Roy closed his eyes, immersing his entire consciousness in the faint tremor of the withered leaf resting on the back of his hand.
He used no chakra, relying solely on pure mental force to smooth out that tremor and command the dead leaf to be still.
The leaf uncontrollably sprang up and fluttered to the ground.
Failure.
Unmoved, he bent down, picked it up, and placed it back.
He understood deeply that his power, named Thunder Annihilation, already possessed enough destructive force; what he lacked most now was the finer control to wield that spear. If he couldn't even perfectly master a single leaf, how could he hope to command that wild, annihilating force?
So, he endured this solitude.
Day after day.
The cicadas' chirping outside the window faded, replaced by the autumn wind.
Winter passed, spring arrived, and tender green leaves replaced the withered branches.
In his apartment, the figure of that boy sitting cross-legged in silence never once missed a day over these two years.
…
Konoha Year 39, Spring.
Ninja Academy, Fifth Year.
Roy was ten years old.
He had grown quite a bit taller, and the contours of his face had lost some of their baby fat, looking more refined and handsome.
At school, he remained the model student: gentle in temperament and excellent in grades.
The content of chakra control classes had long since progressed from sticking leaves to the more difficult practice of treading water.
Most students were floundering on the surface of the lake behind the school, accompanied by bursts of screams as they fell into the water.
Roy, however, sat quietly in the classroom, reading a book on the fundamentals of sealing techniques.
On his forehead, a leaf was casually stuck.
It seemed welded there, immobile whether he turned pages, thought, or even frowned. Over the two years, he had practiced pure mental control to an astonishing degree, internalizing it into an instinct.
Nighttime, the secret base in the Forest of Death.
The granite boulder, once half a man's height, now stood less than a third of its original size, its surface covered in smooth, rounded holes of various sizes, resembling a bizarre beehive.
Roy gripped a specially made short sword in his hand.
This was a weapon he had forged from tempered steel, commissioned from a ninja tool shop using allowances he had saved for a long time; its hardness far surpassed standard-issue kunai.
He took a deep breath and began guiding the power within.
The process was still difficult, but the tearing pain from the beginning was long gone.
The river of chakra was skillfully constructed, Armament Haki was precisely stripped away, and then gently yet firmly enveloped by chakra.
Thunder Annihilation.
An ominous, dark energy that seemed to devour light emerged along the blade of the short sword. No longer did it spiral out of control as it had two years ago; instead, it clung stably to the surface.
Sweat beaded on Roy's temples.
Cautiously, he attempted to manipulate this layer of energy.
Coverage, the goal that had led to his crushing defeat two years ago, was no longer a luxury.
With a thought, the dark energy began to flow.
It no longer adhered statically but moved slowly across the blade like a layer of viscous, sticky black liquid, spreading from the tip to the hilt and back again.
The entire process lasted five seconds.
After five seconds, the energy dissipated. Roy looked down; the steel short sword in his hand was completely intact.
Success.
He had finally crossed the threshold from point to plane. Although he could only maintain it for five seconds, it was undeniably a milestone.
This meant that Thunder Annihilation was beginning its transformation from a projectile fired in a straight line into a weapon he could wield freely.
Two years of tedious practice had yielded these precious five seconds.
He was satisfied. This sense of steady, step-by-step progress was far more reassuring than any meteoric advancement.
His peaceful training life, however, was shattered by the increasingly tense atmosphere in the village.
The flames of the Third Great Ninja War had reached their peak.
Iwagakure, Kumogakure, Kirigakure – Konoha was fighting on three fronts simultaneously, the situation exceptionally brutal.
The shadow of war could no longer be concealed behind a facade of peace.
Patrolling ninjas on the streets had tripled, each face bearing an air of solemn killing intent. The hospitals were filled with wounded, the air perpetually thick with the smell of blood and herbs.
On the streets, Roy even saw children his age who had lost a father or mother, wearing black mourning clothes, their eyes vacant.
War was no longer just cold text in textbooks.
It was a living, breathing monster, devouring lives.
Finally, the aftershocks of war officially reached the yet-unripened seedlings like them.
One day, their homeroom teacher, a chūnin, entered the classroom, and everyone felt the unusually grave expression on his face.
"Everyone, be quiet."
He swept his gaze across the class, his voice low. "Due to the intense situation on the front lines, the village needs to replenish its fighting force. The Lord Hokage and the Council have jointly decided that all current graduating classes will graduate one year early."
Uproar filled the classroom.
"Graduate a year early?"
"Doesn't that mean we'll be going to the battlefield next year?"
Fear, unease, even a trace of inexplicable excitement spread among the students.
Obito Uchiha's eyes gleamed, as if he could already see himself becoming a hero.
Rin Nohara watched him with concern.
Kakashi Hatake maintained his usual detached expression; he was already a battle-hardened ninja, this decision held no significance for him.
Roy sat among his peers, his expression calm, but his fingers under the desk silently tightened.
His plans had been disrupted.
He had originally planned for a six-year period of perfect incubation, using the Ninja Academy as a safe haven to hone his strength to a level capable of handling any unforeseen circumstances.
Now, that shelter was being removed a year early.
After school, Roy didn't go to train, nor did he go home.
He walked alone through the streets of Konoha, watching the people come and go.
The vast machinery of war had begun indiscriminately pulling everyone into its gears.
Genius or mediocre, individual will seemed insignificant before it.
He stopped, looking up at the Hokage Monument.
The massive stone faces silently watched over the village under the setting sun.
Back at his apartment, he locked the door and took out a notebook from his drawer.
Its pages were filled with dense text and diagrams, recording the training plans and future strategies he had set for himself starting three years prior.
He turned to the last page. The schedule there extended all the way to Konoha Year 42.
Roy picked up a pen and, with a force so calm it was almost cold, drew a heavy line across the plans for that final year.
Plan changed.
Preparation time: shortened by one year.
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