The evening air was crisp, the kind that stung faintly when inhaled too deeply. Satoru's breath left faint wisps of vapour as he stepped into the clearing. An Uchiha training ground stretched before him; the sky overhead burned orange and crimson, a fiery canopy that slowly softened into violet.
He stopped at the centre of the field, sandals crunching over the coarse dirt. For a moment, he just stood there, still, listening to the silence that filled the empty space.
"I guess it's just me today…" he thought, eyes sweeping over the clearing as if half-expecting Shisui to step out from behind one of the trees, that familiar easy grin in place. Or perhaps Itachi, with that quiet intensity in his gaze.
But neither came.
Both of them were away; Shisui on an extended reconnaissance assignment near the border, Itachi with his team somewhere along the Land of Fire's interior routes.
Satoru knew their absence was proof of how far they'd already advanced, how quickly they'd moved past the threshold he was only now approaching. It didn't make him jealous anymore; it made him restless.
"Fine," he murmured, rolling his shoulders. "If it's just me… then it's just me."
Satoru stretched his hands in front of him, fingers flexing, palms roughened from weeks of training.
"Fire's my natural affinity…" he muttered, "...but a true shinobi shouldn't rely on one nature alone."
The memory of Shisui's smirk flashed in his mind; "You'll never grow stronger just doing what you're good at, Satoru."
"Let's see how true that is," he said aloud, taking a deep breath.
The first elemental release he decided to try was water. Suiton, the opposite of his natural fire, is a test of restraint rather than force.
He clasped his hands together and began forming the seals; Tiger → Ox → Monkey → Rabbit.
The pattern came easily enough, but the moulding, the way the chakra had to compress and cool, drawing in moisture from the air, that was foreign.
Chakra gathered in his throat, dense and heavy.
"Mizu Tama no Jutsu!"
A faint hiss. Then, pfft!, a thin spurt of water shot out, collapsing before it even left his mouth. The few droplets sizzled weakly against the scorched soil.
Satoru wiped his mouth with his sleeve, scowling.
"Too dry," he muttered. "Too much chakra loss."
He tried again, slower, more deliberate. The condensation formed briefly, just enough for a bubble of water to hang in the air before splattering uselessly to the ground.
"Ugh." His voice was rough with irritation. "There is no control, and no density…" He sighed, the breath leaving him in a tired cloud.
He shifted to a different stance, inhaling through his nose.
'Fire flows. Earth resists.'
He repeated the mental mantra like a rhythm, trying to feel the grounded pull beneath his feet. He'd seen others perform it with ease — a protective wall of stone rising like a barrier between worlds.
He pressed his hands together; Boar → Dog → Ram.
"Doton: Dorokuheki!"
The ground trembled faintly, then cracked. Dirt rose in uneven clumps before collapsing immediately with a dull thud. A puff of dust hit his face, and he coughed, waving it away.
"Well, that… was embarrassing."
He crouched, dragging his fingers through the loose soil. It crumbled between them, dry and lifeless.
"I'm forcing it instead of grounding it," he said quietly. He could feel it, the lack of harmony. Fire was willful; Earth demanded patience. The contradiction grated against him.
He let out another sigh and straightened, brushing dirt off his clothes. "Alright… next."
The air had cooled further now, brushing lightly against his skin. Wind should've felt natural; subtle, easy to mould. He remembered the sequence; Tiger → Rabbit → Bird. Chakra swirled through his arms, toward his palms.
"Fūton: Reppūshō!"
He thrust both hands forward. The air rippled weakly, creating a soft breeze that barely stirred his hair. The nearby grass swayed lazily.
"…Seriously?" He groaned, slumping slightly. "Should I even that wind?"
He reset, clapping his hands together again. This time, he focused more chakra, steady and deep, but the blast came out uneven, dissipating before it could form a coherent current. His frustration was palpable; a spark of heat rose in his chest, instinctively igniting the fire-nature chakra that came more naturally to him.
"Why is everything so much harder outside fire?" he muttered through clenched teeth, voice low.
He hesitated before the final attempt. Lightning release was notoriously difficult; even the theory had sounded volatile.
Still, curiosity burned in him. He formed the seals slowly; Snake → Ox → Tiger.
Chakra tingled beneath his skin, quick and sharp. A faint crackle of energy lit his palms, tiny arcs of blue that fizzled and vanished as quickly as they came.
"Come on…"
He focused harder. The tingling grew into a jolt; pain flared through his forearm, making him hiss.
The current died with a sharp snap!
"—Tch!" He shook his hand, grimacing. "No wonder lightning types are so rare."
Satoru walked to a nearby rock and sat down heavily. His arms hung loosely over his knees.
He stared at his hands and frowned.
"So this is why affinities matter," he muttered softly. "You can't just copy strength."
For a long moment, there was only the sound of wind brushing through the trees and the distant rustle of leaves. Then his eyes narrowed; a glint of determination cutting through the fatigue.
"If ninjutsu's not working… then maybe it's time to master movement."
He stood up, rolling his neck, loosening his shoulders. The aches in his limbs reminded him how much chakra he'd already used, but the urge to move, to push just a little further, drowned it out.
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling Shisui's teachings. 'Gather chakra evenly through the body… focus on destination, not distance.'
He opened his eyes again, fixed on a tree several meters away. His hands came together.
"Alright. Shunshin no Jutsu."
His chakra flared, uneven at first. He felt the surge in his legs, but no proper release. The ground blurred faintly, but his body didn't move far; he stumbled forward, landing awkwardly.
"Too much focus on the legs," he muttered. "Not enough distribution."
He tried again. The second attempt produced a brief flicker; a flash of motion followed by imbalance. He tumbled onto his side with a grunt, coughing as dust rose around him.
"Flow, not force…" he recited under his breath, echoing Shisui's calm tone. He got up, shaking off the dirt, and set his stance again.
The third attempt was smoother. He visualised the clearing, the exact spot where he wanted to land; the rhythm of his breathing, the pulse of chakra spreading evenly through his frame.
He inhaled, centred himself, and released.
"Whoosh!"
The world blurred. For an instant, everything stretched — light, air, sound — then snapped back. He appeared several meters away, knees bent, heart hammering.
He blinked rapidly, trying to steady himself. The aftershock of chakra made the air ripple faintly around him; his clothes rustled as though caught in a passing wind.
"…Finally." A small, triumphant grin tugged at his lips. "Shunshin no Jutsu."
He stood straight, exhaling slowly. The strain in his body felt worth it now; the fatigue softened under the warmth of success.
The evening had deepened fully; the last traces of sunlight vanished behind the trees. Satoru stood in the centre of it all; alone, yes, but no longer disheartened.
He looked down at his palms once more. The faint tingle of chakra still buzzed beneath his skin; imperfect, unsteady, but alive.
"Not bad," he murmured to himself, a faint smirk forming. "Not Shisui-level… but not bad."
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