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The floor of the Hyūga dojo gleamed like polished ivory, reflecting the soft, warm light of lanterns hung meticulously from the wooden pillars. Every corner smelled faintly of tatami and aged wood, a scent that reminded Akihiro uncomfortably of discipline and expectation.
The silence was absolute, except for the sharp, dry sound of footsteps, the thud of strikes landing, and the occasional slap of palms as the young Hyūga trainees practiced under the watchful eyes of instructors whose gazes seemed to pierce through the body to the very soul.
At the center, Hyūga Akihiro assumed his combat stance, his pale eyes narrowing slightly. Feet planted firmly, arms raised, body tense—but calm on the surface.
In theory, he looked ready. In practice… it was the perfect storm of disaster waiting to happen. Every instinct screamed that he was about to fail, yet he pushed himself forward anyway.
"Advance," the master's voice cut through the air, colder than stone and as unforgiving as the laws of nature themselves.
Akihiro drew a deep breath. He let chakra flow through his tenketsus, as he had done countless times in private, visualizing the perfect strikes, the flawless circulation, the graceful precision he had yet to attain. He moved toward his training partner, hands open, movements meant to be fluid, like water flowing around rocks.
The anime showed this as something so simple, he thought, with a hint of irony. Just a perfect dance of chakra flow and precise strikes.
They never showed the agonizing hours of training, the boring repetition, the ridiculous failures.
It's all "Gentle Fist" in a beautiful light show. But the reality... the reality is that it takes more than a Byakugan. It takes being born with the right 'flesh'.
Or at least, that was the plan.
The strike went horrifically wrong. The chakra misaligned, the precision faltered, and instead of targeting the opponent's pressure points with pinpoint accuracy, Akihiro's hand slammed against the other boy's arm like an awkward slap.
His partner reacted effortlessly, deflecting the attack and countering with a blow that sent Akihiro stumbling backward. The tatami floor offered no mercy.
"Stop," the instructor's voice rang out, sharp and merciless, but, this time, loaded with a lesson. "You have failed to understand the essence of what you do. The Byakugan is the soul, the vision. It allows you to see what is hidden, what is inside every being. But the soul is useless without the body. And the body is taijutsu. The 'flesh' that gives form to your intention. Your technique fails because your flesh and your soul are at odds."
"Unacceptable," the instructor's voice rang out, sharp and merciless. "You are a Hyūga. A bearer of the Byakugan. The Gentle Fist demands perfection. If you cannot achieve it, it is because you were not born for it."
Silence settled like a heavy fog over the dojo. Some of the trainees stared with pity, others with the cruel fascination of those who delight in witnessing failure. Akihiro felt their eyes on him, weighing him, judging him, labeling him a failure before he even had a chance to rise.
Not ready. Right. What they don't tell in the story is that for the body and soul to align, it takes a lifetime of conditioning. Conditioning in something that I didn't see real value in... and didn't even like. Maybe if it were Guy's gates technique...
Lying on the floor, he let out a short, bitter laugh.
"Yeah… I guess I was born with the eyes, but without the instruction manual."
A few muffled chuckles arose from the other students. The instructor, unsurprisingly, did not find it amusing.
"Get up.
Again."
And so it continued. Attempt after attempt, failure after failure. Every incorrect strike was a reminder not only of his lack of talent, but of the weight of destiny pressing on him.
He was merely a branch family member, condemned to bear the cursed seal, forever under the shadow of the main branch. No glory, no choice, no escape.
Akihiro lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling, watching the faint shadows the lanterns cast across the floor. His mind, however, was not resting.
No matter how many times I try, this body betrays me. I don't have the delicacy of a martial artist.
Not even close.
But… maybe that's the wrong approach. Maybe punching people isn't my path.
Maybe, instead of focusing on gentle strikes, I should be thinking bigger…
The thought of Senjutsu sparked again, a faint pulse in the depths of his mind.
He had felt this strange resonance before—during quiet moments, during meditation, even while resting after a training session. It was as if the world itself had a heartbeat, and he could feel it pulsing through the air, the trees, the soil.
This was no ordinary chakra. It was something primal, something natural.
Perhaps… this was his way out of the cage his destiny had built for him.
Of course, his isekai brain could never let things stay purely serious.
"And here I am, sweating to not die young… while in the future I'll have to deal with adult Hinata. If I survive long enough… huehuehue, jackpot unlocked."
He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Adult Hinata, confident, brave, and yet still carrying that shy, delicate charm when she looked at him.
That tiny, quiet smile she reserved only for him. The idea alone was a strange mix of motivation and absurdity.
I'm not dying before I see that. I swear it.
The night training finally ended, and Akihiro slipped silently through the clan gardens, a pale shadow in the night. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, casting long shadows over the carefully pruned hedges and polished stones.
He headed toward a secluded grove, away from the curious eyes of the family and instructors, where the whispers of nature could speak to him without interruption.
Akihiro closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and let the sensations of the world wash over him. He felt the ground under his feet, the cold breeze touching his skin, the silent presence of the trees around him. And then he felt it.
The world was alive. The wind caressed him like a lover's hand. The leaves shimmered with energy, subtly vibrating, as if the very essence of life pulsed through them.
He could see the invisible flows of chakra flowing through nature. This was no trick of the mind. It was real. It was tangible. It was a song that he, and maybe only he, could hear.
Akihiro extended his hand, and for a moment, it felt as if the entire universe inhaled and exhaled with him, a synchronized breath that connected him to something immensely larger.
A shiver ran down his spine - the same emotion he had felt while reading the manga about Sage Mode. Only now, it was not fiction. It was a tangible, almost sacred promise.
"What a strangely pleasurable feeling...", he murmured, reverently. It was a feeling of belonging that he had never felt, not even in his previous life.
His pale eyes shone in the moonlight, reflecting the light of a thousand stars. He felt reborn at that moment, not as a Hyūga, not as a mere receptacle of a legacy, but as himself.
Destiny may want to cage me... but if I find a way out, no cage will hold me.
And, deep in the recesses of his mind, a less noble but much more intoxicating thought took root:
And that's when I'll finally become the protagonist of my own story. Waifu secured, powers beyond the control of others, and if things go right... I'll even be able to rub it in Neji's face.
He laughed softly, a mixture of madness, hope, and excitement. The kind of laughter that only comes from someone who knows they are standing on the edge of something enormous and terrifying, but refuses to look away.
The prospect of mastering a forbidden art, one that no one in the clan had ever considered, filled him with an energy that the Gentle Fist could never provide.
Akihiro's mind wandered even further, imagining the forest's chakra intertwining with his body, amplifying his senses, his reflexes, his very soul. Perhaps he was not destined for perfection with the Gentle Fist, but perhaps perfection was not the point.
Perhaps the point was survival, growth, and creating a new path, something that not even the main Hyūga family dared to tread. A path where he would not be a mere supporting character.
"Yes... I may fail in their ways. I may stumble, fall, and be knocked down. But I will find my own way. And when I do... this world will finally have a place for someone like me."
The wind stirred, and Akihiro felt alive.
More alive than he had ever been in any world he had known.
Even if it was as hard as hell.