It had been one month since Ryuu invited Ren to join his secret training sessions—a decision that, in hindsight, might've been both the best and the dumbest idea he'd ever had.
Best, because now he had someone to talk to between sprints and squats. Dumbest, because Ren was surprisingly competitive for someone who still tripped over his own feet.
The once-secluded corner of the orphanage had become their unofficial dojo. Trees still towered around the clearing, the bushes still blocked out the chaos of the playground, but now, the air buzzed with grunts, footfalls, and the occasional "OW, I think I pulled my everything!"
Ryuu had come a long way.
A really, really long way.
At the start, completing five sets of his self-made training routine had been a Herculean task. He'd barely survived the squats without feeling like his soul was trying to evacuate his body. But now?
Seventeen pushups.
Fifty squats.
A 140-meter sprint.
All in one set.
And each set decreased by one pushup and three squats. Five sets total. If you did the math—and Ryuu had definitely done the math, if only to fuel his own sense of self-satisfaction—it totaled 75 pushups, 220 squats, and 700 meters of sprinting.
"I'm basically a toddler-shaped war machine at this point," Ryuu had once said, dramatically wiping sweat from his forehead like a tragic hero after battle.
Ren, for his part, wasn't slacking either. While Ryuu had left the realm of mere mortals, Ren had finally reached the point Ryuu had started at: 10 pushups, 25 squats, 70 meters of sprinting. And with the same 5-set structure, that meant Ren was now doing 40 pushups, 95 squats, and 350 meters of sprinting.
All without chakra.
Not that it stopped him from trying to awaken it.
Sometimes he'd stare at his palm like it owed him rent, willing some magical glow to appear. Other times, he'd dramatically flop into the grass and announce, "Still not chosen by the chakra gods."
Ryuu had tried not to laugh.
Tried.
And failed.
Still, for two three-year-olds, their progress was absurd.
Ren squinted, stepping closer.
"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, puzzled.
Ryuu was standing perfectly still, eyes locked on his outstretched palm like it held the secrets of the universe. His body trembled slightly—not from strain, but sheer disbelief.
Because there it was.
A single leaf.
Stuck.
To his palm.
Not falling. Not flipping. Not even twitching.
It just sat there like it belonged.
For the past month, Ryuu had fought that leaf like it was his sworn nemesis. He'd screamed at it, begged it, threatened to write a diss track about it. He'd meditated, experimented, and once even tried positive affirmations ("You are a very cooperative leaf. I respect your boundaries. Please don't fall.")
And now… success.
"I did it…" Ryuu whispered, as if saying it out loud might break the spell. "I finally beat you."
Then he shouted at the top of his lungs:
"I FINALLY DEFEAT YOU IN A 1V1 FIGHT!"
Ren jumped.
"Bro, it's a leaf," he said, half-amused, half-concerned. "You okay? Did you… hit your head on the ground again?"
Ryuu didn't answer. He was too busy doing a victory lap around the clearing, one arm raised like he'd just won an Olympic gold medal.
Ren crossed his arms.
"You do realize most kids in the Academy can do that already, right?"
"I'm not most kids," Ryuu said, grinning like a madman. "I'm the guy who fought gravity and won. This leaf? This traitorous, clingy, disrespectful leaf? It's mine now. We've made peace."
He held up the leaf again like it was a medal of honor.
Ren sighed, shaking his head. "You're so weird."
Ryuu nodded proudly. "Weird and victorious."
Then, without warning, the leaf fell off his hand.
Ryuu stared at it.
Ryuu stared at the leaf, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Ren stared at Ryuu.
"…I take it back," Ryuu muttered. "This was clearly a fluke. The leaf is plotting something."
Ren burst out laughing, finally letting himself fall onto the grass. "You're such a drama queen."
"And you're just jealous because I'm now a certified leaf-master."
Ren rolled his eyes but couldn't stop smiling. "Alright, leaf-master. Let's see how long you can keep it stuck tomorrow. Bet it won't last five seconds."
"You're on," Ryuu grinned. "Loser owes the winner their dessert."
"Deal."
After finishing some final stretches, the troublesome duo decided to head to where the other kids were playing. As they approached the group, Ryuu caught the glint in Ren's eyes when he looked at the other children running around, pretending to be ninjas.
Some of the kids called over to them, inviting Ryuu and Ren to join. But to Ryuu's surprise, Ren declined. Ryuu raised an eyebrow. "You sure?" he asked. "There's still like 30 minutes left to play."
Ren nodded, eyes still focused on the kids. "Yeah, I'm good."
Ryuu frowned, thinking for a moment. It felt weird. Ren, the one who usually jumped at any chance to play, wasn't in the mood today. He realized then that something had changed.
Ren wasn't just a kid who wanted to pretend to be a shinobi anymore. He was starting to see the difference between playing ninja and being one. Most kids saw it as a game. For some, it was about imagining they were the main characters of some grand adventure, thinking that a power-up would magically appear when they faced a tough opponent. But as soon as the harsh realities of training and effort hit, those fantasies faded. The world didn't just revolve around you, and the universe wasn't going to shift to accommodate your ambitions.
You had to work for it.
Ryuu was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize thirty minutes had passed until the bell rang, signaling dinner time.
Everyone quickly got up to wash their hands and faces before heading to the cafeteria.
As they entered, Ryuu's nose twitched, and his eyes widened in horror.
Ren saw it immediately and grinned knowingly. "Oh no. Don't even try it."
Before Ryuu could make his escape, Ren grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to his seat, all the while hearing Ryuu's pitiful pleas: "I don't want to eat it! This thing is from the depths of the underworld! We should declare war on it!"
Ren ignored Ryuu's cries for help, making sure he sat at his designated seat where Sachiko was waiting for him. She raised an eyebrow, already knowing what was going on. She had given strict instructions to Ren to make sure Ryuu didn't pull any stunt to avoid his meal.
As soon as Ryuu was seated, Sachiko wasted no time. She picked up a spoon and began force-feeding him, her expression determined. Ryuu tried to squirm away, but it was no use.
"I swear," Ryuu muttered between bites, "you guys have a conspiracy against me. This isn't food; it's some kind of endurance test."
Ren snickered from the side. "You're the one who made the bet with Sachiko in the first place. If you hadn't been so adamant about avoiding dinner, we wouldn't be here."
"Yeah, well," Ryuu grumbled, "I thought I could get away with it. I didn't count on being outplayed."
Eventually, Ryuu was forced to finish his meal, though not without more exaggerated complaints about its flavor.
Finally, after dinner, the two of them made their way to the dormitory. The orphanage was unusually quiet at night. After the excitement of the day, everyone was settling down, and the soft murmur of kids preparing for bed filled the air.
Ryuu and Ren trudged to their shared bed and flopped down, exhausted but satisfied.
Ren let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "Tomorrow, we're doing more training, right?"
Ryuu grinned. "Of course. Can't stop now, not with my newfound leaf-master status."
Ren rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"Only because I'm awesome." Ryuu yawned. "But yeah, we train again tomorrow."
There was a brief silence before Ren spoke up. "You know, this whole training thing—it's hard, but I'm starting to get it. It's not about being the best right away. It's about... keeping at it."
Ryuu chuckled softly. "Yeah, you're starting to sound like a ninja now."
Ren smirked. "Maybe I'll become a leaf-master too. Watch out."
The two of them shared a laugh, the kind that only came after a day full of sweat, effort, and some ridiculous victories.
As the lights dimmed and the world around them quieted down, the two little ninjas drifted off to sleep, already looking forward to the challenges tomorrow would bring.
Tomorrow, they'd be stronger. But tonight, they were just two kids—exhausted, content, and ready for the next step of their journey.
A year passed.
Somehow, against all odds, Ryuu survived broccoli, survived training, and—miraculously—survived living with Ren's "motivational speeches."
The once-grassy clearing behind the orphanage was now more dirt than grass, worn down by countless sprints, tumbles, and dramatic declarations of ninja greatness.
Ryuu had grown—not just in height (a little), but in strength, speed, and his ability to glare at vegetables with deeper meaning.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the orphanage grounds. The children were buzzing with excitement as they gathered at the makeshift starting line carved out near the edge of the playground.
Sachiko-san stood a few paces ahead, hands on her hips, holding a red ribbon in one hand and a whistle in the other. "Alright, everyone line up! No pushing, no tripping, and no biting—Kenta," she said, glaring at a sharp-toothed boy who grinned a little too innocently.
Ryuu stood among the crowd of kids, rolling his shoulders. Beside him, Ren was tying back his now shoulder-length hair with a piece of red string he'd proudly salvaged from an old curtain.
"I feel like this is going to end in someone crying," Ryuu muttered.
Ren smirked. "It's not going to be me."
To their left stood a tall boy, probably the oldest among them, legs twitching in anticipation. On their right, a black-haired boy was stretching so aggressively it looked like he was about to enter a martial arts tournament.
"Why are we even racing?" Ryuu asked, faking a yawn. "The prize is just Sachiko-san's leftover pudding, and we both know she guards it like it's national treasure."
Ren shrugged. "Glory, bragging rights… and pudding."
Sachiko-san raised the whistle to her lips.
Ryuu sighed. "Guess we'll have to show them how it's done—just a little."
FWEEEEE!
The whistle blew, and thirty kids surged forward in a chaotic stampede. Dirt flew, someone tripped immediately, and the tall boy let out a war cry like this was the finals of the Chunin Exams.
But Ryuu and Ren?
They moved like they were gliding.
Within five seconds, they broke from the pack. At first, the others didn't notice—they were too caught up in elbowing and trying not to fall over themselves. But then someone shouted.
"Wait—look at them!"
The tall boy gasped, eyes wide. "They're already halfway down the field?!"
The black-haired boy stumbled mid-stride. "What the—how are they that fast?!"
Ren glanced sideways at Ryuu. "We're still holding back, right?"
Ryuu smirked. "Of course. Gotta stay humble."
Their feet pounded against the dirt, but with none of the effort the others were putting in. Ryuu's breathing was steady, movements fluid. He could feel the wind against his face, and honestly? It felt awesome. He remembered the first time he tried running 100 meters without collapsing. Now, here he was, coasting effortlessly.
Behind them, the sound of chaos echoed—panting breaths, shouting, and the occasional "I stepped on a worm!"
As they neared the red ribbon Sachiko held at the finish line, Ryuu let Ren edge slightly ahead, just for the drama.
They crossed at the same time.
Dead silent.
Then—
"THOSE TWO CHEATED!"
"No way! They used ninja stuff!"
"I swear I saw Ren teleport!"
Sachiko blinked, then chuckled. "They didn't cheat. You all are just really slow."
Ryuu bent over slightly, hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath. "I'm… dying… of boredom."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Should we do another lap while they finish?"
Sachiko shot them both a look. "Don't you dare."
Behind them, the tall boy finally crossed the finish line, collapsing in a dramatic heap. "I… was… third…"
One by one, the rest trickled in—some limping, some crying, one proudly holding a worm like it was a trophy.
As the kids gathered, whispering and pointing at the now-infamous Ryuu and Ren duo, the two exchanged a quick grin.
"Think we overdid it?" Ren asked.
Ryuu shrugged. "We held back."
"Barely."
"Next time," Ryuu said with mock seriousness, "we jog backwards."
Sachiko raised her whistle again. "Alright! Everybody get water and cool down, dinner's in twenty minutes! And Ryuu, Ren—you're not getting extra dessert just because you floated to the finish line!"
Ren turned to Ryuu, grinning. "You think we scared them?"
Ryuu smirked. "Nah. We inspired them."
"Right. Totally inspired."
As the kids dispersed, still in awe, Ryuu and Ren walked back toward the building, surrounded by murmurs, wide eyes, and just a little jealousy.
They didn't care.
They were too busy laughing.