AN :Hello everyone! Here's a new chapter of the story. How are you liking it so far? If anyone has any ideas to share, don't hesitate to send me a message! Have a great day and weekend! :)
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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Uchiha clan's training grounds, the light reflecting off the rippling surface of the nearby lake. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the towering trees that bordered the clearing.
Fugaku Uchiha stood tall and imposing at the center of the grounds, his arms crossed as he gazed down at his young son.
Izuna, just three years old, stood with his small fists clenched at his sides. Despite his age, there was an air of quiet intensity about him.
His dark hair swayed slightly in the breeze, and his sharp, intelligent eyes never wavered from his father. In Fugaku's hand was a small slip of paper, delicate and unassuming.
"This is chakra paper," Fugaku said, his voice steady but commanding. He extended the paper toward Izuna. "Do you know what this is for?"
Izuna's eyes lit up with recognition. Though he was only a child, his mind was sharp, his thirst for knowledge insatiable. "Yes, Father," he said with the confidence of someone far older.
"It's used to discover someone's chakra nature. Everyone's chakra has an affinity for one or more of the five elemental natures, and this paper reacts to reveal what that affinity is."
He continued, his youthful voice tinged with pride as he explained, "If the paper burns, it means fire nature. If it splits, it's wind. Wrinkling means lightning, crumbling into dirt shows earth, and dampening means water."
"To find out, I just have to channel my chakra into it, right?"
Fugaku raised an eyebrow slightly at his son's detailed explanation. "Hn," he responded, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Izuna took the paper with both hands, holding it carefully. His small fingers trembled slightly—not from fear but from excitement.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached inward. He felt the flow of his chakra, warm and vibrant, as he directed it into the paper.
The reaction was immediate and startling. The paper split cleanly into four parts. The first caught fire, crumbling into ash.
The second wrinkled tightly. The third disintegrated into fine dust, and the fourth split further in half. Fire. Lightning. Earth. Wind. Four natures.
Izuna stared at the paper fragments in awe. He had expected one or maybe two natures, but four? He glanced up at his father, whose stoic expression cracked for just a moment, revealing a flicker of surprise.
"Four affinities," Fugaku murmured, mostly to himself. His arms lowered, and he studied his son with newfound respect.
"This is rare. Most shinobi have one affinity, sometimes two. To have four… it speaks of exceptional potential."
Izuna's small chest puffed up with pride, but Fugaku's sharp gaze quickly cut through his budding ego.
"Affinity means nothing without mastery," Fugaku said firmly. "Even with natural talent, you must train harder than anyone else to unlock your full potential. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father," Izuna said, bowing his head in respect. His voice was resolute, his determination unshakable.
"Now," Fugaku said, motioning toward the open clearing, "we'll begin with taijutsu. Show me what you can do."
Izuna felt his heart pound with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Taijutsu was the physical cornerstone of being a ninja, and this was his first test under his father's unrelenting gaze.
His small hands clenched into fists as he nodded, determination shining in his dark eyes.
Fugaku stepped into a loose, yet poised stance, his movements smooth and deliberate.
His weight shifted slightly, showing perfect balance, like a predator ready to strike. "Attack me," he said, his tone calm but commanding. "Do not hold back."
Izuna nodded, taking a deep breath. He mimicked his father's stance as best as he could, his smaller frame slightly rigid but brimming with energy.
"I won't disappoint you," he said, determination ringing in his voice.
"Words are meaningless in battle," Fugaku replied coolly. "Prove it."
With that, Izuna lunged forward. His punch, aimed at Fugaku's chest, was quick for his age but lacked refinement.
Fugaku's hand moved with practiced ease, brushing the attack aside. Izuna staggered but recovered quickly, throwing a kick toward his father's legs. Fugaku stepped back, letting the strike miss entirely.
"Sloppy," Fugaku said sharply. "You're relying too much on instinct."
Izuna gritted his teeth and charged again, this time trying to feint. He shifted his weight as if to punch, only to aim a low kick again.
But Fugaku saw through it immediately. Before Izuna's kick could land, Fugaku's foot swept out in a blur, catching Izuna's ankle and sending him sprawling onto the ground.
The impact knocked the wind out of Izuna's small lungs. He gasped, staring up at the sky for a moment before scrambling to his feet. Dirt smudged his cheek, but he clenched his fists tighter, determination rekindled. "Again!" he shouted.
Fugaku's expression remained unreadable as he beckoned him forward with a flick of his fingers.
Izuna charged, trying to keep his movements more calculated. He aimed a flurry of punches, targeting Fugaku's midsection and sides. But his strikes were wild, and Fugaku deflected each one with minimal effort.
The counter came faster than Izuna could react—a solid palm strike to his chest.
Izuna's small body flew backward, landing hard on the ground with a dull thud. Pain radiated through his ribs, but he refused to cry out.
Instead, he forced himself up, wobbling slightly as he wiped dirt from his face. His breathing was labored, his small body not yet accustomed to such strain.
"You lack precision," Fugaku said, his voice calm but unyielding. "You're throwing attacks without thinking of their purpose. Every movement should have intent. Again."
Izuna hesitated, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The ache in his body tempted him to stop, but the fire in his heart burned brighter.
He wouldn't give up—not in front of his father. He lowered into a stance again, this time analyzing Fugaku's posture.
He darted forward, slower now but more deliberate. He feinted with a punch to the left and aimed a low kick to the right, hoping to catch his father off guard.
Fugaku blocked the kick with his shin, his movement swift and precise, and before Izuna could retreat, Fugaku's leg swept out again. This time, Izuna was ready—or so he thought.
He tried to jump back, but his balance faltered, and Fugaku's kick struck his ankle. Izuna crashed to the ground for the third time, a grunt escaping his lips. His palms stung from breaking his fall, and frustration welled up in his chest.
"You're learning," Fugaku said as he stepped back, giving Izuna space to recover. "But not quickly enough. If this were a real battle, you'd be dead."
Izuna's fists clenched against the dirt. His pride screamed at him to stand up, to try again, but his body ached in protest.
For a brief moment, doubt crept into his mind. Was he truly capable of meeting his father's expectations?
Then he remembered the chakra paper, the way it had split into four parts. He remembered his father's rare moment of pride, the belief in his potential.
Gritting his teeth, Izuna pushed himself up once more, his knees trembling but his resolve unbroken.
"I'm not done yet," he said, his voice shaking but determined.
Fugaku's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. "Good," he said. "A shinobi does not surrender. Now, think. Do not waste your movements."
Izuna took a deep breath, his mind racing. This time, he didn't charge blindly. He watched Fugaku carefully, noting the subtle shifts in his father's stance.
When Fugaku's weight shifted slightly to his left foot, Izuna darted to the right, aiming a strike at his exposed side. Fugaku turned to block, but Izuna pivoted mid-movement, using his momentum to deliver a low sweep with his leg.
The sweep caught Fugaku off guard, forcing him to step back. Though he recovered almost instantly, Izuna saw the flicker of surprise in his father's eyes.
"Well done," Fugaku said. "You've begun to understand. But you're far from ready."
Before Izuna could celebrate his small victory, Fugaku closed the distance in an instant. His palm struck toward Izuna's shoulder, and though Izuna tried to dodge, the impact sent him sprawling to the ground once more.
This time, Fugaku didn't press the attack. Instead, he offered a hand, pulling Izuna to his feet.
"You fought well for your first time," Fugaku said, his tone measured. "But this is only the beginning. Taijutsu is not learned in a day. You'll need to build strength, speed, and flexibility if you wish to truly challenge me."
Izuna nodded, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath. "I'll get stronger," he said firmly. "I'll train every day."
Fugaku placed a hand on Izuna's shoulder, his gaze steady. "I know you will. You are my son and heir, after all. Now, let's start with some exercises to address your weaknesses."
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, father and son continued their training. Though Izuna's body ached and his pride was bruised, he felt a spark of satisfaction.
He had learned more from those brief moments of pain and failure than he ever could have from words alone. For the first time, he glimpsed the mountain he would have to climb—and he was determined to reach its peak.
In the evenings, his training with his mother, Mikoto, began. She guided him through genjutsu techniques. She explained the theory behind illusions and taught him a handful of basic ones.
However, the Uchiha clan's most powerful genjutsu relied on the Sharingan, which Izuna had not yet awakened. For now, he could only practice the fundamentals, waiting patiently for the day his eyes would unlock their true potential.
To round out his training, Mikoto also taught him shuriken and kunai throwing. At first, his aim was erratic, and his throws lacked power. But Mikoto's patience never wavered.
She adjusted his stance, guided his hands, and encouraged him with every small success. Less than two weeks , Izuna's accuracy improved so much that he could hit very spot, though he still sought perfection.
From that day forward, Izuna's life became a cycle of relentless training. Each morning, he rose before dawn, strapped on the ankle weights, and ran laps around the training grounds.
The mornings were cold, the air biting against his skin, but Izuna pushed through. Sometimes, when the villagers were still asleep, he extended his route, running through the quiet streets until his legs burned.
After his runs, he practiced chakra control by the lake. The leaf-balancing exercise came easily, taking him only a two tries to master. Tree-walking was more challenging, but he conquered it within a day.
Water-walking, however, tested his patience. Each time he found his balance on the water's surface, his father hurled kunai and shuriken at him, forcing him to dodge while maintaining his chakra flow.
The cold water became his second home as he fell in repeatedly, but he never complained. His father's methods were tough, but they prepared him for real-world battles where distractions and danger were constant.
One quiet evening, after an especially exhausting day of training, Izuna found himself wandering into the clan's library.
It was a place of endless knowledge, its shelves lined with scrolls and books detailing the Uchiha clan's rich history, techniques, and philosophies. As he browsed, a thin book about medical ninjutsu caught his eye.
Initially, he wasn't interested. But as he flipped through the pages, curiosity took hold.
The book detailed basic first aid techniques, as well as the possibility of using chakra to heal minor wounds. The idea intrigued him. What if, one day, he needed to save his or someone's life?
Determined to learn more, Izuna delved deeper into the library's archives. He discovered an old, dusty tome filled with detailed instructions on chakra healing, herbs, and poisons. The knowledge was rudimentary, but it was a start.
Each day, Izuna's life became a balance of intense physical training and relentless pursuit of knowledge. Though his journey was just beginning, his resolve never wavered.
With his parents' guidance and his own unyielding determination, Izuna was shaping himself into a shinobi unlike any other—a protector, a warrior, and perhaps, one day, a legend.
Fugaku and Mikoto watched their son's progress with growing pride. Izuna was no ordinary child. He was a prodigy—a future force to be reckoned with.
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The forest was dark, its canopy so dense that only threads of pale light managed to slip through. Every shadow stretched long and deep, the air heavy with silence.
Izuna moved swiftly, eager to return home after a long day of training. He had lingered too long, and his accidental nap had made matters worse. His parents were surely worried, especially his mother.
But then he heard it—a soft, broken sound cutting through the stillness. He froze, ears straining. It came again, faint but unmistakable. A whimper.
For a fleeting moment, he thought it might be a child, lost and in need of help. Yet the sound didn't carry the cadence of a human voice. It was rougher, more primal, and unmistakably filled with pain.
Izuna hesitated. His instincts told him to ignore it, to keep moving and leave the forest behind.
He had already wasted too much time, and every minute he lingered would make the scolding at home worse. But the sound tugged at him. What if it was an animal, small and helpless, crying out for aid?
He clenched his fists, torn between his duty to his family and the pull of curiosity. With a quiet sigh, he gave in. "Just a quick look," he murmured to himself. "Then I'll go home."
Cautiously, he moved toward the source of the sound. The forest seemed to tighten around him as he walked, every rustling leaf and snapping twig magnified in the quiet.
The whimper grew clearer, sharper, leading him to a thicket of bushes. Pushing the branches aside, he saw it—a small fox, curled on the forest floor.
Its reddish fur was darkened with blood, and its body trembled with exhaustion. One hind leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and crimson stained the ground beneath it.
Izuna's breath caught. The animal was so small, so fragile, yet even in its pain, it struggled to rise. It bared its teeth at him, a weak growl rumbling in its throat.
Izuna froze, raising his hands slowly to show he meant no harm. "Easy now," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "I won't hurt you."
The fox's golden eyes locked onto his, bright with intelligence despite the pain clouding them. It was wary, every fiber of its being taut and ready to flee—or fight, if it must.
Izuna could see the exhaustion in its trembling frame, the way its injured leg quivered under its own weight.
Carefully, he knelt, making himself as small and unthreatening as possible. He kept his voice soft as he inched closer.
"I just want to help," he said, hoping the creature would understand. The fox growled again, a warning, but it didn't try to run. It couldn't.
Reaching out slowly, Izuna touched the air just above its fur, giving it time to adjust to his presence.
After a long moment, he rested his hand lightly on its side. The fox flinched but didn't pull away. Taking this as permission, he scooped the animal gently into his arms.
The fox tensed, letting out a small cry of pain, but it didn't struggle. Its breathing was rapid, its body trembling against him.
Izuna worked quickly, drawing on the small amount of medical ninjutsu he had managed to teach himself. A faint green glow emanated from his palms as he focused on stabilizing the wound and stemming the bleeding.
His knowledge was limited—he couldn't heal serious injuries—but it was enough to dull the pain and stop the flow of blood.
The fox watched him the entire time, its golden eyes wary but no longer hostile. As the pain ebbed, it relaxed slightly, its trembling subsiding. Izuna smiled softly, reaching out to pat its head. "There," he murmured.
"That's better, isn't it?"
The fox tilted its head, studying him. Then, to his surprise, it leaned forward and licked his cheek, its tongue warm and rough. Izuna chuckled, a quiet laugh that carried relief. "You're welcome," he said.
Setting the fox gently on the ground, he watched as it tested its weight on the injured leg. It was still weak but far more stable than before. T
he fox gave him one last look, something akin to gratitude flashing in its eyes, before turning and limping into the shadows of the forest.
Izuna stood there for a moment, watching it disappear. Then he sighed and began his own journey home. When he arrived, his mother, Mikoto, was waiting at the door, her worry quickly turning to exasperation.
After enduring her scolding and promising to never stay out so late again, Izuna finally collapsed into bed.
But sleep didn't come easily. His thoughts lingered on the little fox, its bright eyes and trembling frame. He hoped it would heal fully, that it would avoid danger in the future. With that final wish, he drifted into sleep, a faint smile on his lips.