The training field was silent that morning.
The sun had not fully risen yet, and the grass still held the night's dew. Ren preferred that hour. There was less movement, fewer curious eyes, and—most importantly—fewer distractions.
It was the weekend.
For most Academy students, that meant rest. For him, it simply meant more time available to train.
He started with running.
The first lap was steady, feeling the impact of his feet against the uneven ground. On the second, he increased his pace. On the third, he pushed his breathing past what was comfortable, without crossing into exhaustion. He still remembered the first time he had overdone it with the weights and ended up in the hospital, receiving a scolding that still echoed in his memory.
That hadn't been strength.
It had been stupidity.
Now, every limit was observed carefully.
Next came the weights. Improvised sandbags strapped to his ankles and wrists. His body responded with immediate resistance, muscles protesting, but without sharp pain. He moved with careful attention to posture, focusing on stability and weight distribution.
When he removed the weights, the sensation of lightness returned almost violently.
Then came chakra control.
Ren placed a leaf on his forehead.
Then another on his shoulder.
A third on his forearm, one on his calf, and one more on his chest. Five leaves at the same time. Each required a minimal, constant flow of chakra, but the challenge wasn't power—it was uniformity.
At first, two fell almost immediately.
He took a deep breath and tried again.
This time, he held three.
He walked across the field, slow steps, feeling his chakra adjust with every movement. One leaf slipped, another nearly fell, but stayed in place. Gradually, he increased the difficulty: light jogging, then simple sword movements—basic cuts—while keeping his focus divided.
That was what made the training useful.
Not standing still.
Maintaining control while doing something else.
During target practice, he kept one leaf attached to his calf and another to his shoulder. The concentration required was absurd. A single mistake in the throw caused his chakra flow to fluctuate, and the leaf threatened to fall.
Over time, he realized something important.
His progress was slowing.
Before, every session brought clear gains. Now, the effort was increasing, but the returns were beginning to level off. The leaf exercise was still useful—but not for much longer. Soon, it would stop truly challenging his chakra control.
He already knew what the next step would be.
Tree climbing.
The exercise wasn't about climbing.
It was about distributing chakra precisely through the feet, compensating for weight, gravity, and movement. One mistake would cause his body to be repelled or slip. It was a massive jump in complexity compared to the leaves.
But not yet.
First, he wanted to extract everything he could from the current method.
Then he returned to target practice.
The targets were no longer static. The pulleys had different heights and speeds. Some appeared slowly, others were yanked sideways with sudden force. Among them, improvised figures representing civilians appeared without warning.
Painted cloths.
Old mannequins.
Small, unarmed silhouettes.
Missing wasn't just failure.
It was "hitting someone you shouldn't."
Ren took a deep breath.
Two shuriken flew, striking valid targets. A third target appeared too quickly, close to a civilian silhouette. He restrained himself.
The target passed.
That, too, was part of the training.
Choosing not to attack.
He increased the difficulty, adjusting the pulleys to jam and fire unpredictably. Simple traps activated smoke, caused targets to emerge from the ground, or sent stones rolling along the edge of the field.
Through all of it, he kept a leaf attached to his leg.
It fell only once.
Sword training.
The practice blade traced repeated arcs. Simple cuts, executed with precision. Every movement had to be clean. Speed without a foundation created openings.
Finally, the displacement jutsu.
Ren stopped at the center of the field. He formed the hand seals with care—not focusing on the sequence itself, but on the internal sensation of chakra gathering. It was too dense.
"Shunshin…"
The world distorted.
His body shot forward. Too fast. His mind lagged behind. His blurred vision couldn't keep up with the movement. He stumbled and dropped to his knees, his hands sinking into the damp earth.
His heart raced.
That was the problem.
Speed wasn't just about moving the body.
The eyes received information too quickly. The brain couldn't keep up. The body arrived before the decision.
Shisui Uchiha wasn't legendary simply because he was fast. The Sharingan helped anticipate movements and reduce delay, but the true secret was adaptation—thinking, seeing, and acting in the same instant.
Ren stood up and tried again.
No explosion.
No haste.
The displacement was shorter. Still unstable, but manageable. He didn't fall.
He sat down on the grass, breathing deeply.
The leaf training was nearing its limit.
Soon, he would begin climbing trees.
And when that happened, mistakes would no longer be merely uncomfortable.
He gathered his improvised equipment and left the field.
He still wasn't fast.
He still wasn't precise.
But now he understood control, priority, and training return much better.
And that made all the difference.