The terrifying struggle with the out-of-control Nine-Tails Chakra was like a searing brand etched deep into my Soul. The shadow of death had never felt so real, and Hiruzen Sarutobi's cold, scrutinizing gaze, stripped of its pretense, was a constant Damocles' sword hanging over my head. Power! The power to control my body, to control my Chakra! This was no longer a distant ideal, but an urgent, immediate need for survival!
However, the perception and guidance of Chakra, after that backlash, became like dancing in a minefield full of thorns. Each attempt was made with lingering caution, and progress was so slow it almost stalled. The body's weakness and the lingering, iron-burn-like pain in the Meridians only added insult to injury.
If this path is temporarily blocked, then take another path! A cold decision formed deep within my consciousness. The body! This damned, weak infant body is also the foundation of power! How can I run if I can't even crawl? How can I fight if I can't even stand steadily?
Thus, a silent "physical revolution" wrapped in diapers quietly began in the narrow cradle and limited "outdoor" space.
When "Kite" or "Crow" briefly left, or when they fell into that cold, vacant state in the corner, the cradle became my private gym.
Rolling over! That was the initial goal. My body felt like it was filled with lead, soft and unresponsive. My will frantically drove me, mobilizing every controllable muscle fiber. Engage the core! Lead with the shoulders! Once, twice… countless failures, flailing about like a salted fish, exhausted and panting (infant version). Sweat (or drool?) soaked the soft hair on the back of my neck.
Inner monologue: I used to get up with a single carp-jump! Now even rolling over is this hard?! What a disgrace!
Finally, on an afternoon when "Kite" was napping, I held my breath and exerted force with my core— "Gulu!" My body finally rolled from lying on my back to lying on my stomach! My small chest pressed against the rough swaddling clothes, panting heavily, but with an unprecedented, faint sense of accomplishment from conquering gravity!
Kicking! Target: the wooden railings of the cradle! My two short legs, like restless pistons, kicked with all their might!
"Dong! Dong! Dong!" The dull thuds were exceptionally clear in the silent room.
Inner monologue: Squats! Weighted squats! Although the weight is a diaper… The cradle swayed slightly. The strength in my legs grew faintly but continuously with each repetition. The sensation of wood came from the soles of my feet, no longer soft and numb.
Crawling! The ultimate challenge! My arm strength was weaker than my leg strength. First, practice supporting myself! I propped up my upper body with my chubby little arms, straining to lift my neck—like a clumsy little turtle. I couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds before I "plop" back into the swaddling clothes, my nose aching from the impact.
Inner monologue: Push-ups! Baby push-ups! The goal is… to leave the cradle!
Failure, failure, still failure. But with each push-up, the trembling in my arms seemed to lessen a bit. Finally, after countless "face-plants," during one push-up, my knees instinctively arched forward a bit! Although it was just an insignificant wiggle, it marked the beginning of "crawling"!
Progress was visible to the naked eye. Rolling over became smoother, kicking became more powerful, the time I could support myself grew longer, and that clumsy wiggle gradually took on the rudimentary form of "crawling." Speed, strength, and coordination were all quietly improving at a rate far exceeding that of a normal infant. This body was like a Treasure Trove forcibly awakened, gradually revealing a tiny corner of the Uzumaki Clan's powerful Physique, hidden by its infant state.
When "Kite" carried me to that dusty little open space, or when she rarely allowed me to move on relatively flat (but still stony and dusty) ground, it was prime time for "practical training."
Once placed on the ground, I immediately transformed into an "explorer." My goal was clear—not the center of the open space, but the edges! The compacted dirt, exposed tree roots, scattered dead branches, and even the cold, hard corners of walls!
Crawl!
My small body lay on the ground, using both hands and feet, struggling forward towards the chosen "target"! My movements still had the characteristic incoordination of an infant, my bottom sticking up high, sometimes even moving my same-side hand and foot, but my speed was so fast that the secretly watching "Kite" occasionally raised an imperceptible eyebrow.
Inner monologue: Off-road training! Low crawl! Target: that angular stone three meters ahead!
The rough gravel rubbed against my delicate palms and knees, bringing a burning sting, yet strangely stimulating my nerves. Each successful "long-distance raid" (which was actually only a few meters), upon reaching the "destination" (a stone or a tree root), I would curiously (?) pat and explore with my small hands, then grin and let out a satisfied, drooling "giggle." It was as if I had completed a great adventure.
Stand!
Leaning against the cold corner of the wall, or grabbing "Kite's" cold, pillar-like calf (which usually elicited a tiny, disdainful flinch from her), I tried hard, wobbling, to stand straight! My small feet struggled to grip the ground, my toes curling from the effort. My body swayed violently like a small sapling in a strong wind.
Inner monologue: Horse stance! Stabilize the core!
Falling? A common occurrence. "Plop!" A solid thud on my bottom, dust flying. Sometimes, when I fell hard, physiological tears instantly welled up in my eyes. But my inner will, like cold iron tongs, firmly gripped the instinct to cry! *Cannot cry! Crying is showing weakness! Get up!* So, with tear-blurred vision, my small hands propped up my body again, stubbornly continuing to try.
Hiding my accomplishments and fame.
However, all "supernatural" abilities must be hidden under a "reasonable" disguise. An "exceptionally gifted" infant might attract attention, but a "monster" would invite destruction. Naruto knew this well.
When blurry figures of other passersby appeared at the edge of the open space, or when those familiar, malicious gazes from the shadows became clearer, my "training" mode immediately switched.
My crawling speed instantly slowed down, becoming clumsy and hesitant, like a newborn puppy that hadn't learned to control its limbs yet. Sometimes I would even "accidentally" trip over a small stone, crying out "Wah" (though with very few tears), my small hands and feet flailing randomly, looking aggrieved and helpless, until "Kite" impatiently picked me up.
When attempting to stand by holding onto "Kite's" leg, I would deliberately make my body sway more exaggeratedly, then, in an "accidental" loss of balance, "just right" fall on my bottom with a loud "plop" (sometimes accompanied by a timely fart), sitting on the ground, blinking my bewildered, tear-filled (squeezed out) blue eyes, as if I had no idea what had happened.
"Clumsy!"
"Sure enough, he's a freak, can't even walk steadily!"
"Stay away from him, he's bad luck!"
The whispers floating from the shadows were full of contempt and schadenfreude. These comments, like background noise, were automatically filtered by my ears. My heart was calm, I even wanted to laugh a little.
Hiding my accomplishments and fame.
Fools, the clumsiness you see is merely the protective coloration I meticulously designed.
When I finally stand up… Sweat (and drool) mixed with dust, leaving streaks on my small face. Every time I got up after falling, every seemingly clumsy movement, was silently forging this body. Muscle fibers became stronger in tearing and repair, nerve responses became faster through countless failures and adjustments, and balance gradually established itself amidst swaying and falling.
Although Chakra Cultivateion was temporarily hindered, strength, the most primitive and fundamental physical strength, was accumulating little by little, climbing upwards like a tenacious vine, within the confines of these diapers. This strength might be insignificant, but it was the first step to tearing down the cage.
When "Kite's" cold hand picked me up again and brushed off the dust clinging to me, I took the opportunity to bury my small face in her uniform, which smelled of gunpowder, wiping away the dirt from my face, revealing only a pair of deep blue eyes. In the depths of those eyes, a faint glimmer of resolve, utterly unbefitting an infant, flashed and vanished in the unseen shadows.
The revolution has not yet succeeded, and the diapers still need effort.