The Academy quickly settled into a routine.
Wake up.
Attend classes.
Train.
Return to the orphanage.
Study.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Haruki found himself enjoying the structure.
For the first time since losing his parents, every day had purpose.
The lessons were basic.
History.
Geography.
Village laws.
Shinobi theory.
Most students found the classroom portions boring.
Haruki didn't.
His father had always told him that information was a weapon.
The more you knew, the harder you were to kill.
That philosophy made even the driest lectures useful.
The practical lessons were another matter entirely.
Those were everyone's favorite.
Including Haruki's.
"Again."
Daichi folded his arms.
The entire class groaned.
Wooden practice kunai littered the training yard.
Students stood panting beneath the morning mist.
Haruki's arm felt like it might fall off.
"Again."
More complaints followed.
Daichi ignored them.
"As shinobi, your body is your first weapon."
The instructor picked up a wooden kunai.
"And your last."
He hurled it.
The practice weapon struck a target thirty meters away.
Dead center.
The class immediately quieted.
Daichi nodded.
"Again."
This time nobody complained.
Haruki wasn't the strongest student.
That title belonged to a large boy named Kenta.
He wasn't the fastest either.
That belonged to a girl named Mei.
Nor was he the best at taijutsu.
Ren had improved considerably since their first spar.
Much to Haruki's annoyance.
What Haruki excelled at was consistency.
He showed up.
He listened.
He practiced.
While others rushed through drills, he repeated them.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His father would have approved.
Unfortunately, consistency wasn't nearly as exciting as talent.
Which meant nobody paid much attention to him.
Haruki preferred it that way.
One afternoon, Daichi introduced a new subject.
Chakra nature transformations.
The classroom immediately became interested.
Haruki sat up straighter.
This sounded important.
The instructor drew symbols across the chalkboard.
"Most shinobi possess an affinity toward one of the five major chakra natures."
He wrote another symbol.
"Fire."
Another.
"Wind."
Another.
"Lightning."
Another.
"Earth."
Finally—
"Water."
Several students nodded.
Being from Kirigakure, Water Release was by far the most common affinity.
Daichi tapped the final symbol.
"Having an affinity does not mean mastery."
His gaze swept across the room.
"Most genin never learn more than a handful of jutsu."
That surprised Haruki.
The stories made shinobi seem capable of endless techniques.
Apparently not.
The lesson continued.
But one detail stayed with him.
Water Release.
For some reason, the concept fascinated him.
Several days later, Haruki found himself cleaning a storage room.
Punishment.
Apparently telling Ren his throwing accuracy looked "slightly less terrible today" counted as provoking classmates.
Haruki disagreed.
It had been a compliment.
Mostly.
Still, punishment was punishment.
The storage room was filled with old training equipment.
Broken targets.
Damaged practice weapons.
Dusty scrolls.
Lots of dusty scrolls.
Haruki was stacking boxes when one slipped.
The contents spilled across the floor.
Scrolls rolled everywhere.
Haruki sighed.
Then froze.
One particular scroll had fallen partially open.
A title was written across the front.
Water Release: Water Bullet Technique
His eyes widened.
A jutsu scroll.
An actual jutsu scroll.
Haruki glanced around.
Nobody.
The storage room remained empty.
His curiosity immediately won.
The technique wasn't impressive.
Not compared to the stories.
Not compared to legendary shinobi.
In fact, a note at the bottom classified it as D-Rank.
The lowest rank used for combat techniques.
Still—
It was a real jutsu.
Haruki carefully read every word.
The instructions described chakra molding.
Control.
Most importantly—
Hand signs.
A lot of hand signs.
His father's lessons immediately came to mind.
Every technique required a foundation.
A process.
Nothing happened for free.
By the time footsteps echoed outside the storage room, Haruki had already memorized half the scroll.
He quickly rolled it shut.
The moment passed.
But the technique remained in his mind.
That evening, Haruki sat beside a small canal running through one of Kirigakure's quieter districts.
The orphanage wasn't far away.
The area was deserted.
Perfect.
The scroll's instructions replayed inside his head.
Slowly, he brought his hands together.
Attempting the first hand sign.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Awkward.
Clumsy.
Wrong.
His fingers tangled repeatedly.
Several attempts ended with him accidentally poking himself in the eye.
By the tenth attempt, frustration was winning.
By the twentieth, stubbornness took over.
His father had taught him many things.
One of them was persistence.
Eventually the sequence became smoother.
Not good.
Just less terrible.
Haruki inhaled.
Focused.
Felt the familiar river of chakra inside himself.
Then guided it exactly as the scroll described.
Nothing happened.
He sighed.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
A tiny splash erupted from the canal.
Haruki blinked.
The splash had traveled perhaps six inches.
Maybe.
It wasn't even enough to soak a shoe.
Yet his heart immediately began racing.
It worked.
Barely.
Pathetically.
But it worked.
Excitement surged through him.
He tried again.
And again.
Each attempt exhausted him slightly.
Each attempt produced tiny results.
Small splashes.
Weak bursts of water.
Nothing remotely useful.
Yet Haruki couldn't stop smiling.
This wasn't talent.
This wasn't luck.
This was progress.
Earned progress.
The next morning, Daichi stopped beside his desk.
The instructor studied him carefully.
Haruki tried not to look suspicious.
Which immediately made him look suspicious.
Daichi sighed.
"You're tired."
Haruki blinked.
"What?"
"You look exhausted."
The class laughed.
Haruki silently cursed.
Apparently staying up late practicing chakra control had consequences.
"Late night?"
Daichi asked.
"A little."
The instructor stared at him for several seconds.
Then moved on.
Haruki released a quiet breath.
That had been close.
That evening, Haruki returned to the canal.
Then the next evening.
And the one after that.
Slowly, steadily, the technique improved.
Not much.
Just enough.
A splash became a stream.
A stream became a small projectile.
Still weak.
Still inaccurate.
Still very much a beginner's technique.
But it was his.
The first jutsu he had ever learned.
The first step toward becoming a shinobi.
Haruki stood beside the water as mist drifted across the canal.
His hands formed the final sign.
Chakra flowed.
A small bullet of water shot forward.
It struck a wooden post.
The impact wasn't powerful.
But it left a visible mark.
Haruki grinned.
Satisfied, he lowered his hands and headed back toward the orphanage.