Punch, Punch, Kick

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

I kept up the rhythm, drilling the most basic Yamanaka taijutsu combinations in the backyard, sweat dripping down my forehead. The motions were simple, repetitive, but effective. For now, it was all about drilling muscle memory. 

I was only three years old, and though no one expected me to be putting anyone in a chokehold anytime soon, I knew better. Mastery wasn't just about skill—it was about discipline. And self-discipline? Well, that had to start young.

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

In my last life, I'd seen martial arts in movies—The Karate Kid, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, all that—but nothing I ever picked up in those films would pass here. One wrong move, and people would start asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. 

No, I had to forget everything I knew and build from scratch. And that meant practicing this same monotonous sequence over and over until it became second nature. I didn't have the luxury of showing off anything that could raise suspicion.

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

I knew taijutsu wasn't where my natural talents lay. Chakra control? That was as easy as breathing. But taijutsu... it was clumsy, inconvenient, and honestly, it hurt. The anime had never shown the blisters or the bloodied knuckles aspiring ninjas got from drilling against wooden posts.

They only showed Guy-sensei and Rock Lee joyfully cartwheeling around Konoha, all grins and thumbs up.

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, k— "Onii-chan! What are you doing?" 

I stumbled mid-kick, nearly losing my balance. My irritation spiked for a moment before I reined it in. Focus, Satoshi, I reminded myself. Focus and patience—"two things the Yamanaka heir must have an abundance in," my father's voice echoed in my head. 

I turned to see Taro, my two-year-old cousin, standing at the edge of the porch, clutching his favorite stuffed karasu by the wing. His bright blue eyes blinked up at me, wide and innocent, his thumb creeping toward his mouth.

Training interrupted by a toddler. Focus area number six: learn a sensing technique asap.

I took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to sigh. "Taro," I said, keeping my voice as gentle as possible, "I'm training to become a ninja. What are you doing out here?"

He shuffled his little feet, eyes downcast, his toes pointed together in that awkward, toddler way. "Nothin'," he mumbled before sticking his thumb firmly in his mouth.

I sighed internally. Taro wasn't like other toddlers. For one thing, he was… more tolerable. His wide blue eyes and platinum blonde hair looked like something out of a Scandinavian baby magazine.

He'd probably be on a diaper commercial if this was my previous life. Still, as much as I liked him, having a two-year-old following me everywhere was not helping my training.

I walked over and lightly patted his head. "Onii-chan needs to practice, Taro-kun. Why don't you sit in the shade and watch me practice like my dad told me, okay? I'll be right here."

He blinked up at me, looking uncertain, but eventually nodded and shuffled over to the porch steps, his stuffed crow dragging behind him.

Taro plopped himself down, his thumb still firmly in his mouth, and I gave him a quick nod before returning to my spot. 

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick. 

The truth was, Dad hadn't told me to practice. This wasn't some mandatory training regimen handed down from the clan head. No one expected anything from me yet. But I didn't need anyone breathing down my neck to motivate me.

I knew exactly what I needed to do. And while my parents might have been happy to let me spend my childhood playing, I wasn't going to waste time. 

I kept my rhythm steady, ignoring the growing ache in my muscles and the sting in my knuckles. It wasn't glamorous, but this was how progress was made—small, consistent steps.

Punch, punch— "Onii-chan, I'm thirsty. Can you get me some juice?"

I didn't stop. My breathing was heavier now, sweat sticking to my skin. 

"Ask my Mom," I said, trying to keep my focus on the punches.

"I want you to do it," Taro whined, thumb slipping from his mouth.

I held back a sigh, my annoyance flaring again. I was already sweaty and tired; my side was starting to hurt, and I was starting to remember why I didn't like kids.

But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to take a break. After all, twenty minutes of nonstop taijutsu at three years old was pushing it.

Even with chakra. 

I wiped the sweat from my brow and turned to him. "Fine. But after that, it's nap time. Deal?"

Taro stuck his thumb back into his mouth and nodded.

###

I led the way back to the house, Taro trailing behind me like a lost puppy. Halfway to the kitchen, I felt a small hand slip into mine.

The warmth of his tiny fingers wrapping around mine sent a strange, familiar feeling through my chest. It wasn't something I expected—not from someone who had already lived a full life. This feeling... I haven't felt it in a long time.

I glanced down at him. His little eyes were focused on the ground, one hand still clutching his stuffed crow. I felt a flicker of something, something warm and soft. Attachment? Fondness? A bit of both, and it spread through me like a warm current.

###

We reached the kitchen, and Taro let go of my hand. Opening the refrigerator and pulling out the jug of juice was the easy part. The hard part for a three-year-old was getting up on the counter so I could reach the cabinets and pull out a spare spill-proof cup his mom kept in case Taro needed to stay over.

At least they talked about this sort of thing in front of me, so I have a legit excuse ready if they catch me, I thought as I reached up and placed my hands over the lip of the counter. 

Using my chakra, I stuck my hands to the counter, and enhancing my muscles, I jumped and pulled myself up on the counter fairly easily. Taro watched me with wide eyes, amazed that his cousin could get all the way up there on his own so easily. It was simply amazing to his two-year-old mind.

I quickly and efficiently pulled out cups for Taro and myself and filled them up with juice. I jumped down off the counter with a little flourish and presented the spill proof cup to Taro like fancy waiter showing off an expensive bottle of wine.

"Your drink as requested, my good sir," I said in a faux noble accent.

Taro giggled and took the sippy cup from his cousin. "You're silly," he said.

"Well, I try," I replied with a wink.

As Taro drank his juice, I put everything back in place and drank from my regular cup. We stood in the kitchen as Taro started babbling about his love for coloring animals in the coloring book, his stuffed tanuki called Tanuki-chan, and all the different things they'd done together the day before. 

I listened with an indulgent smile while adding my own commentary here and there to make Taro laugh. Simple memories like those with Taro would stick out the most when I thought back to this point in my life years later.

I watched as Taro gulped down the last of his juice, his small hands gripping the cup with an intensity only toddlers could manage. Once he was done, I took our cups and placed them in the sink with a quiet clink.

"All right, buddy," I said, keeping my voice calm but firm. "You got your juice. Now it's time for your nap."

Taro looked up at me, eyes slightly wide, thumb creeping toward his mouth as if deciding whether to put up a fight.

It was always a toss-up—some days, he'd whine and stall; on others, like today, he'd just nod and go along with it. Lucky me. 

He slid off the chair and reached for my hand, which I took without hesitation. His tiny fingers wrapped around mine as I led him to the spare room on the first floor. We'd done this enough times that the routine was second nature. 

Taro's mom, a single parent, was off somewhere, knee-deep in her jonin duties. Ninja life wasn't a steady gig; the only income came from missions, which meant she was constantly in and out of our lives, leaving Taro in our care. My mother handled most of the parenting duties, but occasionally, it fell to me to pick up the slack. 

In Konoha, it didn't matter how old you were; it mattered what you could be trusted with. And apparently, I was trusted with a lot.

Once in the room, I tucked Taro into the small futon, smoothing the blanket over his tiny body. His eyelids were already drooping, and he hugged his worn-out stuffed crow, Tanuki-chan, close to his chest.

I leaned over and gave him a soft pat on the forehead. "Sleep well, little one."

For a second, it looked like he would ask me to stay, the words forming on his lips. But instead, he just clutched Tanuki-chan tighter, burying his face in the plush feathers. "M'kay... g'night," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

I almost corrected him—pointing out that it wasn't really nighttime yet—but what was the point? He was already halfway to sleep. I slipped out of the room quietly, closing the door behind me with a soft click.

###

A thought struck me as I made my way back through the house. I didn't remember any mention of a Taro in the story. Not in the anime, not in the history books I'd read. 

There were no great Yamanaka prodigies named Taro. No ninja of note, no tales of heroic deeds or tragic fates. Just me, my parents, and an unborn sister.

So what does that mean for him? Would Taro grow up to be a ninja like the rest of us? Or would he go down a quieter path, maybe working in administration or some other non-combat role? There were too many unknowns, too many variables I couldn't account for. 

I hated that feeling—the sense that something important could be lurking just out of sight, ready to surprise me when I least expected it. 

And in this world, surprises were deadly.

That's why I had to push myself. To train harder, learn faster. I couldn't afford to let anything catch me off guard. Not the politics of the clans, not the dangerous missions, not the inevitable conflicts. I had to be ready. For myself. For Taro. For the future I intended to shape. 

This world was a never-ending spiral of violence—an economy built on the backs of soldiers, fueled by missions that required bloodshed. It was a Darwinian society at its finest. 

The strong survived, the weak were crushed, and peace? Peace was a pipe dream, at best. The shinobi world thrived on conflict. Even when wars ended, the cycle didn't. It couldn't. 

But I'd chosen this world for a reason. Not to just live in it. Not to just survive it.

To change it.

It was an absurd goal, probably laughable by most standards. But it wasn't impossible. This wasn't about Tsukuyomi or some endless dream of false peace. 

This was about building a world where people didn't have to live under the constant threat of violence, where kids like Taro could grow up without being turned into weapons for a village that would eventually discard them. 

Lofty? Sure. But I wasn't aiming low. I wasn't here to be another cog in the machine. I was going to become a Sage, a ninja strong enough to change the system from the inside out.

It wasn't just about power—it was about control. Control over the narrative, over the way things were done. 

I stepped into the backyard and resumed the familiar taijutsu drill. Each punch, each kick, was precise, measured, but the frustration in my movements was clear. 

I was three years old, physically weak and small, with a body that couldn't yet keep up with the mind housed inside it. The blisters on my knuckles were a constant reminder of the gap between what I could imagine and what I could currently accomplish. 

The pain, the exhaustion—it was all part of the process. 

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

I wouldn't let it stop me. I couldn't. Not when there was so much at stake. I wasn't just doing this for myself. I was doing it for Taro, for my unborn sister, for all the people in this world who deserved better than what they were handed. 

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my breathing coming out in sharp bursts. The sun was still high in the sky, casting long shadows from the towering trees surrounding the village.

The wind rustled through the leaves, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel something other than determination.

Exhaustion. Frustration. A faint, creeping doubt.

Could I really do this? Could I really change the world?

Yes, I told myself firmly. Yes, I can.

It wasn't a question of whether or not it was possible. It was a matter of how long it would take and how much I was willing to sacrifice to get there. 

I reset my stance, clenching my fists, feeling the sting in my knuckles as I brought my hands back up into position. 

And then, I continued doing the only thing I could do. 

Punch, punch, kick. Punch, punch, kick.

===

[A/N] Awe, how cute. Mental & emotional development. Love to see it.