Subaru dedicated himself to training with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Every day, he arrived at the academy before dawn and was the last to leave at night, his body aching and bruised. To an outsider, it might have seemed like the frantic efforts of an eager student desperate to prove himself. But Subaru understood the truth: he needed to become strong, and he needed to do it quickly.
Memories of his encounter with the silver-haired woman haunted him, echoing in his mind during every quiet moment. She had given him a gift—or perhaps a curse—that could allow him to rewrite his fate. He couldn't help but wonder, though: how many times would he need to fail before he got it right?
Every time he stumbled, every mistake he made, and every flaw in his technique felt like an insurmountable chasm. Yet the thought of giving up was unthinkable. It wasn't about impressing his teachers or gaining his friends' admiration; it was about survival, controlling his own destiny, and confronting the fear that he wasn't enough.
One morning, just before sunrise, Subaru was at the training ground practicing the basic taijutsu form for the hundredth time. His legs shook from the effort, but he kept repeating the movements even as his vision blurred with exhaustion. Master Ren, one of the academy's toughest instructors, had noticed Subaru's dedication and occasionally offered a nod of acknowledgment or a gruff critique, but he had yet to provide any real guidance.
"You're swinging too wide," Master Ren's voice called from somewhere behind him. "Once again.
Subaru flinched but didn't show it. He corrected his stance and began the sequence again. However, halfway through, his body betrayed him. His foot slipped, and he crashed to the ground, a sharp sting shooting through his arm.
"Not enough," he muttered, his voice trembling with frustration. He clenched his fists and glared at the ground, as though he could force himself to improve through sheer willpower.
Master Ren approached with his arms crossed. "You're burning out, kid. Training this hard won't make you stronger if you can't walk by the end of the day."
Subaru pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt. "I have to improve, and I have to do it quickly. I can't afford to wait," he said, his voice filled with an urgency he didn't hide. "I need to be prepared."
Ren raised an eyebrow, studying Subaru. "Ready for what? You're still an academy student. The real battles are years away."
Subaru's gaze fell, unable to articulate the looming dread he felt or the relentless drive that gnawed at him every second. "I just... I don't have time," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"Fine," Ren sighed, stepping back. "You're determined, I'll give you that. But determination without focus is a good way to get yourself killed. If you're serious about this, then do it right."
Subaru looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "Will you… will you train me?"
Master Ren smirked. "Only if you're willing to follow my instructions exactly. If you complain even once, you're out. Understood?"
Subaru nodded vigorously, his heart racing. "I understand!"
"Excellent," Ren replied, his tone sharp and unwavering. "Let's kick off with the basics: discipline."
The next few days turned into a humbling experience for Subaru. Master Ren's "training" was far from the flashy techniques he had anticipated. Instead, it focused on the fundamentals—repetition, precision, and discipline. Ren drilled him on stances and basic strikes, each movement practiced until it felt instinctive. Endurance exercises pushed Subaru to his limits, leaving him breathless and exhausted, yet slowly forging a new strength within him.
At first, Subaru felt frustrated by the strict regimen, sensing stagnation. However, he soon saw the value in his training. Each repetition built a foundation, and every exercise strengthened his mind and body. He learned to silence the voice that demanded quick progress and instead focused on each movement.
Every training session brought a nagging doubt. Was this enough? Could he protect himself and others with just the basics? The thought haunted him at night, filling his dreams with images of failure and the lives he couldn't save.
One night, feeling overwhelmed by a sense of inadequacy, Subaru slipped away to the training ground once more. Determined to push himself beyond his limits, he began his exercises, moving through his forms increasingly faster. Ignoring the warnings of fatigue, he relentlessly pursued a perfection that always seemed just out of reach.
As he finished his roundhouse kick, his vision blurred and his foot twisted. He fell hard, pain shooting through his ankle. Gasping, he gripped his ankle, tears of frustration filling his eyes.
"Not enough," he murmured, his voice a fractured whisper. "Why can't I get this right?"
In that moment, the memory of the woman's voice came back to him, as clear as if she were standing right beside him. "Each choice bears a cost," she had said. He had ignored that warning, stubbornly immersing himself in training without considering the consequences. He could face death a hundred times, but unless he truly learned from his experiences, he would never become the shinobi he needed to be.
As his ankle throbbed, he realized his training had been frantic and unfocused. To master his power, he needed to slow down, concentrate, and truly understand the skills he was developing.
The next day, Subaru returned to Master Ren, limping but more focused. Ren noted his injury with a raised eyebrow but said nothing. As Subaru took his stance, a new clarity and quiet determination shone in his eyes.
Ren began the drills, and this time, Subaru didn't just follow blindly. He observed each movement and strike, analyzing where he had gone wrong before, searching for the balance between his desperation and purpose.
The progress was slow but steady. Each day, he felt himself growing—not just in strength but in understanding. With every step and every strike, he became more attuned to his body, and limits.
Subaru trained through pain, doubt, and sleepless nights, haunted by the fear of failure. He held onto the hope that he could control his own destiny, rewriting his story as many times as necessary to achieve perfection.
Ultimately, he wasn't training for fame or recognition; he was training for survival, control, and the strength to face whatever challenges his strange life would demand.
As he gazed up at the clouds swirling above the village, Subaru felt a small glimmer of pride. He was still far from his goal, but he had taken his first real step.
He would keep moving forward, no matter how many times he stumbled or had to die to create his perfect world.