The day began with Ren's usual training routine. The lingering haze clung to the streets as he strapped on his weights and started his run. The heavy metal bands around his legs and arms didn't hinder his pace; they were now an integral part of his regimen. After completing several laps around the lake, he dove into the lake, his strokes cutting smoothly through the water as he focused on maintaining steady chakra control on his feet and hands.
After drying off, Ren shifted his attention to chakra exercises, drawing fire element chakra from deep within him. Sparks flickered at his fingertips as he cycled through the basic fire-style techniques. His progress was steady, though mastering fire—his least compatible element—was proving to be a slower process than the others. Nevertheless, the discipline of integrating multiple elements made him feel closer to his goal.
Satisfied with his morning, he headed to the academy.
On the way, Ren's sharp eyes caught sight of a boy practicing alone in the academy's courtyard. His movements were aggressive, unpolished but raw with potential. The face was unmistakable: Zabuza Momochi. Ren paused briefly, leaning against the wall, watching as Zabuza's wooden sword lashed out in powerful arcs.
Zabuza… The Demon of the Hidden Mist, Ren thought, a chill running through him. If I remember correctly, in the next two years he'll slaughter the entire class during the graduation exams. But the timeline felt blurry in his mind. Second year? Third? He decided to note it in his pocketbook that evening. Keeping tabs on Zabuza's progress might prove invaluable.
Class began with Fujimoto-sensei standing at the front of the room, his usual stern expression amplified by the misty light filtering through the windows.
"Today's lesson is on Kirigakure's guerrilla tactics," he announced, gesturing to a map pinned to the board. "In battle, direct confrontation is rarely our strength. Instead, we use the terrain, the mist, and deception to our advantage."
He drew a line across the map. "For example, when facing a superior force, we draw them into narrow paths where their numbers mean nothing. Once inside the mist, they're blind. From there, precision and patience win the fight."
Ren took notes, his mind flickering between Fujimoto's words and his own experiences with Ganryū. Everything ties back to the mist. To understanding it and making it part of you.
Yukiko raised her hand. "Sensei, what happens if the enemy learns to manipulate the mist against us?"
Fujimoto's expression didn't change. "Then we adapt. Remember, the mist is only a tool. The real weapon is the shinobi who wields it."
Ren nodded subtly, understanding more than ever that tactics and adaptability were the true core of Kirigakure's philosophy.
The scene shifted to the village council chambers, a grand but somber room filled with aged wood and the faint smell of dampness. Yagura, seated at the head of the table, addressed the council.
"The villagers need stability," Yagura said firmly. "I propose expanding trade routes with neighboring settlements. It would bring in resources we desperately need and strengthen alliances."
One of the councilors, Fujino, frowned deeply. His gaze lingered on Yagura, filled with barely concealed disdain.
"With respect, Mizukage-sama," Fujino began, his voice smooth but cold, "such measures could expose Kirigakure to unnecessary vulnerabilities. Isolation has kept us strong. Trade invites risk."
Yagura's expression hardened. "Risk is necessary for growth. If we stagnate, we'll crumble from within."
The tension in the room was palpable, the other councilors exchanging uneasy glances. Though the Mizukage's authority was absolute, it was clear not everyone trusted Yagura's vision for the village's future.
That evening, Ren stood behind the counter of his mother's shop, helping her sort supplies. The familiar scent of herbs and parchment filled the air as he carefully labeled jars and stacked scrolls. His mother glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Ren, I haven't seen Kurara around lately," she said casually. "She used to stop by all the time. Did something happen?"
Ren's hand froze briefly. Kurara. He hadn't thought much about her absence until now. "She's in another section at the academy," he said, resuming his work. "We don't cross paths often."
His mother hummed thoughtfully. "You two were close. Maybe you should check on her. The forge isn't far."
Later that night, sitting by the faint light of his desk, Ren flipped open his notebook. On one page, he wrote about Zabuza: Graduation exams, timeline unclear. Observe progress. On another, he scribbled a note about Kurara: Visit forge soon. Something feels off.
Closing the notebook, Ren stared out the window at the dense haze covering the village. His mind raced with thoughts of Zabuza, and Kurara.