Chapter 12: Training in Blood and Time
POV: Kole
Two weeks of brutal training had transformed Training Ground 7 into something resembling a war zone, the earth scarred by countless transmutations and the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and ozone. Tsunade's authorization had granted Kole access to facilities normally reserved for jonin-level instruction, along with ANBU supervision that felt more like protective custody than surveillance.
The watchers weren't subtle about their presence—masked figures perched in trees and hidden behind barriers, documenting every impossibility he demonstrated. By now, they'd filled reports thick enough to choke a horse, each page detailing another violation of natural law performed by a civilian who shouldn't exist.
"3.8 seconds. Almost four full seconds of stopped time."
But the cost was becoming astronomical. Blood ran from his nose and ears in steady streams, his vision grayed at the edges, and something deep in his skull felt like it was being flayed with rusty knives. Each fraction of a second beyond his previous limit demanded payment in agony that would have killed a normal person.
"People die if I'm not strong enough. Push harder."
Time hiccupped around him as he reached for 4.2 seconds, reality stuttering like a broken record. The world drained of color, sound died, even the wind stopped moving. For an impossible moment, Kole existed alone in a universe frozen mid-breath.
Then his nervous system rebelled.
Pain exploded through his skull like a white-hot spike driven between his eyes. Vision whited out completely, leaving him blind and falling toward training posts that would cave in his skull with mechanical precision.
Strong hands caught him before impact, steady arms supporting his weight as consciousness wavered like a candle in hurricane wind.
"You're pushing too hard," Kakashi's voice came from somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears. "This level of training will kill you."
Kole spat blood onto grass already stained red from previous sessions. "Not hard enough. People die if I'm not strong enough."
"People are going to die anyway. But maybe—just maybe—I can save one or two if I push past these limits."
"And you'll die if you keep this up," Kakashi said mildly, but steel ran beneath the casual tone. "Dead heroes save exactly nobody."
"Dead heroes are still heroes. Living cowards save exactly nobody either."
But Kole was too exhausted to argue philosophy with someone who'd probably forgotten more about sacrifice than he'd ever learn. Instead, he struggled to his feet, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.
"Again," he said.
"No. Rest. Recovery is part of training."
"Time doesn't rest. Enemies don't take breaks. Why should I?"
Kakashi's visible eye studied him with uncomfortable intensity, reading micro-expressions and body language with the expertise of someone who'd built a career on understanding people's breaking points.
"Because you're fighting like someone who's seen the enemy's plans," Kakashi said quietly. "Fighting like you know exactly what's coming and when. That's not training—that's preparation for specific opposition."
Shit.
The observation was too accurate, too precise. Kole had been moving through combat scenarios with the mechanical efficiency of someone rehearsing choreography rather than learning new techniques. Every defensive position anticipated attacks that hadn't happened yet, every counter-strategy addressed tactics that belonged to specific enemies.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, which was technically true. He knew exactly what Kakashi meant, but that wasn't the same thing as admitting it.
"Don't you?"
The question hung in the air between them like a challenge. Kakashi had built his reputation on reading people, on seeing through deceptions that fooled everyone else. If anyone was going to penetrate the careful lies Kole had constructed around his identity, it would be the Copy Ninja.
"Deny everything. Deflect. Change the subject."
"I'm just trying to be prepared for whatever comes next," Kole said finally.
"Preparation is good. Prescience is concerning."
POV: Kakashi
Watching Kole train was like observing someone fight a predetermined choreography, each movement calculated to counter attacks that existed only in the civilian's mind. The precision was remarkable—and deeply troubling.
"He moves like someone who's fought these battles before. Not similar battles. These exact encounters."
During the simulation against Guy's taijutsu, Kole had positioned himself perfectly for attacks that hadn't been telegraphed yet. Not anticipation—actual foreknowledge, as if he'd memorized the sequence beforehand. His defensive positioning was always exactly where it needed to be, never wasted motion or reactive scrambling.
It was impossible. Unless...
"Unless he's seen these patterns before. But where? When?"
The alternative explanations were limited and none of them were particularly comforting. Precognitive abilities required chakra—massive amounts of it, more than most jonin possessed. Yet every sensor who'd examined Kole confirmed the same impossible reading: zero chakra network activity.
"So either he's hiding his chakra signature through methods we don't understand, or he's operating on principles that exist outside our knowledge base."
Either possibility suggested threats to village security that extended far beyond simple power assessment. Unknown techniques could be studied, countered, prepared for. But someone who operated outside known principles entirely? That was the kind of wild card that changed wars.
"Time's up," Kakashi called out, ending the session before Kole could push himself into another seizure. "Recovery period. No arguments."
"But I need to—"
"You need to not die from training injuries before facing real enemies. Rest is an order, not a suggestion."
The civilian looked ready to argue, but exhaustion won out over determination. He collapsed onto a training log, blood still seeping from his nose and ears, hands shaking with the aftershocks of temporal manipulation.
"He's killing himself trying to get stronger. That level of desperate urgency suggests either impressive dedication or dangerous foreknowledge."
Kakashi filed the observation away with all the others, building a profile that became more concerning with each data point. Kole Sato was either the most remarkably gifted civilian in Konoha's history, or something else entirely wearing civilian clothes.
Time would tell which.
"Time. Interesting choice of words, given his apparent abilities."
POV: Kole
Evenings brought Temari's letters, the bright spot in days otherwise consumed by violence and preparation for worse violence. Her handwriting was sharp and precise, much like the woman herself, but the words carried warmth that felt like sunshine after weeks of storm clouds.
"Gaara's recovery continues smoothly. The medics say there's no permanent damage from the extraction, which seems miraculous given what those monsters did to him. He asks about you sometimes—the civilian who helped coordinate his rescue. I think he's curious about someone who risks everything for strangers."
"Suna's politics remain as Byzantine as ever. The council still questions having such a young Kazekage, despite everything Gaara's accomplished. They mistake his quiet strength for weakness, his compassion for foolishness. If they only knew what real strength looks like."
"The desert's been restless lately. Sandstorms that appear from nowhere, trade routes disrupted by bandits who vanish before our patrols can respond. There are rumors of missing-nin gathering in the deep wastes, but nothing concrete enough to act on. Still, something feels wrong. Like the calm before a typhoon."
Kole set the letter aside and reached for paper and ink, composing responses that carried truths he couldn't speak aloud anywhere else. On paper, filtered through careful phrasing and metaphor, he could hint at the knowledge that was slowly driving him insane.
"I understand the feeling of restlessness. Sometimes I wake up knowing that terrible things are coming, but I can't explain how I know or what to do about it. It's like being trapped in a nightmare where everyone you care about is walking toward danger and you can only watch."
"Your description of Gaara sounds like someone who's learned to carry weight that would crush most people. I know the feeling. Sometimes the hardest part isn't the burden itself—it's the isolation that comes with knowledge others can't share."
"When this is over—whatever 'this' turns out to be—I'd like to take you up on that invitation to see the desert stars. I have a feeling I'll need something beautiful to remember after all the ugliness."
Her latest letter was different, more personal than previous correspondence. The formal politeness had given way to something that felt almost intimate, as if she'd decided to trust him with pieces of herself normally kept hidden.
"I dream about you sometimes. Is that strange to admit? I dream about conversations we haven't had, places we haven't been together. In the dreams, you look tired but not defeated. Like someone who's seen the worst the world can offer and chose to keep fighting anyway."
"Come to Suna when this is over. I want to show you the desert stars—they're different than your village's sky. Brighter somehow, more honest. Like they're not trying to hide anything."
"I think I'm falling for you, Kole. That probably should scare me more than it does."
The words hit him like a physical blow, warmth and terror in equal measure. In his old life, relationships had been casual things, temporary connections that ended when convenience shifted. But this felt different—deeper, more dangerous, weighted with the knowledge that caring about someone in this world meant watching them face horrors he couldn't prevent.
"I think I'm falling for you too. That terrifies me more than immortal monsters and god-level opponents. Because I know what's coming, and I can't protect you from any of it."
But he wrote back anyway, pouring his heart onto paper with the desperate honesty of someone who might not survive to regret the admission.
"I dream about you too. About conversations where I can tell you everything, about a future where we have time to figure out what this is between us. About desert stars and honest skies and all the beautiful things I want to show you when the world stops trying to end itself."
"I'm falling for you too. That should scare me, but mostly it just makes me want to survive whatever's coming so I can see where this leads."
"Wait for me, Temari. Whatever happens next, whatever you hear about me, wait for me. I'll come to you when I can. That's a promise."
The blood compass pulsed in his pocket like a second heartbeat, needle pointing southwest with mechanical precision. Each pulse was fainter than the last, suggesting either distance or degradation of the tracking connection. But the direction remained constant—southwest, toward whatever hole Hidan and Kakuzu had crawled into after their temple massacre.
Kole packed his equipment with the methodical care of someone preparing for war. Diamond wire coiled in specialized containers, each strand sharp enough to cut through steel and souls in equal measure. Alchemical compounds that would prevent regeneration, sealed in unbreakable vials. The Ignition Gloves lay ready, their arrays glowing faintly in the apartment's dim light.
"The alarm will come soon. Asuma's team will engage, and I'll have minutes to reach the battlefield before everything goes to hell."
A letter to Temari sat on his desk, sealed but not sent. Final words in case tomorrow brought endings instead of new beginnings. Inside, everything he couldn't say aloud—his real origins, his knowledge of future events, his desperate love for a woman who deserved better than falling for a man from another world.
"If something happens to me, know that every moment we shared mattered. Know that in a universe of terrible choices and impossible odds, caring about you was the easiest decision I ever made."
Outside his window, Konoha slept peacefully, unaware that somewhere in the darkness, monsters were stirring. But in a small apartment filled with weapons and letters and the scattered remains of a normal life, Kole Sato prepared to stand between those monsters and everything he'd learned to care about.
The compass pulsed southwest, counting down to catastrophe with the precision of fate itself.
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