One Month Later -

  A month. Thirty days.

  Seven hundred and twenty hours.

  I felt every single sed of it in my bones.

  My body ached in ways I hought possible, muscles screaming for rest, joints creaking uhe weight of my own ambition. But I couldn't stop. Not now.

  Not after what I had seen.

  I still remembered everything from my past life—every detail, every damn moment. The hours I had spent researg trainihods, the tless videos I had watched, pnning a future I never got to live. And now, all that knowledge burned in my mind, refusing to fade.

  So I put it to use.

  I started training. Not blindly, not like a fool swinging his fists at the air, but with purpose. I followed a structured routihe kind I had once admired from the fort of my bed, watg some ripped fitness influencer on YouTube talk about "banced muscle development" and "long-term gains."

  But hearing about it and doing it?

  Two different things.

  This wasn't some casual gym session where I could take breaks betwees, sip water, and check my phohis was relentless. It was war—against my own limits, against the burning fire in my lungs, against the very nature of my body as it screamed at me to stop.

  And pink muscles?

  The fibers designed for endurance, for sustained effort over long periods? Training them was a whole new level of hell.

  I had to push past fatigue, past the shaking in my limbs, past the moments where my vision blurred and my breath came ragged.

  Every run, every squat, every set of push-ups—it wasn't about strength alo was about trol, about keeping the movement slow and steady, f my muscles to work past exhaustion, past the point where others would colpse.

  I forced myself to endure.

  Because in this world, where monsters walked in the form of men, where shinobi could kill before you even sehem ing—raw strength meant nothing if you didn't have stamina to back it up.

  And I refused to be weak.

  I had to meet them again.

  I could already feel the ges. My body had hardened, muscles tightening, breath stabilizing, movements being smoother. It wasn't just strength—I was sting longer, pushing further. The fatigue that used to cripple me now felt like background noise, something to aowledge but never yield to.

  One month in, and I was still far from what I wao be.

  But I was no lohe same person I was before.

  The routine was baargeting both power and endurance:

  1. Interval Sprints – Explosive speed training. 8–12 rounds of 20–30-sed sprints followed by a 60–90-sed rest. It hit both fast and slow-twitch fibers, building both power and recovery ability.

  2. Plyometrics – Jump squats, box jumps, anything to train explosive power. Three sets each, feeling like my legs were on fire by the end.

  3. Strength Training – Without weights, I had to improvise. Instead of barbells, I lifted rocks of varying sizes, using them for deadlifts, squats, and overhead presses.

  4. High-Iy Resistaraining – Kettlebell swings (or rather, rock swings), thrusters, battle rope alternatives. My arms burned, my core ached, but I kept pushing.

  5. Endurance Work – Light jogging after workouts, fog on trolled breathing and muscle recovery.

  6. Mobility and Flexibility – Dynamic stretg before workouts, static stretg after. I couldn't afford injuries.

  At first, I thought I could keep up. That my knowledge from my past life would be enough te the gap between ambition ay.

  I was wrong.

  Very very wrong.

  The first week was hell. No—hell would have been merciful.

  My body fought me every step of the way.

  My mind screamed for discipline, for trol, but my muscles refused to obey.

  Every push-up felt like ay, every squat burned deep into my bones.

  By the time each session ended, I wasn't just exhausted—I was broken. My arms felt like lead, my legs wobbled with every step, and just lifting a spoon to my mouth became a battle of sheer will.

  Eating wasn't a y. It was torture.

  My firembled as I reached for my food, gripping the chopsticks like they weighed a ton. Every bite was a war against my own body, against the crushi of exhaustion that made even chewing feel like too much effort.

  This wasn't just training.

  It was survival.

  I had to be smart. If I kept this up recklessly, I'd break before I even started seeis.

  So, I adapted.

  Instead of going all out like an idiot, I scaled back—two sets per exercise, just enough to push my limits without crippling myself. No shortcuts, no mindless self-destru. Just trolled growth.

  My body was already aced to exhaustion from a year of releraining. If I kept this pace—kept enduring, refining, pushing—soon, I wouldn't just survive this regimen.

  I'd own it.

  My weekly schedule now looked something like this:

  Monday : Power training – Plyometrics, sprints, and full-body strength work.

  Tuesday : Active recovery – Light jogging.

  Wednesday : Hypertrophy training – Resistance exercises to build endurance.

  Thursday : Rest or active recovery (yoga, if I felt like it).

  Friday : pound lifts – Deadlifts, squats, pull-ups.

  Saturday : High-iy circuits.

  Sunday : Rest ht recovery.

  I know they don't use the same day names here, but old habits die hard.

  I still think in terms of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, even though I speak like everyone else. My mind gs to my past, whether I want it to or not.

  ////////

  Training wasn't just physical.

  My chakra trol had improved drastically.

  Tree Walking – Fully mastered. I could run on walls inside my room without making a sound.

  Water Walking – Started this two weeks ago. Every m at 4 a.m., I practiced in the small pond ihe orphanage's garden.

  Leaf Cutting – pleted. Now, I was cutting small branches and weak wooden sticks with ease.

  Leaf tration – Increased to 40 minutes. My trol had grown signifitly.

  Rasengan Training – First step is dooday, I'd start the sed.

  My retionships were improving—slowly, in small, cautious steps.

  The other kids at the orphanage weren't just background noise anymore. I talked to them more, shared meals, even pyed with them o days. Their ughter wasn't as distant as before, their voio longer blending into the general hum of life around me.

  But that didn't mean I let up on my training.

  Because while they ran around without a care in the world, I was carving my path in blood, sweat, and chakra.

  I had no time for distras. No room for weakness.

  Yet, sometimes—just sometimes—when I sat on the worn-out steps of the orphanage, watg the sun dip behind the rooftops, I wondered.

  Was this what normal felt like?

  ---

  "Oi, Kazeo, e py!"

  I looked up to see Daichi, a boy a few years youhan me, waving eagerly. His cheeks were flushed from running, his oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder. Behind him, a few other kids were watg, some hopeful, some hesitant.

  "I'm busy," I said, out of habit more than anything.

  Daichi pouted. "You always say that!"

  "Because it's always true."

  "You train ter," another voice chimed in—Miko, the orphanage caretaker, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway. "They won't be kids forever, you know."

  her will I.

  Still, I sighed and stood up, rolling my shoulders. "One game. Then I'm done."

  A chorus of cheers rang out, and before I k, I was being dragged into whatever nonsense game they had cocted.

  For a little while, I let myself fet. Let myself be a part of this fleeting, fragile thing they called childhood here.

  Just for a little while.

  Four Months Later --

  Training had only gotten harder. I could now plete all exercises with full sets, but I was exhausted afterward.

  I ow plete all exercises due to an i which happewo months ago .

  Two months ago,

  Training had finally started to feel... manageable. The exhaustion that g to my body like a sed skin had begun to fade, and for the first time since arriving in this world,

  I felt almost—almost—normal.

  Then, everything ged.

  That night, while I ractig water-walking, my chakra surged. Not just a small increase—a sudden, unnatural explosion. My reserves had jumped aire level, parable to a Root Genin.

  For a moment, I was thrilled. More chakra meant more power.

  Then it hit me.

  A crushing, suffog exhaustion smmed into me like a colpsing building.

  My body froze. My legs buckled.

  I sank.

  Cold water rushed into my mouth as

  I struggled, arms filing weakly, my body refusing to move. The weight of my own chakra felt like s dragging me under. Shit. If I didn't reaow—

  A burst of panic-fueled adrenaline shot through me. I forced my chakra bader trol, stabilizing myself just enough to kick off the pond's bottom and break through the surface. Gasping. Choking. Shivering.

  I dragged myself out of the water, every muscle screaming in protest. I couldn't stay here. My chakra had leaked too much. Someone would se.

  But then I looked down.

  Water.

  It dripped from my clothes, f small puddles beh me. If I ran now, I'd leave a trail straight to my room. And ANBU would follow it.

  I forced myself to think through the exhaustion. What would erase my tracks?

  The pond.

  Without wasting a sed, I stumbled back toward the water and plunged my hands into it, using my trembling fio spsh the area around me, blending my footprints into the already-wet grass. The ade my limbs ache, but I ig.

  Then, taking slow, careful steps, I moved toward a different path—ohat led to the orphanage's back wall instead of the mairance. If ANBU came, they'd check the closest doors first.

  By the time I reached my room, my body was barely holding on. My muscles screamed in protest as I slid the door shut and pressed my back against it.

  Seds ter—they arrived.

  Two masked figures nded silently outside, their movements sharp, calcuted. ANBU Or Root ?

  Through the door's peephole, I watched one of them kneel, gloved fingers brushing over the grass.

  Searg.

  I held my breath.

  'Please. Don't notice me.'

  One of them goward the pond. Another sileure. Then—they vanished, dispersing into the night.

  A slow, shuddering breath escaped me. I sank to the floor, my entire body trembling from the cold and fatigue.

  That was too damn close.

  I searched my memories, desperately trying to make sense of this.

  My parents—both civilian-born shinobi—had only reached in rank. They were talented, yes, but nies. There was nothiraordinary about their lineage. No powerful bloodline. iance.

  So why?

  Why was my chakra increasing at such a terrifying rate?

  A chill crept down my spine. My breath felt shallow.

  This shouldn't be possible.

  It wasn't just growth—it was unnatural. My reserves surged like a rising tide, drowning me in an energy that didn't feel like mine. And the worst part? I could feel my body struggling to keep up.

  A shudder ran through me as a horrifying thought took root.

  'What if this happened in battle?'

  'What if, in the heat of a fight, my chakra surged beyond trol—my limbs log up, my body colpsing uhe strain?'

  A single moment of weakness.

  That's all it would take.

  An enemy wouldn't hesitate. A kunai to the throat. A bde through the heart.

  And I'll be dead.

  My fingers ched into trembling fists. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, my lungs struggling to pull in air.

  I was supposed to be getting stroraining to survive.

  But instead, my own power—something that should be my greatest on—was turning into a liability. A curse waiting to kill me the sed I let my guard down.

  I swallowed hard, f my breathing to slow.

  I needed answers. And I hem fast.

  Present Time

  Physically, I wasn't seeing massive ges, but I felt the difference. My speed had improved signifitly—I was faster during sprints, stronger when lifting rocks, and my endurance had skyrocketed.

  For chakra training:

  Meditation – Four hours daily. My focus had improved dramatically.

  Water Walking – Finally mastered. Now, I was training to run on water without breaking my stride.

  Rasengan – Steps one and two were plete, but I still couldn't form a stable Rasengan. It drained nearly 90% of my chakra to make just one. I suspected I'd need a shadow e to stabilize it , but I had a gut feeling I could do it alone before joining the Academy.

  Leaf tration – Over an hour now.

  Wind Nature Training – I had progressed from cutting tree trunks to cutting stones. Smaller rocks were no problem, but rger ones would take more time.

  Shuriken Training – I could hit stationary targets easily, but hitting targets while I am moving is still a work in progress. That would be my focus.

  I was getting stronger. By the time I ehe Academy, I would be leagues ahead of the other students.

  Six Months Later--

  The vilge was quiet at this hour. Civilians slept peacefully, unaware of the masked figures patrolling Konoha's streets. ANBU operatives moved like shadows, their presensuring the city's safety.

  Ihe orphanage, a six-year-old boy stood alone in the courtyard, sweat trig down his bare torso. He was taller than most his age—125 cm—with sharp, with abyss like eyes and a face that, despite its youth, held a maturity far beyond his years. His muscles, hohrough releraining, flexed with every precise movement.

  With a wooden sword in hand, he moved.

  Vertical ssh , Horizontal , Stab. Repeat.

  This boy was Tanaka Kazeo. A child determie his own path.

  (Kazeo's POV)

  Two years had passed.

  I was now six years and four months old.

  In just two days,I'd be entering the Academy.

  Holy? I was tired. Two years of nothing but training. I had only left the orphahree times, always with Grandma, during her grocery trips.

  Two days before entrance exam--

  The st of miso soup filled the air as I stepped into the kit, the warmth of the small space ing around me like a familiar embrace. The wooden floor creaked under my feet, a quiet sound against the rhythmic stirring of the pot.

  "You're up early again," Grandma said, her back still turo me.

  I pulled out a stool and sat dowing my arms on the worn wooden table. "I couldn't sleep," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended.

  She let out a soft sigh, shaking her head as she dled soup into a bowl. "You're training too much, Kazeo. A child ye shouldn't have dark circles under his eyes."

  I offered a small, lopsided smile. "I'm fine, Grandma. I just... have things to do."

  She turheing the bowl in front of me with a firm look. "Hmph. You say that now, but if you end up colpsing one day, don't expect me to fuss over you."

  I chuckled, pig up my chopsticks. "Noted."

  She lingered for a moment, watg me as I started eating. Then, softer this time, she murmured, "You're too serious for ye. Sometimes, I wish you'd just act like a child."

  My hands stilled briefly around my bowl. The words settled in the quiet kit, heavier than they should have been.

  A part of me wao say something, to reassure her. Instead, I just lowered my gaze.

  "...Maybe one day," I muttered before taking another bite.

  She didn't reply, but the look in her eyes said enough.

  She was worried.

  I couldn't bme her.

  But stopping wasn't an option. Not yet.

  But I had s. Because my power was increasing and that was my motivation and this was the result -

  Wind Nature Training – I could now cut through metals . Small rocks crumbled into sah my touch.

  Rasengan – Fully formed. But it still took 60% of my chakra to maintain. So, it's not useful during fight right now.

  Endurance – I could run 10 kilometers without breaking my breathing rhythm.

  Chakra Reserves – Now one and a half times that of a Root Genin.

  Shuriken Training – I could hit moving targets easily seven out of ten times even when I am moving.

  raining:

  Chakra Threading – The hardest teique yet. Maniputing chakra outside my body in thin strands required insane trol.

  I had also discovered a strange ability—something unique. I could hide certain parts of my body from perception for short periods and show less chakra than I have. But there were limitations, ones I hadn't figured out yet.

  I would. In time.

  But for now, I had one goal—ehe Academy strohan anyone else.

  ////////Two year have been passed .

  Two Days Later -

  The entrao the Academy acked. A restless sea of children, most no older tha, stood clustered together, their faces a mix of nerves aermination. Some g to their guardians—parents, caretakers, or older siblings—while others stood alone, already hardened by the cruel hand life had dealt them. A handful of shinobi were stationed nearby, their presensuring the event proceeded without i.

  More than a thousand children had gathered, all hoping to secure a p the Academy. Many were orphans, their families lost to the Third Great Ninja War or the Kyūbi's devastating atta Konoha. For them, being a shinobi wasn't just a dream—it was survival. A way to carve out a future in a world that had already taken so much.

  Amidst the crowd, a group of twenty children stood together, apanied by two adults. Among them was Tanaka Kazeo, his sharp eyes sing the se as he spoke with Kaori, the caretaker, and a few of the other children.

  ----------

  (Kazeo's POV)

  I listened as the kids around me voiced their nerves, some fidgeting, others trying to mask their uh forced fidence. I wasn't immuo the feeliher—there was a slight tension in my chest, the weight of anticipation pressing down on me.

  But more than that, I was excited.

  Today was the real beginning.

  Up until now, everything had been training, preparation. But once I stepped into that exam hall, once I passed, it would be official. I would finally be walking the path of a shinobi—one who could wield jutsu like magic.

  I had trained hard. Harder than most and I was ready.

  Then, out of nowhere—

  A voice, quiet but firm, spoke directly into my ear.

  "Take first pd meet me for your reward."

  I froze. My pulse spiked.

  I turned sharply, eyes sing the crowd, searg for the owner of the voice.

  And then—I saw him.

  For a moment, my breath caught in my throat. A cold shiver ran down my spine, my instincts fring.

  [ Author here !

  A long chapter for you guys. The lo I have written till now. It exceeded 3200 words.

  Even I am shocked but it took a lot of time to make this chapter .

  So , Do ent and give ideas for academy arc.

  'What do you think about training arc ?'

  'Who was the man who talked to him he academy entrance?'

  Share your views guys about his progress.

  Discord Link

  https://disc/FAc4yVXvvK

  ]