The morning light filtered through the wide windows of Yamanaka Flowers, casting golden hues over the modest shop. The air was filled with a pungent mix of earthy scents—damp soil, fresh blooms, and a faint, herbal sharpness.

I stood on a small stool at the back counter, my hands submerged in a cool basin of water. Flowers floated in the shallow pool, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors that stood out against the gray of the basin. Their stems, freshly trimmed, lay in an orderly pile beside me. My fingers worked through the water, careful not to bruise the delicate petals, rinsing away dirt and preparing them for arrangement.

Dad stood nearby, humming softly, his hands deftly arranging blooms into an intricate pattern. He worked with obvious mastery—a blend of deliberate precision and effortless artistry.

I paused mid-motion, holding up a stem of pale blue. Water droplets clung to its petals like tiny crystals, the light refracting into a faint shimmer. The flower seemed to almost glow, vibrant and alive in my hand.

I paused, holding up a stem of a pale blue flower, the water droplets clinging to its delicate petals refracting light into a faint shimmer.

"Dad," I began, breaking the calm rhythm of the shop, "what do you like about this?"

He glanced at me, his pale eyes warm with curiosity. "About what, Inosei?"

I gestured toward the arrangement he was working on, a mixture of pinks, purples, and reds. It looked interesting, sure, but the purpose behind it eluded me. "This. The flowers. What do you enjoy about it?"

His hands stilled for a moment, the stem of a pink flower poised delicately between his fingers. Then, with a thoughtful smile, he resumed his work. "That's an interesting question," he said, tucking the flower into place with a final, precise motion. "Why do you ask?"

I hesitated, swirling my fingers through the water absently. "Well… it keeps my hands busy, so I can think. But it feels like just… something to do, like helping Mom clean the house. Not bad, but not… important."

My words lingered in the air, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd said something wrong. Dad didn't look upset, though. Instead, he leaned against the counter, resting his chin on his hand as he studied me.

"It's not unusual to feel that way," he said after a moment. "Not everyone finds meaning in this kind of work right away. Do you know why I do it?"

I shook my head, curious despite myself.

"I enjoy the process," he said simply. "Growing and tending to flowers, seeing them thrive—it's satisfying. And arranging them... well, it's a kind of expression. Through this," he gestured to the bouquet, "I can make people feel something. Happiness, comfort, even nostalgia. It's a way to connect with others without words."

I frowned slightly, letting his words sink in.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he reached out to ruffle my hair. "It's fine if you don't understand, don't feel like you have to enjoy it just because I do. My father didn't care much for flowers, either."

"He didn't?" I asked, surprised.

"Not at all," Dad said, shaking his head with a wry smile. "He used to say they were just fancy weeds. But he respected the importance of the shop for the clan. He believed it was important for me to have something outside of shinobi work—a hobby, a way to relax and unwind."

He reached for another flower, his movements fluid and unhurried. "That's what I expect of you, Inosei. You'll find something you enjoy, something that lets you step away from the chaos of life as a shinobi. It doesn't have to be flowers." He glanced at me with a small, knowing smile. "Though I wouldn't mind the help."

I nodded slowly, his words resonating more than I expected. As I turned back to my work, my fingers brushing through the cool water, a faint memory surfaced—fragile and hazy, like an old photograph left in the sun.

I saw hands, much larger than my current ones, sliding across the taut strings of an instrument. The sound that followed was deep and resonant, filling the air with a melody that lingered long after the notes had been struck. It was calming, purposeful. It felt… important.

The image grew sharper, and I could almost hear the music, soft and soothing, echoing in the recesses of my mind. It wasn't a memory from this life. It was from before—another fragment of the person I used to be.

"Dad," I said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Do we have any instruments at home?"

He looked up, surprised by the shift in topic. "Instruments? No, we don't. Why do you ask?"

"I think…" I hesitated, trying to put my thoughts into words. "I think I'd like to learn to play one."

Dad's eyebrows rose, and a small smile spread across his face. "That's a fine idea, Inosei. I think it's a good fit for someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I echoed, tilting my head.

"You're very thorough," he said simply, his tone carrying a rare note of pride. "It takes a lot of continuous practice to play an instrument, or so I'm told. I'll see about finding a teacher for you."

The rest of the morning passed in a quiet rhythm of work, the kind of silence that wasn't uncomfortable but companionable. Dad and I continued rinsing and trimming flowers, arranging them into neat bundles. Every so often, he would hum a tune—soft and low, the kind of sound that seemed to belong in the tranquil atmosphere of the shop.

As we finished the last bundle, Dad straightened, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. "That's the last of it," he said, his voice carrying a note of finality. He turned to me, a small smile playing on his lips. "You did good work today, Inosei."

I blinked up at him, surprised by the praise. "Thanks, Dad."

He placed the final bouquet onto the display rack, brushing his hands off before turning back to me. "Now, how about we head back to the compound? It's time I taught you something far more exciting than arranging flowers."

My heart skipped a beat, excitement bubbling in my chest. "You mean… chakra?"

Dad chuckled, his pale eyes gleaming with amusement. "That's right. It's about time you started learning the basics."

We tidied up the shop quickly, the anticipation making my movements faster than usual. As we stepped out into the warm midday sun, the air felt different—charged with the promise of something significant. My father led the way, his stride relaxed but purposeful, and I followed, my small legs working to keep pace.

The Yamanaka compound's backyard stretched out into an open field, bordered by the soft rustling of trees. A gentle breeze carried the scent of earth and grass, and the sky above was a vivid blue, unmarred by clouds.

Dad stopped in the center of the field and turned to face me. His expression was calm, but his posture held an air of quiet authority. "Inosei," he began, his voice steady, "what do you know about chakra?"

I hesitated at the question, my gaze drifting down to the soft blades of grass beneath me. What did I actually know about chakra? I frowned, sifting through the fragmented bits of knowledge I had. It was energy—something that let shinobi perform incredible feats, like breathing fire or walking on water. But how it worked, or where it came from, was a mystery to me.

A pang of frustration flickered in my chest. I hated not knowing things. If I could read properly, maybe I'd have figured it out on my own by now. The scrolls in Dad's study, with their elegant loops of script, often caught my eye, but the few times I'd tried to decipher them had left me squinting at the unfamiliar symbols in defeat.

Finally, I sighed, glancing up at Dad with a hint of embarrassment. "I… I don't know much," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "I just know its energy. And it's what shinobi use to do jutsu."

Dad studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. I worried he might be disappointed, but instead, his lips quirked into a small, patient smile. "That's not a bad start," he said, crouching down to meet my eye level. "Let me fill in the gaps."

He gestured for me to sit, and I dropped to the grass, crossing my legs as I stared up at him expectantly. Dad mirrored my posture, his movements calm and deliberate, the way they always were.

"Chakra," he began, his tone taking on a lecturing cadence, "is a mix of two kinds of energy: physical energy, which comes from your body—your cells, muscles, and stamina—and spiritual energy, which comes from your mind, your will, and your experiences."

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb his words.

Dad continued, his hands gesturing slightly as he spoke. "These two energies come together to form chakra. The stronger your body and mind, the more chakra you can produce. And the more control you have over it, the more precise and powerful your jutsu will be."

I blinked at him, curiosity sparking in my chest. "So… working out increases your chakra? Does that mean reading does as well?"

Dad chuckled, a deep and comforting sound. "In a way, yes," he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Training your mind, through reading or strategy games, can strengthen your spiritual energy. But don't think you can get away with skipping physical conditioning." He leaned forward, fixing me with a playful but pointed look. "The two need to be in balance to mold chakra properly. If you neglect physical training, you won't have much chakra. You'd just have an excess of spiritual energy, with no physical energy to combine it with."

I mulled over the metaphor, my fingers absently tugging at the grass beneath me. "So, to get more chakra, I have to train my body and my mind in concert."

"Now you're getting it." He smiled and straightened his posture, brushing his hands together. "But that's far in the future for you. Let's worry about using chakra first, okay?"

Dad crouched down in front of me, settling his hand lightly over my chest, just above my heart. His palm was warm, and I could feel the faint pressure even through the fabric of my shirt.

"All living things have chakra," he began, his voice steady and measured, like a teacher guiding a young student. "But most people go through their lives never noticing it. It's like your nose—you don't normally see it unless you concentrate. The trick is learning how to shift your focus."

I nodded, trying to picture it. My nose? My chakra? The comparison seemed strange, but Dad's tone carried enough confidence to make me believe it made sense.

He continued, his hand pressing slightly firmer, anchoring my attention to the center of my chest. "Now, feeling your chakra for the first time is a bit harder than noticing your nose. It's there, always, but subtle. Hidden beneath the surface. That's why I'm going to help you. Think of it like this—if I were to pinch your nose, where would your focus go?"

"To my nose," I answered immediately, frowning as I considered the metaphor.

"Exactly," Dad said with a small smile. "I'm going to do something similar with your chakra. I'll apply a bit of pressure—nothing harmful, just enough to draw your attention. Your job is to notice it. To feel it. Understand?"

I nodded again, my hands curling slightly in the grass beneath me. Anticipation buzzed faintly in my chest. This was it. My first step into understanding chakra—the energy that shaped the world.

Dad's expression softened slightly, a small reassurance before he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, deep and deliberate, and I felt a faint warmth radiating from his hand. Strangely it wasn't hot or even warm; it wasn't a physical heat but something deeper.

"Close your eyes, Inosei," he instructed, his voice low and calm. "Focus on the sensation. Don't overthink it. Just feel."

The warmth gathered at the center of my chest. It pulsed gently, in rhythm with the steady thrum of my heartbeat, spreading outward in rippling waves. My arms tingled faintly, then my legs, as though this strange, not-warm warmth was coursing through every part of me. The sensation was other, a foreign ripple threading through my body.

"That's my chakra," Dad said quietly, his hand steady over my chest. "Focus on it, feel it passing through your body."

I nodded, closing my eyes and focusing on the rhythm of it, this steady presence flowing into me. For a moment, it was all I could sense—the guiding touch of his energy filling me. But then, something within me stirred. It wasn't a foreign warmth this time but something wholly my own. It was sharper, livelier, and as it began to rise, my father's chakra seemed to recede.

The feeling grew in intensity, spreading outward from my core with each beat of my heart. The rhythm quickened, not frantic but alive, purposeful. My own chakra pushed against his, and without thinking, I let it flow. My father's presence, the not-warm warmth, was expelled, fading into nothing as my chakra surged in its place. The sensation was overwhelming—a rushing tide flooding every inch of me, bright and forceful.

"Dad," I gasped, my voice trembling. "I feel it—it's mine. It's… strong. It's pushing yours out."

I opened my eyes to find him watching me, a look of pride softening his sharp features. "Good," he said, sitting back and letting his hand fall away. "That's exactly what should happen. My chakra was only there to guide you to your own. Once you felt it, yours took over. That's how it's supposed to work."

I blinked, trying to steady my breath, but the sensation was still overwhelming. The pounding of my heart seemed impossibly loud in my ears, each beat pulsing with the unmistakable force of chakra rushing through me.

"It's… too much," I admitted, gripping the grass beneath me for balance. "I can feel everything—every pulse, every movement. It's everywhere."

His expression softened, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. "That's chakra hypersensitivity. It's common for those just starting to consciously use their energy. Your body isn't used to focusing on it yet—it's like hearing a sound you've always ignored but suddenly can't tune out."

I swallowed hard, the overwhelming sensation still pressing on me. "What do I do?"

"Breathe," he said firmly, his voice steady. "Focus on your breath, not the chakra. Let the sensations flow through you, but don't cling to them. Inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Your chakra will settle as your focus shifts."

I closed my eyes again and did as he said, drawing in a long breath and letting it out slowly. The chakra storming through me didn't vanish, but its sharp edges began to dull. The intensity softened, becoming a steady hum beneath the rhythm of my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the overwhelming rush faded, leaving only the quiet, subtle presence of my own energy.

When I opened my eyes, my father was smiling. "That's it. You've done well, Inosei."

I exhaled a shaky breath, the weight of the moment hitting me. "So… that was my chakra?"

"It was," he said, pride unmistakable in his voice. "You not only felt it but took control, expelling mine in the process. That's an advanced reaction for a first attempt. Most people struggle to even notice their own chakra for a while."

I stared at my hands, still faintly tingling with the lingering remnants of energy. The memory of it—the sheer alive-ness of the sensation—remained vivid. "I didn't feel like I was in control," I admitted.

He chuckled softly, ruffling my hair. "You were, for a moment, before it overwhelmed you. But with time and practice, you'll learn to harness it, to shape it into something precise and deliberate. Today, you've taken your first step."