Akaashi stirred from slumber, his eyes fluttering open to greet his third day in this world. However, one glaring oddity immediately caught his attention. His body was not wholly laying on the bed; instead, his upper half rested on the mattress while his lower half sprawled out onto the floor. This was a direct result of his jog the previous evening, a leisurely outing that had unexpectedly turned into a relentless four-hour torment. Might Guy, in all his boundless enthusiasm, had forced Akaashi into a village-spanning endurance test, rendering his legs nearly useless. Now, he lay on the bed, completely aware of his aching body.
Initial attempts to rise proved extremely painful; moving his sore muscles was a much harder task than it should be. He decided to stay in the same position and wait for some miraculous change. Minutes passed, then, mustering determination, Akaashi tried once more. Each movement let out audible cracks and creaks from every part of his body, prompting him to let out a muttered curse at Guy's relentless training methods.
Managing to scramble to his feet, Akaashi's body protested every step, and a series of cracks echoed through his room. He let out a sigh, then proceeded to waddle towards the bathroom, where he finished up his morning routine very painfully.
Arriving in the kitchen, Akaashi began cooking breakfast. He set a pot of water on the stove and started slicing vegetables, a simple soup being his choice for the morning. While it wasn't really a fancy option, the soup offered much-needed warmth and comfort.
As the soup continued to cook, Akaashi retreated to the one and only chair in his apartment, situated right beside the scroll-laden table. He exhaled a breath, wondering what he should do for today. The idea of going outside seemed risky, given his previous encounters with Mizuki and the excruciating training session with Guy, whom Akaashi thought was worse than Mizuki.
Thoughts of Mizuki made him remember the impending meeting scheduled for the next day. He wasn't really worried about that; after all, if his understanding from the show translated to this world, shinobi killing their comrades was severely frowned upon in this world. Instead, it was the meeting with his fellow shinobi that concerned him more.
"Tomorrow will be a very busy day," Akaashi mused aloud. "Well, guess I'll leave tomorrow's problems to tomorrow's me. For now, I'll have to find a way to pass the day at home."
His apartment had barely any sources of amusement, and although he could continue organizing the diary's contents, the thought of repeating yesterday's exhaustive process didn't appeal to him. Akaashi's gaze settled upon the small box brimming with scrolls beside the table. The titles 'Fundamentals of Chakra Control 1,' 2, and 3 greeted him.
For some reason, opening one of these scrolls felt like the real first step into this enigmatic world. Despite the risk, he couldn't afford to remain ignorant about chakra, an integral element of this new existence.
Choosing 'Fundamentals 1,' Akaashi unrolled the scroll and plunged into its contents. It kicked off with a brief description of chakra, likening it to a mixture of physical stamina and spiritual energy, manifesting as a versatile, invisible energy. The scroll explained that chakra existed in all humans, coursing through their bodies via chakra coils. It further explained how chakra was omnipresent, permeating the air, trees, and even the earth itself, existing in nearly every living entity.
Akaashi's intrigue deepened with every line, and he momentarily forgot the pot of soup simmering on the stove. The scroll continued to clarify how one could harness their inherent chakra. Feeling it was the first step, a task far more complex than sensing one's blood circulation due to chakra's metaphysical nature. The only path to connecting with this elusive energy involved intense, unwavering concentration, visualizing chakra spiraling through the mind while assuming a meditative posture with legs crossed, hands interlinked, forming a circle with both thumbs. One had to focus on the mental image until they could tangibly sense chakra coursing through their body. There was even a helpful diagram which illustrated the meditative stance.
Interested in this newfound knowledge, Akaashi read on, completely oblivious to the pot of boiling soup. The scroll delved deeper into the art of connecting with one's chakra and stated that not everyone could feel it. If one failed to do so, it meant that the path to chakra manipulation was sealed from them.
Akaashi knew he could manipulate chakra because of the diary's remark about his chakra training. He even knew what his chakra natures were. He had an affinity to water, accompanied by a much more insignificant affinity to earth release. It was barely there, but it was there nonetheless. The scroll then continued explaining the two distinct branches of chakra utilization: chakra control and chakra manipulation. While they might seem similar, they actually differ significantly. Control was the more advanced version, which gave the practitioner mastery over chakra's flow inside their body. On the other hand, manipulation meant changing how chakra looked, making it act like fire or water, and focusing mainly on hand signals.
The scroll continued to explain the intricacies of these two branches, offering a more detailed description, which Akaashi absorbed until he completed the scroll. As he set it aside, coincidentally finishing his meal at the same time, he carried his empty plate to the sink.
Akaashi mulled over the idea of attempting to feel his chakra. One major concern loomed in his mind: the looming specter of failure. He couldn't afford to mess this up, so he reckoned it was better to try now rather than face potential peril later. With that resolve in mind, he grabbed his blanket, spreading it out on the floor to shield himself from the cold surface. Sitting down in a posture resembling the one in the diagram, he prepared himself.
He began with a few deep breaths, attempting to calm his body and mind. As he closed his eyes, he envisioned something akin to a river, winding in spirals around his body. This ethereal river started at his head, meandered through his chest, then split into numerous branches, some flowing toward his arms, others toward his stomach, and still more toward his legs. It was a vivid mental image, but alas, he wasn't entirely sure if he was feeling it in reality.
Nevertheless, he persisted. Several minutes passed, and at last, something changed. He couldn't tell if it was the product of extended meditation or perhaps a hallucination, but he genuinely sensed something coursing throughout his body. It possessed a paradoxical nature – simultaneously warm and cold, light yet heavy, like a tranquil river flowing through him. Akaashi opened his eyes, and while the mental imagery disappeared, the sensation lingered.
A grin crept onto his face. At the very least, he wouldn't need Guy's rigorous training in order to protect himself. Satisfied with his progress, Akaashi decided to delve deeper. He reached for 'Fundamentals of Chakra Control 2' and plunged into its contents. This scroll delved into chakra control in more detail than the one before, leaving chakra manipulation in the sidelines.
Akaashi devoured the scroll's contents, absorbing the knowledge within like a sponge. He completed it in under an hour and promptly shifted to 'FOCC3,' which delved into the second branch: chakra manipulation. He diligently finished both scrolls, ensuring he understood their contents. However, a nagging concern surfaced. Both scrolls 2 and 3 mentioned the importance of mastering both control and manipulation. A distant memory about the original Akaashi's lousy chakra control skills from last night's information search sparked unease, but he pushed it aside for the moment. His current focus was on grasping the basics, reserving practical application for later.
With newfound knowledge at his disposal, he emptied the box of scrolls, arranging them in what he deemed a logical order based on his limited understanding. One by one, he delved into each scroll. Many were rather short, taking merely an hour or two of his time, but after about six hours, he had finished half of them. His comprehension of chakra had deepened considerably.
The remaining scrolls pertained to various jutsu, outlining their usage and the required hand seals etc. These, he decided, could wait for another time.
Now, armed with what this world would call academy-level chakra knowledge, Akaashi faced an unexpected dilemma. The scrolls were finished, and he found himself at loose ends. He returned the blanket to his bed, surveying his room and brainstorming ways to fill the time. Maybe he should write a story, or attempt some yoga to alleviate his aching muscles, or even give beatboxing a shot – anything to pass the time.
However, all these ideas were wiped out of his mind the moment he heard three consecutive knocks echoing from his apartment door.
"Fuck... not again," he muttered under his breath, his heart sinking.
Akaashi trudged over to the door, his exhaustion evident in each step. "Please, just not a shinobi," he muttered under his breath while gripping the doorknob. "And definitely not Guy."
Hesitating, he leaned in closer to the door, momentarily forgetting there was no peephole. His eyes squinted as he cracked the door open slightly, allowing only a sliver of visibility. There stood an elderly woman, clad in a traditional kimono, holding an unlit lantern. The oddity of a lantern in broad daylight didn't escape Akaashi, but he decided not to be too judgmental.
With a sigh of relief, he fully swung the door open, revealing the woman with a warm smile. "Oh, dear. How have you been, Akaashi?" she inquired. "It's been quite some time since you visited your parents' grave, so I was starting to worry."
Akaashi found the woman gentle and welcoming, making it easy to engage in conversation. "I'm still alive, as you can see," he replied with a faint smile. "But, I've been on missions and busy with training, so I didn't really have the time."
"Ah, shinobi work, I see," she remarked.
"Yeah, it's been demanding lately."
Stepping aside, Akaashi gestured for her to enter. "Actually, I need to head to the cemetery soon. Why don't you come along and visit your parents' graves? Since you're not busy right now," the old woman suggested.
Akaashi blushed slightly at the awkward situation. "Well, yeah, I'm free right now, so why not? Just let me grab some suitable clothes, and I'll be with you," he agreed before closing the door. He sifted through his wardrobe, selecting the most formal attire he could find. Akaashi lamented that he had to take responsibility for the original Akaashi's previous negligence, but there was a nagging question in his mind. From what the granny said, Akaashi probably used to visit the cemetery quite often, so what had caused him to stop?
Once dressed, he exited his apartment to find the elderly woman waiting for him. She led the way, and Akaashi followed along.
Amidst their walk, he decided to extract more information. "I can't even remember the last time I visited the cemetery," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.
"Two weeks," she replied. "It's been two weeks. Even your brother didn't avoid visiting for that long."
Akaashi's eyebrows raised in surprise. The diary mentioned his parents, but there was no mention of a brother. This revelation added a new layer of complexity to the situation. Wanting to know more but wary of raising suspicion, he refrained from probing further.
After a considerable walk, they arrived at the cemetery. An eerie atmosphere hung in the air, and aside from two other individuals, it appeared mostly deserted. The gravestones bore witness to the resting places of countless honorable souls, likely shinobi who had given their lives in service to their villages.
They strolled among the rows of graves until reaching their destination: two graves side by side. One bore the name Haruki Gekko, the other Yumi Gekko. The old woman handed Akaashi some flowers for the graves. Unsure of the customs in this world, he mimicked what he was familiar with, placing a flower on each grave.
"I'll leave you to it," the old woman said as she walked away, leaving her lantern next to Akaashi. He contemplated calling her back for assistance with his return home but hesitated, fearing embarrassment. Instead, he sat down between his parents' graves, lost in thought.
His mind raced with questions. What were his family back in his own world doing now? Had they held a funeral for him? Were they still mourning his loss, or had they moved on? Did he even die? What had transported him to this world? Was it truly reincarnation after death, or something else? And what had become of the original Akaashi? Was he now in control of his body? If so, would he cause trouble for his family? His parents already had enough on their minds. Could he...
"What are you doing?" a sudden, stern voice interrupted his thoughts. Akaashi turned to see a man standing nearby, unmistakably a shinobi. His outfit resembled his own but with a different vest, akin to Guy's, suggesting he might be a jonin. This was probably his brother.
Akaashi paused briefly before replying, "Just lost in thought," his voice tinged with a note of irritation.
The man snorted dismissively before sitting beside Akaashi, facing their parents' graves. It was an awkward silence, and Akaashi couldn't shake the feeling that he should recognize this man. He avoided making eye contact.
After a while, the man broke the silence. "You know... You're a vermin," he spat, his tone tinged with weariness. Akaashi raised an eyebrow, somewhat taken aback.
"You let your comrade die just to complete a mission," the man continued. The accusation brought to mind a famous saying from the show, one often voiced by Kakashi: "Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum." However, Akaashi decided to engage in the conversation.
"Would you have preferred that I saved my comrade and jeopardized the mission?" he retorted, turning to face the man.
"Then, you would have been scum," the man replied coolly, prompting an unintentional snort from Akaashi. It was indeed a lose-lose situation. What a troublesome brother.
"Why couldn't you do both, Akaashi? Why couldn't you save your comrade and complete your mission?" the man inquired.
Akaashi furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
The man's voice turned accusatory. "Because you're weak," he stated flatly, incensing Akaashi. The anger showed on his face and in his tone as he stood up, looming over his seated 'brother'.
"What did you just say?!" Akaashi demanded, his voice edged with anger.
The man didn't back down, maintaining his calm. "You've always been weak. That's why our parents died. You couldn't even protect yourself that day, so they had to sacrifice themselves to save a useless mutt like you."
Akaashi's heart raced. In his previous life, Akaashi endured the relentless torment of school bullies who targeted him for being academically driven. The abuse began subtly, with hurtful words and taunts, but quickly escalated into a nightmare of daily humiliation. His classmates subjected him to cruel pranks, vandalizing his textbooks and stealing his belongings. Akaashi's school life became a harrowing ordeal, with physical violence eventually becoming part of the routine. He would return home daily, bearing fresh bruises and torn uniforms, yet he chose to keep the ordeal a secret from his worried parents, believing he could handle it on his own. It was a pivotal moment when Akaashi, determined to stop being a victim, enrolled in a local boxing gym, where he poured his heart and soul into training, transforming himself from a timid student into a resilient fighter, determined never to let anyone belittle him without standing up for himself.
Facing his 'brother' squarely, he clenched his fists. "Let me make something clear," he declared, "I won't tolerate that kind of talk."
Before he could react, the man suddenly lunged, his speed astonishing. With a swift motion, he struck Akaashi in the neck with his forearm, sending a searing pain through his throat. Akaashi tumbled to the ground, writhing in agony as his vision blurred.
As the pain subsided, he heard the man's voice again. "If it weren't for your weakness, our parents wouldn't have died! I wouldn't have had to suffer through everything I did! I would have still had a family! But all because of you and your weakness, I was stripped of all that!" The man shouted. Akaashi could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears, the lingering pain in his neck a stark reminder of the brutal attack he had just endured.
Hayate clicked his tongue in frustration, his rage simmering but not erupting again. He turned away from Akaashi and began walking away, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the cemetery. If it weren't for their shared history as comrades, Akaashi might have already been dead by his hands. The man believed that Akaashi's perceived weakness was the root cause of their parents' tragic demise, a burden of guilt Akaashi now had to bear.
As Akaashi lay there motionless, his vision dimming, he could hear a distant voice calling out to him. It was the elderly woman, her concerned face hovering over him. Next to her stood another man, a stranger to Akaashi, and he couldn't discern whether this new presence meant safety or danger. However, the overwhelming exhaustion and pain forced Akaashi into unconsciousness before he could make any sense of the situation.