It was nearly midnight when Asahi read the same sentence for the seventh time.
"Chakra is not a muscle to flex; it is a river to guide. It responds not to force, but to intention. A ninja does not 'push' their chakra; they 'invite' it to flow. It is the union of spiritual energy (mind, intention) and physical energy (body, vitality)."
Asahi slammed the book shut. A cloud of dust danced in the square of moonlight that lit the shed. The sound was dull, like a muffled gunshot in an empty room.
'Invite it to flow,' he thought sarcastically. 'What is this, some hippie self-help manual? Am I supposed to take my chakra out to dinner first? Ask it how it feels?'
He was frustrated. His bruised knuckles ached, tight under the skin, reminding him of the post he had punched. Brute force was simple. Tangible. If something didn't move, you pushed harder. End of story.
But this . . . this was philosophy masquerading as technique.
"Spiritual energy and physical energy," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The textbook was dense, full of abstract concepts about the Will of Fire and connection to the world. Words floated like smoke, impossible to grasp.
'Wait a second.' He paused. 'Naruto was reading. His affinity was Water. My affinity is Water . . . and Wind. Sasuke had technique. Naruto had . . . study.'
He looked at the book. 'What if I'm not training wrong, but only training half of what I should?'
For eight years, he had perfected his "physical energy" to ridiculous extremes. His muscles were efficient engines. His endurance absurd. But his "spiritual energy"—his ability to project intention—was atrophied.
He sat back down, but this time it was different. This wasn't a training session. It was a study session.
'Alright. Forget Henge. That's too advanced. It's like trying to run a modern video game on a computer that can barely open a text document.'
He closed his eyes. Returned to his meditative state, Zanchin. Found the river of Water, the hum of Wind.
'Don't push. Intention. Visualization.'
He remembered a technique from his previous life — visualization training used by athletes. They imagined the perfect sprint, the perfect lift, and the brain created the neural pathways.
'I won't try to move the river,' he decided. 'I'll visualize the path.'
He focused on his left shoulder. He imagined an empty channel, a hollow glass tube, connecting his center (stomach) to the tips of his left fingers. A clear, precise image.
Then, he imagined his Water chakra, the slow, cold river. And simply . . . opened the gate.
Flow.
He didn't push it. He released it.
At first, nothing. Then, a tingling. A strange sensation, like when a foot falls asleep. The tingling traveled slowly from his chest, down his bicep, past his elbow, reaching his hand.
It was the strangest feeling he had ever experienced in this life.
He opened his eyes.
He looked at his left hand. It didn't glow. It wasn't covered in water.
But it was cold.
He lifted his right hand and touched the left. The skin of his left hand was noticeably cooler than the right.
'I did it.'
A slow, genuine smile, the first in a long time, spread across his face.
He was so euphoric he tried again, this time with Wind. Visualized the path to his right hand. Focused on the vibration.
This one was harder. Wind was erratic. But after a minute, he felt a hum, like a tightly stretched guitar string, in the palm of his right hand.
Then he fell backward onto the hay.
He was exhausted.
Not the pleasant muscle fatigue from squats. Brain fatigue. Deep, penetrating, like he'd just taken the bar exam or coded for forty-eight hours straight.
'Spiritual energy,' he gasped, staring at the shed ceiling. 'Using the mind . . . it destroys you.'
He fell asleep right there, on the dusty floor, the history book on his chest.
The sun filtering through the shed's cracks was his alarm.
"Shit," he muttered, springing to his feet. His neck stiff from sleeping on the floor, his head throbbing with a dull hangover. 'Chakra fatigue. It's real.'
He ran to the main orphanage building. Emi-san saw him burst into the dining hall like a lightning bolt.
"Asahi-kun! For heaven's sake! You look terrible!" she exclaimed, noticing hay in his dark hair and the bags under his eyes. "Were you reading all night?"
"Something like that," he muttered, grabbing a bowl of rice.
She clicked her tongue. "I told you not to pull so hard on the knot. The brain needs fuel as much as the muscles."
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned, dropping two extra boiled eggs into his bowl. "Glucose. Protein. Eat. Or you'll faint before lunch."
Asahi nodded, grateful. 'Right. Brain function depends on glucose.' He devoured the meal, feeling the mental fog begin to lift, even slightly.
He arrived at the Academy just as the bell rang, earning a sharp look from Iruka for being late.
"Alright, class!" Iruka began. "I hope you've practiced your Henge, because today . . .!"
'Oh, please, no . . .' Asahi begged silently.
"...we're going to practice it again! I want to see improvement! One by one, to the front!"
Yesterday's panic was replaced by weary resignation.
He observed the usual round: Arashi (Red Iruka). Sasuke (Perfect Iruka). Naruto (Perfect Iruka, already reading).
"Asahi!"
He stepped to the front. The class fell silent, waiting to see if the push-up monster would fail again.
'Okay. No force. Intention. Visualization.'
He formed the hand signs: Ram, Boar, Tiger.
Closed his eyes. Visualized the channel. Visualized the image of Iruka-sensei: the scar, the vest, the tied-back brown hair.
POOF.
A cloud of smoke, denser than yesterday. Definitely more chakra.
When the smoke cleared, Asahi opened his eyes.
The class was silent. Then Kiba burst into laughter.
"Hey, look! Asahi got a dye job!"
Asahi looked at his hands. Still his hands. Looked at his clothes. Still his clothes.
"Asahi!" Iruka's voice was full of genuine pride.
Asahi lifted his gaze, confused.
"Look at your hair!"
He touched a strand of his hair. Normally straight and jet-black, courtesy of his genes.
Now, it was a messy brown, identical in color and texture to Iruka's.
It wasn't a full Henge. It was a mess. But a controlled mess.
"That's it, Asahi!" Iruka said, smiling. "That's control! You isolated part of your body and changed its color and shape! A fantastic first step!"
Asahi released the brown strand. The headache from chakra fatigue returned.
He almost smiled.