3RD POV

The next few days settled into a predictable and, frankly, monotonous routine for Ryuichi. With the academy postponing taijutsu lessons for a while, the focus had shifted entirely to theory—long, drawn-out lectures about strategy, history, and the founding of Konoha. Ryuichi found it tiresome. Most of what they were taught seemed irrelevant, particularly when the urgency of war hung over them. The academy's slow pace grated on his nerves. While other students dutifully scribbled notes and memorized historical figures, Ryuichi found himself daydreaming, waiting for the few moments of practical lessons or the end of the day when he could return home.

At least in the evenings, he had the routine of calligraphy practice with Kushina. Yet even there, the constant comparison to Fuyumi gnawed at him. The Uzumaki girl had a natural talent for calligraphy that made his progress seem sluggish in comparison. Each night, Fuyumi would glide through lessons that had taken him weeks to master. Kushina praised her endlessly, and though she always encouraged Ryuichi as well, the words never felt quite as sincere. It hurt, though Ryuichi never admitted it openly. He would nod politely at Kushina's compliments and hide his frustration behind a calm facade, but inside, it stung.

But today, things were going to be different. Today, the academy was finally moving away from the endless theory sessions and into something far more exciting: chakra control training. The instructor announced that the class would be learning the Leaf Meditation technique, a foundational exercise for controlling chakra. The very mention of it brought a spark of excitement to Ryuichi's otherwise mundane day.

The Leaf Meditation was something Ryuichi had already mastered. His father, Uchiha Fugaku, believed in the importance of early mastery of chakra control and had personally trained him in the technique long before the academy even considered teaching it. Ryuichi remembered spending hours in the courtyard with his father, focusing his chakra while balancing a leaf on his forehead, feeling the slight vibrations of chakra moving steadily through his body. It had been tough at first, but over time, it became second nature.

As the students gathered outside in the academy's training yard, the instructor handed out leaves to each of them. "This exercise is crucial for your growth as shinobi," he explained. "It will help you control your chakra flow with precision, a skill you'll need for every ninjutsu, genjutsu, or even taijutsu technique. Place the leaf on your forehead and use your chakra to keep it there. It's about control, not power."

Ryuichi placed the leaf on his forehead with the confidence of someone who had done it a hundred times before. The familiar sensation of his chakra flowing through his body calmed him, and the leaf stayed in place without so much as a tremble. It was easy for him—effortless, even. While the rest of the class struggled to focus and keep the leaves from falling, Ryuichi felt a quiet sense of pride. He knew he was ahead here. This was where he excelled, and the feeling was exhilarating.

He glanced around, his eyes falling on the other students. Many of them were furrowing their brows in deep concentration, trying to keep the leaves from slipping off their foreheads. Kakashi, of course, was doing just fine, balancing his leaf with the same lazy ease he brought to every task. It didn't surprise Ryuichi. Kakashi had always been ahead of the class in almost every aspect, but Ryuichi didn't mind competing with him. In fact, Kakashi's skill made him the perfect rival.

Then Ryuichi's eyes landed on Fuyumi.

Fuyumi, who had so easily surpassed him in calligraphy, was struggling with the Leaf Meditation. Her leaf kept slipping off her forehead, and every time it did, a flicker of frustration crossed her face. Her control wasn't bad, but it was clear that chakra control wasn't as instinctive for her as it was for Ryuichi. He watched as she picked up the leaf again, her face tightening in determination. But even with all her effort, the leaf wouldn't stay in place for long.

A wave of satisfaction washed over him. For the first time in days, he felt like he had reclaimed something that was rightfully his. Fuyumi may have been a prodigy in calligraphy, but here, in ninjutsu and chakra control, Ryuichi was the genius. Watching her struggle with something that came so naturally to him gave him a sense of superiority that he hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't that he wished her ill, but after spending so many nights feeling overshadowed by her in front of Kushina, it felt good to finally be the one who was ahead.

By the end of the lesson, Ryuichi was still balancing his leaf with ease, while the majority of the class, including Fuyumi, were still struggling to get the hang of it. When the instructor passed by, he gave Ryuichi an approving nod. "Good work, Ryuichi," he said. "You've clearly been practicing."

Ryuichi simply smiled and nodded, but inside, he felt a swell of pride. This was his element—this was where he shined. While Fuyumi may have dominated in calligraphy, here, she was playing catch-up. He didn't say anything to her, but he could feel the balance shifting, and it felt good.

Later that evening, when he returned home for his usual calligraphy lesson with Kushina and Fuyumi, Ryuichi found himself less bothered by Fuyumi's effortless progress. She was still a natural with the brush, her strokes perfect and flowing with ease. Kushina still praised her constantly, but the sting of comparison didn't hurt as much anymore. Ryuichi had his own domain of mastery, and knowing that he excelled where it truly mattered—ninjutsu—was enough to keep his spirits high.

As the lesson ended, and Fuyumi once again left with a small smile on her face, Ryuichi didn't feel that familiar pang of envy. He knew that when it came to the shinobi arts that really mattered—chakra control, ninjutsu, and eventually combat—he was the one with the upper hand. And he would make sure it stayed that way.

The day had ended on a high note, and as Ryuichi lay down to sleep, he felt a sense of peace that had eluded him for weeks. He was still growing, still learning, but today had reminded him that he was on the right path. And as long as he stayed focused, nothing—not even the quiet brilliance of Fuyumi—could take that away from him.

-{0}-

Ryuichi felt a surge of excitement as he sprinted from the academy toward the training ground in the Uchiha compound. Today was special—his father, Fugaku, had promised to teach him more about ninjutsu. With Kushina preoccupied with her duties, Ryuichi relished the rare opportunity to bond with his father while deepening his understanding of the art they both cherished.

As he reached the training ground, he found Fugaku waiting, his posture relaxed yet authoritative, an air of quiet confidence surrounding him. The sun cast long shadows across the training area, highlighting the Uchiha crest emblazoned on the back of Fugaku's jacket. "Today, I will be teaching you the basics of fire manipulation," he announced, his voice steady and filled with warmth that immediately put Ryuichi at ease.

Fugaku took a moment to survey the surroundings, ensuring they had ample space for the lesson. The soft rustling of leaves overhead contrasted with the tension that brewed in Ryuichi's chest, an exhilarating mix of nerves and anticipation. "Fire manipulation, or Katon, is not just about producing flames; it's about control, precision, and understanding the elemental properties of fire. As an Uchiha, you possess a natural affinity for it, but you must learn to harness that power wisely."

Ryuichi nodded, his eyes wide with eagerness. "What do I need to do?" he asked, practically bouncing on his feet.

"First, you must connect with your chakra," Fugaku instructed, his tone calm and measured. "Visualize it as a pool of energy within you, a vibrant force waiting to be unleashed. Feel its warmth, like a flickering flame inside. Then, picture that energy transforming into fire—hot, bright, and alive. You need to breathe life into your chakra, allowing it to ignite and take shape."

With those words, Fugaku demonstrated, closing his eyes for a moment before releasing a small fireball from his palm. The flames danced and flickered, swirling with vibrant intensity, illuminating his father's face in shades of orange and gold. "See how I control it?" Fugaku asked, the pride evident in his voice. "The key is to maintain focus. Fire can be a fierce ally, but it can just as easily become a devastating foe if you lose control. It's a double-edged sword; you must wield it wisely."

Ryuichi watched in awe, captivated by the flames that crackled in the air. The way Fugaku commanded the fire made it seem both beautiful and dangerous, a living entity under his mastery. "How do I make it bigger?" he asked, eager to push the boundaries of his abilities and impress his father.

"Larger flames require more chakra, but also greater control," Fugaku explained, his expression becoming serious. "Start small, and once you master that, you can gradually increase the size and intensity of your fire. Remember, it's not about power alone; it's about the grace of your technique. If you rush, the flames can spiral out of control."

He gestured to the training area, where a soft breeze whispered through the trees, the air thick with anticipation. "Now, it's your turn. Focus on your chakra and let it flow naturally. When you're ready, try to manifest a small flame. Don't be discouraged if it takes time. Fire manipulation is an art form, and like any art, it requires practice and patience."

With his father's words echoing in his mind, Ryuichi closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he summoned his chakra. He envisioned it pooling within him, a flickering ember waiting to be set free. He concentrated on the warmth radiating from his core, imagining it expanding, building, and sparking with energy.

Ryuichi recalled the moments spent watching Fugaku practice, the way he executed each technique with fluid grace. He tried to mimic that control, channeling his focus into the center of his being. With every inhale, he felt the heat of his chakra intensifying, swirling like a tempest within.

As he exhaled, Ryuichi extended his palm outward, willing the energy to ignite. For a moment, there was nothing—a suffocating silence that wrapped around him. Just as doubt began to creep in, he felt a flicker, a spark of heat. With a rush of exhilaration, a small flame flickered to life in his palm, a hesitant yet vibrant ember dancing against the backdrop of his father's expectant gaze.

"Good! Now focus on controlling it," Fugaku encouraged, pride evident in his eyes. "Make it stable, breathe with it."

Ryuichi watched in fascination as the flame shifted, dancing to his breath. The fire responded to his will, growing steadier with each breath. It was a small victory, but in that moment, he felt the thrill of possibility, the promise of what lay ahead.

-{0}-

Ryuichi settled into his stance, feet firm on the ground as he adopted the Uchiha's signature Interceptor Fist. His breathing was calm, his eyes focused. This was a familiar position for him—controlled, precise, calculated. But as he glanced at Fuyumi, something felt off.

She didn't adopt a traditional stance. Instead, she crouched low, like an animal ready to spring, her hands close to the ground, fingers splayed as though they were claws. The intensity in her eyes flickered with something raw, something wild. It wasn't the calm, measured gaze of a trained shinobi—it was something far more primal.

Before Ryuichi could fully process her stance, Fuyumi shot forward in a burst of speed. Her movements were erratic, almost animalistic, as she leapt toward him, swiping at him with outstretched limbs like a predator. Ryuichi was taken aback for a split second. He had sparred with many, but nothing quite like this. She fought with no discernible form or pattern—just pure, instinctual aggression.

She lashed out with a series of unpredictable strikes, punches flowing into kicks with no clear rhythm. Ryuichi dodged a wild hook aimed at his head, ducking under her swinging arm, only to be forced back by a powerful kick to his chest. The impact sent him skidding backward, his heart racing.

Her assault was unrelenting, chaotic. She dropped low, using her hands to propel herself forward as if crawling, then launched herself into a spinning kick that whizzed past his face. Ryuichi leapt back, feeling a rush of adrenaline. He had underestimated her. Fuyumi's wild energy was overwhelming, and for a moment, he found himself reacting instead of attacking. Her movements were unlike anything taught in the academy. There was no structure to counter, no technique to anticipate.

But amidst the chaos, Ryuichi's mind quickly recalibrated. He had the advantage—he just needed to impose his rhythm. Fuyumi was fast, but she lacked control. With a sharp breath, Ryuichi grounded himself, his instincts honed by years of training taking over. He let her next wild punch graze past his face, sidestepping at the last moment, and retaliated with a sharp elbow to her ribs. The blow connected cleanly, and Fuyumi staggered back, momentarily winded.

This was his chance. Ryuichi pressed forward, flowing seamlessly into a series of precise taijutsu techniques. He moved like water, his strikes deliberate and efficient. Every punch, every kick, was measured, calculated. Fuyumi swung at him again, but Ryuichi ducked beneath her arm, spinning around her and delivering a clean kick to her back that sent her stumbling forward.

She spun around with a feral growl, launching herself at him with renewed aggression, but Ryuichi was ready this time. He sidestepped another flurry of wild strikes, catching her wrist mid-punch and twisting it behind her back. Fuyumi tried to break free, but his grip was firm, unyielding.

With a swift motion, Ryuichi swept her legs from under her, sending her crashing to the ground. She rolled and leapt to her feet again, but now her breathing was labored, her movements slowing. The wild energy that had initially taken him by surprise was beginning to wane.

Ryuichi advanced with renewed confidence, his eyes narrowing as he read her every movement. Fuyumi lunged again, her strikes still fierce but increasingly desperate. He deflected her blows with ease now, weaving through her attacks and countering with precision. A hard punch to her side knocked the wind out of her, and before she could recover, Ryuichi delivered a spinning kick to her chest, sending her sprawling to the floor once more.

This time, she didn't get up immediately. Breathing heavily, Fuyumi pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, glaring at him with fiery determination, but her body was clearly reaching its limit.

"Enough! Ryuichi is the winner!" the instructor's voice cut through the tension, signaling the end of the match.

Ryuichi straightened up, lowering his guard as the intensity of the fight faded. Fuyumi struggled to her feet, her body battered but her spirit unbroken. They exchanged the Seal of Reconciliation, acknowledging each other's efforts. Despite her defeat, Fuyumi's raw tenacity impressed him.

As he returned to his spot among the other students, Ryuichi reflected on the brief yet intense battle. Fuyumi's unorthodox style had thrown him off at first, but in the end, it was technique and control that had secured his victory. He knew that while her strength was formidable, she would need to refine her wild energy if she wanted to keep up with more disciplined fighters.

But for now, he relished the win. Taijutsu was a game of precision, and Ryuichi had shown that no amount of chaos could outmatch a master's control.

-{0}-

Ryuichi POV

As I made my way toward the Uchiha compound, the village bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, I couldn't shake the odd sensation of being watched. The shadows lengthened, stretching out from every corner as the warm glow faded. The air was still, but my senses were sharp—something was off. A faint shuffle behind me caught my attention, and with a cautious glance over my shoulder, I saw her: a figure with fiery red hair, trying (and failing) to hide behind a nearby dustbin.

"Come out, Fuyumi," I called out, my voice a mix of irritation and amusement. Despite my calm tone, there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity. Why was she following me?

Slowly, Fuyumi stepped out from behind the bin, brushing dirt and stray bits of trash off her clothes. Her nonchalance only deepened my annoyance, as if she hadn't just been caught spying on me.

"Why are you stalking me?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest, though I made an effort to keep my tone from sounding too harsh. The word "stalking" left a bitter taste in my mouth, but she didn't seem phased.

"I wasn't stalking you!" she shot back, her voice brimming with confidence. "I was just following you." Her eyes glinted with mischief, as if my choice of words had somehow wronged her. For a brief second, I found myself questioning whether I was the one being unreasonable.

"Uh… I see," I muttered, shaking off the strange logic she'd presented. "What do you want with me anyway?" My curiosity was piqued, but skepticism lingered in the back of my mind.

Fuyumi's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. Her body stiffened slightly, as if preparing herself for something difficult to say. "Can you teach me taijutsu?" she asked, her voice calm but firm, the weight of her request unmistakable.

The request hung in the air between us, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes, something that rarely surfaced. I sighed inwardly, already knowing my answer before the words left my mouth.

"No." My response was blunt, and I could see the disappointment flash across her face. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted as if she was about to protest. The weight of rejection hit her like a physical blow, and for a split second, I thought she might cry.

Before the silence stretched too long, I softened my tone. "It's not that I don't want to," I added, trying to ease her disappointment. "But the Interceptor Fist is a clan secret. I can't teach you that." I watched as the sting of rejection melted into a flicker of understanding. "However, I can give you some advice."

Her eyes lit up at the offer, and she regained her composure quickly, that spark of determination reigniting. Her posture straightened as she eagerly awaited what I had to say.

"A rhythm," I began, choosing my words carefully. "Every taijutsu style has a rhythm. It's like a heartbeat, a tempo that drives the flow of a fight. Even if your opponent is stronger or faster, if you can disrupt their rhythm—throw them off balance—you can defeat them."

I could see her brow furrowing slightly as she processed my words. The concept of rhythm in combat was something abstract, but crucial. It wasn't just about the physicality of fighting—it was about timing, understanding the flow of movement, and anticipating the next step.

"It's like music," I continued, hoping a metaphor might make it easier for her to grasp. "Every movement, every strike, every block—they all follow a beat. When you fight, you're dancing to a rhythm, whether you realize it or not. If you can control that rhythm, you control the fight. And if you can break someone's rhythm, even for a moment, you can find an opening to strike."

Fuyumi's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in thought. "So, it's not just about strength or speed," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "It's about timing."

"Exactly," I replied, nodding. "Your fighting style is raw, instinctual. That's not a bad thing, but it's chaotic. If you want to improve, you need to find your own rhythm—your own tempo. Once you do, you'll have more control over your movements, and you'll be able to read your opponent better."

Her eyes glimmered with understanding, though I could tell she was still mulling over the idea. She remained quiet for a moment, absorbing the advice. Just as I thought the conversation had ended, I added, "For my second piece of advice, you should ask Kushina-san for guidance. She knows far more than I do, and she might be able to help you with your training."

At the mention of Kushina, Fuyumi's expression darkened. She looked down at the ground, her fingers curling into fists as emotion welled up in her eyes. "Kushina-sama has already done so much for me," she said softly, her voice thick with gratitude and guilt. "She saved me from a life of running, gave me a place to live, food to eat… She's even been teaching me fuinjutsu." She paused, swallowing hard as she fought back the emotions threatening to spill over. "I can't ask her for more."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. Until that moment, I hadn't fully realized just how much she had been through. While I took for granted the structure and security of the Uchiha compound, Fuyumi had been living a life of survival, always on the run, always fighting for the next day. What I saw as basic necessities were precious gifts to her, things she had never known before.

I sighed, feeling a pang of responsibility. "I understand," I said quietly. "You've been through a lot. But you don't need to do this alone." Her head snapped up, and I could see the spark of hope in her eyes. "I can't teach you the secrets of my clan, but we can spar. If you want, I'll make time for that."

Fuyumi's eyes lit up like a beacon, and the corners of her lips lifted into a genuine smile. "Thank you, Ryuichi-san!" she exclaimed, bowing deeply in gratitude, the weight of her earlier sadness lifted.

I felt my face grow warm at her enthusiasm. "Just… Ryuichi is fine," I muttered, trying to wave off the formality.

"Mhm, thank you, Ryuichi," she repeated, her tone playful this time. She bowed again, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as if my awkwardness had brought her some joy.

As she straightened up, I could see the determination in her expression. She was ready—ready to fight, ready to grow. And for the first time, I realized how much potential Fuyumi truly had. She was wild, yes, but with time and the right guidance, she could become something more. Something formidable.

I glanced back at her, my mind still on the concept of rhythm. Perhaps, in time, she would find her own beat, her own unique style—one that blended the raw power of her instincts with the finesse of technique. Until then, I would be there to help her along the way.

=chapter end=