Disapointment

I couldn't believe what had happened— I'd lost control. Sasuke's Fireball Jutsu wasn't anything special. It was something I should've been able to handle easily. I should have seen it coming, should have anticipated it. But instead, I panicked.

I clenched my still-healing hand, the faint pain a reminder of how far I'd let things go. For a moment, I had been completely out of control, letting desperation get the better of me. I couldn't understand why. I'd spent years training myself to suppress emotions, to think clearly, to avoid mistakes like this.

But when that fireball came towards me, everything fell apart. I lost my composure, and worse—I gave in to fear. Fear of losing. Fear of being weak.

It was pathetic.

I should've known better than to let my guard down. The Ketsuryūgan isn't just a tool; it's a part of me. It responds to my emotions, to my state of mind. And in that moment, when I was afraid, it reacted. Those chains... they weren't supposed to do that. I didn't want to kill Sasuke. But the panic in my mind turned into something dangerous, something uncontrollable

All over a simple jutsu.

I gritted my teeth, frustration building as I remembered how easily Sasuke had forced me into that position. I was better than that. I had trained harder than anyone else. I'd fought against my own limitations, pushed myself further and further, and yet... I couldn't keep my head when it mattered most.

I couldn't rest. Not after what happened.

The moment I reached my apartment, I knew sleep wasn't an option. My body was exhausted, but my mind was still racing. Images of the fight with Sasuke flashed through my head.

I couldn't just sit here and let it fester.

Without a second thought, I left the apartment, slipping into the night unnoticed. The village was quiet, but I knew exactly where I needed to go. My training spot, the one place where I could be alone. The moon hung low in the sky as I made my way through the darkened streets, my movements silent and purposeful.

When I reached the clearing, the air was cool and still. This place had always been my refuge—a place where I could push myself without distraction, without anyone watching. Tonight, I needed it more than ever.

I immediately began practicing, ignoring the ache in my muscles, the tiredness in my limbs. The Ketsuryūgan flared to life as I focused, grabbing a kunai as I slit both of my palms drawing my blood, then shaping it, controlling it. Weapons formed in my hands—blades, chains, spikes—all forged from my blood. Each strike, each movement, was precise, deliberate.

But it wasn't enough.

I needed to be better, faster, more in control. No hesitation. No fear. I worked until my body screamed for rest, but I pushed through it. Hours passed, the night slipping away, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Not until I knew that something like today would never happen again.

The moon had long since set by the time I finally paused, breathing heavily, my body drenched in sweat. But even then, I didn't feel finished. There was always more to do, more to perfect. I couldn't afford to rest—not yet.

I had to know the limits of my power. If I couldn't control it to its fullest potential, then everything I'd been working for was meaningless.

The kunai felt cold in my hand as I gripped it tightly. My breath came slow, controlled. I held my left hand in front of me, palm up, my pinky finger trembling slightly. For a brief second, doubt flickered in my mind, but I silenced it. This was the only way to know for sure. Pain was irrelevant.

Then without hesitation, I brought the kunai down. The blade cut cleanly through the flesh and bone, severing my pinky in a single stroke. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my hand, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound. The severed finger fell to the ground, blood pouring from the open wound.

I could feel the pain radiating from my hand, the raw shock of it spreading through my body, but I stayed focused. I dropped the kunai and focused, using my Ketsuryūgan. My vision sharpened to a crimson hue as I focused on the blood pooling around the stump of my finger.

I willed the blood to move.

It responded, slowly at first, then faster as I exerted more control. The crimson threads of blood reached for the severed pinky on the ground, wrapping around it, pulling it back toward the wound. The pain surged again as the blood began to weave the flesh and bone back together, but I didn't stop.

I could feel the tissues knitting together, the bones realigning. The sensation was unbearable, like burning and freezing all at once, but I held firm. The blood obeyed, following my will, and after what felt like an eternity, my pinky was reattached.

I flexed my hand, testing the movement. The pain still lingered, a dull throb now, but it worked. The cut was clean, almost seamless, with only a faint scar marking where the finger had been severed.

The success of reattaching my pinky only fueled my resolve. It worked—but that wasn't enough. I couldn't afford for it to be imperfect or slow. In a real fight, hesitation would cost me everything. My control needed to be absolute, my reactions instant.

I held the kunai to my ring finger now, barely feeling the residual throb from my previous experiment. This time, I didn't hesitate. With a swift, fluid motion, I sliced through the flesh and bone again.

The pain surged, but I barely flinched. I couldn't let it slow me down. I dropped the severed piece to the ground, watching as blood dripped from my hand.

I used the Ketsuryūgan once more, my eyes burning as they zeroed in on the wound. The blood responded instantly, faster this time, weaving itself around the severed finger. I willed it to reconnect, to pull the flesh back together, to make the pain irrelevant.

It worked again. But it wasn't perfect.

I grit my teeth, frustrated with how long it took. A delay like that could be fatal.

"Again."

I pressed the kunai to my middle finger this time, cutting it off with another sharp slice. Blood sprayed, the pain flaring in my nerves, but I ignored it, forcing myself to move faster. The blood reconnected the severed finger again—quicker, cleaner, but still not good enough.

"Again."

The kunai severed my index finger this time. My control over the blood was improving, responding more fluidly to my commands, but it still wasn't fast enough.

"Again."

The process repeated over and over. I'd sever one finger, watch it fall to the ground, then reattach it. Each time I did it, I focused on minimizing the time between the cut and the reattachment, pushing my Ketsuryūgan to the limit, forcing the blood to obey without delay.

I couldn't stop until it was perfect.

After hours of relentless practice, I could feel my control improving. The pain no longer mattered. I had severed and reattached each finger more times than I could count. The ache was still there, but it was drowned out by my obsession with perfecting this technique. My body was tired, but my mind refused to rest.

I stood there, flexing my reattached fingers that were now littered with scars, the dull ache of each cut still present in my mind. But I knew something was still missing. Fingers were one thing—small, precise. But in battle, there would be far greater risks. A hand, an arm, a leg—what would happen then?

Could I really afford to hesitate when it mattered most?

The thought lingered in my mind, gnawing at me. My eyes flicked to my left hand. I clenched it into a fist, feeling the strength in it.

But strength wasn't enough.

I needed proof that I could handle more. Something bigger. I wouldn't be able to stall or freeze in a real fight—not again. My heart pounded in my chest as the idea solidified in my mind. This… was the only way.

Before I could think too hard about it, I focused my Ketsuryūgan again. Blood began to form, swirling into a blade in my right hand. It was larger this time—sharper, stronger. My control over the blood was smoother, but that didn't stop the flood of nerves creeping into the back of my mind.

I stared at my left hand for a few moments, my pulse pounding in my ears. Could I do this? Should I?

I gripped the blood blade tighter.

There was no room for hesitation. If I stopped now, I'd never push myself further. Without a second thought, I brought the blade down.

The impact was swift, a sickening slice as the blood blade severed through my wrist. My left hand fell to the ground, blood pooling around it as pain exploded through my arm. I bit down hard, stifling a gasp, my teeth grinding against each other.

The agony was immense, sharper than anything I'd felt before. But I refused to crumble. This pain… was temporary.

I stared at the stump of my wrist, watching as blood poured from the wound, dripping into the dirt. My mind screamed at me to fix it, to reattach it before the damage became irreversible.

I wouldn't stop.

With gritted teeth, I forced the Ketsuryūgan to respond. I could feel the blood within my severed hand still pulsing, still waiting for my command. My vision blurred for a moment, the pain and exhaustion creeping in, but I focused. I had to.

The blood around my wrist began to move, reaching out toward my fallen hand. Slowly, it started to stitch itself together, threads of red weaving through the air like a grotesque tapestry.

It wasn't enough. The pain was too great, the exhaustion pulling at my mind, but I couldn't fail here. I had to push harder, make the blood obey. I focused every ounce of my will into the reattachment, gritting my teeth through the pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the hand slowly, agonizingly, reconnected.

I stood there panting, staring at the hand that had just been severed. The blood crusted around the wound, my fingers twitching slightly as I tested their movement.

It worked. But it wasn't perfect.

My hand still felt weaker, the connection not as solid as it should be. I couldn't afford to stop. Not until I mastered this completely. Slowly, I took a deep breath.

"Again."