Chapter 10 – Ashes and Open Palms

The courtyard was silent.

Not with peace, but with weight. The kind of silence that came before a storm. Or a judgment.

Hinata stood at the center, her small feet planted on the polished stone. Her arms were raised in the Hyūga stance, trembling slightly. Across from her, Hanabi waited—smaller, sharper, and already ignited with chakra. Her eyes glowed faintly, the Byakugan awakened.

Around them, the elders observed. The trainers watched.

And above them all, seated on a high stone bench, the clan's patriarch narrowed his gaze.

Hiashi stood nearby, his face unreadable.

Michel watched through silver eyes. He had sensed the tension for days now. The testing. The comparing. The building expectation.

And now… the breaking.

"Begin."

Hanabi moved like a spark. Fast. Clean.

Hinata raised her arms to block, just as she had been taught.

But the strike slipped past. Another followed. Then a third.

She staggered back, barely catching herself.

Hanabi pressed forward, her strikes mechanical, precise—delivered without cruelty, but also without hesitation. She struck again. A chakra pulse forced Hinata's shoulder to twist sideways.

Michel winced.

"This is not training," he thought.

"This is a showcase."

And Hinata… slow, unsure, unbalanced… was the failed exhibit.

Hiashi said nothing.

But inside, his heart clenched.

She had trained. She had tried. He had seen her effort. Her kindness. Her determination.

And yet… her body would not respond as it should. Her strikes lacked force. Her blocks were a breath too late.

He looked up to the elders.

They did not speak, but he could feel their disappointment.

His father—the clan head—watched with cold eyes.

"The younger surpasses the elder," the old man finally murmured.

"There is no place for sentiment in bloodlines."

Hiashi said nothing.

But he lowered his gaze.

A final strike sent Hinata to the floor.

She did not cry.

She rose, swaying, her lip split and arms sore, and bowed in the formal Hyūga way.

Even now… she respected the form.

Hanabi bowed back, emotionless.

The trainers nodded. The elders marked their scrolls.

Michel… felt rage he had not known in decades.

"She is six," he whispered.

"She is a child."

<<<< o >>>>

That night, in the Silver World, Michel waited for her.

He did not speak at first. Neither did she.

Hinata sat beside the pond in silence, Kuro's head in her lap.

The stars shimmered above them, cast by Michel's will. The trees whispered comfort, shaped by his intent.

When Hinata finally looked up, her expression was distant. Detached.

That was what frightened him most.

So he made a decision.

<<<< o >>>>

The next time she returned to sleep, Michel greeted her not with dreams, but with a dojo.

A proper floor. Wooden swords. Dummy targets. Balanced lighting and crisp air.

"Today," he said gently, "you're going to learn a different kind of technique."

Hinata blinked.

Michel stepped to the center and bowed. "No chakra. No pressure points. No Hyūga rules. Just… motion."

A path built not on chakra or bloodline, but on form, breath, and the spirit to endure, the seed to something greater.

She stepped forward.

Michel began with stances. Steps. Breathing.

Movements built from the martial disciplines of his old world—Aikido, Krav Maga, Systema, Silat. They were foreign to this land, yet rooted in a deeper truth: balance, leverage, flow.

Hinata listened. Watched. Followed.

Not perfectly. Not yet.

But something inside her… responded.

She mimicked. She repeated. She absorbed.

And when Michel adjusted her arms, her footing, her breath, she did not resist. She adapted.

Kuro watched from the edge, tail wagging.

At first, Michel ignored her.

Then she barked. Loudly.

Hinata giggled.

Michel sighed and fetched a second practice sword—small, light.

"Fine. You too."

Kuro took it in her mouth. Sat. Wagged again.

He rolled his eyes.

And trained them both.

<<<< o >>>>

Days passed in the real world. Nights unfolded in silver. where time flowed differently

In one of those nights, Kuro learned to dodge. To circle. To strike.

And, to Michel's astonishment, she remembered.

She didn't just repeat what she saw—she executed tactics. She adapted.

"You… you clever little shadow" he whispered.

"You're learning."

<<<< o >>>>

Then came the test.

It was Neji this time. A brief encounter in the training yard. He passed near Hinata, glanced at her with disdain.

"You bow too much," he muttered.

She didn't respond.

He moved to leave, then flicked a small stone with his foot, fast and sharp, straight at her face.

Michel felt it. He braced.

But he wasn't the only one who noticed.

Kuro moved.

She leapt, twisted mid-air, and swatted the stone with her paw, exactly like Michel had taught her to redirect a thrown blade.

Neji froze.

So did Hinata.

So did Michel.

Kuro landed, stood tall, and let out a low growl.

Neji scoffed.

"Tch. Still hiding behind a mutt."

But he walked away.

<<<< o >>>>

In the Silver World, Michel sat alone that night, staring at the space where the dojo now shimmered in soft moonlight.

He thought of the strike. Of the timing.

"She remembered," he whispered. "Kuro remembered what I taught her."

And then, as the realization settled:

"If she can… then so can Hinata."

He closed his eyes.

For the first time in a long while, he felt hope.

What he was teaching wasn't just emotional comfort, it was real. It could transcend sleep. Memory. Maybe even soul.

Perhaps… This Silver World surrounded by Grey was not just a sanctuary. It was a conduit. A path between spirit and flesh.

<<<< o >>>>

The next day, in the real world, Hinata stood once again at the gates of the Hyūga compound.

This time, her robes were different.

Formal. Crisp.

She wore the insignia of a student of the Leaf.

It was time.

The academy awaited.

Michel watched as she stepped into her next path.

He felt the weight of it.

And the resolve in her steps.

"One day, little one" he thought, "you'll stand taller than all of them."

"And when you do, they won't recognize the roots you grew in the dark."