Chapter 41 – Signs of Control

Chapter 41 – Signs of Control

The morning air was thick with dew, the grass damp beneath their feet as the small group of orphans gathered again in the clearing just outside the compound. The trees around them whispered with the faintest touch of wind, but there was little peace in the camp. Not anymore. Not after Taro and Aki.

Ren stood quietly among the others, his body still aching, but his mind sharper than it had been in days. The loss lingered, like a dull ache in the background of his thoughts—but today, he had something to focus on.

Yuji, the young Chunin assigned to their training, stepped into the circle. He looked more alert than usual, a roll of cloth tucked under one arm and a serious expression in his eyes. His dark hair was tied back, and his standard shinobi vest looked worn and weather-stained.

"Listen up," he said without ceremony. "You want to learn jutsu, right? Then you need to learn this first—hand signs."

He dropped the cloth onto a rock, unrolling it to reveal twelve carefully drawn symbols. Each one was labeled with a name: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, and so on. Twelve in total.

"These are the basic hand signs," Yuji said, tapping each one. "Most jutsu you'll learn—whether E-rank or A-rank—use one or more of these signs. They're based on the animals of the zodiac. They're not from this country's culture, but that's just what we call them now."

Ren's brow furrowed. He remembered watching Naruto in his old world. The flashy hand movements, the dramatic shouting of technique names—he knew this was part of that same system. But standing here, in this world, it all felt much heavier. Real.

Yuji continued, "Each hand sign is tied to a specific chakra nature or flow. But right now, you don't need to worry about elemental stuff. What matters is control. Coordination."

He demonstrated the Tiger sign slowly, pressing his hands together. "This one's used a lot in Fire Release and general jutsu. It's also the base for the Clone Jutsu."

"Wait," Kota said, frowning, "so… if we memorize all of them, we can do jutsu?"

Yuji smirked. "Not quite. Knowing the signs is just one part. You also need enough chakra, and you have to mold it correctly while performing the signs in sequence. If you mess up—even a little—the jutsu won't activate. Or worse, it backfires."

He held up his hand. "So today, we start with just three. Tiger, Ram, and Snake."

The kids leaned in, watching carefully as Yuji demonstrated each one, repeating the steps slowly. Ren mimicked the motion, fingers fumbling a bit as he tried to copy the Tiger seal.

His hands didn't want to move right. The shape was awkward, unnatural. But he forced himself to keep trying, adjusting, correcting. His mind drifted briefly to the night before—Raiku's words echoing in his memory.

If you want to become a ninja here, learn the three basic jutsu. Start there. Find a team. Climb the steps, even if they're broken.

Ren's fingers trembled slightly. I'll climb them, he thought. Even if I have to crawl.

"Don't rush it," Yuji said, stepping over to him. "It's not about speed yet. Watch again."

He re-formed the Ram sign slowly, thumbs aligned, index and middle fingers raised. "This one's important for Transformation and certain defensive techniques. You'll see it a lot."

Beside Ren, Kota was struggling to remember which finger went where. Another boy cursed under his breath and tried again, holding the Snake sign with shaky precision.

"I didn't think it'd be this hard," one of the younger kids muttered.

"It always is," Yuji replied. "That's why you practice. Again."

They spent the next hour forming and reforming the signs, over and over, fingers cramping, shoulders sore. Yuji walked among them, correcting posture, pointing out mistakes, offering brief praise when someone got it right.

Ren felt sweat sliding down his temple. His legs were stiff, and his hands felt like they were full of needles. But still, he kept going.

Tiger. Ram. Snake. Tiger. Ram. Snake.

Again and again.

By mid-morning, they took a break, collapsing in the shade of a tree.

Kota groaned, rubbing his fingers. "This is harder than running laps."

"It's harder than getting hit by Juro-sensei's stick," another boy muttered.

Ren didn't speak. He was still practicing, fingers twitching in the grass as he shaped the signs in his lap, repeating the motion silently.

Yuji watched him from across the clearing. "You're focused," he said, stepping over.

Ren nodded. "I have to be."

"Good," Yuji said. "But don't forget—hand signs are only part of it. You need to feel the chakra inside you. Flow it through your body, mold it at the same time you move."

"I know," Ren said quietly. "I'm working on that too."

Yuji looked at him for a moment, then nodded and moved on.

Later that day, Yuji had them all stand in a row and try the full set of three signs in order.

"Tiger… Ram… Snake," he instructed. "Now try molding your chakra. Don't force it. Just feel it, like you're guiding water through a pipe."

Ren closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He pictured the chakra as a faint warmth in his stomach, then imagined it flowing upward, into his arms, to his fingers.

Tiger. Ram. Snake.

Nothing happened.

But he felt something. A tingle. A spark.

He opened his eyes, chest rising with a quiet breath.

It's not enough yet. But I'm getting closer.

---

The sun was beginning to dip behind the tall stone walls of the compound, casting elongated shadows over the training field. Dust hung in the air where the children had been struggling for hours, their energy spent in attempt after attempt at performing the Clone Jutsu. Not a single success. Not even close.

Ren wiped sweat from his brow. His stomach ached with hunger, and his arms were heavy. Around him, the other children looked just as tired—some frustrated, others numb, one or two on the verge of tears. Even Kota, who usually cracked jokes at every opportunity, had gone silent.

Yuji stood before them, arms crossed. His face was hard to read, but Ren had started to pick up on small tells—how Yuji's gaze lingered on certain students, or how he didn't bark harshly when someone clearly put in effort. The man wasn't cruel. Just strict. Purposeful.

"That's enough for today," Yuji finally said, his voice cutting through the low murmur of tired breaths. "You've all had a taste of how far behind you are. That's fine. What matters is how you climb."

The kids straightened, some blinking in surprise. Ren stood taller too, despite the ache in his legs.

Yuji's tone shifted. It became clipped, formal—almost like he was reading from a script. "Now listen up. Starting today, you are officially part of the Genin Corps probation system. This doesn't make you genin yet. But it does mean the village expects you to live and act like shinobi-in-training."

The group shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other. Even Ren didn't quite know what that meant.

"You've each been assigned a small room in the training quarters," Yuji continued. "One room per person. You'll sleep there, manage your time, and handle your own affairs. No caretakers. No one to clean up after you."

The silence grew heavier. For some, this was probably a dream come true—no more bunking together in cold shelters. For others, it was another layer of responsibility piled onto their small shoulders.

Ren absorbed the words in silence. A room. Of my own. It felt like a strange luxury—almost undeserved.

"You'll also receive a monthly stipend," Yuji went on. "It's not much. Enough for food, laundry, and some basic supplies. You'll have to budget wisely. And at the end of each month, you are to pay rent to the owner of your room."

"What?" someone blurted out from the back. "We have to pay rent?"

Yuji didn't flinch. "This isn't a handout. This is a system. You're being treated like adults now. The village is investing resources into you—housing, food, time. In return, you're expected to start acting like shinobi. Even if you haven't earned the headband yet."

Ren clenched his fists, feeling both anxiety and something else—determination. He remembered what Raiku had said the night before. I saw you practicing. You're trying to climb the same steps I did. That's why I'm helping you.

He would climb. He had to.

Yuji continued. "Your stipend will last three months. After that, if you haven't passed the Genin exam or earned a recommendation, you're on your own."

A hush fell over the group. Ren's heart thudded. Three months. Ninety days. That was all the time they had to learn the Clone Jutsu, the Body Replacement, and Transformation—and probably other things Yuji hadn't even mentioned yet.

Yuji scanned the group, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not children here. You're recruits. Some of you will make it. Most won't. And that's not unfair—it's the truth."

Kota raised a hand hesitantly. "What happens if we don't pass in three months?"

Yuji didn't blink. "Then the stipend ends. The room becomes someone else's. And you find your own way to survive."

Several children lowered their eyes. A few muttered. Ren felt the weight of it settle into his chest—not just the threat of failure, but the way the system forced them forward. Sink or swim. Stand or fall. There was no one to carry them now.

"But—" Yuji added, almost like an afterthought, "—if you do pass, you'll join a team. Maybe even earn a mission. And then… the village becomes yours, in a way."

He turned without another word and began walking toward the main building. "Mess hall's open for an hour. You'll find your room keys at the clerk's desk after you eat. Be back on this field at sunrise. Training doesn't wait."

The children slowly started to move, some limping toward the mess, others whispering to each other. Ren stayed still for a moment longer, letting the wind cool the sweat on his face.

A single room. A stipend. Three months. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about belonging. About proving he had a place in this world.

Ren turned and followed the others. He wouldn't waste the chance.

- - -

Ren walked alone.

Most of the others had gone off in small groups after dinner, buzzing with nervous chatter as they headed toward their assigned buildings—compact apartment blocks clustered closer to the main training ground. He had overheard Kota and two others laughing about sharing a floor, already planning to sneak in some late-night card games.

But Ren's key had a different symbol. His paper slip listed "East Wing – Unit 8C," a single room located at the far end of a narrow lane, away from the rest.

The building loomed quietly ahead—a squat, two-story structure with peeling paint and ivy creeping up one side. The windows were shuttered, and only a few doors bore signs of occupancy. It didn't look abandoned, exactly, but it had that feeling. Forgotten. Silent.

Ren stood at the foot of the steps for a moment, gripping his key tightly. The others had gone to their places laughing. He was alone.

Why this room?

He climbed the stairs slowly and found his door. "8C." The number was carved into the wood unevenly, as though someone had scratched it in a hurry. He unlocked it with a soft click, then stepped inside.

The room was small. One bed with a thin mattress. A wooden desk, worn from years of use. A shuttered window. A small sink in the corner with rust around the rim. No decorations. No sign of recent use.

But it was clean. Whoever had prepared it hadn't left it in disrepair.

He let his small satchel fall by the bed and sat down carefully. The bedsprings creaked. The room smelled faintly of dust and old rain.

Why am I the only one in this building?

Ren stared at the empty walls for a long time. The obvious answer was that the other buildings had filled up. There were a lot of kids arriving lately—orphans, war-displaced, strays with just enough chakra to be recruited. Maybe it was luck of the draw.

Or maybe this room had been someone else's.

Someone who didn't make it.

He glanced at the desk, at the faint groove on its surface—a nick where a blade or kunai might've once struck. A mark of practice, or panic. A leftover from another life.

Maybe a genin had once lived here, but never returned from a mission.

Maybe the room had stayed empty for weeks until someone finally erased the name and reassigned the key.

Ren exhaled slowly, leaning forward, elbows on knees. The quiet pressed down on him like a blanket.

But even as the thought unsettled him, it also rooted him.

This room belonged to someone who tried. Maybe they failed. Maybe they died. But they walked the path I'm trying to climb.

Ren stood up and crossed the room. He opened the window. Cold night air spilled in, crisp and fresh. The sound of distant training—grunts, shouts, the clink of metal—echoed faintly from the compound.

He pulled off his sandals and sat on the floor cross-legged. He needed to center himself. Breathe. Think.

Last night's conversation with Raiku drifted back to him: "You're the same as me. I saw you practicing. That's why I wanted to help."

And today, Yuji had laid it out bluntly—three months. Learn the basics. Become a ninja. Or be left behind.

Ren closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

His chakra stirred faintly as he focused inward. He didn't know the jutsus yet, not properly. But he remembered the feel of it—when he saved the summon wolf back at the camp, when his legs burst with chakra even though they broke in the process. That same force was still inside him, waiting. It wasn't about forcing it. It was about understanding it.

Clone Jutsu… it's just the first step.

He formed the hand signs slowly, clumsily—just as Yuji had demonstrated. Ram. Snake. Tiger. His fingers shook slightly from exhaustion, but he pressed on.

"Clone Jutsu," he whispered.

Nothing.

He tried again.

And again.

Hours passed like that. The moon rose, then began its descent. Most of the compound had gone quiet. Ren was still on the floor, hands aching, chakra buzzing faintly under his skin.

He closed his eyes once more, visualizing it—not just the chakra, but the feeling of what it meant to clone oneself. To split one's presence. Not physical. Illusion.

He didn't yell the name this time.

He whispered it. Not for anyone else. Just for himself.

"Clone Jutsu."

A soft poof broke the silence.

Ren opened his eyes.

There it was.

A flickering, half-formed clone sat across from him. It was hazy, barely holding together, with dim edges and uneven features. But it had his face. His posture. His eyes.

He didn't smile. He didn't cheer.

He just watched it for a long, silent moment… and then let it fade.

No one had seen it. No one would believe it tomorrow.

And that was fine.

He stood up, stretched his aching limbs, and lay on the narrow bed. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he let his body fully relax. No danger. No screaming. No blood.

Just quiet.

Tomorrow, he'd start again.

And maybe this room wouldn't feel so empty anymore.

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