The first rays of sunlight crept over the Hidden Flame Village like thieves, slow and golden, painting the rooftops in shades of honey and rust. Mist still clung to the streets below, thick as old breath, smelling of dew and last night's charcoal fires.
By the riverbank, where reeds whispered secrets to the current, Ren Urazaki lay sprawled on his back like a corpse that had forgotten to die.
Splash.
A fish leaped. Water sprayed across his face.
Ren's eyes shot open. He gasped, choking on morning air and regret. Every muscle in his body screamed in languages he didn't know existed. His shoulders felt like someone had replaced his bones with molten iron. His knuckles? Forget about it. Those were basically gravel now.
Ugh… So this is what being a protagonist feels like. Everything hurts. Every. Single. Thing.
He tried to sit up. Failed. Tried again. Managed to flop onto his side like a beached salmon.
"Worth it," he wheezed.
[Daily routine bonus: +2 Stamina.] [Condition: Begin training before sunrise — achieved.]
Ren blinked at the glowing text floating in his vision. "Wait, I get points for sleeping outside? That's—" He coughed, spitting out river grass. "—actually perfect. Best decision I ever made."
The sunrise itself seemed brighter now, as if the world had turned up the contrast just for him. Orange and pink bled across the horizon, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster with terrible timing started screaming.
Ren pushed himself to his feet, wobbling. His reflection stared back at him from the water—messy crimson-tipped hair, dark circles under his eyes, a grin that looked half-insane and fully committed.
If the world's on fire, he thought, I might as well burn brighter.
He rolled his shoulders, wincing. Then he threw a punch.
The air cracked.
His fist cut through the morning mist like a blade, scattering droplets into tiny rainbows. His knuckles throbbed, but beneath the pain, something else pulsed—heat, raw and electric, coiling up his arm like a living thing.
[Iron Fist Soul activated.] [Body adapting: Muscular fiber reinforcement +1.2%.]
"Heh." Ren grinned wider. "Alright, world. Let's do this."
He waded into the river, gasping as cold water bit into his skin. The chill shocked his nerves awake, steam rising from his overheated muscles. He dunked his head under, scrubbed his face with both hands, and came up sputtering. The water tasted like metal and moss. It was awful. It was perfect.
He stretched—badly, clumsily, like a cat that had forgotten how limbs worked. His hamstrings protested. His spine popped in three places. Somewhere, a god of flexibility wept. But he kept going.
He stood in the shallows, feet planted, and started punching again. Slowly at first, testing his range, letting his breath sync with his fists. One-two. One-two. The rhythm built, steady as a heartbeat.
"Fists don't lie," he muttered, half to himself, half to the empty riverbank. "Fists don't need hand seals. Fists just… are."
The birds started calling, high and sharp, as if cheering him on. The sun climbed higher, burning off the mist. Ren's breath turned to steam in the cool morning air, curling around his knuckles like dragon smoke. He punched until his arms felt like noodles. Until the world blurred. Until the only thing that existed was the space between his fist and the air it destroyed.
[Training session logged: 347 strikes. Endurance +0.5.]
Ren collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, grinning like an idiot.
"Yeah," he gasped. "That's the stuff."
The Academy training field smelled like cut grass and teenage angst.
Ren arrived late, of course, still damp from the river and carrying his boots in one hand because he'd forgotten to tie them. His uniform was wrinkled, stained with mud and what might have been fish guts, and there were actual leaves in his hair.
Three people stood waiting for him.
The first was a girl with wild, storm-dark hair that seemed to defy gravity and common sense in equal measure. She wore a sleeveless vest, bandages wrapped around her forearms, and had the kind of grin that promised either friendship or a fistfight—possibly both. A small wolf cub sat at her feet, gray and fluffy, watching Ren with disturbingly intelligent yellow eyes.
The second was quieter. A girl with neat black hair tied back in a practical ponytail, pale hands clutching a notebook covered in inked diagrams. Her expression was calm, analytical, like she was already calculating his weaknesses.
The third was a man who looked like he'd walked out of a "How to Be a Disappointing Authority Figure" handbook. Dark sunglasses despite the early hour. A headband tied too tight. Arms crossed in a way that screamed I am very serious and also very tired.
Ebisu-sensei.
"Urazaki Ren," Ebisu said flatly, pushing his glasses up with one finger. "You're late. Again."
Ren blinked. "I'm… early for tomorrow?"
The wild-haired girl barked out a laugh. The wolf cub's tail wagged.
Ebisu pinched the bridge of his nose. "A shinobi represents discipline. Order. Dignity." He gestured vaguely at Ren's entire existence. "Not… dried fish scales on his face."
Ren touched his cheek. Yep. Definitely scales. "Don't worry, Sensei. I disciplined the fish back."
The wild-haired girl laughed harder, doubling over. "Oh, I like him already."
The quiet girl hid a smile behind her notebook.
Ebisu sighed the sigh of a man who had been assigned the worst students in the village and knew it. "Right. Introductions. Since we'll apparently be suffering together."
The wild-haired girl stepped forward first, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "Hana Inuzara. Tracker specialist. This is Fang." She nudged the wolf cub with her boot. "He bites. So do I. We're gonna get along great."
The quiet girl nodded politely. "Tsubaki Ueno. Sealing techniques and analytical support." Her voice was soft but precise, like a scalpel wrapped in silk. "I look forward to working with you, Ren."
Ren saluted sloppily. "Ren Urazaki. Taijutsu enthusiast. Chakra control disaster. Professional optimist." He paused. "Also, I can eat seventeen dumplings in one sitting."
Hana whistled. "Respect."
Ebisu cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you for that… comprehensive introduction. Now, if we're done celebrating gluttony, let me explain why you three are here."
He gestured to the training field—a wide, open space dotted with wooden posts, target dummies, and what looked like a small obstacle course designed by someone who hated happiness.
"In three months," Ebisu continued, "the Chūnin Qualification Trials will be held. Teams from across the region will compete. It will be brutal. Dangerous. Many will fail." He looked directly at Ren. "Most will fail because they lack discipline."
Ren grinned. "Good thing I've got enthusiasm instead."
Ebisu's eye twitched. "Enthusiasm does not replace chakra control, Urazaki."
"Then I'll just run circles around chakra."
Hana snorted. Tsubaki's lips twitched. Even Fang seemed amused.
Ebisu took a deep, steadying breath. "Your first exercise: capture the wooden targets using chakra threads. Precision. Control. Teamwork. Simple."
He snapped his fingers. A dozen wooden spheres dropped from hidden compartments in the posts, suspended by thin, invisible chakra strings. They swayed gently, taunting.
"Begin."
Hana moved first, her hands blurring through seals. Chakra threads shot from her fingertips like spider silk, wrapping around three targets at once. Fang leaped, jaws snapping around a fourth.
Tsubaki moved slower but with surgical precision, her threads coiling around two targets, binding them mid-air.
Ren stared at his hands.
Right. Chakra threads. The thing I definitely can't do because my chakra control is about as good as a drunk toddler's.
He tried anyway. Formed the hand seals—badly. Focused—sort of. Willed chakra into his fingertips—
His threads exploded outward like angry spaghetti, tangling around his own wrists, Hana's ankle, and somehow a tree branch fifteen feet away.
"Uh—"
The targets launched toward him.
Instinct kicked in. Ren ducked, twisted, and punched.
His fist connected with the first wooden sphere. It exploded into splinters.
He spun, pivoting on one heel, and drove his elbow into the second. Crack. It shattered.
The third came at his head. He caught it mid-air, squeezed, and crushed it to sawdust.
Silence.
Hana stared. "Did you just—"
"I improvised!" Ren said quickly, shaking wood chips out of his hair. "That's… that counts, right?"
Ebisu stood frozen, one hand still raised mid-lecture. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Tsubaki tilted her head, scribbling notes. "Interesting. His chakra output spiked during physical contact. Uncontrolled, but… efficient."
[Improvised solution detected.] [Skill created: Fist Echo Strike (Lv 1).] [Description: Channel raw chakra through physical strikes, amplifying impact. Costs stamina instead of refined chakra control.]
Ren's eyes widened. Wait. Did I just unlock a skill by punching things? That's—that's amazing. I love this system. I love everything.
Ebisu slowly lowered his hand. "That… was not what I asked you to do."
"But it worked," Ren pointed out.
"That is not the—" Ebisu stopped. Adjusted his glasses. Took another deep breath. "You are going to give me gray hair, Urazaki."
Hana grinned. "He's creative, Sensei. Gotta give him that."
Fang barked in agreement.
Tsubaki nodded thoughtfully. "His methodology is unconventional, but the results are measurable. Perhaps we can adapt our strategies to accommodate—"
"No." Ebisu held up a hand. "No adapting. No encouraging this chaos. We are training proper shinobi, not—" He gestured vaguely at Ren. "—whatever this is."
Ren saluted. "Whatever this is will do its best, Sensei."
Ebisu looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he just sighed and waved them off. "Break for lunch. Be back in one hour. And Urazaki?"
"Yeah?"
"Wash your face. You still have scales."
The dumpling stall was the same as always—crooked awning, mismatched stools, the smell of frying dough and soy sauce thick enough to taste. Ren, Hana, and Tsubaki sat shoulder to shoulder, bowls steaming between them.
Hana ate like a wolf—fast, messy, efficient. Fang sat beneath the table, gnawing on a bone someone had tossed him.
Tsubaki ate slowly, methodically, occasionally pausing to sketch diagrams in her notebook.
Ren ate like a man who'd discovered food for the first time and wasn't sure it would last.
"So," Hana said through a mouthful of pork. "You really can't use ninjutsu?"
Ren shrugged. "Nope. Chakra control's broken. Always has been. I'm like… a car with no steering wheel. Lots of power, zero direction."
Hana grinned. "That's hilarious."
"Thanks. I try."
Tsubaki looked up from her notebook, adjusting her glasses. "Your chakra signature is unusual. It spikes irregularly, concentrated in your limbs rather than your core." She tapped her pen against the page. "It's almost like your body is trying to expel chakra through physical force instead of molding it."
Ren blinked. "That… actually sounds accurate. Huh."
"It's inefficient," Tsubaki continued, "but not useless. If you can refine the output, you might develop techniques that bypass traditional chakra control entirely."
"That's the dream," Ren said, grinning. "Punch my way to greatness."
Hana laughed. "You're weird, but it feels good to fight next to you. Like… I dunno. You make it seem less scary."
Ren felt his face heat. "I—uh—thanks?"
[Affinity with teammates increased.] [Hidden Stat 'Camaraderie' +3.]
He stared at the notification, blinking. There's a friendship stat? That's… actually really nice.
Tsubaki smiled faintly. "We'll figure it out together. That's what teams do."
Ren nodded, throat suddenly tight. Teamwork, huh? Maybe that's my nin—no, my 'flame way.' Yeah. That works.
They finished eating in comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who've already decided to trust each other. The afternoon sun filtered through the stall's awning, painting everything in soft amber light. Around them, the village hummed with life—merchants calling out prices, children laughing in the distance, the rhythmic thunk of someone chopping wood.
When they returned to the training field, Ebisu put them through a series of drills that tested coordination more than individual skill. Ren struggled with anything requiring precise chakra manipulation, but his instincts in close combat more than compensated. He learned to read Hana's aggressive rushes, to cover Tsubaki's blind spots while she worked her sealing techniques.
By the time Ebisu dismissed them for the day, Ren's uniform was torn in three new places and he'd somehow managed to get stuck in one of Tsubaki's barrier seals for a full ten minutes. Hana had laughed so hard she'd cried.
"Tomorrow," Ebisu said, massaging his temples, "we'll work on... not destroying everything you touch. Dismissed."
Sunset draped the riverbank in shades of amber and rust. The water turned molten, shimmering like liquid fire beneath the fading light. Shadows stretched long across the grass, and the air smelled of earth and coming night.
Ren stood alone, fists raised, sweat already darkening his collar.
He threw a punch.
The air split. His knuckles hummed.
He threw another. Another. Each strike echoed across the valley, sharp as thunder, rolling over the hills and fading into silence.
His hands ached. His shoulders burned. His knuckles split, blood smearing across his fingers, warm and sticky.
He didn't stop.
If the world says I can't use chakra, fine. I'll use everything else. Breath. Heartbeat. Soul.
[Fist Echo Strike - Lv 1: 87 successful executions.]
He pivoted, drove his fist into a boulder. Stone cracked. His hand screamed.
He grinned.
This is it. This is what I was made for.
The rhythm became meditation. Punch. Breathe. Punch. Breathe. His mind emptied of everything except the movement, the impact, the way his body sang with each strike. The sun dipped lower, painting the clouds in streaks of purple and gold.
[Training session completed: 1,207 strikes recorded.] [Strength +1. Endurance +1.]
From the bridge above, Ebisu watched in silence. His expression was unreadable behind his sunglasses. He'd followed the boy here, curious despite himself. What he saw wasn't the sloppy, undisciplined student from this morning. This was something else entirely—raw determination carved into human form, refusing to bend even as his body begged him to stop.
Slowly, Ebisu smiled.
"Maybe," he murmured to the evening air, "I won't have to lecture him after all."
He turned and left, footsteps silent on the wooden bridge.
Night fell like a curtain, soft and complete. The riverbank was silent except for the whisper of water and the distant hum of crickets.
Ren collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, staring up at the stars. They shimmered like floating kunai, scattered across the black. The world felt impossibly wide, impossibly open. His muscles trembled with exhaustion, but underneath the fatigue was something warmer—satisfaction, maybe. Purpose.
"Tomorrow," he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe, "I'll find someone to spar with. Maybe that loud green-suited guy who screams about youth."
Seriously, who wears that much green? And the leg warmers? In what world is that a good look? Oh wait, this world. The weird knock-off ninja world where everything's just slightly off-brand.
He chuckled, the sound swallowed by the night.
[Side Quest Unlocked: Meet the Master of Flame Youth.]
Ren grinned, teeth flashing white in the darkness.
Guess tomorrow's going to hurt… in a good way.
He closed his eyes, letting the cool grass cushion his battered body. The stars wheeled overhead, patient and endless. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—probably Fang, or one of his relatives. The sound carried across the valley like a promise.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. New pain. New opportunities to prove that fists could speak louder than any jutsu.
But tonight, Ren Urazaki slept under the open sky, dreaming of the day his name would mean something more than "that kid who can't use ninjutsu."
Tomorrow, he'd take another step toward making that dream real.
One punch at a time.
[End Chapter 2.]