Morning in Konoha.
The village is quiet, wrapped in a blanket of mist and half-light. While most are still in bed, dreaming of better days, a lone figure cuts across the empty training ground—feet pounding against the dirt, breath steady but strained.
That figure is me.
Running laps has become my ritual. My lungs burn, my legs ache, but I keep moving. One more round. One more breath. One more drop of sweat to prove I'm still alive. Each lap strips away the weakness. I don't run to be fast, I run to survive.
No one's here this early. That's why I come. No eyes watching, no whispers following. Just silence and the rhythm of effort.
After the fifth lap, I drop down for pushups. Each one slow and deliberate. My arms tremble by the 30th, but I press on. Then sit-ups, legs anchored by a nearby log. My back scrapes the rough ground, but I don't care. The pain reminds me I'm not soft.
Squats follow, deep and balanced. My thighs scream. Good. Let them scream.
This is what I can control—my body, my discipline. I can't stop the rumors. I can't change what people see when they look at me and Naruto. But I can change what I am. What I become.
After the physical training, I sit cross-legged in the grass, heart still racing, and begin chakra control.
It's harder than it should be. My chakra isn't normal, it's dense, wild, overflowing. A gift? Maybe. But right now, it's a curse. It refuses to listen.
I focus and pull a leaf from the ground, placing it gently on my forehead.
The Leaf Concentration Exercise.
At first, I could barely get one leaf to stay in place. Now, after weeks of effort, I can manage three, sometimes four. They cling to my skin, fluttering slightly as the wind picks up.
Control, That's what matters. In this world, power without control is just destruction.
Ten minutes later, sweat dripping from my temple, I open my eyes. The leaves are still in place.
Good enough. For now.
I exhale slowly, letting the morning stillness wrap around me again. There's something peaceful about this training before the world wakes up.
Training done, I wipe my forehead and head home.
Naruto's probably still asleep.
Sure enough, I find him snoring like a log, drooling onto his pillow.
After a shower, I cook breakfast—simple, hearty. Eggs, rice, some leftover vegetables. I throw in a pot of instant ramen just for him.
"Hey, Naruto," I call. "Wake up or we'll be late."
He groans from under his blanket. "Mmm… five more minutes…"
"I made ramen."
Instantly, he bolts upright. "Ramen!? Wait for me!"
I shake my head. "This guy…" I mutter. His love for ramen is beyond understanding. A mystery even the Sage of Six Paths wouldn't bother solving.
We eat quickly and head out. The village streets are warming up now, people starting their routines. Some glance at us, and I can still sense it—that hesitation in their eyes. Like they want to say something… but they don't. Not anymore.
At the academy, we slip into class. A few students nod at me, and I return the gesture. It's working. Slow and quiet—be polite, helpful, humble. Give them nothing to fear, and eventually, they'll drop their guard.
They'll never see it coming.
Some kids still whisper but not as openly as before. That's progress.
Iruka-sensei walks in just as the bell rings.
"Everyone, sit down," he says. "Today, we'll be learning a jutsu."
The room explodes with excitement. Naruto is the loudest, of course.
Iruka holds up a hand. "Settle down. The three foundational techniques are the Transformation Jutsu, the Clone Jutsu, and the Body Replacement Jutsu. Before you can graduate, you must master all three."
He performs a few hand signs, and with a puff of smoke, Iruka vanishes—replaced by a perfect copy of Mitsuki. The class gasps in awe.
He returns to normal. "This technique allows you to mimic the appearance of anyone or anything. It's used in infiltration, deception, and escape. Watch closely."
We all mimic his hand signs. Some students only half-transform. Sasuke turns into a taller, older version of himself—clearly trying to become Itachi. It flickers out quickly.
I focus. Picture Iruka in my mind—his uniform, his scar, the way he stands.
Poof.
I transform. Not perfect, but close enough.
Iruka smiles. "Well done, Johan. A little more polish, and you'll have it."
Sasuke scowls. He begins practicing again, more intense than before. His pride is fragile, like glass under pressure.
Naruto nudges me. "Hey, how'd you do that?"
"Just imagine them clearly" I say. "Their face, body, mannerisms. The more detail, the better."
Naruto blinks. "That's it? Let me try again!"
Poof. His head turns into a very lopsided version of Iruka, but his body stays the same. The class bursts out laughing. Naruto flushes red, ears steaming.
After lunch and a few boring lessons, the final bell rings.
"Your homework," Iruka says, "is to practice the Transformation Jutsu."
We head home.
The sun sets slowly, casting long shadows across the streets of Konoha.