FanFic Fiesta Entry! Add this to you library to support me!!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Time in Kumogakure is measured in bruises, in lung-searing runs, and in the number of times you've been knocked down and gotten back up. It might sound dramatic, but it was true.
Since the day the class had chosen their weapons, one year and six months had passed. The children who had walked into the armory as six-year-olds were now eight.
The physical training had, as promised, upped a notch. "A notch" in Kumo terms meant their warm-ups were now what used to be their drills. They ran the thousands of mountain steps with weighted vests, their small legs burning. They practiced their taijutsu forms while balancing on high, narrow posts, the whistling wind a constant, unforgiving partner threatening to send them diving.
However, there have been changes. The time allotted purely to taijutsu was cut in half. That other half was now dedicated to their chosen weapons.
The training yard, which once echoed only with the thwack of fists and thud of bodies, was now a clamor of steel.
The shing of Karui's heavy slashes.
The high-pitched tink-tink-tink of Omoi's parrying.
The silent, lethal thunk as Samui's heavy kunai embedded themselves in targets.
And the white blur of Raiden's scabbard as he practiced forms, his movements a blend of grace and razor-sharp precision.
Their academic lessons had shifted as well. History was over; they were now living it. In its place came the hard sciences of a shinobi's life: mathematics for calculating the parabolic arc of a shuriken, the precise yield of an explosive tag, or the time-distance-speed equation of an advancing enemy. Geography, to learn infiltration routes, supply lines, and the natural choke points of every other nation.
And sometimes, the heavy doors of the training yard would slide open, and the entire class would freeze.
Surprise visits from the Raikage, A, along with Killer B and Yugito Nii, were a periodic and treasured event. The sheer presence of the village's three strongest shinobi would hype up the entire class. A, a mountain of muscle and crackling energy, would observe with his arms crossed, his critical gaze missing nothing. Yugito would offer quiet, precise advice to the girls.
And Killer B... would just be Killer B, striking poses and dropping rhymes, much to his brother's eternal frustration.
One such visit became the stuff of Academy legend.
The trio had arrived mid-spar. The moment Yugiri-sensei called a halt, the class exploded. The boys, Omoi at the absolute front of the pack, swarmed A and Killer B, shouting a thousand questions.
"Raikage-sama! Is it true you can punch a mountain in half?"
"B-sama, B-sama! How many rhymes do you know? Can you teach me your sword style? Can I have your sunglasses?"
"How fast are you, Raikage-sama?"
The girls, Karui and Samui among them, gathered around Yugito Nii, their questions only slightly more subdued. They asked about her speed, her control of the Two-Tails, and her "Fire Rat" technique. (Yes, that's actually a tech😅)
Raiden, however, just stood at his seat by the window, calmly toweling the sweat from his white hair. He didn't join the group of heroes. He didn't seem star-struck in the slightest. His golden-yellow eyes were fixed, not on the celebrity of Killer B or the grace of Yugito, but on the overwhelming, thrumming power of A. He wasn't looking at the man; he was looking at the white Kage hat, at the seat of power.
Killer B, while effortlessly juggling three kunai and rhyming, sensed the stare. It was different from the adoring, wide-eyed gazes of the other children. This was a stare that was measuring. Analyzing. He nudged his brother.
"Yo, check it, brother, no jokin'," B rhymed in a low rumble, just for A to hear. "That white-haired kid is just soakin' / in your vibes, but his eyes are cold steel! / That's the one from the Uzumaki deal!"
A's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly who B meant. The Uzumaki elders had been talking about the boy, the "mutation," the "evolution."
"The elder told us, he's the new make," B continued, "an 'evolution' for goodness' sake! / An upgraded version, is he for real? / He's got a cooler look, a greater appeal, no no?"
"Shut up, B," A growled, his voice a low rumble. But he turned his gaze, and his dark eyes locked onto the small, white-haired boy across the room.
Raiden, seeing he had the Raikage's attention, didn't hesitate. He stood. The crowd of children instinctively parted for him as he walked forward, his white katana at his hip. He didn't bow. He didn't stammer. He stopped directly in front of the four-hundred-pound mountain of muscle and power, tilted his head back, and spoke with a clarity that cut through the entire room.
"I will take that seat in the future."
The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was the high, thin shriek of the wind outside the Academy walls. Omoi, who had been in the middle of unwrapping a new lollipop, swallowed it whole. Karui's jaw hit the floor. Yugiri-sensei went pale, her eyes wide with horror, already stepping forward to apologize for her student's monumental, potentially fatal, arrogance. The entire class thought Raiden had just committed suicide.
A, the Fourth Raikage, stared down at the seven-year-old boy. Raiden did not flinch, his golden eyes locked in their place.
Finally, the Raikage spoke, with a voice low and dangerous. "Why... do you want my seat?"
Raiden's friends began to panic, Karui and Omoi silently mouthing, 'Shut up! Apologize!'
Raiden just smiled. It was a sharp, confident smirk that looked utterly alien on a child's face.
"What else?" he asked, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "To make Kumo the strongest village out there, and show the shinobi world who the real boss is."
The statement stunned everyone. Yugiri's apology died in her throat. This wasn't just a child's naive dream. It was a declaration of intent, a core ambition that echoed the very soul of Kumogakure. It wasn't "I want to be famous" or "I want to be strong." It was "I want our village to be the strongest."
Yugito's eyes widened. Killer B's sunglasses nearly slid off his nose.
A stared at Raiden for one... two... three long seconds. The tension was so thick it was almost unbreathable.
Then, a low chuckle rumbled in the Raikage's chest. It grew, and grew, until it erupted. A threw his head back and let out a booming, thunderous laugh that shook the very windows of the classroom. Killer B, catching on, joined in with a high-pitched, rhythmic cackle. "FOOL! YA FOOL!"
He finally calmed down, wiping a small tear from his eye. He squatted down, bringing his massive frame down to Raiden's eye level. The laughter was gone, replaced by a look of sharp, profound, and impressed assessment.
"What's your name, kiddo?"
"Raiden. Raiden Uzumaki."
A nodded slowly, the name rolling around in his mind. "Raiden Uzumaki." He clapped a hand the size of a dinner plate onto Raiden's small shoulder, and Raiden didn't buckle. "You've got the guts of an Uzumaki, that's for sure. And the ambition of a Kumo shinobi."
He stood back up to his full, intimidating height. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Raiden Uzumaki. Don't disappoint me."
A turned and strode for the door, his Kage cloak billowing. "Let's go, B, Yugito."
Killer B and Yugito followed. Killer B spun around and pointed two fingers at Raiden.
"Keep that talkin' and get good at walkin'! / If you're good enough, we'll have a dance battle that's shockin'! YEAH!"
The trio was gone, leaving a classroom of stunned children and one very jealous, silver-haired boy.
"A-a-a dance battle?" Omoi sputtered, his voice cracking with sheer envy.
"With Killer B-sama?! Oh, man, some guys get all the luck! I've been practicing my pop-and-lock for weeks!"
Omoi, not realizing what he meant by dance battle, was a kenjutsu battle.
But Raiden just let his friend burn with jealousy, because why not?
That moment became an Academy legend, and it only fueled Raiden's own drive. The eighteen months passed in a blur of relentless improvement.
His weapon training was not confined to the Academy. Every evening, after the grueling Academy drills, his real training began. His mother, Akane, took him to a small, private training ground high on the mountain.
There, she began to teach him the Kenjutsu of their ancestors: the Uzumaki-ryū, or as she called it, the "Whirlpool's Dance."
It was nothing like the Kumo style. The Kumo style was all power, direct lines, and overwhelming force. The Uzumaki style was fluid, circular, and deceptive. It was a style built on evasion, on using an opponent's momentum against them, drawing them into a flurry of spins, counters, and precise, vital-point strikes. It was less about shattering a defense and more about unraveling it.
"Raiden," his mother said one evening, her own practice blade a blur of motion. "You are talented. More talented than I was."
She stopped, her breath not even heavy. "But your blood is different. My style, the style of our ancestors, is a foundation. You... you think with a coldness that is not our way. It is the Kumo way. It is your way."
She gestured to him. "Do not just copy me. Take this dance," she said, "and add your thunder to it. Create your own style. That is the true path for the 'evolution' of our bloodline."
And so he did. He trained until his hands bled, blending the fluid counters of the Whirlpool with the sharp, analytical, overwhelming speed and power that Kumo demanded.
And just like that, the year and a half ended.
At present, the class was waiting in their room. Raiden's group was huddled together.
Omoi was complaining that the new weighted vests were giving him a rash, which would probably get infected, and he'd have to have his back amputated. Karui was telling him that it was impossible and to shut up. Samui was, as usual, just quietly staring at the wall, seemingly unfazed by everything.
The door slid open. Yugiri-sensei walked in, her face as stern and professional as it had been on the first day. The chatter died instantly.
"Listen up," she commanded, walking to the front. "For two full years, you have spent your time refining your bodies. You have learned to run on the mountain winds, to strike with your fists, and to kill with steel."
A new energy entered the room. The students sat up straighter.
"Now," Yugiri-sensei said, "it is time to move beyond the physical. It is time... for ninjutsu."
A quiet, excited gasp swept the room. This was it.
Yugiri placed a large, unadorned scroll on her desk. She unrolled it, bit her thumb, and pressed her hand to one of the seals. With a soft poof of smoke, a neat stack of small, pale, square papers appeared on her desk.
"These," she announced, holding one of the small squares up for the class to see, "are chakra papers."
"Chakra is more than just stamina for your punches or fuel for your body. It has properties. A nature. Every person is born with a natural, latent affinity for one of the five basic elements. There are cases with people having more than one affinity, but don't get too excited, as it is really rare in our village."
She held the paper between her fingers. "You will channel a small amount of chakra into the paper. The reaction will tell us your nature."
She pointed to the board, where she had drawn five small diagrams.
"If you have an affinity for Fire, the paper will ignite and burn. For Wind, it will be split cleanly in two. For Lightning, our village's specialty, it will wrinkle and crinkle. For Earth, it will turn to dust and crumble in your hand. And for Water, it will become damp and soggy."
Yugiri looked up, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the eager eight-year-olds.
"This affinity is your gift. It is the path of ninjutsu that will be easiest and most natural for you to learn. While Kumo prizes Lightning, all elements are deadly weapons in the hands of a true shinobi."
She gestured to the stack on her desk.
"Now. Walk up, one by one, in an orderly manner."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Add this to your library to support me!! AND HAND THOSE STONES TO ME!!