The last class of the day was Shurikenjutsu.
Normally, this would be the only class where Asahi felt absolute confidence. Throwing objects required the same principles he had mastered: biomechanics, transferring force from the core, and consistent muscular stabilization. Pure physics.
Iruka-sensei led the class to the back training field, where a series of wooden posts with painted targets waited silently, their surfaces covered in old marks, like scars from past battles.
"All right!" Iruka said, clapping to get attention. "Today, we'll focus on the Kunai. It's not just about strength. It's about precision, consistency, and release. I want five throws from each of you!"
The students formed a line. One by one, they stepped forward.
Arashi threw with wild enthusiasm, his kunais hitting around the target with force but lacking consistency. Sakura threw with meticulous precision but little power; her kunais barely stuck into the wood. Sasuke… Sasuke threw five kunais that landed in a tight cluster just beside the center.
'Elite…', Asahi thought with a pang of envy. 'Even without hatred, Uchiha talent is insane.'
"Asahi! Your turn!"
Asahi stepped forward. He felt the gazes. The lunchtime conversation had not gone unnoticed. Sasuke looked at him with analytical curiosity. Arashi looked at him like a puzzle he couldn't solve. Naruto, standing at the back, simply watched in silence.
Asahi took a deep breath. 'Ignore them. This is easy.'
He picked up his first kunai. Positioned himself, rotated his hips, his shoulder shot forward, and his arm acted like a whip. The motion was fluid, powerful, and perfectly controlled.
'THWACK.'
The kunai sank deeply into the exact center of the target.
A hush of impressed silence fell over the students. Arashi let out a "Woah!" Even Sasuke raised an eyebrow.
Asahi didn't smile. He simply picked up the second kunai.
THWACK. Center.
THWACK. Center.
THWACK. Center.
THWACK. Center.
All five kunais were grouped so tightly in the target they nearly touched. Perfect.
'This,' he thought, feeling a spark of his old confidence. 'I get this.'
Iruka-sensei nodded, visibly impressed. "Excellent, Asahi. Impeccable form. Honestly, a skill level I didn't expect to see. You have a natural instinct for this."
Asahi simply nodded, collecting his kunais.
"In fact," Iruka continued, "your form is so good we can try the next step."
Iruka approached him as the rest of the class resumed practice. "Asahi, this time, I want you to try imbuing a small amount of chakra into the kunai just before you throw it. Don't try to push it. Just… let it flow into the metal. If you do it right, it will drastically increase the speed and penetration power. It's the first step in using weapons with chakra."
Asahi froze.
'Ah.' The trap.
'No… it's fine,' he told himself. 'I can do this. I remember the analogy.'
He nodded to Iruka. Took a new kunai. Stood at the throwing line.
Took a deep breath.
'Okay. Silent flow. Like writing.'
He raised the kunai. Focused, trying to feel that subtle connection…
Buzz
He felt the chakra move from his center, through his shoulder, into his arm…
And at the moment his brain gave the command, his hand reacted.
Click.
Muscle memory fired. 'OBJECT IN HAND!' 'GRIP!' 'TENSION!'
His hand closed on the kunai with the force of a hydraulic press.
'No! Shit! Don't press the brush!' he screamed internally.
But it was too late. The muscular tension in his grip was now at war with his attempt to flow chakra. His shoulder tensed, his bicep locked.
He tried to throw anyway, but his perfect form, his beautiful biomechanics, was completely ruined. The motion was not a fluid whip; it was a clumsy spasm.
He threw the kunai.
It didn't fly straight. It wobbled awkwardly through the air, like a wounded bird.
CLANG.
It didn't even hit the wooden post. It bounced on the ground two meters from the target with a pathetic metallic sound.
Absolute silence fell over the training field.
Arashi was the first to break it. "WHAT… THE… HELL WAS THAT?!"
Asahi stood there, arm still extended, horrified.
It was worse than Kawarimi. Kawarimi was a complex jutsu. This was… throwing. He had mastered throwing, and the moment he tried to add chakra, he not only failed at chakra, he broke his physical skill.
'I pressed the brush,' he whispered, voice so low no one could hear. 'I pressed the brush so hard I broke it.'
Iruka-sensei sighed, but didn't look angry. He looked… resigned. "Don't worry, Asahi. This is exactly what we discussed. Your body is out of sync. It's okay. Go back to normal practice for now. We'll work it out."
Asahi nodded, his face pale and expressionless. He picked up his fallen kunai, avoiding everyone's gaze.
For the rest of the hour, he simply threw normal kunais, each one hitting the center with robotic, silent precision. But the confidence was gone. The joy of being good at something had evaporated.
The walk back to the orphanage was a funeral march.
He saw the rest of the clans ahead. Sasuke walked alone, probably reflecting on Asahi's pathetic throw. Arashi and Naruto walked together, Arashi gesturing wildly, no doubt reenacting the failed throw for laughs.
Humiliation burned. His only advantage, his trained body, was now a burden. He had become a joke: the boy who could hit a tree but couldn't throw a knife if he thought too much.
'Calligraphy,' he thought, clenching his fists. 'Naruto was right. And I'm the worst calligrapher in the world.'
He arrived at the orphanage. Ignored the other kids. Ignored the caretaker offering a snack. Went straight to his corner in the backyard.
He sat.
No push-ups. No squats. His physical training was useless now. Worse than useless: it was counterproductive.
He searched the ground until he found a thin, smooth stick. Cleared a patch of dusty earth in front of him.
'Calligraphy.'
He held the stick like a brush. Tried to draw a simple circle (ensō) in the dust.
His hand trembled. His grip was so tight the stick nearly snapped. The circle was a jagged disaster.
'Muscle,' he hissed.
He inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Relaxed the shoulder. Relaxed the elbow. Relaxed the wrist. Tried to let the movement flow, not from his arm, but from his center.
He drew another circle. Smoother. Better.
'Good. Now… the real test.'
He placed his faithful leaf in the palm of his left hand, open over his lap. In his right hand, he held the stick, ready to draw in the dust.
The goal: Dissociation.
Draw a perfect circle in the dust with his right hand. While keeping the leaf pressed against his left palm.
He closed his eyes for a second. Focused.
Right hand: 'Smooth flow. Like water.' Left hand: 'Silent flow. Like writing.'
Buzz.
He began moving his right hand to draw the circle…
Click.
The moment his brain registered the "intentional movement" of his right hand, his instinct fired. His left hand tensed. Chakra was cut.
The leaf fell to the ground. The circle in the dust became an irregular scratch.
Failure.
Asahi stared at the leaf, then at the scratch.
He didn't shout. Didn't slam the ground.
He breathed deeply. Picked up the leaf. Erased the scratch.
Placed the leaf on his palm. Raised the stick.
And tried again.
The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the yard. The only sound was the soft scratch of a stick in the dirt, and the almost imperceptible whisper of a leaf falling, over and over, and over again.