The walk back to the orphanage was silent. Kenji tried to chat for the first five minutes, but Asahi's monosyllabic replies — "Yes", "No", "Mm" — eventually discouraged him. He ran off toward a group of civilian kids, laughing as if the world were a joke only he understood.
Asahi was left alone. With his thoughts. And with the echo of Sasuke Uchiha's acknowledgment.
'He knows I'm a threat,' he thought, as his feet struck the pavement in steady rhythm. 'Or at least, that I could be.'
The problem was, Asahi didn't feel like a threat. He felt like a fraud.
'Eighty-five push-ups,' he mocked himself. 'So what? Kiba, the dog kid, almost turned into Iruka. Arashi, the red blur, can run like the wind. And Naruto . . . the quiet Yin-Kyuubi . . . can pull off a perfect Henge while yawning.'
He reached the orphanage. The place felt smaller now — as if the walls had shrunk while he'd grown.
He stepped into the dining hall. The smell of vegetable stew and boiled rice filled the air — thick, comforting. Emi-san was serving dinner with a wooden ladle, her apron stained with sauce.
"Asahi-kun! Welcome back!" she said, her voice so warm that even after all these years, it still triggered a faint flicker of distrust. "How was your first day? Did you make a friend?"
Asahi took his plate. The porcelain was warm beneath his fingers. "It was . . . informative."
He sat in his usual corner, away from everyone else. Kenji was at another table, animatedly recounting — with plenty of exaggeration — the tale of the eighty-five push-ups to the younger children, who looked at him with wide, gleaming eyes, as if he had just climbed a mountain using only his teeth.
Asahi ate in silence. Every bite measured. Every chew deliberate.
'Protein helps muscle recovery,' he thought, swallowing a piece of tofu. 'But no nutrient's going to fix my Henge.'
"You look tired," Emi-san said, stopping by his table. Her shadow fell across the tablecloth, cutting through the gleam of his plate.
"It was a long day," he replied.
"No," she said, tilting her head. Her voice softened, lowering as if sharing a secret. "You're not physically tired. You're frustrated. You've got that frown you wear when you can't untie a knot."
Asahi looked up, startled by her accuracy. He hadn't said a word. Hadn't even made a gesture. But she had seen it.
She smiled gently. "Whatever the knot is, you won't untie it by pulling harder. Sometimes you have to loosen it first."
Asahi watched her walk away to help another child, her steps light, her back straight.
'Loosen it . . .'
He finished his meal, wiped his plate with a cloth, and went straight to the only place he could think.
The shed was exactly as he'd left it. His sanctuary.
Moonlight poured through the single window, casting a pale square of light on the dusty floor. The air smelled of old hay, dried sweat, and rusted metal. The silence was so thick he could hear his own heartbeat.
He took off his Academy shoes. The wooden floor was cold beneath his feet. Sitting cross-legged in the square of light, he breathed in.
'Alright. One problem. One method.'
He closed his eyes. 'Step one: find the chakra.'
He tried to recall the feeling from that morning — the forced calm, the internal probing. It took nearly ten minutes, but finally, there it was. The hum.
It was faint, like a fly trapped in the next room.
'Step two: move the chakra.'
He remembered the hand signs: Ram, Boar, Tiger. Formed them slowly, feeling the stretch in his fingers, the tension in his joints.
'Now . . . push the hum.'
He focused. Visualized the chakra leaving his stomach, flowing up through his chest, down his arms, and into his hands.
POOF.
He opened his eyes.
Nothing.
His hands were still his hands. The shed was still the shed.
"Damn it," he hissed quietly, the word bouncing off the wooden walls.
He tried again. 'More force.'
Formed the signs. 'Ram, Boar, Tiger.' Gritted his teeth. Push!
POOF.
Not even a wisp of smoke.
He began pacing the small space, his footsteps marking the rhythm of his frustration. 'What am I doing wrong? In physical training, if I want to lift more weight, I contract harder. If I want to run faster, I push harder against the ground. It's cause and effect. But this . . . this is like trying to lift a box with telekinesis!'
'Use the Force, Asahi,' mocked a voice in his head, sounding uncannily like a certain space mentor from a galaxy far, far away. 'Great. Now I'm my own ghost mentor.'
He stopped. Breathed. 'What if Emi-san was right? What if I'm pulling too hard?'
He sat again. This time, no hand signs. Just closed his eyes and breathed.
'Don't try to move it. Just . . . feel it.'
He sank into meditation. Focused on his breathing, the Zanchin method he'd perfected — feeling the air enter, feeling it leave. His heartbeat slowed. The chirping of crickets outside grew sharper, clearer.
He searched for the hum.
There it was. This time, without the interference of frustration, it felt different. Not a hum. A river. Slow, almost frozen, running just beneath his skin.
'Water,' he thought. 'My affinity.'
He tried to sense Wind. It took more effort, but it was there — a different texture. Not a river, but a vibration. The tension in the air just before lightning strikes.
'Water and Wind. Ice. Or a storm.'
'Good. Found them.'
Now came the hard part. 'Proprioception,' he recalled from his past life — the ability to sense where your limbs are in space without looking. 'I need . . . chakra proprioception.'
He tried to flex the river of Water. Just a little. Move it from his stomach to his shoulder.
Nothing.
It was like trying to move his ear — he knew it was there, but the neural link simply didn't exist.
He opened his eyes, frustration flooding back.
He jumped to his feet and, in a burst of pure anger, punched one of the wooden posts.
CRACK.
The sound was dull, deep. The post shuddered. His knuckles screamed in pain, but he didn't care.
He leaned against the post, breathing heavily. Looked at his bruised knuckles, red and throbbing.
'Brute strength. It's all I have. And it's not enough.'
He felt defeated.
He grabbed his Academy bag, tossed in the corner. Something fell out — his textbook: History of Konoha: The Rise of the Will of Fire.
He glared at it. Useless homework.
He was about to shove it back in when he froze.
'Naruto was reading.'
The thought hit him as hard as his punch.
'Naruto, the Yin-Kyuubi, the quiet genius of Henge, wasn't training in the yard. He was reading.'
'Sasuke, the Uchiha prodigy — his form was perfect. It wasn't just strength; it was logic.'
Asahi stared at the textbook as if it were a venomous snake.
'What if the answer isn't in my body?'
He sat back down. Opened the history book to the first page.
'What if the answer's here? In theory? In history? In understanding what this thing is before trying to move it?'
He sighed. It was going to be a long night.
'Chapter 1: Chakra as Connection . . .'
He began to read.