The days following the Akatsuki sighting took on a different kind of tension. It was no longer just the constant fear of the ANBU or the pressure to graduate. It was a dull, low-pitched alarm that echoed in every training session, in every moment of silence. Red clouds. An unknown boy with a sword. The world had turned without warning, and Kenji needed to hold on tight or he would be blown away.
That urgency transformed into pure fuel. His sessions with Guy were no longer just a charade to gain credibility. They became systematic exploitation. He absorbed every correction, every principle of taijutsu, like a thirsty sponge. He no longer feigned clumsiness; he let his body, molded by years of clandestine training, display "astonishing" progress, but attributable to "Guy-sensei's Youthful Miracle."
"YOUR EFFORT BLOOMS LIKE CHERRY BLOSSOMS IN SPRING, KAITO!" Guy roared, a dramatic tear sliding down his cheek as Kenji completed his five-hundredth series of side kicks with perfect form. "SWEAT DOESN'T LIE!"
At night, in the absolute isolation of his most secure hideout (a rudimentary underground chamber he had dug himself), the training changed. No more basic drills. Now it was time to claim his heritage.
With his two-tomoe Sharingan blazing in the darkness, he practiced. He didn't copy, because he had no one to copy. He remembered. He sifted through the fragments of emotional memory of the original Uchiha child, the vague descriptions in the manga, and the pure logic of chakra.
The Great Fireball Technique (Gōkakyū no Jutsu) was the first. The hand seals: Snake, Ram, Monkey, Boar, Horse, Tiger. He repeated them until his fingers executed them in microseconds. The problem wasn't the sequence, but the molding. Converting his raw chakra into the purest and most violent fire nature. The first few times, only black smoke emerged, making him cough. Then, weak, uncontrolled flames scorched the earthen walls. After weeks of burns on his hands and brutal exhaustion, he managed a sphere of fire the size of his head, unstable but lethal. It wasn't Itachi's meteor, but it was a start.
He also worked on the Rising Crane Technique (Shōryū no Jutsu), a melee technique that used chakra to propel an upward kick. It was more intuitive, combining the explosive power of his legs, now strengthened by Guy's training, with a controlled burst of chakra at the moment of impact.
His body transformed. The wiry thinness gave way to defined musculature, not bulky, but as dense as steel cable. His speed was no longer just street agility; it was shinobi speed, enhanced by chakra and technique. He could cross his underground hideout in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of swirling air in his wake.
One day, after a particularly intense training session, Guy stopped him. His face, for once, wasn't lit by a beaming smile, but by a serious, almost paternal expression.
"Kaito. Our dedicated training time is coming to a halt. The Chūnin Exams are approaching, and my precious young flower, Rock Lee, will need all the sap of my attention to shine on that battlefield."
Kenji nodded, concealing his relief (more time to train in secret) and a pang of… something? Guy had been a resource, yes. But also a constant presence, exhaustingly genuine.
"However," Guy continued, a flicker of his usual enthusiasm returning, "I CAN'T LET SUCH PROMISING YOUTH STAGNATE! I've sent a recommendation to the Academy. Your taijutsu fundamentals and stamina are more than sufficient for the Genin rank. It's time your blade was tested in the true field of missions!"
A recommendation from a Jōnin, and none other than Might Guy, was worthless. The Academy's final exam, for someone with his actual abilities, was a farce. "Sufficient" chakra control, "noticeably improved" taijutsu, and a written test he passed with flying colors. At nearly eleven years old, Kaito was no longer a student.
The team assignment ceremony was a quick, bureaucratic affair. He heard the familiar names: Team 7, 8, 9, 10… And then, something shifted.
"Iruka-sensei, and this group?" the Hokage asked, pointing to a final list.
"Ah, last minute, Hokage-sama. An adjustment due to the special recommendation of Jōnin Might Guy. Team 11."
Team 11. A number that didn't exist in his memory of the canon. Another crack in the timeline, this time caused directly by him. A chill ran down his spine. How far did the ramifications reach?
He was ordered to report to Training Room 5. When he arrived, there were already two others there.
The girl was the first to stand out. Indigo-blue hair, short and messy, but with a healthy shine. Light blue eyes, wide and curious. An easy, open smile that lit up her whole face. She wore the Konoha headband on her forehead, like a headband. Her posture was relaxed, but not careless.
"Hello! You must be the third one! I'm Hana! And you?" Her voice was cheerful, musical.
Before Kenji could answer, the boy spoke. He was shorter than him, with spiky dark brown hair and brown eyes filled with nervous energy. He bounced lightly in place, as if he had springs in his feet. "I'm Daiki! It's an honor, future teammate! I promise to do my best for the team!" He spoke quickly, almost stumbling over each other.
Kenji assessed them in a split second. Hana: Possibly genjutsu-oriented or support-oriented, too open. Daiki: Taijutsu or speed-oriented, impulsive, possible charge. He nodded, maintaining his calm demeanor. "Kaito. Nice to meet you."
The awkward silence that followed was broken by a presence that materialized in the center of the room without the slightest sound.
The Jōnin sensei was no one Kenji recognized. He was a man of average height, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with a long, serious face. His jet-black hair was tied back in a low, disheveled ponytail. He wore the standard Jōnin jacket, but open, over a simple black outfit. His eyes, a cold, stony gray, scanned the three of them without blinking. He carried no visible weapons.
"I'm Saito," he said, his voice as flat and dry as paper. "Your assigned sensei. Team 11 is a test. An experiment based on an unusual recommendation. Don't expect special treatment. Don't expect overprotection. Survive, learn, complete the missions. Or you'll be disbanded and relegated to permanent civilian duties."
Hana and Daiki stiffened, their joy and nervousness replaced by a fearful respect. Kenji, inwardly, felt an odd calm. This Saito wasn't an eccentric like Guy, aloof like Kurenai, or weary like Asuma. He was an emptiness. A cold professional. That could be dangerous… or a perfect opportunity for someone who was also, in essence, an emptiness with a secret to his name.
Saito fixed his gray eyes on Kenji for another second. "Kaito. Guy's recommendation mentions brute force and sudden improvement. We'll see if that effort translates into something useful, or if it's just smoke and mirrors."
Kenji held his gaze, not defiant, not fearful. Just neutral acceptance. "Understood, sensei."
Inside, the calculator was working at full speed. Team 11. Hana. Daiki. Saito. New variables. A scenario completely off-script. He was no longer a specter watching Naruto and Sasuke from the shadows. Now he had his own place on the board, with unfamiliar pawns and a cold-eyed king.