The academy opened tomorrow.
For most children, that meant excitement — new friends, new uniforms, dreams of becoming heroes.
For Uchiha Kaen, it meant exposure.
Eyes. Expectations. Risks.
And so, he trained harder than ever.
The past few weeks had been relentless.
Morning before sunrise:
Endurance runs through forest paths beyond the district.
Balance drills on wet branches.
Breath control exercises to expand Observation Haki further.
Afternoon:
Grip conditioning.
Impact training with stone surfaces.
Controlled Armament focus — just enough to reinforce, never enough to attract attention.
Evening:
Meditation.
Not mystical — practical.
Calming heartbeat.
Sharpening emotional control.
Preparing the mental stability he suspected Conqueror's Haki would eventually demand.
Sleep came late.
Sometimes barely at all.
But unlike his previous life, this exhaustion had purpose.
And purpose made fatigue easier to carry.
One breakthrough came quietly.
During a heavy rain training session, Kaen extended Observation Haki instinctively while running.
Instead of effort…
It felt natural.
Effortless awareness blanketed the Uchiha district again — clearer than before, more stable. No strain, no headache.
A stable mid-stage.
Useful.
Dangerous if discovered.
So he kept it hidden, as always.
Hitomi noticed the intensity.
Of course she did.
She always did.
That evening, she sat beside him outside their house while rain softened to drizzle.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," she said gently.
Kaen didn't respond immediately.
Because technically… he did.
Strength kept them safe.
Strength prevented dependence on unreliable systems.
Strength ensured options.
Still…
Her presence lightened the load, even if he never said it aloud.
"I know," he replied quietly.
And he meant it.
Politically, tension remained subtle but constant.
Clan members occasionally watched him now — not openly, but enough for Observation Haki to catch their curiosity.
Villagers remained polite yet cautious.
Nothing hostile.
Nothing warm either.
Kaen had stopped expecting warmth.
Respect would suffice.
And respect usually followed strength.
That night — the final night before academy enrollment — Kaen trained one last time under falling leaves.
Eyes closed.
Breathing steady.
Leaves drifting unpredictably through damp air.
He caught each one effortlessly now.
Not because he focused harder.
Because awareness had become instinct.
When the last leaf settled, he opened his eyes.
Sky clearing. Clouds parting.
Symbolic, maybe.
Or maybe just weather.
Kaen didn't indulge symbolism much.
Reality mattered more.
Back inside, Hitomi had prepared a slightly better meal than usual — she'd apparently traded some saved allowance for it.
"Celebration," she said simply.
Not academy excitement.
Survival milestone.
They'd made it this far.
Together.
Later, lying awake, Kaen stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow would bring:
New relationships.
Potential rivals.
Political observation opportunities.
Possibly encounters with future legendary shinobi.
But most importantly:
A stage.
And Kaen intended to step onto it carefully.
Not flashy.
Not invisible either.
Balanced.
Controlled.
Strategic.
Before sleep finally claimed him, one quiet thought surfaced:
This is where the real story begins.