Chapter 12 – Of Shadows and Sparks

Time, once slow and intimate, began to accelerate.

The early years of Hinata's life had crawled with measured breath and whispered pain. Now, in the structure of the academy, time ran forward—schedules, drills, lectures, sparring. Her days were no longer her own.

And Michel watched as she shrank further into herself.

<<<< o >>>>

In the classroom, Hinata sat quietly near the back.

A navy-blue bandana covered her forehead, embroidered with the Hyūga symbol in gold thread.

But it wasn't for pride.

It was to hide the mark.

The seal that branded her as branch family, even as she still carried the name of the main line.

None of her classmates knew, but she felt it in every glance, every word she didn't say.

<<<< o >>>>

The lessons in chakra control began.

One by one, students lit leaves, focused energy to their palms, practiced breath control.

Hinata tried.

She could form chakra—but it came slowly, scattered, and thin.

Michel noticed it immediately.

"They're teaching her as if she were balanced," he thought.

"But her soul still outpaces her body. She needs another method."

And yet the Hyūga technique prevailed—based on refinement, symmetry, internal pressure.

Completely wrong for someone like Hinata.

<<<< o >>>>

Her classmates advanced.

She remained behind.

Not in grades. Not in spirit.

But in output. In results.

Michel felt it weigh on her shoulders like wet cloth.

<<<< o >>>>

Then came the bruises.

During sparring, some classmates began to test her—pushing harder, laughing a little louder when she stumbled.

She never struck back with intent. Never complained.

She would bow, breathe, and try again.

<<<< o >>>>

In one lesson, she was paired with a boy from another clan… older, cocky, fast.

His strikes were light but mocking.

"You can't even use your bloodline, Hyūga?"

She blocked twice. Then stumbled.

He smirked.

"Thought you people were supposed to be elite."

Michel's fingers tensed in the spiritual plane. 

But Hinata stood.

And for the first time, she didn't bow.

She stood… not against him, but for herself.

<<<< o >>>>

That night, in the Silver World, she trained.

Michel greeted her not with comfort, but with tools.

Wooden poles. Weighted staves. A target dummy.

"A new form," he said. "You can't always stop their hands… but you can stop them from touching you."

She stepped forward.

He handed her a quarterstaff.

"I saw how you observed one in the real world, maybe if you learn to use it here some of what you learn will carry over to the other side... it's just a matter of time and not stopping trying."

A weapon of distance, rhythm, control.

No chakra. No symbols.

Just physics.

Hinata learned to pivot, to sweep, to turn bodies with motion—not force.

She adapted quickly.

And Kuro, ever her shadow, watched from the edge—ears perked.

<<<< o >>>>

Meanwhile, Michel studied.

He focused on clans with strong Yin chakra—those who worked inward, with mind and soul rather than muscle. The Yamanaka, in particular.

Their internal projection training—sending consciousness outward—was elegant.

Flexible.

Michel altered it. Adapted it.

He couldn't teach techniques directly—Hinata didn't remember their training when awake.

But he could borrow structure.

And more importantly—he could observe how others taught it to children.

So he watched Ino. Watched the academy instructors.

And then recreated a simple version.

In the Silver World, he couldn't give her memory, he couldn't plant knowledge, he could help her repeat it until her soul carried it like breath… instinct without thought. Everything she learned would trickle down to the other side, drop by drop.

<<<< o >>>>

Unlike the rigid Hyūga method, this system let her circle her chakra, visualize it, direct it through guided will.

She could train it in dreams—lightly at first. But over time, with more control than she ever had while awake.

Michel smiled in the Silver World.

"Let the body lag.

The soul will teach it to catch up."

<<<< o >>>>

Days passed.

Then weeks.

The silver dojo now had scrolls. Dummies. Chalk diagrams on walls.

Michel had begun to build a library.

Not of books.

But of techniques.

Anything he thinks might help her grow

He memorized jutsu forms from instructors and students alike.

Basic taijutsu. Movement exercises. Chakra projection patterns.

He could not use chakra himself.

But he could recreate its principles in dreamspace.

And Hinata, in this world, could follow them.

<<<< o >>>>

During the day, she remained quiet.

Still the same girl behind the headband.

But her stance improved.

Her eyes sharpened.

She began to block faster.

Move cleaner.

Not because the Hyūga style worked.

But because something else was blooming beneath it—something not of the Hyūga, but hers.

<<<< o >>>>

Michel also turned his attention to Kuro.

The dog's spirit, ever vibrant, had begun to drift more actively in the Silver World.

She followed Hinata into drills. Mimicked her forms.

Michel was amused.

Until she replicated a motion he had only shown once—slipping behind a training dummy's shadow.

He blinked.

"You're… learning from the Nara sequences?"

He hadn't even taught them to her directly yet.

He was still translating the chakra manipulations into instinctual patterns.

But Kuro had felt them. And remembered.

<<<< o >>>>

In the waking world, Michel never left Hinata's side.

He could not teach her while she was awake.

Could not speak. Could not shape her thoughts.

But he could nudge.

And during sparring, he tried something new.

He activated a silver thread—not into her chakra system, but into her muscles, her spine, her breath.

For five seconds, she moved like a different person.

Her staff intercepted the strike before her opponent finished his step.

She turned. She flowed. Shifted. Not with power, but with precision.

Her quarterstaff became breath made form.

And the boy—mocking moments before—stepped back without knowing why.

Then… the power faded.

And she stumbled to her knees, gasping.

Michel withdrew instantly.

"Too much. Too soon."

He waited.

She stood up again, with difficulty.

The instructor blinked.

The boy scratched his head.

No one said anything.

<<<< o >>>>

Later that night, Michel sat in the dojo, alone.

The silver thread still flickered in the air, coiled like smoke.

"I can push her," he thought.

"But she must learn to carry it."

He began to refine the boost… less strain, more grace.

It would take time.

But it was something.

<<<< o >>>>

Hinata, as always, didn't question the change.

She adapted.

She always did.

<<<< o >>>>

At the end of that semester, she stood in the lineup of graduates.

Her chakra reserves were still smaller.

Her Byakugan still inactive.

Her eyes still shy.

But she held her staff with practiced confidence.

And when her name was called, she bowed—not with fear, but with quiet determination.

Michel watched from the threshold of the spiritual plane.

"You are not behind," he thought.

"You are just… different. And sometimes, different is the first sign of someone ahead of the curve."

And in that difference,

There was potential.