The night air was heavy with silence, carrying the scent of damp earth after a brief rain. In the Hyūga household, the lamps were dimmed, casting soft shadows across the wooden floors. Ryouji had not slept; his body remained tense, mind lingering on the message that came days ago. He sat near the low table, polishing a short blade not for use, but as an old habit to calm his thoughts.
Ren, who should have been asleep, entered the room quietly. His eyes carried a weight far beyond his age.
"Father," he said, voice steady but strained, "teach me how to fight… for real."
Ryouji looked up, the blade glinting in the lamp's faint glow. He wanted to say no. He wanted to keep Ren away from everything that smelled of blood and violence. But he saw it—the same resolve in Ren's gaze that once lived in his own. Refusing him now would only create distance, and perhaps recklessness.
"…Tomorrow," Ryouji finally answered. "At dawn. Be ready."
---
The morning arrived with a crimson hue, the sun breaking through a thin veil of mist. In the small clearing behind their home, Ren stood barefoot on the earth, fists clenched, determination stiffening his young posture. Hana watched from the porch, concern etched into her expression. She had tried to speak with Ryouji the night before, to stop this, but he had only replied, "The world won't wait for him to grow. Better he learns with me than with strangers who mean harm."
Ryouji stood across from his son, calm but commanding.
"Ren," he began, "fighting isn't about winning. It's about surviving. Can you remember that?"
Ren nodded.
The training started simple: Ryouji told him to strike. Ren lunged forward, throwing a punch. Ryouji dodged easily, his movement fluid as if the air itself carried him aside. Again, Ren tried, faster this time, frustration growing with every failed attempt. His small fists met nothing but empty air.
"Too obvious," Ryouji said. "Your anger clouds your body. Again."
Ren's breath grew heavy. Sweat lined his forehead despite the morning chill. He charged once more, but Ryouji countered this time—one swift move, and Ren was on the ground, dust clinging to his clothes.
Hana took a step forward, almost calling out, but stopped when she saw the look in Ryouji's eyes: not cruelty, but teaching.
"Get up," Ryouji ordered. "If you stay down, you lose more than a fight—you lose your chance to protect what matters."
Ren's hands trembled, but he pushed himself back up. His lip was bitten, blood faint at the corner, but his eyes held steady. He charged again, this time with a feint. For the first time, Ryouji's brow lifted ever so slightly. His son was learning.
Still, Ren was too slow. With a calculated motion, Ryouji stopped him again, pushing him to the ground.
"Better," Ryouji admitted, "but not enough."
Ren shouted in frustration, pounding the ground with his fists. "Why can't I do it?! Why am I still weak?!"
His cry echoed in the clearing, sharp enough to pierce Hana's heart. She clasped her hands together, whispering his name.
Ryouji knelt beside his son, voice quieter now. "Because strength isn't built in a day. It comes from pain, from failure, from standing again after falling. Every scar you earn will remind you that you chose to rise."
Ren looked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Then let me earn it. I don't want to hide while you fight for us. I don't want Sakura to think I'm just a child who can't do anything."
Those words struck deep into Ryouji's heart. He remembered his own youth—when he had spoken almost the same words to his master long ago, before his life turned into a trail of shadows and corpses. He saw himself in Ren, and it terrified him.
"Ren," Ryouji whispered, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "I will teach you. But you must promise me—promise—that you'll never forget who you are. A fighter without purpose becomes a monster. And I… I won't allow you to become what I once was."
Ren nodded, though he didn't fully understand the weight of those words.
---
The lesson continued until the sun climbed high. By then, Ren's small body was battered with bruises, his movements slower, but his spirit unbroken. For the first time, he managed to touch Ryouji—a light graze against his arm, nothing more, but enough to widen his eyes in pride.
Ryouji allowed a small smile. "That's it. Now you're learning."
Hana stepped forward, finally breaking her silence. She pressed a damp cloth to Ren's face, tears threatening to fall. "You're still my little boy," she whispered, though her heart ached with pride and fear intertwined.
Ren leaned into her touch, exhausted but glowing with determination.
From the shadows of the trees, unseen by them, a figure watched—silent, patient. The boy's first fight had not gone unnoticed.