The next morning, Kaen arrived at the Academy before most students. The moment he spotted Obito at the gate, he tugged on his sleeve.
"Kyodai, where's the principal's office?"
Obito blinked. "Huh? Why would you go there? Did you do something already?"
Kaen simply repeated, "Where is it?"
Obito sighed dramatically, but guided him through the hallways and pointed to a door at the far end. "There. Don't get expelled."
Kaen knocked, waited for permission, then slid the door open with the humbleness he found in Itachi on their first meet.
"Ohayō gozaimasu," he greeted, bowing deeply.
The principal looked up, eyebrows rising at the sight of the new Uchiha standing before him on only his second day. He gestured for Kaen to sit.
"Yes, Kaen… what brings you here?"
Kaen placed the sealed envelope on the desk. "Principal-sama, Fugaku-san asked me to deliver this."
The principal broke the seal and unfolded the contents. He read the letter once. Then again. Then examined the attached test papers carefully.
"Hm… so Fugaku proposes that you skip to the fifth grade after a specialized bootcamp?" he asked.
Kaen nodded. "Yes, sir."
The principal leaned back, studying the child with renewed interest. After a long pause, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing.
When he finished, he folded the letter and sealed it.
"Give this to Fugaku-san," he instructed. "And tell him… we'll rely on him for this matter."
Kaen accepted the letter with both hands, bowed again, and left.
Fugaku was in his study when Kaen visited later that afternoon. The boy held out the letter without a word.
Fugaku opened it and read the principal's message:
Fugaku-san, We are short on staff these days. I ask that you personally oversee Kaen's accelerated curriculum, as you did with Itachi-kun.
—Principal Nara
Fugaku let out a slow sigh through his nose—part annoyance, part resignation, and part pride. He folded the letter and filed it neatly into his archive drawer.
Then he pulled out a blank sheet and began writing a list with precise strokes. After a few moments, he handed the paper to Kaen.
"Here. Go gather these items," he said.
Kaen took the paper, scanning it with bright eyes. Ink, brushes, chakra theory scrolls, beginner ninjutsu manuals, physical training gear—everything required for an intensive two-month bootcamp.
He nodded firmly.
"Understood, Fugaku-san."
Fugaku watched him go, clicking his tongue softly once the boy was out of sight.
"…Just like Enji. But more disciplined," he muttered to himself.
Kaen returned home and poked his head into Obito's room.
"Kyodai, I need some help with academy work."
Obito stepped out, wearing the smuggest grin imaginable.
"Oh? Great Kaen needs my help with homework? Alright, first call me Ni-san and then we'll talk."
Kaen stared at him, dead-eyed.
"Bruh… I'm asking for help getting study materials for a bootcamp under Fugaku-san so I can jump straight to Fifth Grade."
Obito's jaw practically hit the floor.
"Under Fugaku?? Fifth Grade?? Are you insane?!"
He started pacing in small circles, brain short-circuiting.
"Kaen, listen—maybe you should've considered alternatives. Like, for example, I did my bootcamp under Aunt Enju. She's strict but not… Fugaku-strict."
Kaen shrugged, cocky as always.
"Meh. You coming or not?"
Obito groaned like a man being dragged to his execution.
"Fine, fine… show me what you need to buy."
The cousins headed straight to Granny Honoka for some cash. She listened to their request, gave them both a knowing look, and handed over a neatly folded pouch of ryo—just enough for what they needed.
Their first stop was the stationery shop. Pens, ink pots, practice scrolls, notebooks—Kaen grabbed everything on the list with the efficiency of a kid who had lived off books his whole life.
Next, they stopped at the shinobi gear shop for the Taijutsu essentials: knee guards, elbow pads, and—Obito's expression soured—the dreaded protective cup.
Obito held it up by the strap with two fingers.
"I swear this thing itches more than it protects."
Kaen just shrugged and tossed it into the basket.
Once the entire list was checked off, the two made their way back home, Obito dragging his feet and Kaen practically buzzing with anticipation.
Meanwhile, back at the Fugaku residence, preparations were already underway. Fugaku sat in his study, crafting a precise, two-month curriculum with the focus of a man planning a military operation. To young Itachi, who peeked in from the doorframe, his father appeared calm and composed—as he always was.
But Mikoto, watching Fugaku from the kitchen doorway, saw what others couldn't. The faint lift in his brow, the barely-there curve at the corner of his lips, the quickened tap of his pen.
Her husband was excited.
Genuinely, unmistakably excited.
Not that he'd ever admit it.
Fugaku sent Itachi to deliver the message:
"Tell Kaen to meet me at the pondside training grounds early tomorrow morning."
Kaen responded with a confident thumbs-up.
But "early" for Kaen… was early. His entire life in the mountains had been governed by the rhythm of nature—the hush before dawn, the first rustle of wind, the sharp kukdoko of roosters. To him, waking before sunrise wasn't discipline. It was normal.
The next morning, Kaen slipped out of bed at 5 a.m. He quietly gathered his gear, moving with the practiced silence of a child who grew up needing to avoid waking others. Then he tiptoed into Granny Honoka's room, expecting her to be asleep.
Instead, he found her already awake—knitting sweaters.
For him.
In June.
Kaen didn't say a word. He simply walked over and hugged her. Granny Honoka, without pausing her knitting, rested a gentle hand on his head and whispered a soft blessing. He nodded, bowed, and left.
At the pond, Kaen stripped off his clothes and stepped into the cold water for a quick bath. The chill shocked his senses—and a memory surfaced unbidden: his father plunging into a frozen lake with a laugh, steam rising off his scarred skin.
He stood still for a moment, letting the memory settle like cold mist around him.
Fugaku had said "early morning," so Kaen waited.
And waited.
By 7 a.m., he was still alone.
So he began to warm up. First, a ten-lap run around the pond. Then push-ups, pull-ups, and stretches—movements drilled into muscle memory by a father who believed training should never depend on convenience.
Then Kaen stepped in front of the old kicking logs.
He took his stance.
And began the drill.
Kick.
Reset.
Kick.
Reset.
The rhythm steady. Familiar. Home.
Somewhere around the fiftieth kick, his mind drifted, the world narrowing to the sound of his foot striking wood. In his memory, he could almost hear the gravel in Enji's voice:
"Again."
By the hundredth kick, Kaen spun around mid-movement, grinning instinctively.
"Hehe, Oto-san—"
But there was no one behind him.
The smile dissolved. Reality hit like a blow to the gut.
His father wasn't there.
Would never be there again.
Kaen turned back to the log and resumed kicking—harder this time, the strikes sharp and angry, carrying the weight of all the things he could not say, could not cry out loud.
Time blurred.
It wasn't until 9 a.m. that Fugaku finally arrived.
Fugaku and Itachi entered the training ground, and to Fugaku's surprise, Kaen was already there—drilling kicks and punches into the worn logs with sharp precision and controlled strength.
Kaen noticed their arrival. He slowed his movements, finished the last strike cleanly, and turned around.
He was shirtless, sweat sliding down his body in steady streams.
He bowed. "Ohayō gozaimasu."
Fugaku gave a curt nod, while Itachi returned the bow properly.
"So… today I planned on testing your Taijutsu. Normally, we warm up before that," Fugaku began.
Kaen blinked, still catching his breath, sweat dripping steadily.
"…but I see you're already heated up," Fugaku finished, a rare hint of amusement in his tone. "You can start right away."
He turned to his son. "Itachi-san… go on, do your warm-up."
"HAAIII!" Itachi responded with enthusiasm, immediately taking off into a steady run around the grounds—mirroring Kaen's earlier routine.
Fugaku returned his attention to Kaen.
"So, Kaen… I want to see what Taijutsu skills you have."
Kaen nodded firmly.
"My father taught me a few fundamentals. First, the high kick." His leg snapped upward in a clean, deadly arc, striking the practice log with a crack that made the wood groan in protest.
"Second, the side kick. This one I like—simple and effective."
He settled his weight, his heel digging into the earth as if anchoring to the very mountain he was raised on.
Then, his hips twisted with smooth, devastating control—like a heavy door slamming shut. His leg shot out sideways, a rigid iron bar of motion. There was no flourish, only pure, unhesitating force.
The kick didn't just strike; it moved the log, which was buried deep in the ground, causing it to shudder visibly in its place.
"Third... my father called it the Fire Fist." He stepped in close, his demeanor deceptively calm, like a craftsman demonstrating a familiar trade.
His shoulders dropped, his fist hanging loose. Then, his entire body coiled from the soles of his feet up—a perfect, grounded transfer of power his father had drilled into him a thousand times. For a heartbeat, he was no longer a child, but the echo of a master.
He exhaled, a sharp burst of air.
His fist drove forward in a brutally short, direct line. There was no wind-up, only the release of concentrated mass.
Thump.
The impact was not loud, but dense and final, like a stone dropped into thick mud. The log he struck shuddered violently, its core groaning under the concentrated force.
Fugaku was deeply impressed, though his ingrained sternness masked it completely.
"I have to say, that was... mildly impressive," he stated, his tone flat. "But where is the fire in your 'Fire Fist'?"
Kaen gave a weak chuckle, a transparent shield for a flicker of pain.
"Oh, that... When my father does it, his fist is ablaze. I wanted to learn how, but..." His voice trailed off, the unfinished sentence heavy with memory.
Fugaku immediately sensed he had pressed on a fresh wound. Without another word, he shifted to demonstration.
"Here. Look."
He made a fist with his right hand and placed it against the open palm of his left, forming the Fire Seal.
In seconds, his knuckles were wreathed in a controlled, roaring blaze. His Sharingan activated, spinning to life as he analyzed his own chakra flow.
He took the stance—the same one Kaen had used, yet perfected by a master—and unleashed the technique. The "Fire Fist" was not a just a punch, but a beautiful, deadly release.
It did not strike the log so much as it erased a section of it. There was no shudder or shift; the upper half of the log simply ceased to be connected, flying backward as a charred projectile while the lower half remained, its splintered core smoldering.
Kaen's jaw fell open. His eyes glistened, not with tears of sorrow, but with pure, unadulterated awe.
Without a second thought, Kaen immediately mimicked the Fire Seal.
Fugaku noticed a heartbeat too late. "Oy!" he barked, his hand snapping out.
But it was over in a flash. A yelp of pain followed as Kaen shook his singed hand. "Aahhh!"
Fugaku could only facepalm, a mixture of profound disappointment and dark humor washing over him.
Kaen blew frantically on his reddened palm, a single tear of shock and pain escaping his eye. The commotion was enough to make Itachi pause his training and glance over, curiosity piqued. Sighing, Fugaku unwrapped the spare bandages from his own arm and efficiently patched up the boy's minor burns.
To Fugaku's surprise, the six-year-old calmed far quicker than expected. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
Kaen mustered a smile and a wobbly thumbs-up with his good hand. "Nah... not that much. I once burned my hands worse when I accidentally touched the burning wood my father was making into charcoal."
Fugaku's eyes widened slightly.
He breathed out.
"Anyways," Fugaku pressed, steering the conversation back. "Are these three strikes the only things you know?"
"No. I also know some wrestling."
Fugaku raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh? And how did Enji teach you wrestling?"
"He'd throw me onto animals," Kaen stated, his delivery utterly deadpan.
Fugaku's head tilted forward. "Onto what?" he asked, his composure cracking for a single, glorious second.
"Once he put me against a shirokuma my height," Kaen clarified.
Itachi, who had never heard the term 'shirokuma' for 'polar bear', watched his father intently for a reaction.
Fugaku's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Then, a specific memory surfaced, and a chuckle escaped him. He was clearly holding back a full-bellied laugh. "That hakaibaka," he muttered under his breath.
"How did your mother react to this?" he managed to ask.
Once again, Kaen's delivery was flat and factual. "She kept him hungry for three days for some reason."
This time, Fugaku broke. He laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed in the training ground. "Your mother must have been a tough one, to have tamed that hakaibaka to this degree."
Itachi watched, genuinely surprised. While he, much like Kaen, didn't fully grasp the humor, he understood something far more significant: Kaen was special. He was someone who could, with a few simple words, make his stern and intimidating father laugh with such unguarded warmth.
Kaen, however, merely stared in confusion, the reason for Fugaku's amusement completely lost on him.
"Well, Kaen," Fugaku began, his laughter subsiding into a more typical, measured tone. "You've managed to injure yourself already. Are you still fit to continue for a spar?" His question was surprisingly considerate.
"Spar with you, Fugaku-san? No, thank you," Kaen replied, his deadpan delivery returning in full force. "I would prefer to go for breakfast."
"Not with me," Fugaku clarified, a faint smile still playing on his lips. "With Itachi."
Kaen's gaze shifted to the quiet boy. He examined him with a critical eye, taking in his posture and calm demeanor. Then, he looked back up at Fugaku and gave a simple, agreeable shrug. "Yeah, why not."