Chapter 15: Small Steps
The sun peeked over the horizon, casting long shadows across the war orphan camp. The smell of dew mixed with sweat and dust—another day of training under Juro-sensei.
Ren rolled off his stiff cot, muscles sore and aching. He dressed quietly, tugging on his worn shirt and bandaging a fresh blister on his heel. As always, his thoughts lingered on the same thing: survival.
He stepped out into the chill morning air and joined the other orphans near the makeshift training field. The chatter was low, mostly groans about the day ahead. Taro elbowed him on the way to line up.
"Think you'll stay on your feet today, Ren?" he asked with a sly smirk.
"Maybe," Ren muttered. "I'm getting better."
"Sure you are," Taro said, but his voice lacked venom now. There was something almost… familiar in his teasing.
Then came the sharp clap.
"LINE UP!" Juro-sensei barked.
The kids scrambled into position. Juro stood with his arms crossed, the same unimpressed glare on his face. His dark eyes swept across them.
"Today is like yesterday. And the day before. Until you're strong enough not to die within a minute on a battlefield, nothing changes. Move."
They ran drills—taijutsu stances, strikes, dodges. Basic chakra exercises like tree-climbing and leaf balancing. Ren struggled to keep up, but his stamina had improved since that first week. His punches weren't strong, but they were sharp. His steps, more stable.
During the lunch break, Ren sat with his food, eyes drifting to a group of genin nearby.
"Why even bother training them?" one whispered, thinking no one heard. "Most of these kids won't last a month if they ever see a mission."
"Don't matter," another replied. "As long as a few make it, that's good enough for the higher-ups."
Ren kept his head down but memorized their faces.
---
That night, Ren returned to his tent, exhausted. He sat cross-legged and began his familiar ritual—the seven chakra meditation. It was a habit now. Steady breath. Clear mind. One chakra at a time.
He knew the method didn't give him power, but it did help him focus. And that was enough. He could feel his body more clearly—what was tense, what needed rest.
But he wanted more.
He imagined his chakra like light, moving through his body. He started with his hands, imagining warmth flowing down his arms, spreading to his fingers. It was vague, but there was something… there. A tingle.
Then his legs. His chest. His back.
He pictured the chakra as a steady stream—alive, like a pulse—and for a brief moment, he could feel it swirl faintly in his palms.
It was the tiniest success. But it made his eyes widen.
---
The next day, Juro introduced a new exercise: balance training. They were to stand on narrow logs driven into the ground, practicing strikes and defensive moves without falling.
Most of the kids tumbled within minutes.
Ren barely lasted ten seconds at first. But he kept trying. Again and again. Bruised knees. Scraped elbows. Still, he climbed back up.
By the end of the day, he managed to stay up long enough to throw two punches and land before falling.
Juro didn't say anything.
But he didn't stop him, either.
---
Later that week, Ren spent the evening copying kanji characters into a notebook. His handwriting was messy, his reading still slow. He used scrolls borrowed—or rather, taken—when no one was looking. Taro caught him squinting at one once.
"What's that, some kind of spicy stew jutsu?" Taro teased.
"It's a fire scroll," Ren replied. "...I think."
They both snorted.
---
One night, while the wind howled through the trees, Ren sat in his tent again. He didn't meditate right away. Instead, he looked at his hands.
"Small steps," he murmured.
He closed his eyes and began again. Chakra. Breath. Light.
From nothing, a whisper. A glow.
It wasn't strength.
But it was progress.
---
Far from the battlefield, under the ever-watchful moon, Ren took another step forward. And this time, it felt like his own.