When I woke up the next morning on my mattress, the adrenaline had evaporated.
The pain was blinding. My right arm throbbed with a deep ache that radiated from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder. But that was nothing compared to my chest.
Every breath I took felt like a jagged piece of glass twisting in my side. The boar in the Forest of Death hadn't managed to pierce me, but the blunt force of its snout had cracked at least one of my lower ribs.
I lay still, staring at the ceiling, assessing my options.
I couldn't go to the hospital. A six-year-old orphan arriving with injuries would prompt unwanted questions. I couldn't fake a fall, since my wound was nothing like it.
I had to handle it myself.
I forced myself to sit up, biting down hard on my lip. I stripped off the blood-stained shirt. The right side of my chest had an ugly purple and black bruising.
I moved to my belongings beside the bed and retrieved a white bedsheet I had stolen from the orphanage before my departure. Using my kunai, I sliced the fabric into long, side strips. Exhaling, I wrapped around my torso with the fabric, tying it off with a knot.
It restricted my breathing to shallow intakes of air, but it stabilized the bone.
Then came a tough decision.
I looked down at the four heavy straps resting on the floorboards. The thirty pounds weight.
Logically, wearing them while nursing a wounded body would be the incorrect decision. But if I took them off, my body would stop adapting. My physical energy would stop growing. In a world where every ounce of power had an impact, wasting time was a death sentence.
I strapped the weights onto my ankles and wrists and walked out the door.
The trek to the Academy was a grueling path. Every step sent a shockwave up my chest. By the time I slid the wooden door of the classroom open and took my seat, a line of cold sweat coated my forehead.
"Hey! You look terrible" Ken announced loudly as he dropped his bag onto the desk beside me. "Did you not sleep? You look like my uncle when he stays at the forge all night."
"I was working on my project" I replied, my voice slightly tighter than usual.
"Oh, the woodworking thing" Ken nodded, pulling out his notebook. He grinned, tapping the paper "Hey, your notes on the topographical supply routes were perfect. Daiki asked a surprise question about the Sand's water logistics, and I was the only one in the back row who got it right. My dad actually smiled at me this morning."
"Good" I said smoothly. I looked at the boy, sensing a perfect opening "But I have a problem. The project."
Ken leaned in, intrigued. "What happened?"
"The counterweights weren't heavy enough" I lied, constructing the fiction. "The weight ratio was completely unbalanced. It snapped back. I need more mass to anchor the base."
"More?" Ken's eyes widened in disbelief. "Raijin, I already brought you thirty pounds of iron. How heavy is this thing?"
"It requires stability" I said flatly. "I need another twenty pounds. Just like before"
Ken rubbed the back of his neck, looking nervous. "Twenty more pounds… I mean, my uncle throws out a lot of iron, but now he's more active inside the forge. Hauling twenty pounds out the shop in my backpack is going to be tougher. If he catches me, he might ask me why I'm doing it."
"Take your time. Do it in smaller batches over the next week" I instructed, sliding my freshly written study guide for the week's history module across the desk. "Just make sure the density is consistent."
Ken looked at it, the fear of academic failure once again taking him over. He slid the papers into his bag. "Okay. Deal. I'll start bringing them on Wednesday."
The morning theory block dragged on. Daiki stood at the chalkboard, lecturing on the basics of chakra flow disruption and genjutsu detection.
I kept my eyes on the board, but my mind wandered on the events of the previous night.
The technique I had improvised in the forest was really lethal, but deeply flawed. I needed a name for it, a mental designation to categorize it. Naibaku. Internal Detonation.
The theory was sound: inject a highly pressurized, spinning vortex of chakra through the opponents' body, bypassing their skin, and violently expand it within their internal cavity. It basically liquefied organs.
But the recoil was the problem. When the chakra detonated, the explosive force sought the path of least resistance. Because my palm was pressed flat against the target, my own open tenketsu acted as a two-way valve. The backlash traveled right back up my arm.
I thought about the recoil as Daiki explained genjutsu dispelling.
How do I mitigate the backlash inside a chakra pathway system? There were two logical solutions.
The first was a shutdown. I needed to train my tenketsu to act like blast doors. The millisecond the Naibaku was sent into the target, I had to sever the connection and seal the coils in my hand before the expansion occurred. That level of control, though, I didn't currently possess.
The second solution was redirection. If I couldn't stop the recoil, I had to give it somewhere to go. I would have to channel it up my arm, down my spine, and expel it out through the soles of my feet into the ground.
Both methods would require practice. But the Naibaku was my first true weapon. It was an assassination strike that leveled my playing field against stronger opponents.
"Alright, clear your desks" Daiki's voice cut through my monologue. "Theory is over. To the courtyard. Taijutsu spars."
I dreaded this moment.
Taijutsu spars meant physical impact. Faking incompetence when my body was healthy was frustrating. Faking it with a cracked rib and thirty pounds of iron dragging me down was a recipe for disaster.
The class turned to the training grounds of the Academy. Daiki formed us into the standard wide circle.
I stood near the back, taking slow, shallow breaths, my arms hanging loosely at my sides to avoid brushing against my chest.
Daiki began calling the pairs. I watched as the clan kids effortlessly dismantled the civilians. Itachi was called against a bulky Akimichi. The match lasted three seconds. Itachi didn't even strike him, he simply stepped inside the Akimichi's guard, used the boy's momentum against him, and swept his leg, pinning him to the dirt easily.
"Raijin against Ryo" Daiki called out.
I stepped into the dirt ring. Ryo was a civilian boy, but he was notorious in the class for his aggression. He was stocky, fast, and treated every spar like it was a deathmatch.
We stood ten feet apart. I raised my right hand, forming the Seal of Confrontation. My wrist throbbed slightly. Ryo mirrored the seal, a fierce, eager grin on his face.
My strategy would be simple. I would let him attack, raise a clumsy block, allow the momentum to push me out of bounds, and take the loss. A quick, painless defeat to avoid showing my injuries.
"Begin" Daiki commanded.
Ryo exploded off the line. He didn't bother probing with jabs. He closed the distance in two rapid steps, planting his lead foot and throwing a sweeping right hook.
It was a sloppy strike. I saw it coming a mile away.
I stepped backward, raising my left forearm to take a glancing blow on the shoulder and simulate a stumble.
But my expectations were not met. The added weight on my limbs, combined with the stiffness in my chest, made me a second slower than I predicted. My center of gravity dragged.
I didn't step back far enough.
Ryo's sweeping hook went through my raised forearm. His fist slammed directly into the right side of my ribcage.
Right onto the fracture bone.
The pain was blinding. My vision flashed white. I choked, expelling a ragged gasp.
Conscious thought evaporated.
In that second, my survival instincts took over. I felt threatened.
Ryo grinned, feeling the solid impact, and pulled his left fist back to follow up with a cross to my jaw.
He never got the chance.
Ignoring the thirty pounds, my body reacted.
Before Ryo's left arm could even begin its forward trajectory, my right hand snapped upward, slapping his wrist aside. Simultaneously, I dropped my center of gravity, ignoring the fire in my ribs. I pivoted on my left heel, sweeping my right leg through the dirt in an arc.
My ankle crashed into the back of Ryo's calves.
His feet ripped out from under him. His expression of confidence instantly turned into shock.
Before his back even hit the dirt, I moved. I stepped into his falling momentum, driving my left knee hard into his chest, pinning him to the earth. My right hand hovered exactly one inch above his exposed throat, my fingers aligned to crush his windpipe.
The entire sequence, from the moment his fist hit my ribs to the moment he was pinned, took less than half a second.
Silence descended on the courtyard. The eyes around me were struggling to process what their eyes had witnessed.
Ryo lay beneath me, gasping for air, his eyes wide.
The pain in my chest flared, ripping me back to reality.
My heart seized. I exposed myself.
I instantly dropped the posture. I scrambled backward off Ryo, collapsing onto my hands and knees in the dirt, clutching my ribs, and forced my face into an expression of shock.
"Ah… sorry!" I blurted, pitching my voice higher to sound panicked. "I tripped! My foot got caught! I just—I fell on you! Sorry!"
I extended a hand to Ryo, acting flustered.
He just stared at me, too stunned to take my hand. He scrambled backward, putting distance between us.
"Winner, Raijin" Daiki announced.
I looked up. Daiki's voice was flat, but his posture had changed. He was standing upright, his eyes locked onto me.
He didn't buy the lie.
I lowered my head, dusting off my pants, pretending to be embarrassed by the attention.
As I walked back to the edge of the circle, my heart raced.
I risked a glance to my left.
Standing on the opposite side of the circle was Itachi Uchiha.
He wasn't staring blankly at the dirt anymore. His eyes were locked onto mine. There was no surprise in his face, just a silent gaze of recognition.
He had seen it, too.
I immediately broke eye contact and took my place next to a bewildered Ken.
I had made a mistake. The pain overrode my mind, and made me reveal myself. Daiki was suspicious, and the Uchiha prodigy took notice of me.
The spars continued, despite my agonizing situation.