Chapter 5: Unclogging the Rivers
The problem of his blocked meridians, which had seemed an insurmountable wall, now had a solution. Through his internal vision, Reitō finally understood the full extent of his condition. The minuscule amounts of chakra his body managed to produce weren't leaking out weakly; they were being trapped, forced to dissipate back into his system by the impassable blockages. This was the physiological truth behind the clan's damning verdict: he was a waste.
Then, a new thought sparked. If he could command his own qi and blood… could he also command chakra?
He tried.
And it worked.
The exhilaration was immediate and profound. Guiding the fledgling chakra with meticulous care, he willed it to avoid the choked, ruined pathways. He navigated it through the narrower but still-clear meridians, a delicate, circuitous route he could see with perfect clarity. He felt the energy gather, coalesce, and finally—for the first time in his life—reach the surface of his palm.
Bam!
A faint puff of dust, and a shallow, palm-sized impression was left on the wooden wall of his room.
"I… I did it!" The whisper was a mix of disbelief and triumph. It was a pitiful amount of chakra, barely enough to disturb dust, but it was release. It was proof.
Staring at the faint mark on the wall, a fierce, burning excitement took hold of Reitō. This confirmed it. The ability to see inside was not just a diagnostic tool; it was the foundation for absolute control.
"With this," he murmured to the empty room, "I can remake myself. I can clear these blockages. And once I do… my control over chakra will be flawless. More precise than any ninja who has to work blind."
A confident smile, the first true one since his arrival, touched his lips. Then, a dull ache from his earlier encounter with Mōri's lackeys flared. He rubbed his sore wrist. This body was weak, fragile. It wouldn't do.
"Right. No more waiting. Training starts now."
He threw himself into the most basic exercises—stretches, stances, controlled breathing—pushing his frail form to its limit. He was a boy possessed, a whirlwind of silent, determined effort in the small confines of his room and the secluded corner of the branch family courtyard he used.
Two days into this new regimen, his solitude was broken. Hyūga Mōri appeared, drawn by the whispers about the "clan tail's" sudden diligence. He watched for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and disdain.
"Look at you," Mōri finally called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "A lifetime of sweat won't change your birth, you know. Or have you already forgotten my warning? Planning to humiliate us at the Academy exam after all?" He took a step closer, his tone dropping into a venomous whisper. "Let me remind you. If you dare show your face there, I'll personally break your leg."
Reitō didn't even glance his way. He simply completed his stance, his focus unwavering, and offered Mōri the barest flicker of a contemptuous sidelong look before beginning another repetition. The clan's law against unsanctioned duels between members was his shield. Even the son of an elder wouldn't risk public punishment.
This utter dismissal made Mōri's face flush with anger. His hands twitched, the instinct to teach this branch family worm a lesson warring with his fear of the clan laws.
"Stop right there, Hyūga Mōri!"
A new voice, calm but firm, cut through the tension. Mōri whirled, irritation turning to outrage at this interference.
"Who dares—" he began, then stopped. "Hizashi. You dare stick your nose into my business?"
Reitō's movements slowed. He knew this face from the cascading memories. Hyūga Hizashi. The future father of Neji. A man whose fate was a tragedy written in the very seal on his forehead.
"Hylō Mori," Hizashi said, stepping forward to stand between Mōri and Reitō. "What I can do is remind you of the clan law prohibiting the bullying of fellow members. I doubt you wish to experience its consequences firsthand."
Mōri sneered, recovering his bravado. "Hah! Fellow members? Don't flatter this trash. And don't flatter yourself, branch family. You're all just tools. You don't deserve to carry the Hyūga name at all."
The words, so casually cruel, hung in the air. Reitō didn't look up, but his fists clenched until his knuckles were white. He channeled the insult into his next movement, striking his practice post with a sharper, more focused intensity.
Hizashi, however, had no such outlet. A visible tremor ran through him. The veins around his temples bulged as he fixed Mōri with a glare of pure, seething anger. "Hyūga Mōri," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Explain your meaning."
Unfazed, Mōri met his gaze with open mockery. "What's there to explain? It's the truth. And what are you going to do about it?" He leaned in slightly, a taunting smile on his lips. "Do you dare lay a hand on me?"
The courtyard fell silent, the air crackling with the unspoken violence of the hierarchy, the weight of the Main House pressing down upon the Branch. Reitō continued to move, each strike against the post now a silent vow, not just for himself, but against the entire rotten system that allowed a boy like Mōri to speak such words with impunity.