By the time I returned to the orphanage, it was already night and the younger kids were already in bed.
Daisuke was sitting by the window and looking outside.
"You're always walking around after class," he commented without looking at me.
I sat on my bed, stretching my legs. "Yeah."
"You thinking about something?"
I glanced at him. His tone was casual, but there was curiosity in his eyes.
"I'm just paying attention," I admitted.
Daisuke snorted. "To what?"
"Everything."
He hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn't push further. He knew better than to do that. Instead, he flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
"...Do you ever think about what happens after this?" he asked suddenly.
I knew what he meant. The orphanage, the Academy, all of it.
Not everyone would become a shinobi. Not everyone wanted to and that was alright if they considered their family support. However, that wasn't the case for us.
We had no place in society, no property to our names, and finally, no legacy to follow.
"Yeah," I said simply.
Orphaned children tend to mature earlier than others since we don't have things handed to us or are cuddled when we feel emotional.
We learn to do things by ourselves, think for ourselves.
Daisuke sighed, covering his eyes with one arm. "Sometimes, I think about opening a ramen shop."
I raised an eyebrow. "You can't even cook."
"Doesn't mean I can't hire someone who can," he shot back and I could hear the humor in his voice.
I huffed a quiet laugh.
That's true.
For all his laziness, Daisuke had a point. Not everyone had to follow the expected path.
And neither did I.
But that didn't mean this world would allow that.
The Academy didn't teach children to think, it taught them to obey.
Thoughts weren't nurtured; they were planted, shaped to serve the village. And because most kids had no real defenses, they absorbed those ideas without question.
I laid back, staring at the wooden ceiling.
By twelve, a child was considered an adult. Old enough to fight and old enough to die. That also meant old enough to leave the orphanage and survive on their own.
For chakra-adept orphans like us, that left only one path: become shinobi.
A sad, narrow system… but an efficient one for a militarised organisation that was the Hidden village.
Still, I'd already seen enough of the village to understand how it truly worked.
And now, it was only a matter of time before I started working around it.
…
The remainder of the academic year was a steady progression of learning, adapting, and refining what I had already built before entering the Academy.
At the start, it became obvious that clan children had a significant advantage, especially in taijutsu.
Their movements were ingrained from practice at home under the guidance of experienced family members.
The Hyūga, like Ren, had their own formal style, smooth and precise, while others, like the Inuzuka, fought with a wild, almost instinctual aggression.
The Uchiha, though none were in my class, were known for their natural talent, but even those from lesser-known families had techniques and habits passed down to them.
I lacked all that.
My body was solid but lacked the refinement and fluidity that came from years of structured training.
My biggest weakness was predictability, and against someone like Ren, who could read attacks, that made me easy to counter.
The guy's strikes were brutally hurtful and I even considered approaching him to learn the secret behind such hurtful palms but I quickly stowed away the thought.
The Hyūga weren't exactly known for their warmth, and the last thing I wanted was to look like some helpless orphan begging for attention.
I had enough self-awareness to know that certain connections only held value when both sides stood on relatively equal footing, or at least appeared to.
Though I did entertain the idea of using palms instead of fists for attack. There was this unique elegance to it which stuck with me.
Before enrolling in the Academy, I'd already dabbled in basic martial arts, nothing formal, just self-taught drills to build coordination and arm strength.
My movements were rigid and mechanical, they were efficient for exercise, but far too predictable in a real fight as evidenced in how I couldn't manage to hold my ground against Ren
Over time, I began to adjust.
Blending fists and palms into my strikes proved harder than I expected.
I had thought it would be easy considering my still developing mind and body, but the muscle memory from my old routines resisted change.
At first, switching between the two felt clumsy, my flow disrupted by hesitation.
My knuckles bruised from misjudged punches, and my palms stung from weak impacts that lacked proper alignment.
Incorporating fists and palms into my attacks proved difficult considering the muscle memory I had already built. But I was nothing if not persistent.
I wouldn't say I had mastered it by the end of the year, but I was far less stiff than when I started.
My stamina was above average, which was to be expected considering my personal training, but my strength, especially in comparison to clan kids, was nothing special.
Physical conditioning was a slow process, and by the end of the year, I had made noticeable improvements.
Chakra control was another key focus.
Most students struggled with the basics, especially those with larger reserves, but I had a methodical approach to training.
Leaf exercises, meditation, and refining the smallest applications of chakra had all become second nature to me. I was the best in that regard.
This wasn't arrogance since while they were still following the Academy's pace, I was already able to perform the wall walking technique and remain there for 15 to 20 minutes before my chakra bottomed out.
By the time we reached the latter half of the year, I decided to push myself further as I moved on to water walking.
It was a different challenge altogether.
Unlike the steady surface of a tree, water was unpredictable, shifting beneath my feet the moment I applied too much or too little chakra.
Back on the stream near the orphanage, my first few attempts were humiliating.
One second I was standing, the next I was knee-deep in the stream as the other kids laughed.
Still, I didn't let it discourage me. If I did, I wouldn't be qualified to be a Grandmaster.
So, I went back to basics, just like with tree climbing. Start small, focus on the feeling, not the result.
Water walking wasn't about forcing chakra to your feet; it was about syncing with the water's movement, constantly adjusting the flow as the surface shifted.
At first, my chakra control was too rigid. The energy either scattered too quickly or clung too tightly, unable to move with the current. No matter how much I focused, I ended up soaked and irritated more often than not.
But failure wasn't new to me—it was just another part of the process.
I changed my approach. Instead of trying to dominate the water, I learned to move with it by stabilizing myself against small ripples, then gradually waded deeper, knee, waist and finally, chest, training my chakra to respond instinctively.
By mid-year, I could stand on the surface for half a minute before slipping. By the end, I could walk across the stream, not gracefully, maybe, but steadily.
And for me, that was enough proof that perseverance beat talent every time.
My chakra reserves weren't huge compared to clan-born students, but they weren't small either. I had enough to maintain a steady flow for about five minutes before I started to tire.
Compared to before I entered the Academy, my control had improved drastically.
The difference was clear, not only could I mold my chakra more efficiently, but I also understood its behavior better.
I could fine-tune how much I used, adapt it to different surfaces, and more importantly, I had developed a better understanding of how my chakra worked in response to external forces.
More than anything, I was starting to see my own potential, and for the first time since joining the Academy, I felt like I was genuinely moving forward.
Academics were an afterthought.
Years of self-study made history, arithmetic, and general knowledge easy to grasp.
What truly held my interest was the Academy's library, particularly texts on village fuinjutsu and economics.
I wasn't aiming to be a scholar, I was mapping Konoha's financial landscape.
Who controlled the major supply lines?
How did mission payouts affect the market?
Which businesses held the most influence?
I didn't have the resources to act yet, but when the time came, I'd be prepared.
After all, "If you're going to cut down a tree, spend most of your time sharpening the axe."
Socially, I maintained a balance, distant but not unapproachable and by the year's end, I wasn't the strongest or the fastest, but I was undeniably better than before.
And that was enough.
That is what mattered the most.