Two hours had passed since the incident.
The academy's medical room was quiet, lit by a single paper lantern swaying gently near the ceiling. Outside, an unusual rain tapped lightly against the windows—rare for a summer evening in Iwagakure. The rhythmic patter echoed in the stillness, broken only by the slow inhale of a boy lying on the bed.
Rinsuke's eyes opened.
His mind was blank for a moment, the ceiling unfamiliar and sterile. A dull ache pulsed through his face and ribs, but it was manageable. He blinked slowly.
"You're awake," said the academy nurse gently. She had been checking supplies nearby and approached without haste. "It's been two hours. Class was dismissed already. You can go home now. Your face is all right—the swelling's gone down, and the fractures were prevented thanks to timely treatment. If anything feels off, visit the hospital for a more detailed check-up."
"…Thank you," Rinsuke muttered, voice hoarse.
The nurse gave a short nod and stepped out, leaving him alone.
He sat up slowly.
His breath caught—more from realization than pain.
He beat me.
Not just anyone. Daigo.
That boy. That quiet, skinny freak nobody talked to.
It didn't make sense. Rinsuke wasn't a genius, but he was strong—easily among the top of their year. He sparred often, trained harder than most, and came from a proud bloodline.
Yet Daigo hadn't just won.
He had destroyed him.
It should have made him furious. It should have made him want to scream or cry or throw things like some brat from a third-rate cultivation story.
But instead, Rinsuke sat still and breathed through it.
He replayed the moment in his mind—the stance, the grip, the burst of fury, the speed behind those hits. It wasn't chakra-based. It's may be brute strength or something else.
That wasn't a fluke. That was deliberate.
Someone must've been training Daigo in secret.
Maybe Kageyama-sensei? No… he wouldn't break protocol like that.
Then who?
It didn't matter.
Rinsuke stood up, slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Whoever it is… I'll find out. And next time—Daigo won't be the one standing over me.
He clenched his fists.
I'll make him feel that same fear he gave me. I'll break his calm. Crush that silence. Turn him back into the dog he used to be.
His jaw tightened as he made his way out of the medical center, the light drizzle cooling the swelling along his cheeks.
He had somewhere to go.
The Riboah Clan compound sat on the mid-tier ring of the village—neither prestigious enough to be near the Kage Building nor poor enough to be in the outer districts. The Riboah were known for their versatile ninjutsu and strong taijutsu foundations—nothing too flashy, but dependable and efficient.
As Rinsuke walked through the gate, his mother appeared from the corridor, arms folded.
"What happened?"
"A sparring match," he said, voice level.
"With someone who could fight you evenly?"
"No," he said, stepping past her. "He defeated me."
She raised an eyebrow, her voice calm. "Hmm. Which clan is he from?"
"…Orphan."
He didn't wait for her reaction. He went straight to his room.
But she didn't need more words.
She understood.
If an orphan boy could beat the son of a clan head—especially of a recognized clan, even if second-rate—it meant only one thing.
He's either extraordinarily talented… or trained by someone powerful.
She turned to a nearby retainer. "No.3."
A shadow stepped out from the hallway.
"Yes, madam."
"I want everything there is to know about this ''Orphan'.' Find out who's behind him."
"As you wish."
Meanwhile, Daigo sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his upper shirt draped over the edge of the bed. The quiet hum of rain filled the silence.
His breathing was slow, deliberate.
He had started reconditioning his lungs and heart using the Wind-Essence Breathing Method from the martial world. It wasn't chakra-based, but its purpose was universal—stimulate metabolism, improve circulation, awaken dormant muscle potential.
Even in this world, the body was a temple. Before chakra control came the foundation.
He paused and opened his eyes.
This body is weak. But not broken. Give me time... I'll reshape it.
He stood and walked over to the window, the village lights reflecting in his eyes.
But strength alone wasn't enough.
He needed funds.
Access.
Resources.
Scrolls.
Tools.
I need a stash.
There were no sect treasure vaults here. No martial hall allowances. Just a basic academy stipend and war orphan support.
Not enough.
He began mentally listing options—part-time work, odd jobs, merchant errands, or even betting on street fights. But most of all, he needed to be careful.
For now… he would stay quiet and getting stronger is the only option he has.
End of Chapter.