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Year 57 of Konoha. Uchiha Clan Compound. The back garden.
The morning light came through the maple leaves. Mali sat cross-legged under the tree, eyes closed, his voice low and steady.
"Lam... Vam... Ram... Yam... Ham... Om... Aum..."
The seed syllables rolled out one by one. He had been at this for a full hour. His throat was dry. His legs were numb. But he kept going.
Nothing happened.
It's been three weeks. The inner sense opened up with the tratak meditation. But the sounds... nothing.
"Lam," he tried again, pulling the syllable from deep in his belly. "Vam." Chest area. "Ram." Solar plexus.
Still nothing. No vibration. No energy movement. Just a kid sitting under a tree making weird noises.
He was about to stop when something flickered.
At the base of his spine. A tiny sensation. Not pain. Not warmth. Something in between. Like a single drop of water falling into a completely empty well.
Wait.
He focused hard. Repeated "Lam" again, slower, dragging the sound through his lower back.
The sensation came back. Faint. Almost like he imagined it. But it was there.
Something is forming there. Something at the bottom of the spine.
He tried "Vam." Nothing new. "Ram." The sensation stayed in one place, a small pool of awareness right at the root.
It's not working like the books said. But something IS happening. Slowly.
He filed the information away in his mind and opened his eyes.
His grandfather was standing three feet away, staring down at him.
---
Takami's white beard was neat. His dark eyes were sharp. His face was impossible to read.
"Mali," the old man said. "What are you trying to say? Why are you making animal sound, is this your new game? "
Mali's mouth opened. His infant brain—still slow, still catching up to his adult thoughts—processed the question and spit out an answer before he could stop it.
"Grandpa! I already told you, I'm practicing how to be immortal. I'm going to become immortal. Do you want to become immortal like me? You have to practice with me if you want!"
Silence.
Takami blinked.
Mali's internal thoughts caught up to reality.
I just said that. Out loud. To my grandfather. About immortality.
WHY.
WHY DID I SAY THAT.
The old man stared at him. Then his mouth twitched. Then his shoulders started shaking.
"Hahaha!" The laugh boomed across the garden. "Immortality! Who told you about immortality?"
Mali's brain scrambled. The meditation focus was gone. The inner sense was gone. He was just a one-year-old who had accidentally revealed way too much.
Think. Think faster. Lie. Lie well.
"Ah..." Mali scratched his head, going full toddler mode. "Grandpa, some guy told me. He said you have the potential to become immortal. You have to do these techniques and find the right path to immortality. He didn't give proper instructions but he had a little bit of information about the technique."
Some guy. Great lie. Very specific. Excellent work, brain.
Takami stroked his white beard. His laughter faded into thought. His eyes narrowed slightly, then relaxed again.
"A mysterious stranger who knows immortality techniques," the old man said slowly. "And he approached a baby."
He doesn't believe me. He's going to call me out.
But instead, Takami nodded. "The shinobi world is full of strange things. I've seen worse."
...Wait. He bought it?
"Tell me," Takami said, lowering himself to sit across from Mali on the grass. His old knees cracked loudly. He ignored them. "What should I do?"
Mali blinked. He's serious. He's actually serious.
"Grandpa, first we have to do breathing technique practice. I know various breathing techniques. Which one do you want to do?"
Takami's eyes gleamed. "Well, give me a difficult one, immortal grandson."
"A difficult one?"
"The most difficult one you know."
Mali stared at him. Then a grin spread across his tiny face.
"Difficult one..." He started giggling. "Hahaha..."
Takami frowned. "Why are you laughing?"
"You can't do it."
The old man's frown deepened into something competitive. Something dangerous. The same expression he had worn at the naming ceremony when Ishario challenged him.
"Tell me how to do it," Takami said, his voice dropping lower. "I will show you whether I can do it or not."
Mali's grin got even wider.
Oh, this is going to be good.
---
"Second most difficult pranayama," Mali announced, straightening his small back. "Antar and Bahya Kumbhaka with Bandhas."
Takami nodded slowly. "Explain."
"Antar Kumbhaka is holding your breath after breathing in. Full lungs. Bahya Kumbhaka is holding your breath after breathing out. Empty lungs."
"That sounds simple enough."
"With bandhas. Energy locks. Mula Bandha—squeeze the root. Uddiyana Bandha—pull the belly in and up. Jalandhara Bandha—lock the throat, chin to chest."
Takami's expression shifted just a little. "All three at once?"
"All three. While holding the breath. Breathing in and out. Alternating."
The old man was quiet for a moment. Then he straightened his back and placed his hands on his knees. "Show me the sequence."
Mali talked him through it. Breathe in fully. Lock everything. Hold. Release the locks. Breathe out completely. Lock everything. Hold. Release.
"Start with three counts each," Mali said. "In for three. Hold for three. Out for three. Hold for three."
"I am a shinobi," Takami said flatly. "I will do five."
Pride before the fall.
The old man breathed in. Deep. Full. His chest expanded. Then he engaged the locks—root, belly, throat—and held.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
His face turned slightly red.
Four seconds. Five.
The red got deeper. A vein popped up on his forehead.
"Release and breathe out," Mali said.
Takami breathed out—too fast, too hard—then immediately sucked in again and locked everything for the empty hold.
Two seconds. His eyes bulged.
Three seconds. Sweat broke out across his forehead.
"Release and breathe in," Mali said calmly.
Takami gasped for air. His whole body was shaking. But he was far too stubborn to stop.
He's going to kill himself. Over breathing.
The old man went again. Breathe in. Lock. Hold. This time the locks didn't engage properly—his belly kept trying to move, his throat kept unlocking. He forced them back into place, his face turning purple now, sweat dripping off his beard.
Five seconds. Six. Seven.
"Grandpa. Release."
Takami breathed out like a dying whale. Then he tried the empty hold again.
Two seconds. His tongue came out. His eyes rolled upward, showing only the whites.
He looks like a goat. A dying goat.
"Grandpa!"
The old man collapsed sideways onto the grass, gasping, chest heaving, sweat soaking his robe. His tongue lolled out. His eyes were unfocused. Goat eyes. Fully goat eyes.
For a long moment, the only sound was Takami's ragged breathing.
Then Mali started laughing.
"Hahaha! Hahahahaha!"
"Are... you..." Takami wheezed, his voice cracking, "trying... to kill... the old man?"
"You said you could do it!" Mali cackled. "You blamed me! Grandpa, you can't do this technique! You have to start from zero. Even I can't do these techniques yet!"
Takami lay on the grass, staring up at the sky, his chest still heaving. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up onto his elbows.
His expression was strange. Not angry. Not embarrassed. Something else.
Curiosity. He's curious. Not about the technique—about where I learned it.
"You know," Takami said slowly, still panting, "most children your age cannot speak in full sentences. Let alone teach breathing exercises that nearly kill old men."
Mali's laughter stopped.
...Crap.
"Grandpa—"
Takami raised a hand. "I am not asking. Not yet." He pushed himself fully upright, wobbling a little. Sweat still dripped from his beard. "But one day, immortal grandson, you and I will have a longer conversation."
He stood up. His knees cracked again. He didn't break eye contact.
"Until then..." A small, exhausted smile crossed his face. "Teach me the beginner technique."
Mali stared at him for a moment. Then a real smile—not a mischievous one, not a lying one—crossed his face.
"Sit down, Grandpa. Breathe in for four counts. Hold for four. Out for four. We'll start there."
Takami sat down. He crossed his legs. Closed his eyes.
"Four counts," the old man muttered. "Better than dying."
"Much better."
---
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