitched.
Daigo's palm slapped the floor beside his head.
CRACK.
"Don't panic," Daigo said, voice low. "Return it."
Raizen clenched his jaw and forced the current back to center—core to limb, limb to core—until the heat thinned into a controlled hum again.
Daigo nodded once, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Now stand."
Raizen pushed to his feet.
The full circuit stayed.
And immediately, he understood the problem.
When you were sitting, the loop was a river.
When you stood—
it became weather.
Heartbeat changed the current. Balance shifted it. Muscles demanded chakra. Nerves fed back static into the loop.
He took one step forward.
His left hand tingled.
Another step.
His calves buzzed too hard.
Daigo didn't speak.
He simply pointed at the floor.
A ring—chalked into the mat like an arena.
"Circuit Walk," Daigo said. "Three laps. No leakage. No pride."
Raizen stepped into the ring.
He walked.
At first it felt like balancing a bowl of water on his head while someone shook the ground. Every shift of weight threatened to spill the circuit sideways.
His breathing almost broke.
He caught it.
Returned the current.
Walked again.
Daigo began doing what Daigo did best.
Being unbearable on purpose.
"You know what kills shinobi?" Daigo said loudly. "Not jutsu. Not swords. Not poison."
Raizen didn't answer.
Daigo yawned—huge, exaggerated—then snapped alert.
"Faster."
Raizen transitioned into a jog.
The circuit immediately screamed.
Numbness flickered in his fingers. His legs buzzed so hard his steps threatened to misfire. The hum rose toward crackle.
Daigo's hand shot out and slapped Raizen's shoulder—
hard enough to jolt his spine.
Raizen stumbled.
The current spiked.
A single violet spark jumped off his forearm and snapped into the air.
Daigo grinned.
"There it is," he said warmly. "That's the mistake that gets people buried."
Raizen's chest rose fast.
He felt panic trying to climb up his throat like bile.
Daigo didn't laugh.
Not yet.
He leaned in close, voice quiet.
"Return it."
Raizen forced his exhale out slow—like he was blowing on a candle.
He pulled the current back.
Core.
Limb.
Return.
The crackle sank into a hum again.
Daigo straightened, satisfied.
"Again."
Raizen jogged.
This time he didn't fight the storm.
He listened to it.
He adjusted the loop the way you adjusted a spear point—micro-corrections, tiny shifts—letting the rhythm of his steps become part of the circuit instead of an enemy.
He made it around once.
Twice.
Third lap.
No sparks.
Daigo's grin widened like he'd just been handed a new toy.
"Good," Daigo said. "Now we hit you."
Raizen's eyes opened.
"…What?"
Daigo yawned again, eyes watering, then snapped awake like a switch flipped.
He stepped behind Raizen.
Then shoved him.
Hard.
Raizen stumbled forward, caught himself—
and the loop bucked.
Heat flashed near his ribs.
Daigo shoved again.
Raizen recovered.
Return.
Hum.
Daigo slapped his thigh.
A sharp sting.
Daigo flicked his shoulder.
A jolt.
"Impact Test," Daigo announced to the empty house like he was hosting a festival. "If you can't keep your circuit under pressure, you don't have a circuit. You have a prayer."
He shoved again.
Raizen's foot skidded.
His breath almost broke.
He returned the current like it was the only thing holding him together.
By the fifth hit, it clicked.
The circuit wasn't a fragile thing.
It was a rule.
And rules didn't care about pain.
They cared about discipline.
Daigo paused.
He stared at Raizen like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or be impressed.
Raizen stood there, sweating, bruising in real time, body humming, eyes calm.
Daigo's mouth twitched.
Then, quietly—almost like he hated saying it—
"Good," Daigo muttered.
Raizen blinked. "That's it?"
Daigo's grin returned, full force.
"Oh no," he said. "That's just the warm-up."
He pointed toward the open doorway.
"Go to your team training," Daigo said. "Keep it running."
Raizen's eyebrows shot up. "All day?"
Daigo shrugged. "If you leak, you're weak. If you don't leak, you're dangerous."
Then he yawned and waved Raizen out like he was dismissing a servant.
"Go," Daigo said. "Let's see if your friends can tell you're changing."
⸻
Training Ground Eleven felt heavier today.
Not because the seals were worse.
Because Raizen was different inside them.
He arrived early—spear sealed at his side, breath steady, full circuit humming under his skin like a quiet engine.
Samui and Reina were already there.
Raitaro stood in the shade of a tree, arms crossed, looking bored in the way that meant he was watching everything.
Raizen stepped onto the dirt.
The circuit held.
Raitaro's eyes flicked toward him.
Just once.
Then away.
No praise.
No reaction.
But Raizen saw it.
The slight narrowing of attention. The calculation.
Raitaro knew.
"Alright," Raitaro called lazily. "Weapons rotation."
Reina drew her sword with a clean metallic hiss.
Samui loosened her stance, blade angled low, calm as a lake before a storm.
Raizen unsealed his spear.
The wooden shaft hit his palm.
The circuit hummed.
Raitaro's grin sharpened.
"Same rules," he said. "No killing. No excuses."
He tilted his head at Raizen.
"And you—"
Raizen's eyes lifted.
Raitaro's gaze was almost amused.
"—don't you dare turn that new trick off just because it hurts."
Reina's eyes narrowed.
Samui's attention sharpened.
They'd noticed too.
Raizen grounded his stance—standard long grip, rear hand near the butt, lead hand mid-shaft—and felt the current moving through his legs, his core, his arms.
He didn't feel lighter.
He felt tuned.
Raitaro lifted a hand.
"Begin."
Reina moved first—fast, surgical—trying to cut through his range like she always did.
Raizen thrust.
She parried.
He recovered—
and for the first time, when the shock of contact rattled his arms, the circuit didn't shudder.
It stayed clean.
Samui stepped in from the side, testing his angles.
Raizen pivoted—small step, sharp angle—spear head tracking centerline, circuit humming through the turn like it belonged there.
They pressed him.
Reina clipped his shoulder with the flat of her blade—hard enough to sting.
Raizen's breath hitched—
and the circuit tried to spike.
He caught it.
Returned it.
Hum.
He didn't win the exchange.
Reina and Samui were too experienced, too smart, too coordinated.
But he didn't break.
And Raitaro's eyes—half-lidded and lazy—watched him like he'd just confirmed something he'd suspected for weeks.
After the round ended, Raizen stood in the dirt, chest rising and falling slowly, body humming like a quiet storm.
Reina wiped sweat from her brow, frowning.
Samui stared at him like she was recalculating.
Raitaro clapped once.
"Good," he said simply.
Then his grin turned sharp.
"Tomorrow," Raitaro said, "we add jutsu."
Raizen's spine prickled.
Because fighting with pain was one thing.
Casting with pain—
while keeping lightning inside your body—
was another kind of hell.
And Team Eleven was walking straight into it.