Age: 6 years, 1 month
A child's smile is the easiest disguise in the world. By the age of six, I had already learned that power attracts attention—and attention is dangerous. My earlier experiments had shown my control over water, but I had also realized how fragile my position was. A mind like mine, housed in a child's body, was a threat in a world built on fear and hierarchy.
So, I learned to perform. I laughed when expected, stumbled on purpose, and mispronounced words to appear harmless. Mio found it endearing. My parents called it "charming." It was efficient camouflage. I was the "innocent younger son" of the Soryu clan—quiet, gentle, unremarkable.
While they saw a boy, I observed.
Age: 6 years, 4 months
Children reveal truths that adults hide. They speak freely and repeat what they hear. I began to spend more time among them—listening. The other clan children practiced the basic chakra control exercises our tutors assigned. Their focus was crude, their breathing irregular. I copied them but refined every step internally: I matched my inhale to chakra intake and synchronized my exhale with release. My results were perfect, but I maintained a sloppy posture to draw no attention.
The tutor often sighed. "Ren, you must try harder." I bowed. "Yes, teacher." I passed every lesson precisely as intended—slightly below excellence.
Age: 6 years, 8 months
By this time, I had started testing another theory: the manipulation of perception through emotion. Not chakra. Not genjutsu. Just understanding. Mio had a habit of sneaking sweets from the kitchen. Our mother would scold her when caught. I used that pattern. The next time she stole something, I distracted our mother moments before the discovery—an innocent question, a tilted head, a soft tone. The scolding never came. Mio looked at me with confusion and gratitude.
The result was clear: by managing emotional timing, I could steer events. That evening, I recorded the principle in my mind:
*Rule Five:* Perception shapes truth more strongly than fact. If one can predict a reaction, one can dictate reality.
Age: 7 years
The year passed quietly. I trained, studied, and played my role. Yet within me, something stirred—an instinct sharpened by every observation. The world of adults was built on invisible currents: fear, envy, duty, desire. Their emotional energy flowed thicker than chakra itself.
When Father brought visiting elders from another clan, I sat silently beside Mio, pretending to draw. I wasn't listening to their words; I was watching their eyes. The slightest tremor in their tone, the brief hesitation before false praise—these were all data points. One elder glanced at my father's sealed document chest twice during the meeting. Curiosity. Greed. A pattern was forming.
Later that night, I suggested to Father that he should lock the chest with two seals instead of one. He laughed and patted my head. "You've been listening too much, little Ren."
Two days later, the chest had been tampered with. The extra seal saved its contents. The elder's punishment was swift. Father never asked how I knew. He only watched me differently afterward—half-pride, half-unease.
Age: 7 years, 4 months
By then, I understood the first principle of actual influence: strength is only one language of power. The other is information. I continued to act the fool. I played with Mio, learned from the tutors, and smiled when addressed. Yet behind that façade, every movement, every word, and every flicker of expression became a lesson in the machinery of humanity.
The world was a system. People were variables. I only needed enough data to predict them all. And when that day came, I would no longer need to pretend.