The sound was dreamy and distant, like a mirage reflected in still water—intangible, almost unreal.
But Hoshikawa Haru was completely unaware. He was wholly focused on refining chakra.
Another thirty minutes passed, and his body finally hit its limit. Haru had no choice but to stop. As he opened his eyes, a wave of soreness washed over him, like he'd just sprinted around the entire village of Konoha a dozen times.
"You awake?" his father, Hoshikawa Yota, asked, kneeling beside him and massaging his arms and legs with practiced ease."The first stage of chakra refinement is just about getting your body used to the process. Once you can extract chakra reliably, then we move on to the next phase."
Yota's voice was calm but firm.
"You have to refine in moderation. Overdoing it can seriously hurt your body. That's why I didn't let you start earlier. Normally, you shouldn't even begin until you're five."
Haru blinked in realization. Chakra refinement might seem simple on the surface—but it carried real risk.
"Dad's expectations are modest," Yota added. "If you can extract even a bit of chakra within half a month, I'll be happy."
He thought back to his own childhood. It had taken him exactly two weeks to produce his first chakra. He'd been over the moon with pride.
That was the benchmark he set for his son. Nothing too high—just a solid step. In the shinobi world, that level of talent was considered average-to-good. If Haru stayed on track, he could grow up to be a jōnin someday.
"Half a month, huh…? Well, Dad, your expectations might already be outdated," Haru said, a bit awkwardly.
Yota looked puzzled.
Could it be…?
Could Haru actually have no talent for chakra refinement?
The concerned look on Haru's face only confirmed Yota's worst fears. It was a look he'd seen before—a child grappling with the possibility of falling short.
"Oh, it's alright," Yota said gently. "Even if you don't have talent, Dad will protect you."
Haru's mouth twitched. What in the world was his dad talking about?
"I already refined it," Haru said plainly.
"Yeah, it's okay—wait… what?"
Yota froze. His voice shot up in disbelief.
How long had it been? An hour, at most?
Still suspicious, he watched as Haru slowly gathered a faint trace of chakra. It only lasted for a second—barely more than a flicker. Like the flame of a candle, weak and trembling.
But Yota saw it clearly.
Chakra.
He wasn't hallucinating. It was real.
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
Was there a word strong enough to describe what Yota felt?
Shock didn't cut it.Excitement was an understatement.His worldview cracked under the weight of the moment.
"D-Dad? You okay?" Haru asked, tugging lightly on his sleeve.
Yota stared blankly at the air before suddenly grabbing Haru's shoulders.
"You little freak!" he shouted.
Haru's face darkened instantly.
"Wow, thanks, Dad."
Realizing his outburst wasn't exactly flattering, Yota let out an awkward cough.
"Ahem. Right. Since you've already managed to extract chakra, I guess I can give you these ninjutsu scrolls a bit earlier than planned. Practice them diligently."
Haru's eyes lit up.
"Really?! Thank you, Dad!"
But just as he was about to accept the scrolls, his face grew hesitant. Something was on his mind.
"What is it?" Yota asked, noticing the change.
Haru hesitated, then decided not to keep it to himself.
"While I was refining chakra, I… I felt something strange in my eyes. Something moved."
As soon as those words left his mouth, the air around them seemed to thicken. Yota's expression darkened.
He paused for a moment, then sighed deeply.
"So it's awakened… Looks like you've inherited our kekkei genkai."
Haru blinked.
Wait, what?A kekkei genkai? Our family actually has one?!
Judging from Yota's tone, this wasn't entirely unexpected. If anything, it felt like he had been hoping it wouldn't happen.
There was even a trace of dread in his voice.
Originally, Haru had thought about passing the eye incident off as some kind of anomaly. But that response made it clear—his family knew.
"Dad," Haru asked carefully, "has anyone else in our family ever awakened it before?"
Yota didn't flinch. He simply nodded, a faraway look in his eyes.
"Yes. Your grandfather did. Many decades ago."
Haru's pupils shrank.
So it's true. My family had a kekkei genkai all along…
But if that were the case, why had his father never once mentioned it?
As if sensing his confusion, Yota continued.
"Your grandfather only had it for a few years before he died. Blood disease."
"After that, it never showed up again in our family."
Everything clicked for Haru in that moment.
That's why he'd never met his grandfather. That's why his dad had always stayed quiet whenever he asked about him.
The so-called blood disease was nature's curse—a side effect of the kekkei genkai, one that killed those who inherited it too early or too purely.
With today's level of ninja medical expertise, there was no known cure. It was a death sentence.
"Haru," Yota said seriously, "if you ever feel unwell, don't keep it to yourself. Tell me immediately."
In his father's deep-set eyes, Haru could see sorrow—real and painful.
"Don't worry, Dad," Haru said with a gentle smile. "It's just started. You're overthinking."
That innocent smile helped settle the unease in Yota's heart.
"You…" Yota sighed, torn between exasperation and affection. Haru had always been mature for his age—never mischievous or reckless.
He trusted that his son knew his limits.
"Alright," Yota said, standing up. "You keep practicing. I'm going to dig out the notes your grandfather left behind. Maybe they'll help."
With that, Yota returned to the house, leaving Haru alone in the yard.
But Haru didn't rush to open the ninjutsu scrolls. Instead, he quietly made his way to the haystack nearby and sat down cross-legged, making sure no one was watching.
Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him—a feeling of weightlessness.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in complete darkness.
In front of him stood an ancient, rusted clock, massive and imposing.
Despite its age, the clock radiated a solemn, dignified aura. It felt as if it had stood there for centuries, silently watching the flow of time.
The world around him was pitch-black. There was nothing else—only this clock.
With no other options, Haru focused his attention on the mysterious object.
Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the clock's dial was divided into twelve segments.But only one—the segment from twelve to one o'clock—was illuminated. The rest remained shrouded in deep shadow.
Curious, Haru reached out and gently touched the dial.
Instantly, a surge of brilliant light burst forth from the center of the clock.
It was blinding—so intense that Haru had to shield his eyes.
At the same time, a beam of blue light erupted from the only clean, glowing segment.
It shot straight into Haru's eyes, faster than he could react.
For a brief moment, his vision was flooded with white.
And then… everything went black.