Chapter 43 :Two Weeks of Silence
Chapter 43 :Two Weeks of Silence
Two weeks.
That's how long it had been since Yuji's half-hearted explanation of the Clone Jutsu. Since the new recruits were shoved into apartments, handed a three-month stipend, and told to become ninja—or disappear from the system entirely.
In those two weeks, Ren had slipped into a quiet rhythm. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train again. Sleep. He rarely spoke to the other kids. Not from aloofness, but because focus had swallowed him whole.
His room had become his haven. A plain cube of wood and stone, barely large enough for a sleeping mat and storage shelf, but it was the first space that was truly his in this world. No bunk beds, no communal noise, no eyes watching him every second.
And in that solitude, he failed. Over and over again.
Every morning and night, he practiced the Clone Jutsu. Ram. Snake. Tiger. Ram. Snake. Tiger. Sometimes a flicker of smoke. Once, a distorted version of his head that blinked at him and vanished. Nothing stuck.
But something about that struggle comforted him. The failure was frustrating, yes—but it was his failure. His effort. His loss. His to own.
He learned to adjust. Instead of forcing the chakra out, he started to feel it. To listen to it. The meditation techniques he'd brought from his old life—centered breathing, seven-point alignment, inner focus—found their way into his training. They weren't native to this world, but chakra was chakra. And slowly, something clicked.
---
On the fourteenth day, the room was still. A pale sunbeam filtered through the high window and stretched across the dusty floor. Ren sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, fingers poised.
Ram. Snake. Tiger.
He didn't rush.
He closed his eyes and took a long, steady breath.
"Clone Jutsu."
A soft poof of smoke burst before him.
When he opened his eyes, a perfect copy stood across from him. Not glowing. Not flickering. No missing limbs. Just… standing.
Ren's heart thudded.
He didn't say anything. He didn't smile. Just stared.
Then slowly, he sat back down.
And in the silence of that small apartment, his thoughts rose up like waves.
I know it doesn't matter to anyone else. It's just the Clone Jutsu. Basic. E-rank. Stuff you teach to five-year-olds in the Academy.
But for me… this matters. This is proof. Proof that I'm not broken. That I'm not some ghost drifting through this world. That I can learn like the rest of them—even if I wasn't born here.
I'm not a genius. I don't have a clan name or some kekkei genkai waiting to awaken. But I made this clone. I made something from nothing.
I failed for days. Weeks. I wanted to stop. I wanted to say: "This isn't my world."
But I didn't. Because Aki and Taro are dead, and I'm still breathing. Because I said I'd grow stronger. Because if I give up now, what was the point of surviving all this time?
So no. This isn't just some illusion. It's a beginning.
---
The clone shimmered, then vanished into a puff of smoke.
Ren let his body fall flat onto the wooden floor, arms sprawled. His chakra reserves were low. His legs ached. But a faint, tired smile tugged at his lips.
He'd done it.
He hadn't told anyone yet, and maybe he wouldn't—not right away. Let them think he was still struggling like the rest. Let them keep underestimating him. There was safety in silence.
And more than that, there was power in the not yet seen.
---
The day passed slowly after that. He joined the others in the open dirt yard behind the training hall. Yuji wandered through, correcting stances and offering half-hearted encouragement. A few kids bragged about feeling "close" to pulling it off. One boy tried to fake a clone with smoke and fell flat on his face.
Ren said nothing. Just listened. Nodded. Went through the motions.
When the sun dipped and the streets cooled, he returned to his apartment and sat on the floor again.
This time, he didn't try the jutsu. He just breathed.
One step closer, he thought.
And tomorrow, he'd take another.
---
The morning light slipped through the narrow alleyways of the Genin Corps housing district, casting long, pale rays across stone and silence. Ren stirred early, not from a nightmare this time, but from a feeling. A whisper in the air. Something... off.
He sat up in his futon, alert. The room was still unfamiliar despite two weeks of living in it—the creak of the wooden walls, the way light bounced off the paper window, even the faint scent of whoever used to live there. Ren closed his eyes and let his breath slow.
Then he heard it.
Faint voices, murmuring down the corridor, carried on the breeze through a crack in the wooden shutters. It shouldn't have reached him—but Ren had been practicing, sharpening his senses through meditation. It wasn't superhuman, but he was more aware now.
"You hear the latest? They're pulling back."
"Root division, yeah. Danzo-sama gave the order himself."
A pause.
"About time. Waste of manpower, watching these street rats play ninja."
"Hah. 'Let the small fry rot.' His exact words, I heard."
Ren's eyes opened wide.
There had been surveillance? On them? All this time?
And now they were… pulling out? Why now?
The voices faded, footsteps crunching away over loose gravel. Ren stayed still, absorbing the quiet. He hadn't known, but now that he thought back—yes. There had been moments. The chill on the back of his neck. The flicker of something in the corner of his eye. The way silence sometimes felt occupied.
Now, it was just silence.
---
Somewhere in Konoha - ROOT HQ
Danzo Shimura stood with his arms behind his back, half his face bathed in shadow. Reports lay scattered across the desk beside him—names, assignments, corps numbers. The war was accelerating. His patience wasn't.
"The Uchiha fool never retaliated," he said flatly. "So much for bloodline pride. Juro—another coward hiding behind ghosts."
He turned away from the desk.
"I will not waste resources watching orphans and broken failures. The battlefield is thinning the herd for us. Let them disappear."
A subordinate knelt behind him, silent, awaiting orders.
"Pull the shadows. Focus on the front. The weak will eliminate themselves."
---
Ren stood outside his apartment a few minutes later, staring up at the soft sky. The wind whispered through the high buildings. He wasn't sure how to feel.
Relieved? Maybe.
Afraid? Definitely.
He wasn't being watched anymore. No one was coming to clean up if things went wrong. No safety net. Just him, and a few other kids, and whatever they made of themselves.
He found Kota down by the narrow stream that ran behind the buildings, flinging rocks into the water. Not training exactly, but trying to mold chakra into his fingers while doing it. His stance was awkward. Sloppy. But the determination was there.
Ren said nothing at first. Just walked up and stood beside him. Watched a rock skip twice before sinking.
"Still working on the clone jutsu?" he asked.
Kota huffed. "I think my clone would come out with two noses. Or no face. I'm not sure anymore."
Ren cracked a tired smile. "That's... still progress."
Kota looked up at him. "You got it, didn't you?"
Ren hesitated. He hadn't shown anyone. But he had.
He nodded. "Yeah. Took me forever. Still working on the other two. Want help?"
Kota didn't answer right away. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Sure. If you don't mind."
Ren sat beside him, knees drawing up to his chest. A moment of peace settled between them. No orders. No shadows. Just two kids trying to claw their way up from the dirt.
And for now, that was enough.
---
The sun had crested higher by the time they found a quiet clearing behind the Corps housing—nothing special, just packed dirt, a few scattered training posts, and the comforting absence of adult eyes.
Kota wiped his brow with his sleeve. "So… where do I start?"
Ren didn't answer right away. He knelt, drawing a line in the dirt with his finger. "You've been trying to push chakra out all at once, right?"
Kota nodded. "Yeah. Just… gather it and throw it."
Ren shook his head. "That's the problem. You're throwing mud at a wall and hoping it sticks. You need precision. Control. The Clone Jutsu isn't about power—it's about subtlety."
Kota groaned. "Can't I just punch something instead?"
"You want to be a shinobi?" Ren asked flatly.
Kota squinted at him. "Yeah."
"Then stop whining and listen."
Kota blinked. Then laughed. "Okay, okay. Sensei."
The word hit Ren unexpectedly. It wasn't teasing. Just honest. Light. Like Kota actually meant it.
Ren scratched the back of his neck, a little flustered. "Don't call me that. I'm barely ahead of you."
"Yeah," Kota muttered, kicking at a pebble. "But you did it. I didn't."
Ren sighed and sat back on his heels. "Alright. First, feel your chakra. Like you're molding clay with your hands. It's not about brute force—it's shaping, adjusting, guiding. Get it?"
Kota nodded slowly, closing his eyes. His hands moved into the seal—Ram, Snake, Tiger—but his fingers trembled. Chakra flickered around him, raw and jagged.
"Stop," Ren said. "You're pushing too hard. Breathe."
Kota exhaled shakily.
"You're not racing anyone," Ren added, softer now. "Take your time."
Minutes passed. Kota tried again. And again. A puff of smoke. A twitch. A shadow that didn't quite form. But Ren could see it. The progress.
Not in the jutsu—but in the patience.
Ren remembered struggling alone. Sitting in that room day after day, doubting himself. And now… here he was, passing on what little he'd earned. It felt strange. But right.
Then—
Footsteps.
Ren turned, muscles tensing, but relaxed when he saw the familiar forms of a few other Corps kids emerging from the alley.
One of them was Hiroki, the lanky boy with too much energy and a terrible habit of copying people's training routines. Another was Mayu, quiet, thin, her dark hair tied in a precise knot like a kunoichi from a textbook.
"We saw you two sneak out," Hiroki said, hands in his pockets. "Thought you were hiding food or something."
Kota rolled his eyes. "Just training."
"Training without telling us?" Mayu asked.
Ren stood. "I wasn't planning to start a class."
Hiroki shrugged. "Guess you started one anyway."
Ren glanced at them, then at Kota, who looked up, hopeful.
He sighed. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it properly."
They circled around him.
And for the first time since the Clone Jutsu had clicked, Ren spoke with authority.
"None of you are going to get it by flailing your hands and yelling 'Clone Jutsu.' This isn't a game. It's focus. Control. Feel the chakra before you use it. Respect it."
Hiroki grinned. "Yes, Captain."
Ren shook his head. "Just shut up and try the seal."
---
The sun climbed higher. Hours passed. Sweat beaded on foreheads. Mistakes were made. Dozens. Kota nearly fell on his face trying to stabilize his form. Hiroki summoned a half-torso that screamed and exploded. Mayu's clone looked great—until it walked into a wall and vanished.
But they kept going.
And Ren—he watched. Corrected stances. Explained breathing patterns. Encouraged. Quietly. Steadily.
He never raised his voice. Never boasted. He just kept them going.
At some point, Kota made a sound. A puff of smoke.
And standing beside him was… something.
It was blurry. Misshapen. But it had two arms. A face. It looked vaguely like Kota.
He gawked at it.
"I—"
"It's a start," Ren said, smiling despite himself.
Kota's face broke into a grin. "Did you see that?! I actually—!"
The clone popped.
He deflated. "Oh."
Ren laughed. "Get used to that part."
---
Later, after they parted ways, Ren sat alone on the training stump, drinking from a dented canteen. The sun was setting, and the sky was bleeding orange and gold across the rooftops.
He was exhausted.
But a different kind of exhausted than two weeks ago.
Not the tiredness of failure.
The tiredness of someone who had done something. Given something.
Something real.
---
That night, as he lay on his futon in the familiar silence of his room, he heard nothing strange. No flickers in the darkness. No shadows in the corners.
The Root had left.
Danzo's words still rang in his head.
Let the small fry rot.
Ren stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself:
"Let them rot, huh?"
He turned over.
"We'll see who's still here in the end."
And with that, he let sleep take him.
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