Author's Note: Welcome back! Now that Katsuro has started to establish himself in the academy, it's time to explore his personal training. He knows he can't rely solely on the academy's lessons if he wants to surpass Sasuke. This chapter will focus on his first steps toward true strength, as well as the growing hints of his hidden nature. I hope you enjoy this deep dive into his mindset and struggle. Let's get into it.

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The night air was cool, thick with the scent of damp grass and earth. The village had long since settled into the quiet hum of late hours, but Katsuro had no intention of sleeping. While the others rested, he was here—on the outskirts of Konoha, where the trees loomed tall and shadows stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight.

He stood alone in a secluded training ground, nothing but the rustling leaves to accompany him. His muscles ached from the academy's drills, but it wasn't enough. What they taught during the day was basic, meant to train children into capable shinobi over time. But time was a luxury he didn't have.

Sasuke was already ahead. He was the prodigy, the one everyone acknowledged as the strongest of their generation. Katsuro was nothing more than another orphan of the Uchiha Clan, a footnote in history. He refused to stay that way.

He formed a stance, breath steady, and pushed chakra into his limbs.

His first task was speed.

Sasuke was fast—not just in running, but in combat. His movements were fluid, precise, as if he knew exactly where to be at every moment. Katsuro had watched him during their academy drills, memorizing the way he shifted his weight, the way he adjusted his stance. Speed wasn't just about running—it was about reaction time, about predicting and countering before the opponent even moved.

He set a goal. Thirty laps around the clearing, full speed. No slowing down.

The first ten laps were easy. His body was used to the movement, his legs pushing off the ground with ease. The next ten burned, his muscles tightening with every step. By the final ten, his lungs screamed for air, sweat dripping from his brow.

But he didn't stop.

Pain was nothing. Weakness was unacceptable.

By the time he finished, his legs trembled, his breaths coming fast and shallow. He braced his hands on his knees, forcing himself to stay upright. The pain would fade. Strength would come.

He took a few moments to recover, then moved on to the next exercise. Taijutsu drills—practicing strikes, dodges, counters. The academy taught basic stances, but he knew that wasn't enough. He needed something sharper, something more refined. He imagined an opponent in front of him, an invisible enemy matching Sasuke's speed and skill.

His strikes cut through the air, fists moving in precise patterns. He focused on efficiency—no wasted movement, no unnecessary effort. A single well-placed strike was better than ten poorly executed ones.

An hour passed. Then two. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. He wouldn't stop until he saw progress.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its cry echoing through the trees. The world was asleep, but he was still here, pushing himself further.

Finally, he dropped to the ground, exhaustion winning out. His body ached, his knuckles bruised from repeated strikes against the bark of a tree.

But he smiled.

This was what separated him from the others.

This was why he would win.

--

The next morning, Katsuro walked into the academy as if nothing had happened. His muscles protested every movement, but he refused to let it show. Weakness wasn't something he could afford to display.

The classroom was already lively. Naruto was arguing with Kiba over something trivial, Sakura was fawning over Sasuke, and Shikamaru looked half-asleep at his desk.

Katsuro took his usual seat in the back, observing. He had learned early on that people revealed the most about themselves when they weren't paying attention. The way they talked, the way they moved—it all told a story.

Naruto was brash, loud, but his emotions were genuine. He felt everything deeply, and that made him predictable. Kiba was similar, all instinct and aggression. Shikamaru was different—lazy, but dangerously intelligent when motivated.

And Sasuke?

Sasuke was a wall.

He spoke little, interacted even less. His focus was singular, unwavering. He didn't bother with unnecessary conversations or distractions. He was someone who knew his purpose and pursued it without hesitation.

That was what made him strong.

But even the strongest had weaknesses.

Katsuro just needed to find them.

Iruka entered, calling for silence. "Alright, today we're going to be working on kunai accuracy. This is a fundamental skill for any shinobi, and precision can mean the difference between life and death."

The class moved outside to the training field. Wooden targets were set up at various distances, each marked with a red bullseye. The goal was simple—hit the center as many times as possible.

Sasuke went first. He stepped forward, expression calm, and with practiced ease, threw three kunai in rapid succession. All three hit dead center.

The class murmured in admiration. Katsuro simply watched.

One by one, the others took their turns. Kiba's throws were strong but slightly off-mark. Shikamaru's were half-hearted, yet still decent. Naruto's… well, the less said about his aim, the better.

Then it was Katsuro's turn.

He stepped forward, kunai in hand. The weight was familiar, balanced perfectly between his fingers. He exhaled, eyes locked onto the target.

In a swift motion, he threw.

The first kunai hit near the center. The second landed slightly off to the right. The third—just shy of the bullseye.

Not perfect. But close.

Iruka nodded. "Good form. Keep practicing."

Katsuro returned to his spot, analyzing the results. His grip was steady, his aim precise, but it lacked the effortless control Sasuke had displayed.

He needed more.

The class continued, but Katsuro's mind was already elsewhere. He had learned something important today—not just about his own skills, but about Sasuke's. Watching him closely, he noticed something.

Sasuke always aimed for the exact same spot. Every throw was identical, every movement refined to perfection. That meant his strength was consistency, but it also meant he followed a pattern.

Patterns could be exploited.

Katsuro allowed himself a small smirk.

He wasn't there yet. But he was getting closer.

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Author's Note: This was a long one, but I wanted to show more of Katsuro's personal training and his growing observations about his classmates. He's starting to see weaknesses, starting to formulate a plan. He won't just get stronger—he'll learn how to take advantage of everything around him. Let me know your thoughts! Next chapter, we'll see him put some of these lessons into practice.