3100 words not exact without the AN
—-
'A week after Mabui left. After the marriage proposal was made I was told that I needed to start training.'
It hasn't gone as planned.
She was his mother.
That made it worse.
'If she had been some random tutor, I could have at least blamed her for cruelty because of pride. A hired instructor would have been less skilled but easier to dislike. A stranger correcting his mistakes would have been simple to ignore in the private corners of his mind.'
But his mother sat across from him with the terrifying calm of a woman who had changed his diapers, fed him, showered him, taught him how to speak and read properly, and apparently had no problem crushing his pride with a brush and a single character.
Antares looked from her to the paper.
"It is one character."
His mother's eyes did not move from him.
Antares stared at her.
She stared back.
There were very few people in the world who could win a staring contest against him.
Unfortunately, his mother was one of them.
She tapped the paper with the end of her brush.
"Write it."
Antares looked back down at the character.
封.
Seal.
It did not look difficult.
That was the insulting part.
'In my previous life I don't remember doing anything as hard as this in terms of writing'
He had expected circles within circles, complicated formulas, hidden meanings layered under symbolic patterns. Something worthy of the art that had made the Uzumaki clan feared, respected, and eventually targeted by half the continent.
Instead, he had to copy one character.
Fine.
He dipped the brush into the ink, lifted it carefully, and pressed it against the paper.
The first stroke came out a little too thick.
He adjusted.
The second stroke leaned slightly.
The final stroke dragged near the end because his fingers tightened.
Still, when he finished, the character looked close enough.
At least to him.
His mother looked at it for less than a breath.
"Wrong."
Antares blinked.
"What do you mean wrong?"
"The left stroke is too heavy. The inner part is uneven. Your final stroke there was hesitation."
"It still says seal."
"No," she said. "It says my son rushed and made an ugly kanji."
Antares leaned back.
"That is not a translation."
"It is when I read it."
He frowned.
His mother placed a clean sheet in front of him.
"Again."
Antares picked up the brush.
The second attempt was better.
"Wrong."
The third attempt was cleaner.
"Wrong."
The fourth had steadier pressure.
"Wrong."
The fifth looked almost identical to the example.
His mother glanced at it.
"Wrong."
Antares lowered the brush very slowly.
"Mother."
"Yes?"
"Are you sure you are not just saying that because you enjoy it?"
Her mouth twitched.
"I do not enjoy correcting mistakes."
"That sounded rehearsed."
"I have had years to practice."
"On who?"
"You."
Antares had no answer for that.
His mother turned one of his failed papers toward him.
"Look carefully."
"I am looking."
"No. You are glaring. There is a difference."
He forced his face to relax.
She pointed at the first stroke.
"This begins the boundary. It cannot be weak, or the command has no weight. It cannot be heavy, or the command becomes forceful instead of stable. This lower enclosure does not simply finish the shape. It completes the idea of containment. The final stroke does not end the character. It closes the command."
Antares looked at the character again.
Seal.
Boundary.
Containment.
Closure.
Command.
'So sealing works by infusing a command or order into the kanji, kinda like coding 0s and 1s into a readable language'
Antares scratching his head in absolute confusion.
His irritation did not vanish, but something inside him shifted.
He had been thinking of the character as writing.
His mother was treating it like architecture.
No.
Not architecture.
Instruction.
A shape that told the world what it was supposed to do.
His mother watched him carefully.
"Fuinjutsu is not decoration. It is not scribbling symbols until something impressive happens. A seal is an instruction written clearly enough that chakra can understand it."
Antares was quiet.
That actually made sense.
Too much sense.
He hated when adults were right in a way he could not easily argue with.
"So chakra does matter."
"Eventually."
"Then why are we not training chakra?"
"Because giving chakra to a bad seal is like shouting a wrong order at a soldier."
Antares looked at the page again.
"The soldier obeys anyway."
"Exactly, but without clear instructions the soldier deviates or has to fill in the blanks for your incompetence but in terms of sealing that means explosions or death"
That was a fair point.
An annoying one.
But fair.
His mother placed another blank sheet before him.
"Again."
Antares wrote the character again.
This time, he slowed down.
He focused on the pressure in his fingers, the angle of his wrist, and the amount of ink in the brush. The first stroke came down with more control. The second followed more naturally. The lower shape closed better than before.
When he finished, he felt a small spark of satisfaction.
His mother looked at it.
"Wrong."
The spark died.
"But less wrong," she added.
Antares stared at her.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
"At least you are honest."
"Again."
So he wrote it again.
And again.
And again.
The morning crawled forward.
The stack of failed papers grew beside him like evidence in a trial. His fingers darkened with ink. His wrist began to ache. The brush, which had looked harmless at first, slowly became an enemy.
By the hundredth attempt, Antares' back hurt from sitting straight.
By the hundred and fiftieth, his hand felt stiff.
By the two hundredth, he was convinced the kanji for seal had personally chosen to hate him.
His mother inspected the latest page.
"Wrong."
Antares dropped his forehead onto the table.
"But Mom, it has been three hours already."
"And?"
"And my hand is going to fall off."
"It will not."
"You do not know that."
"I am your mother. I would notice."
"That is not comforting."
"It was not meant to be now keep going" as she grabs some snacks from the side table and munches on them extra loud
He turned his head so one cheek pressed against the table.
"I thought shinobi training involved throwing kunai, running on water, and learning how to spit lightning at people."
"You cannot even write seal without making it look offensive."
Antares lifted his head and looked at his latest attempt.
It did look offensive.
That made him angrier.
"I hate this character."
"Good."
"How is that good?"
"You are finally paying attention to it."
Antares groaned.
Not a dignified groan.
Not the controlled sigh of someone with an older mind trapped in a child's body.
A real childish groan, loud enough to make his mother raise one eyebrow.
He knew he sounded like a brat.
He did not care.
His fingers hurt.
His pride hurt worse.
His mother slid another blank sheet toward him.
"Again."
Antares stared at it.
"Can we at least do a different character?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you have not learned this one."
"I know what it means."
His mother's gaze sharpened.
"Meaning is not memory. Meaning is understanding.and you my dear son have no Understanding yet. It is something your hand proves by trial and error."
Antares went still.
There it was again.
'The real lesson hiding under the boring one, why are the uzumaki so fixated on selas anyways..'
He hated how she did that.
Slowly, he picked up the brush again.
This time, he did not rush.
The first stroke fell.
Not perfect.
But steadier.
The second followed.
The enclosure closed.
The final stroke settled into place.
Antares exhaled through his nose.
His mother looked at the page.
For once, she did not immediately say wrong.
The silence stretched.
Antares refused to look hopeful.
That would be foolish.
Hope was how teachers found new ways to crush you.
His mother finally placed the paper to one side.
"Acceptable."
Antares stared at her.
"Acceptable?"
"For a child."
"And for uzumaki's?"
"No."
His eye twitched.
She placed another blank sheet in front of him.
"Do it again."
The betrayal was immediate.
"But you said it was acceptable."
"Yes."
"So I passed."
"No."
"How is that not passing?"
"One correct character can be luck. Ten correct characters can be effort. One hundred correct characters can become foundation."
Antares looked at the blank paper like it had insulted his ancestors.
"One hundred?"
"Eventually."
He gripped the brush.
"I am starting to understand why sealing clans died out."
His mother's eyes narrowed slightly.
Antares immediately looked down at the paper.
"That was a joke."
"A poor one."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Again."
He wrote.
This attempt came out worse.
His mother looked at it.
"Wrong."
Antares' face tightened.
"I know."
That made her pause.
A small smile touched her mouth.
"Good."
He looked up.
"What?"
"You saw it before I said it."
Antares looked back at the page.
She was right.
The lower enclosure had shifted too far inward. The final stroke closed too tightly, changing the feeling of the character. He did not need her to explain it.
He had seen it.
That was new.
His mother rested her brush across the ink stone.
"Now you are beginning."
Antares leaned back, exhausted and annoyed.
"That was the beginning?"
"Yes."
"What was the last three hours?"
"Removing arrogance."
Antares opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then muttered, "Rude."
His mother heard him.
Of course she heard him.
Mothers heard everything.
Before she could respond, the door slid open with enough force to make the ink ripple in the bowl.
Ay stood in the doorway like the koolaidman after breaking through a wall
He was still young, but already carried himself with the wild confidence of a lion who believed the world made more sense when it was moving fast. His hair was untamed, his shoulders were squared, and his grin looked like trouble.
Antares turned slowly.
Ay looked at the papers.
Then at the brush.
Then at Antares' ink-stained fingers.
His grin widened.
"You look like you lost a fight with a bottle of ink."
Antares leaned back.
"You look like you lost a fight with a comb and surrendered."
Ay laughed.
His mother did not.
"Ay."
That one word changed the room.
Ay straightened so fast it was almost funny.
Almost.
Antares watched with quiet satisfaction.
That was the voice.
The dangerous voice.
The voice that meant a storm was about to become someone's problem.
Ay cleared his throat.
"Mother."
She looked at him.
"Did you need something?"
"Father said Antares has been sitting too long."
Antares narrowed his eyes.
"Father said that?"
Ay hesitated.
"Not exactly."
"So no."
"He said you need balance."
"That sounds like something you made up after getting caught."
Ay pointed at him.
"But it is true."
His mother glanced at Antares' posture, his stiff fingers, and the stack of failed papers beside him.
Then she looked back at Ay.
"Physical discipline will help his brushwork."
Antares turned to her.
"You too?"
"Your hand shakes when your body tires."
"That is because my body is three."
"Almost four," she said.
Antares stared.
She stared back.
Ay stepped into the room.
"Come on."
"No."
Ay walked over.
"I was not asking."
Antares grabbed the edge of the table.
"I am in the middle of training."
Ay picked him up under the arms.
"Good. Now you are in the middle of different training."
"Put me down."
"When we get outside."
"That is not what I meant."
Antares twisted, kicked, and tried to hook one foot around the table leg.
Ay lifted him higher.
His mother calmly moved the ink bowl out of danger.
Antares pointed at her.
"Mom you are allowing this?"
"I am encouraging it." She said with a smirk
"This family has betrayed me."
Ay carried him toward the door.
"Stop being dramatic."
"I am being kidnapped."
"You are being trained and disciplined."
"That is what kidnappers say."
His mother's voice followed them out.
"Do not injure your brother, Ay."
Ay grinned.
"I will not."
Antares looked over Ay's shoulder.
"What about me? Tell me not to injure him."
His mother picked up one of his failed papers.
"When you can write this correctly ten times in a row, I will worry about you injuring him."
The door closed behind them.
Antares went limp in Ay's grip.
"That was cruel of her."
Ay laughed so loudly it echoed down the hall.
Outside, the training yard waited beneath the mountain wind.
It was carved into one of the flatter stretches of the estate, surrounded by stone walls so the breeze doesn't send everything flying off. Old wooden posts, and uneven steps that climbed along the side of the courtyard like they existed purely to punish legs.
Ay set Antares down in the center.
Antares straightened his clothes with as much dignity as possible.
Which was not much.
"Is this necessary at the moment?."
Ay rolled his shoulders.
"No. This is overdue."
"I am learning fuinjutsu."
"And if someone punches you before you finish writing?"
"I avoid being punched."
Ay's grin sharpened.
"Good. Practice."
Antares stared at him.
"What?"
Ay picked up a cloth training ball that looked like a baseball from a basket near the wall.
"Dodge."
"You are not serious."
Ay threw it.
Antares barely turned his torso before the ball smacked into his shoulder.
It did not hurt much.
His pride disagreed.
Ay pointed at him.
"Dead."
"It was a ball."
"Dead ball."
"That is not a thing."
"It is now."
Ay threw another.
Antares ducked.
The ball passed over his head.
A third came immediately after.
It hit him in the side.
"Dead again."
Antares clenched his jaw.
"I am three."
"Almost four."
"I am starting to hate that correction."
"Then dodge faster."
The training was simple.
That did not make it easy.
Ay made him run short laps around the yard, climb the stone steps, balance on uneven rocks, roll when pushed, and dodge cloth balls tossed from different angles. None of it was impossible. None of it was beyond what a child could survive.
But it was exhausting, especially with the air being so thin up here in the mountains.
Antares understood tactics.
He understood patience.
He understood long-term preparation.
None of that helped when his legs burned and Ay kept shouting, "Again."
By the fifth lap, Antares was breathing hard.
By the eighth, his feet dragged.
By the tenth, he seriously considered learning medical ninjutsu just to fake a convincing injury to get out of this hell.
Ay stood near the steps with his arms folded.
"Again."
Antares bent forward, hands on his knees.
"You keep saying that word."
"It is a good word."
"It is a terrible word."
"It makes people stronger."
"It makes people annoyed."
Ay pointed toward the steps.
"Run."
Antares looked at the stairs.
The stairs looked back like the Abys.
He ran.
Halfway up, his lungs burned.
At the top, his legs felt like they were filled with wet sand.
When he turned around, Ay was already standing at the bottom.
Antares stared down at him.
"How did you get there?"
"I ran."
"I hate you."
"Run down."
Antares ran down.
Poorly.
But he ran.
When he reached the bottom, Ay tossed another cloth ball at him.
Antares reacted without thinking.
He shifted his weight and let it pass by his shoulder.
Ay's grin widened.
"There."
Antares blinked.
"What?"
"You dodged."
"I have dodged before."
"Not while tired."
Antares opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Ay was right.
Again.
This day was becoming personally offensive.
Ay picked up another ball.
"Your body gets lazy when your head gets tired. Your hands start to shake when your legs are weak. Mother is teaching you how to command your body with precision using ink and a brush to make sealing kanji. I am teaching you how to make your body listen to you even if it wants to quit."
Antares looked at him carefully.
'For once, Ay did not sound like a dumbass'
He sounded like their father.
Younger.
Louder.
Worse at explaining things.
But the shape of the lesson was there.
All Antares has to do is…
Control.
Body.
Breathe.
Precision.
Ay threw the ball.
Antares dodged.
Barely.
But he dodged.
By the time the sun shifted higher over the estate, Antares was dirty, sore, and still stained with ink. His fingers hurt from writing. His legs hurt from running. His pride had taken more damage than everything combined.
Ay dropped down onto a stone and tossed him a water flask.
Antares caught it with both hands shakily.
Barely….
He drank,
Gulp..
Gulp..
Gulp..
wiped his mouth, and glared.
"You enjoy tormenting me too much."
Ay leaned back on his hands.
"You think too much."
"That is because someone has to."
Ay snorted.
"You are always looking ahead."
"That is called intelligence."
"No," Ay said. "Sometimes it is called missing what is in front of you."
Antares paused.
Ay looked toward the training posts.
"You want to learn seals? Fine. Learn seals. But your body cannot keep up with your mind yet, father says that for you to be a great shinobi you need both Mind and Body to be balanced." says Ay while looking up at the sun in the sky's
And continues by saying "What I'm trying to say is that, you are still weak and this is the best way to get you stronger" he ended up saying then looking down at Antares
Antares looked away.
It was crude.
It was blunt.
It was also true.
He hated that.
But his resolve sired within him 'I didn't come to this world to be mediocre did I?'
Ruffle*
Ay stood and ruffled his hair hard enough to make Antares head sway from side to side.
"Again tomorrow."
Antares slapped his hand away.
"I have fuinjutsu training tomorrow."
"Then after."
"That sounds like hell."
"It is training."
"Same thing."
Ay laughed and walked toward the house.
Antares stayed in the yard for a moment longer, breathing hard as the mountain wind cooled the sweat on his skin.
That morning, his mother had taught him that a seal was a command to be infused into the paper using ink and chakra.
Ay had taught him that a command to his body meant nothing if the body receiving the command could not endure.
Different lessons.
Same answer.
Control came first.
Power could wait.
It felt like something he should already know.
Far away from the mountains of Lightning Country, beyond guarded borders and forests thick with patrol routes, another child with similar red hair stood before a different kind of battlefield, a very very different one.
AN - This chapter took a while to make second part of it is coming out tomorrow. On the 27th.
Thanks for tuning in. I appreciate the support you guys have been going wild.
The story is now out on scribble hub, I will be uploading chapters there in the 28th and it will be exactly one month since I started making this fic.
Have a great night or a good day depending on the time you are reading this. 🫶