Chapter 6: The Gift and the Threat
Ragnar looked at the girl standing awkwardly in his sparse training yard. The first faint rays of dawn caught the red of her hair, making it look like a small, misplaced flame. His face remained a careful blank, but internally, his newly sharpened senses were on alert. This was his sanctuary, his place of grinding anonymity. Her presence here felt like an intrusion.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice flat. "How did you find this place?"
Kushina flinched slightly at his tone but held her ground. She brought her hands from behind her back, revealing a small, neatly wrapped pink bento box. "I… I wanted to thank you for yesterday. I made you lunch!"
Ragnar stared at the box, then at her hopeful face. His expression softened, but only by a fraction—a slight relaxation of his jaw. It wasn't kindness that motivated the change, but a tactical reassessment. He wasn't being paranoid; he lived with a constant, low-grade sense of impending crisis. He wasn't a child who could afford thoughtless friendships. He was an adult mind in a child's body, fighting for a place in a timeline where a boy named "Ragnar" had no guaranteed future. Social ties were potential liabilities, distractions from the grim arithmetic of survival.
Sticking close to a future protagonist like Minato might offer protection in stories, but Ragnar knew stories lied. Proximity to destiny meant proximity to danger. You needed plot armor of your own to survive the crossfire. His armor was his system, his Haki, and his utter, focused discipline. He would trust in that alone.
Kushina, seeing his continued silence and stillness, began to fidget, the hopeful light in her eyes starting to dim.
"Thanks," he said finally, the word clipped. He gestured with his chin toward a rickety wooden table under the eaves of his cabin. "Put it there."
"O-okay!" Relief washed over her, and she hurried to place the bento box on the worn surface. Having completed her mission, she turned back, standing with her hands clasped, waiting for… something. Acknowledgment? Conversation?
Ragnar ignored her. Dawn was still bleeding into the sky; he had over an hour before the Academy. Time was a resource not to be wasted. He resumed his training, strapping the familiar, weighty sandbags around his wrists and ankles. He faced the scarred training post again and began.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
One hundred strikes. Two hundred. Five hundred. His world narrowed to the impact of flesh and canvas on wood, the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his own ragged breathing. Sweat poured down his face and back, soaking his thin shirt. The white bandages on his hands, already stained from yesterday, bloomed with fresh, crimson patches where his knuckles split open again. He didn't stop. The pain was a distant signal, irrelevant.
As he pushed, he felt it—a subtle, deep-seated reinforcement humming through his limbs. It wasn't just stamina; it was his very physique, being tempered, becoming denser, more resilient. The Three Haki weren't just external powers; their awakening was catalyzing his body from within, unlocking potential that relentless training alone could only scratch. He thought of the legends from the other world—figures whose physical prowess was as monstrous as their Haki, who trained by shattering mountains. That was the path. Not just skill, but foundational, brute-force capability.
He lost himself in the grind for an hour, until the sun had fully crested the horizon, painting the yard in sharp, golden light.
Finally, he stopped, chest heaving, steam rising from his overheated skin in the cool air. He took a long, slow breath, centering himself. Only then did he remember his visitor.
He turned. Kushina was still there, rooted to the same spot. Her face was pale, whether from the chilling morning air or from the visceral, brutal spectacle of his training regimen, he couldn't tell. She was shivering slightly, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, her breath puffing out in little white clouds.
"You didn't leave," he stated, his tone carrying a note of genuine curiosity. "Why are you still here?"
Kushina blinked, her teeth chattering slightly. "You… you hadn't eaten the bento yet. So I waited."
"I see." He walked toward the table. "My apologies. I was focused on training." The apology was rote, devoid of any real contrition. He saw her notice the lack, a flicker of irritation in her violet eyes before she smoothed it over with a determinedly bright smile.
"It's perfectly alright, Ragnar! The food should still be warm. Please, eat!"
"Right. You should go to school." It was a dismissal.
This guy is trying to get rid of me! her inner voice fumed. Outwardly, her smile stayed plastered on. "It's no trouble! I can wait and we can walk together. It's on the way!"
"Suit yourself," Ragnar said, utterly indifferent. He lifted the lid of the bento. Steam wafted out, carrying the rich, savory scent of seasoned rice, grilled fish, and simmered vegetables. It was, without a doubt, the most proper, lovingly prepared meal he'd seen since arriving in this world.
Under Kushina's wide, astonished eyes, he picked up the entire box, tilted his head back, and poured the contents directly into his mouth. He chewed three times, a massive, bulging lump in his cheeks, then swallowed with a loud, audible gulp.
"Good," he pronounced flatly. He then turned and walked into his cabin, leaving a stunned Kushina holding the empty lid.
"...?" Her brain seemed to short-circuit. She'd heard of "wolfing it down," but this was something else entirely. And he said it was good? Did his taste buds even engage?
Fifteen minutes later, Ragnar emerged, washed, and dressed in a clean, simple black training outfit. His dark hair was damp, his sharp features cleansed of sweat and grime. He looked like a different person from the bloodied, desperate boy hammering the post—composed, almost elegant in his severity.
The walk to the Academy was conducted in near-total silence. Kushina trailed slightly beside him, stealing glances. The dichotomy between the training beast and this quiet, focused boy was jarring. The memory of him inhaling her cooking warred with his current dignified, if cold, appearance.
She was not built for silence. The quiet stretched, becoming oppressive to her lively spirit.
"Ragnar… have you always trained that hard?" she ventured.
"Hn."
"Do you… live alone?"
"Hn."
"You're really strong!"
"Hn."
"Ragnar, do you like flowers?"
"Hn."
Each monosyllabic grunt was a door politely but firmly closed. Kushina felt her social energy draining into a void. Talking to him was like shouting into a deep, dark well and waiting for an echo that never came. She was nearing a state of frustrated despair when a new, cheerful voice sliced through the awkwardness.
"Good morning, Ragnar!"
Ragnar didn't need to turn. The voice, perpetually sunny and friendly, belonged to only one person in the entire academy: Minato Namikaze. In an era and a village where outsiders were tolerated but seldom embraced, Minato's consistent attempts at connection were an anomaly Ragnar had noted with wary interest. Being "rescued" by Konoha was a matter of political utility, not kindness. In another village, a refugee with ninja potential might have "disappeared" to prevent future risks. Minato's friendliness felt naive, but it was a data point.
"Morning," Ragnar replied, granting a single word. It was more than he gave most people.
Minato's smile, if possible, grew brighter. He noticed Kushina and gave her a polite, friendly nod. "You must be the new student. I'm Namikaze Minato. Nice to meet you."
"Hello," Kushina muttered, her mood still soured by Ragnar's conversational brick wall. She offered a half-hearted wave.
Minato's expression grew slightly more serious as he turned his attention back to Ragnar. "Ragnar, listen… have you had any trouble with someone from the Uchiha clan lately?"
"No," Ragnar said, his pace not slowing.
"But I've heard Uchiha Tsuki is looking for you. All over the place. He's saying he's going to… teach you a lesson." Minato's voice held genuine concern.
"That name…" Kushina whispered, recognition dawning. It was the name the bullying girl, Hanata, had thrown out.
Ragnar came to a complete stop. He turned his head slowly to look at Minato, his dark eyes utterly calm, like still water over a deep chasm. He spoke each word with deliberate, icy clarity.
"If he wants a fight… he can have one."
(End of Chapter)
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