"I've tried forming this seal before," Damian said. "But there was no effect."
"You didn't do it with the necessary precision," the old Japanese man replied. "Now you have completely copied my movements and posture, which is very, very commendable in itself, so the mudra began to affect the chakra within you. It is very important to form mudras perfectly, otherwise the energy flowing in you simply will not react. Well, since you are such a genius, let's move on to the next mudra..."
Long, tedious days of learning the art of Onmyodo began, and Damian was the most pleased of all. The opportunity to touch a unique kind of magic, to become a step above an ordinary person, to have abilities! Like many, he had dreamed of this in his past world, and having gained the opportunity, the boy did not plan to let it slip away.
"Excellent, on the very first day you managed to perfectly repeat the mudras. Now you should sharpen them to the point of automaticity."
"In a month you have achieved a great deal, boy; truly you are gifted with wisdom and diligence beyond your years. Since you have learned to form mudras correctly and quickly, we can move on to practice. I hope the past month of lectures wasn't flushed down the toilet."
"Not enough. The release must be invisible, not knocking someone off their feet like a hurricane!"
"Not like that. The gust should be sharp and strong, not blowing on the face like a summer breeze!"
"Not bad, but as I understand it, the chakra does not allow the created lightning to move away from the body; the energy is too heavy."
"Superb. The image no longer flickers, and the sounds correspond to reality. To reach such a level of illusions in a year and a half..." the Japanese man shook his head in admiration. "That is true talent."
"And is this all you were able to develop in two years of training in elemental transformations? Apparently, that is the difference between Onmyodo energy and the chakra flowing in you. It bears no comparison to your illusions..."
"Genjutsu," the six-year-old boy interjected.
"Yes, yes," the old man waved his hand habitually.
"So, you've taught him everything? In two years?" Ra's al Ghul asked the old Japanese man with a squint.
"We both know how brilliant your grandson is," the old man shrugged calmly. "Two years were enough for him to heed my wisdom and develop in the transformations of his chakra. Further training will continue only after visiting the healing waters."
"Then we shall not delay, but you will have to spend time unconscious; no one can know the way to the Lazarus Pit."
What do you mean the teacher is dead?
"What do you mean that old geezer is dead?" I stared at my grandfather in disbelief.
"He tried to deceive me," Ra's shrugged. "A couple of drugs subtly loosened his tongue, and he didn't hold back, telling me that he had already taught you everything you could repeat with your energy. Cursing your genius with every other word."
"Cursing it?"
"The longer he remained your teacher, the fewer questions I would have for him, the fewer suspicions regarding the non-fulfillment of agreements."
"And it turned out that your questions didn't disappear," I scratched my chin. A damn habit passed down from my grandfather. He's constantly scratching his beard, which I don't have.
"I would have acted the same way regardless," the old man waved his hand.
"You really are a villain," I grimaced.
"Sometimes one must make difficult decisions," the six-hundred-year-old fossil stated with a consequential look.
I was sad. I thought I would learn something else. Generally, as I understood it, for Onmyodo, things like mudras are not really necessary. Onmyodo users are mages—not quite classical ones, but mages, like Zatanna or perhaps Constantine. Mudras help them in very narrow and rare cases, but they can do without them. I, however, cannot. Not at all. Which again resonates with Naruto. Mudras are the same as hand seals, but slightly different; without them, I cannot perform any transformations with chakra; the energy simply cannot speak another language. This means the probability of my soul colliding with a shinobi from the anime world is most likely. Hence the question: Where is my Sharingan? What, was it too much to ask?
Of course, the universe did not answer, and thank God. I might not have liked the answer.
The main difference between my chakra and the chakra of the Naruto world lies in nature transformation. In the anime, working with an element other than your innate one required immense effort and even more immense chakra expenditure; for me, everything was simpler, but less powerful. I gained in versatility and lost in power, so to speak. I cannot create a wave of water, but I can freeze a small part of it. Otherwise, everything is just like in Naruto. There.
But now I need to learn how to walk on water and walls; maybe I'll manage to cosplay Jesus, settle in a church, and live comfortably. Yeah, in a world with a guy flying through the sky and alien invasions.
"I'm going to go eat," I stood up and, with an approving nod from my grandfather, left his office.
The path was short, the afternoon snack was tasty, and the three hours of study were boring. My body demanded action, but not excessively; I don't quite reach the level of the yellow-haired kid with a tailed beast in his belly in terms of restlessness. But fortunately for my Yang, it was time for training. What could be more energetic than a two-hour run through an obstacle course laid out among mountain giants covered in white snow under the freezing air? Only the subsequent sparring with fresh children who will face the same trial tomorrow.
And so every day of mine passes. I'm tired! I want to be like that fat face on TV and just quit. Or just idle away staring at a news feed of some social network. If they even exist in this world. Yes, by the way, I have never been on the internet. Not once in my six years of living. I haven't even held electronic devices in my hands yet! And it's time to do something about that!
"I want a computer and the internet," I told my mother that same evening.
"Why?"
"To watch cartoons and play games," I explained as if to a stupid child.
"You will not watch cartoons or play games," Talia waved her hand. "More likely you will start studying something, for example, the computer itself, taking it apart to the last screw. Isn't that right?"
My mother's voice was filled with sarcasm and condescension.
"Pfft, you don't understand anything about boy stuff," I turned my nose up at the ceiling importantly. "Anyway, give me a computer with internet, I'll wait until the day after tomorrow, or I'll pee in your slippers."
And I immediately bolted, flying out of the room faster than my mother's cry of indignation at my words and behavior. Perhaps she would have caught another six-year-old child, but not me. And there, she'll cool down, probably. I should keep myself busy tomorrow somewhere far away from the enraged assassin.
"Did you remember everything?" Ra's al Ghul asked his grandson sternly.
"Yes," I shrugged. "Sit tight at the base and protect it from any bad people, should any appear. Are you going to tell me why you're taking the entire League of Assassins away?"
"I'll tell you later," my grandfather nodded to me and left.
Now more than ever, I regretted my lack of interest in DC comics. I don't know a damn thing about what is happening in the superhero world right now, and why only children are left at the base.
Everything became a bit clearer half a day later. From the internet and television, I learned that all the adults had vanished from the world.
"Grandpa, what a bastard you are," my face contorted. "A son of a bitch."
At that moment, the last drop of love and respect for my grandfather completely disappeared. He is exactly who everyone calls Ra's al Ghul, the "Demon's Head." A completely unprincipled bastard ready to sacrifice innocent children for his goals.
"Smoother." A sharp, strict voice rang out across the training ground. "Move smoother, Damian; every movement must be a continuation of the previous one; no rushing, no twitching!"
The voice was addressed to two fighting figures. The swords in their hands sliced through the air, clashing with a ring, and moved so fast they blurred in space. To an outside observer, this battle would have seemed strange and unfair. One figure was an adult man two meters tall and weighing nearly a hundred kilograms, while the second was a child no more than a meter and a half and weighing no more than fifty kilograms. Different, very different weight categories. But it was even more surprising to see how the small figure easily resisted the large one, showing mind-blowing agility, good fencing skills, and amazing physical capabilities.
The battle did not stay in one place. The figures moved constantly, changing the tempo of the fight, trying to outflank each other. Along with swords, legs were also used. Sweeps, trips, kicks, feints—the whole body was used for victory. And if the man could afford to rely on his size and mass, the teenager was forced to squeeze every drop of juice out of his agility, and he did so beautifully.
"Don't get carried away with jumps, Damian," the stern voice thundered again. "You will be caught sooner or later."
The training had been going on for almost three hours, but the teenager still looked quite fresh, although notes of fatigue were visible on his tense face, which could not be said of the man. He was already the third. Each of them was a trained fighter, each had trained since childhood and possessed amazing endurance, but the chakra flowing in the child's body made him slightly more efficient.
The morning training time was ending; a soft bell chimed, and the two figures immediately froze, lowered their blades to the floor, and bowed respectfully to each other.
"Excellent, Damian, you truly are an outstanding talent." A hint of warmth seeped into the strict voice. "To fight on equal terms with League of Assassins fighters at 11 years old is worthy."
"Thank you for the praise, grandfather," Damian bowed again.
His sparring partner silently bowed to the head of the League of Assassins and headed toward the exit of the training hall.
"How are your studies?" Ra's al Ghul asked, maintaining his strictness.
"Good, by the end of the year I will finish the undergraduate course in Natural Sciences," Damian replied without a single emotion in his voice as he approached his grandfather. "After that, I will take up an undergraduate degree in Economics."
"You are truly exceedingly talented," the man nodded with satisfaction. "The genes are certainly showing."
The teenager only rolled his eyes at this remark. He heard this far too often, even annoyingly often, and if there weren't an adult, established mind of a reincarnated person in the body of an eleven-year-old child, the boy would definitely have developed an inferiority complex. But fate decreed otherwise, and a reincarnated person was born in Damian's body—well, if escaping the River of Souls can be called fate.
Putting the katana on the rack, Damian proceeded to the next room where the locker room was located, took a shower, washing off the sweat, and headed to his room. Besides Natural Sciences, which included physics, chemistry, and biology, the boy also preferred programming and engineering. And now, sitting down at an incredibly advanced computer, Damian took up the latter.
How does he manage everything? He simply sleeps no more than four hours a day. How else, when you have no desire to follow the prepared path? The head of the League of Assassins sincerely believed that his grandson was following his precepts, that he would become his heir and fulfill the goal—to cleanse the world of evil. And the price was the last thing that interested the old man. Destroy half the Earth's population? Please, if it corresponds to the concept of good held in the old man's head.
Damian, however, was not at all thrilled by his grandfather's fantasies. No, he was not at all against having a pocket army of trained fighters, but the teenager did not want to live the life of a hired assassin, nor did he burn with the idea of presiding over murderers. Although a part of his personality was definitely not against such power.
"Maybe I should get out of here? I think I can run to the nearest city in a day; it's only five hundred kilometers away, I'll make it in 12 hours."