*Waterfall Village, Forest Clearing – Evening*
The storm had been building all day, a restless charge rolling through the heavy clouds. By the time Sasuke stood in the clearing with the dagger in his hand, the air itself seemed alive with anticipation.
For weeks, his training had been a steady climb—first taijutsu, then wind chakra, each lesson sharpening him further. But lightning was different. Lightning was wild, unpredictable. And as Shisui had warned him, it would not be tamed easily.
"Lightning requires precision," Shisui said, his single Sharingan glowing faintly in the half-light. "It's not like fire, which consumes, or wind, which flows. Lightning is sudden, violent. Channel it wrong, and it will tear your body apart."
Sasuke nodded, gripping the dagger tightly. His body was tense, still sore from days of relentless training, but his eyes burned with determination.
He closed his eyes, drawing chakra into his core and pushing it into the blade. At once, sparks crackled to life along the steel—but instead of flowing cleanly, they jumped wildly, biting at his fingers. With a sharp hiss, Sasuke dropped the dagger.
Electricity danced across the ground before fading. His hand trembled, the smell of singed skin rising faintly in the damp air.
"Tch—damn it," Sasuke muttered, clutching his wrist.
"Too much," Shisui said calmly. "Your chakra output is heavier than most kids your age. You can't force lightning into submission. You have to refine it—focus it into the smallest point. Think of it like threading a needle, not smashing down a wall."
Sasuke picked the dagger back up, scowling. He tried again. This time the sparks held a little longer, clinging to the blade, but then they flared violently, exploding in a burst of static that nearly knocked him back.
The boy's breath came ragged, frustration mixing with exhaustion. Sweat rolled down his temple, mingling with the rain that had begun to fall.
Again and again, he tried—each attempt ending with the same violent rejection. His chakra was abundant, overflowing compared to his peers, but controlling it was like trying to hold a storm in his bare hands. His palms blistered, his arms burned, but still he refused to quit.
Hours passed. The clearing was littered with scorch marks, the air filled with the acrid scent of ozone. Shisui never stepped in to stop him. He only watched, his lone eye unreadable, gauging whether Sasuke would break—or endure.
Finally, on what felt like his hundredth attempt, Sasuke steadied himself. His breaths came slow and deliberate, his grip firm. He focused every ounce of willpower into narrowing the stream of chakra, feeding it carefully into the blade.
A faint hum rose. Sparks began to dance—not erratic, not wild, but steady. The dagger thrummed in his hands, wrapped in a controlled current of lightning that glowed pale-blue against the storm-dark sky.
The air crackled. The grass at his feet trembled. For the first time, the lightning didn't lash out against him. It obeyed.
Sasuke's eyes widened. His chest heaved. His lips curved into the faintest of smirks.
"I… I did it," he whispered.
Shisui stepped forward, his face unreadable for a long moment before it softened just slightly. "Not bad. You've made lightning bend to your will." His hand rested briefly on Sasuke's shoulder. "But don't mistake this for mastery. This is only the first step. Lightning is a blade—it cuts sharp, but it must be aimed with precision. If you lose control, it will cut you down before your enemy."
Sasuke nodded, chest still heaving, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his pride.
And then, before either could speak again, a sharp cry split the sky.
Both of them turned as a hawk descended from the storm clouds, its wings slicing through the wind. With graceful precision, it spiraled down and landed squarely on Shisui's arm. Its feathers were slick with rain, but its eyes burned with urgency.
A scroll was tied to its leg.
Shisui untied it silently, his Sharingan scanning the contents. His jaw tightened. Whatever was written there, it carried weight. He tucked the scroll into his cloak, patting the hawk before it leapt skyward again, vanishing into the storm.
Sasuke straightened, still gripping the dagger. "What is it?"
Shisui's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "A mission. From the Hokage himself."
The rain fell harder, lightning flashing in the distance. Shisui's cloak flapped in the wind as he turned toward the horizon. His gaze lingered there, heavy with thought.
*He's grown faster than I expected… but is it enough? The battlefield is the cruelest teacher—merciless and unforgiving. If I take him, he'll face blood and death before he's ready. Yet if I don't… I might be denying him the fire he needs to truly grow.*
He glanced back at Sasuke. The boy's body shook with exhaustion, his hands blistered, but he stood tall, dagger still glowing faintly with the sparks he had finally mastered. Determination blazed in his dark eyes, unyielding and sharp.
Shisui's lips pressed into a thin line. *Perhaps… it's time. He can't remain sheltered forever. If he is to survive this world, he must stand in the storm, not behind it.*
"Stay sharp, Sasuke," Shisui said aloud, his tone carrying weight it hadn't before. "From here on, your training won't be limited to this clearing. The real world is harsher than anything I've put you through."
Sasuke's jaw tightened. "Then I'll face it. Whatever it takes."
For the briefest moment, Shisui's stern expression broke into a faint smile—quick, fleeting, but real. Then he turned toward the path leading out of the forest.
"Good," he murmured. "Because the storm waits for no one."
Thunder rumbled across the sky as the two Uchiha left the clearing behind, stepping into the rain—and toward their home.
**End of chapter 22**