Chapter 7: Learning to Live
Ren had stopped expecting kindness. In this place, no one had the energy for it. Even children aged like fruit left in the sun—eyes too serious, voices too flat. But surviving wasn't about waiting for a handout. Not here. Not now. And Ren was done being scared of what he didn't understand.
After his failed hunting attempt, the need to learn became heavier than hunger itself.
So he watched.
From the edge of the clearing near the training posts, he kept quiet while the older kids—genin from other villages, sometimes even Konoha—practiced. Not many were older than twelve or thirteen, but they carried themselves like soldiers, eyes sharp and backs straight. Some trained alone, others in pairs, but there was no laughter. No talking. Just the sound of feet on dirt and steel against wood.
Ren spotted one of them—a boy with short-cropped hair and a long scar down his neck—practicing silent throws with dull kunai. The boy had a limp but moved with precision. Ren waited until he'd finished his set.
"Hey," Ren said, careful not to sound too eager.
The boy turned, frowning. "What?"
Ren hesitated, then shrugged. "Just… wondering how you stay alive out there."
The boy stared at him for a long moment.
Then he pointed to his limp. "Don't get caught in a trap."
Ren nodded. "Anything else?"
The genin snorted. "Don't freeze. You freeze, you die."
Then he walked off without another word.
---
Later, Ren caught a few words with a different genin—a girl with cropped hair and tired eyes who'd come back from patrol with a bloody bandage around her arm.
She sat by the water barrels, scooping clean water into her canteen.
"You don't talk much," she said when he approached.
"Just thinking," Ren replied. "Trying to figure out how not to starve."
The girl looked him up and down. "You're one of the orphans?"
"Yeah."
She chewed her lip. "Don't beg. It pisses off the chunin. Do what you can. Carry crates. Wash gear. Stay busy and they won't kick you out."
"Can't fight?"
"Not yet. You don't want to go out there if you can't fight."
He paused. "Why?"
She said nothing.
Then she nodded past him. "You see that?"
Ren turned—and his breath caught in his throat.
A man—no, a shinobi—stumbled into the edge of camp, supported by two others. His arm was missing from the elbow down. What remained was wrapped in torn bandages, soaked red and brown. His flak jacket was cut to pieces, and there was blood on his face, dried to the skin.
No one screamed. No one even looked surprised.
Some kids turned their heads. Others didn't look at all.
Ren couldn't stop staring.
He'd seen movies. Games. War stories. But nothing prepared him for this. Not the smell. Not the silence. Not the sheer… normality of it.
"He's lucky," the girl said beside him. "Some don't come back at all."
Ren didn't know what to say.
---
That night, the wind shifted again. Cold and sharp, it cut through the camp like a blade. Ren sat by the fading fire pit, arms wrapped around his knees. Haru and Taro were nearby, asleep or pretending to be. The quiet let his thoughts echo.
I need to survive.
Not just to breathe, but to live. To understand this world and stay ahead of it. Chakra, jutsu, ninja—all of it still felt unreal. But hunger wasn't. Fear wasn't. And that cold, watching feeling whenever someone looked at him like he didn't belong—that wasn't either.
So the next morning, he found a chunin.
---
Chunin Teshin was young, probably in his early twenties, but already had a weathered look—like he hadn't slept properly in months. He was overseeing supply dispersal when Ren approached.
"You again?" he muttered, barely glancing up.
"I want to learn," Ren said simply.
"Learn what?"
"How to stay alive."
Teshin finally looked at him, amused. "You want to be a ninja?"
"I want to live."
That made the man pause.
He looked at Ren more carefully, then leaned in. "Here's your first lesson, kid: know when to talk and when to listen. And right now, you listen."
Ren nodded quickly.
Teshin held up a finger. "First rule: move quiet. Always. If you're loud, you die. Second rule: don't freeze. Ever. Doesn't matter how scared you are. You stop, you're done."
He tapped his boot. "Third rule: keep your feet dry. Trench rot will kill you slower, but just as dead."
Ren blinked. "Feet?"
"You'll understand if you're ever out there in the rain for three days straight."
Teshin handed him a cracked canteen. "You want more advice? Earn it. Clean this, then fill the rest. Make yourself useful."
Ren didn't complain.
---
As the sun set, Ren carried buckets back and forth from the well, arms aching, but mind racing. He was piecing it together now—not the jutsu or techniques, but the mindset. The rhythm of survival.
He wasn't going to get stronger overnight.
But he could start becoming someone people noticed—for the right reasons.
Someone who didn't get left behind.
---
That night, he returned to his corner behind the barracks, where the wall creaked softly with the wind. Haru was asleep, snoring lightly. Taro sat beside him, staring up at the sky.
"You were gone all day," Taro muttered.
"Working," Ren replied.
"For what?"
Ren hesitated. Then said, "Advice."
Taro scoffed. "You think that'll save you?"
"No. But it's a start."
They sat in silence for a while, the wind tugging at their threadbare clothes.
"Yuza's right, you know," Taro said eventually. "We're just mouths to feed."
Ren looked over. "Then I'll learn how to feed myself."
Taro didn't respond.
---
The next morning, Ren found a stick and began mimicking the stances he saw the genin use—slow, deliberate movements, mostly wrong. He didn't care. He repeated them anyway.
A girl passing by—a genin with a chipped blade and sharp eyes—snorted. "You look stupid."
Ren didn't stop. "I'll look less stupid tomorrow."
She laughed, a short, surprised sound. "You're weird, but you listen. That'll keep you breathing."
Then she walked off.
Ren smiled faintly.
Breathing was enough. For now.