Ketsuryūgan

It's been a full year since I started at the Academy, and things have changed, I've settled into the routine, learning and training every day, pushing myself harder and harder. Iruka and he others have taken notice. They say I'm the top student, always mentioning it in passing as if it matters. Sasuke's right behind me, constantly trying to catch up. He's strong, and determined, but I'm always just ahead. It drives him, I think. But I don't care about rankings or praise. I'm not here to compete—I'm here to get stronger.

My days at the Academy are simple: training, learning, and improving my abilities. I haven't made any "friends," though there are people I talk to sometimes. Shikamaru, for one. He's lazy, always acting like everything's a drag, but he's smart. Smarter than most. He likes playing games with his mind, always a few steps ahead of everyone else.

Sasuke's another one. We don't talk often, but there's an unspoken understanding between us. He's focused, driven by something personal, just like I am. We're not friends, but we acknowledge each other. 

Naruto's loud and energetic, always pulling attention wherever he goes. He tries to talk to me sometimes, but I usually don't bother with more than a word or two. He's different from the others, but in a way that's chaotic, unfocused. Sakura, on the other hand, seems nice enough. She always smiles and tries to engage, but I don't give her much either.

Jiraiya's absence hasn't gone unnoticed. I haven't really seen him much since I started the Academy. He dropped me off here, gave me a few words about trying to fit in, and then he was gone, back to whatever it is he does outside the village. I don't know where he is now, or when I'll see him again. Not that it matters. 

Still, it's strange sometimes. In a short time span, I got used to traveling with him, learning from him. He had a strange way of mixing serious lessons with his carefree attitude, but beneath all the jokes and distractions, he understood me more than most. Still, I've been on my own since. Maybe he thinks this place will help me open up more, or maybe he trusts that the village will take care of me. Either way, he hasn't been around. And I'm fine with that.

The Third Hokage, though—that's been different. I didn't expect it, but after I'd been at the Academy for a few months, the Third started taking an interest in me. At first, it was just passing advice, words of wisdom in between my training sessions. But over time, it grew into something more. He began offering personal lessons, private sessions that weren't part of the Academy's curriculum.

When we train, he watches me carefully, like he's trying to understand the full scope of my abilities without ever asking directly about them. I haven't shown him everything yet—just enough to keep him interested. He hasn't pressured me about my eyes, but I know he's curious.

I can tell he sees something in me—something dangerous. Maybe that's why he took such an interest. He's wise enough to know the path I'm on, even if he never directly says it. I think he's trying to guide me, trying to stop me from becoming something worse. But he also knows I'm not like the other students. My drive, my purpose, it's not just about becoming a ninja or fulfilling expectations.

The Third doesn't question my distance from the others, and he never pushes me to make friends. I think he understands that, for now, my focus is elsewhere. Still, every lesson with him reminds me that strength isn't just raw power—it's the ability to control it, to wield it precisely when needed. And that's something I'm learning, slowly.

When I'm not at the Academy or training with the Third Hokage, I spend most of my time focusing on my own abilities. I learned that my eyes were called the Ketsuryūgan from Jiraiya the last time I saw him. It took me a while to fully understand it, but I've come to realize that they can do more than just control blood. It's about controlling the iron within the blood—the very element that flows through all living things.

This discovery came after months of experimentation, mostly alone. I'd thought that manipulating blood directly was the limit of my power, but the more I pushed myself, the more I felt there was something deeper to unlock. It's the iron within the blood that gives me control. Once I understood that, I realized that, in theory, I should be able to manipulate iron itself, not just the blood it's carried in.

I've been testing it, quietly, away from the prying eyes of the Academy. At first, it was small, subtle things—pulling the iron filings from soil or rust, sensing the trace amounts of iron in objects. It's not easy. The amount of iron outside of blood is often minimal, scattered, and harder to focus on. But when I manage to grasp it, it responds to me the same way blood does.

I've also started developing a technique that's more brutal to go with my eyes—something personal, something that suits the nature of my abilities. It's not something I'd ever show in the Academy, or even to the Hokage. This technique requires something most shinobi wouldn't consider: harming myself. But to me, pain is irrelevant. It's the result that matters.

It started with the realization that I can't always rely on external sources of blood or iron. In battle, I might not have the luxury of waiting for someone else to bleed. So, I decided I had to become my own weapon. If I can make myself bleed, I can use my own blood as a tool.

At first, it was small cuts—just enough to draw blood and manipulate it into sharp spikes or whips, using my Ketsuryūgan to harden the iron in my blood. I practiced in secret, out of sight from the others, where no one could see how I was pushing my body beyond its limits. The pain didn't matter. It was a means to an end. The more I practiced, the easier it became to ignore the sting of a blade on my skin.

With this technique, I'm never defenseless. Even if I'm cornered, I can make myself bleed, turn that blood into a weapon, and strike. The more blood I spill, the more dangerous I become. There's power in that. It's not clean, it's not refined like some of the techniques taught at the Academy, but it's mine. It's raw and brutal—just like the world I was forced into.

This technique reminds me of what I'm fighting for. Every drop of blood I use is a reminder of my parents, of the life I lost, and of the revenge that fuels me. I've grown accustomed to the sight of my own blood—enough that it no longer fazes me.

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In the dense forest outside the village, far from where anyone could stumble upon me, I practice the technique I've been honing in secret. The leaves rustle in the cool wind, but the forest is otherwise silent. The perfect place to train. A jagged rock stands before me—my target.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. I reach into my pouch and pull out a kunai. Without hesitation, I drag it across the palm of my hand, the sting barely registering. Blood wells up from the cut, dark red and gleaming in the fading light.

As the blood drips from my hand, I focus, channeling my Ketsuryūgan. The iron in the blood responds to my will, bending and hardening. Slowly, I mold the blood into thin, dark red chains, twisting and intertwining like serpents. It feels like an extension of myself, and as they form, I tighten my grip on their structure, making the chains stronger, more defined.

I concentrate harder, shaping the ends of the chains into sharp blades. The process is slower than I'd like, but it's getting easier. I watch as the chains snake around my body, growing longer and more flexible, ready to strike.

With a swift motion of my arm, I whip the chains forward. They slice through the air, faster than before. I've learned how to make them strike with precision. Just before they reach the rock, I form the blood at the ends into jagged, serrated blades. The moment they make contact, the chains wrap around the stone, and the blades at the ends sink into it with a satisfying crack.

I feel the strain on my body—the price of controlling my own blood this way. The sharp tug of the chains pulling against the rock vibrates through my arm. But I don't stop. I pull the chains tighter, testing their strength, watching the blades dig deeper into the stone. With another forceful yank, the rock cracks, fragments falling to the ground.

I let the chains dissolve, the blood retracting back into me as the technique fades. I glance down at my hand, blood still seeping from the cut. I close my fist, ignoring the ache. It worked. The chains were stronger this time, faster, sharper. The blades at the ends did their job.

I step back, looking at the damaged rock in front of me, cracked and scarred. My breath is steady, my mind clear.

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After my training session, I wipe the remaining blood from my hand and wrap it in a clean strip of cloth. The cut will heal quickly enough; I've grown used to these wounds. The forest feels still around me as I make my way back toward the village, the setting sun casting long shadows through the trees.

By the time I reach the village, the night has settled in. I head straight to my apartment, moving through the quiet streets unnoticed, just another kid walking among the crowd. Once inside, I strip out of my training gear, stained with dirt and blood, and step into the bathroom. The cold water from the faucet stings my palm, but I don't flinch. The blood washes away quickly, swirling down the drain as I clean myself up. I change into fresh clothes—simple but comfortable.

I don't feel much after training like this. No exhaustion, no excitement. It's just another step forward. But my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I need food. And there's only one place I want to go.

Ichiraku Ramen.

I make my way through the streets again, the warm glow of the ramen stand pulling me in. It's quiet tonight, just a few people sitting at the counter, and the familiar scent of broth and noodles fills the air as I step inside. Teuchi smiles when he sees me.

"Chihara! Back again?" he says with his usual cheer. He's always been kind, but I never talk much. I just nod as I take my seat at the counter.

"The usual?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," I reply quietly, watching him get to work.

I sit there, staring at the steam rising from the pots of boiling broth, my mind still focused on the technique. The sensation of the blood chains wrapping around the rock, the blades forming at the ends—it replays in my head. It's getting easier, but there's still more to perfect. I'll need more control, more precision. But I'm getting there.

"Here you go, Chihara," Teuchi says, placing a steaming bowl of ramen in front of me.

I mutter a quiet thanks, my eyes drifting to the ramen. The warmth from the bowl feels comforting, and for a moment, I let myself relax. I pick up the chopsticks and start eating, the taste of the broth rich and savory. It's a small comfort, but one I've come to enjoy. In moments like this, away from training, away from everything else, I can almost forget about the world outside.

Almost.