Kakashi decided Meian needed more than just practical exercises. He began laying out the theoretical foundations of Fire Style ninjutsu—knowledge that lived nowhere in the village library, only in the minds of those who'd mastered it. To his surprise, Meian drank in every word without complaint. Most shinobi his age would've lost focus within minutes, but Meian's concentration never wavered. As the lecture continued, something shifted in the boy's eyes. The dry theory was connecting to something deeper—his chakra control sharpened visibly, responding to the understanding now flowing through him.
Over a year in those library stacks, and I've never felt improvement like this, Meian thought, a spark of something like hunger igniting in his chest. This is what experience actually looks like.
Kakashi noted the reaction with quiet approval. Teaching usually meant wading through apathy. This was different.
Once the fundamentals were set, Kakashi led Meian down to the training ground's natural pool. The water here ran clear, fed by a modest waterfall cascading from the cliff face above.
"Watch carefully," Kakashi said, moving into position. "I'll demonstrate the Great Fireball Technique."
Meian nodded, every muscle tensed with focus.
Kakashi's hands began their sequence, each seal deliberate and measured. He wanted Meian to see the precise order—no rushed movements, no shortcuts. After the final seal locked into place, Kakashi drew a sharp breath and expelled it as pure, concentrated flame.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
The jutsu bloomed from his mouth like a small sun. A sphere of fire six meters across tore through the air, covering the distance in a heartbeat before slamming into the waterfall. The collision was violent—flames and water collided in a deafening explosion, sending plumes of white vapor skyward.
"Impressive," Kakashi said dryly, already moving to reset.
Meian's eyes were wide. "That's... that's completely different from a standard Fireball Technique. Same rank—C-rank—but the power gap is enormous. No wonder the Uchiha clan made this their signature move. Any fire-natured shinobi would kill to learn something like that."
"True," Kakashi replied, a faint smile crossing his face. "Most of Konoha's ninja wouldn't know this jutsu even if their lives depended on it. The Uchiha have always guarded their techniques jealously—their understanding of Fire Style runs deeper than most clans could ever hope to achieve."
He turned to face Meian directly. "Did you catch the sequence? The hand seals, the chakra distribution, everything? It's not a simple jutsu to replicate. I learned it through... unconventional means."
Meian tilted his head. "Unconventional?"
Something flickered across Kakashi's expression—a moment of hesitation, quickly overcome by a decision to trust. He reached up and lifted his forehead protector, revealing the crimson eye beneath.
Meian's breath caught. The Sharingan stared back at him, a perfect circle of red and black tomoe spinning lazily. It was far more unsettling in person than any book description had suggested.
"The Sharingan," Kakashi said quietly. "This is why they call me the Copy Ninja. I don't learn these techniques through years of training or bloodline legacy. I see them once, and I understand them. My eye lets me replicate almost any jutsu I witness—as long as it's not a bloodline technique or something beyond the limits of physical possibility."
Meian stared, processing. He's showing me this. He's actually trusting me with this secret. "So you can just... copy techniques by watching them?"
"Essentially," Kakashi confirmed, letting the forehead protector fall back into place. "Any jutsu, any style. There are exceptions—bloodline limits are beyond my capability, and some techniques are too complex even for the Sharingan to parse. But yes, the principle is straightforward."
He studied Meian carefully. "You know what a bloodline limit is?"
"I read about it in the library," Meian said. "When chakra develops a unique property by blending two or more elemental affinities—sometimes combined with special physical traits."
Kakashi's eyebrow rose slightly. Few children bothered with that level of research. "Correct. That's the essence of it. A bloodline limit is a technique coded into a specific organ or system in the body, passed down through generations. The Sharingan is one such limit—born from a particular genetic line. It's why I can see and copy what others cannot."
Meian nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place.
Kakashi gestured toward the pool. "Alright. Your turn. Show me what you absorbed from that demonstration. Don't overthink it—let your body remember what your eyes saw."
Meian stepped forward without hesitation. "I think I have it."
Kakashi's visible eye narrowed with skepticism. "You think you have it?"
Rather than answer, Meian's hands flew through the seal sequence—each movement sharp and precise, flowing into the next without pause. His fingers blurred.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
The jutsu erupted from his mouth with less restraint than Kakashi's controlled version, but no less power. A roiling sphere of flame tore across the training ground and struck the waterfall dead center. The collision sent flame and water boiling skyward, and for a long moment, the fire held its shape against the cascade—a battle of elements. Then the waterfall's sheer volume overwhelmed it, and the flames guttered out in a hiss of steam that rose like a ghost into the afternoon air.
Kakashi stood motionless.
"Not bad," Meian said, breathing heavily but grinning. "That technique's got serious bite to it."
"Amazing," Kakashi said flatly, and there was an edge to his voice—something between impressed and unsettled. "I showed you once. You watched for maybe twenty seconds. And you just... cast it."
"It's a scary talent," Kakashi continued, his tone gaining weight. "You see something once and you understand it completely. That's genuinely terrifying."
Meian wasn't shocked by his own performance. He'd watched Itachi Uchiha in the histories—the prodigy had learned the Great Fireball Technique by observing his father execute it a single time. If an Uchiha could manage that feat with their natural affinity, why couldn't Meian do the same with his own sharp eyes and instinctive understanding?
He turned to Kakashi with an easy smile. "Think that's enough for today?"
Kakashi studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Yeah. That's more than enough. I thought you'd need at least a week to truly master that jutsu, but you're operating on a completely different level." He paused, recalculating. "Actually, I expected two days minimum. You've proven me wrong on both counts."
Meian's grin widened. "Want to teach me something else?"
"No," Kakashi said, shaking his head. "Focus on perfecting that technique. Master the fundamentals before you reach for the next rung. Besides, I have a mission tomorrow—I'll be gone for roughly a week." He considered for a moment. "When I'm away, we should get you some Taijutsu training. I know someone in the village. Extremely skilled hand-to-hand combat specialist. Also a Jōnin."
Meian's interest flickered and died. "The ramen enthusiast from that day?"
"Exactly," Kakashi confirmed. "Might Guy is one of the finest Taijutsu practitioners in Konoha."
Might Guy. Meian's mental image formed instantly—a whirlwind of green spandex and youthful enthusiasm. Guy's Taijutsu was formidable, yes, but it was built on the foundation of the Eight Inner Gates technique. Meian had no intention of pursuing that path. Opening the Eight Gates would accelerate his growth in the short term, but it came with a cost—cellular damage, shortened lifespan, a technique designed for desperation and sacrifice. His body was already strengthening on its own with each passing day. Adding artificial strain through gate training felt counterintuitive when his natural progression was already outpacing most ninja his age.
Besides, Guy's standard Taijutsu—the aspects not tied to the gates—wasn't dramatically superior to Kakashi's. Meian had already matched Kakashi's physical speed in their training sessions.
"I'll pass," Meian said simply. "My Taijutsu is good enough for now."
Kakashi's visible eye tightened. "Really? You won't regret it?"
"Not at all," Meian replied, his tone carrying absolute certainty.
Kakashi sighed, the sound carrying a note of resignation. "Guy would probably have a fit if he knew you turned down the chance to learn from him. He's genuinely talented—more than you might realize. You should at least consider it."
Meian offered a casual smile, letting Kakashi's words pass unanswered. The decision was made. His path didn't require the Eight Gates or the superhuman physical acceleration they promised. Not yet, anyway.
Kakashi let the matter drop, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely satisfied with the dismissal.
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