Naruto : The Bloodied Spider

The Academy had become a battleground of learning, and Renkai was slowly carving his place within it.

He had spent weeks reinforcing his foundation—his kunai accuracy had surpassed most students, his strategic combat had drawn attention, and his chakra control had begun to evolve.

But it wasn't enough.

He needed more.

More control. More adaptability. More weapons at his disposal.

And for that, he needed to push further.

Late at night, long after the other students had left the training grounds, Renkai remained.

His kunai hovered in front of him, suspended by a single, invisible chakra thread.

It wobbled. Unstable. Weak. Unrefined.

His grip tightened.

Chakra isn't like mana. It doesn't bend naturally—it must be guided.

He adjusted the flow, focusing on precision over force. The kunai steadied slightly, but it wasn't enough. It moved too slow, responded too late.

With a flick of his wrist, the kunai spun midair before falling—too erratic, still imperfect.

Renkai exhaled sharply.

This wasn't working.

He adjusted his stance, closed his eyes, and tried again.

This time, instead of forcing the kunai to move, he focused on the thread itself. He tried to feel the flow of chakra as if it were an extension of his own body.

He could sense it—thin, fragile, and almost weightless.

But it was there.

And if it was there, then it could be controlled.

He slowly willed the kunai forward.

It moved—not fast, not perfect, but smoother than before.

It wasn't victory, but it was progress.

And progress was enough.

For now.

The next morning, the Academy students gathered for their daily shinobi fundamentals class.

Takeda Genji stood before them, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Today, we focus on efficiency," Genji announced. "In a battle, wasted movement leads to death."

His eyes scanned the students.

"You will spar under a new condition—every movement must have purpose. Any wasted steps, any unnecessary dodges, and the match is over."

The students muttered among themselves. This was different from their usual spars—this required thought and restraint.

Renkai watched carefully as the first students sparred.

Most were sloppy. They relied on brute force, throwing wild punches, dodging too much, moving when they didn't have to.

They weren't fighting with precision. They were reacting with panic.

Then, it was Renkai's turn.

Renkai's opponent was Shinozaki Daisuke, a strong but reckless student.

The match began, and Daisuke charged immediately—predictable.

Renkai sidestepped, his movement minimal—just enough to let the attack pass harmlessly.

Daisuke snarled and threw a second punch. Renkai tilted his body, letting it miss by inches.

A feint.

Daisuke overcommitted—his balance off.

Renkai countered with a quick strike to the throat. Not hard, but firm enough to end the fight.

Takeda Genji stopped the match instantly.

"…That's how you fight smart," the instructor said, nodding.

Renkai stepped back, his expression unreadable.

But inside, he was satisfied.

After class, Sarutobi Shigeru approached him.

"You're holding back," Shigeru said, arms crossed.

Renkai glanced at him. "Am I?"

Shigeru narrowed his eyes. "I don't care about the others. I don't care about how they see you. But I know you're hiding something."

Renkai remained silent.

"I'll figure it out," Shigeru muttered before walking away.

Renkai watched him go.

A challenge had been issued.

Not one of rivalry. Not one of hostility.

But one of curiosity.

And Renkai wasn't sure if he should be concerned.

That night, Renkai stood alone in the training yard.

Two kunai hovered before him.

Two threads.

One had been difficult. Two were nearly impossible—wobbling wildly, unstable.

Controlling two at once required split focus, and the feedback was overwhelming. However, control had always been his greatest talent, so he wasn't worried.

It was only a matter of time.

He tried to move them together—one lurched forward while the other dropped.

Renkai clenched his jaw.

I need to compartmentalize. Separate the controls. Not one, but two separate extensions of myself.

In my old life, I could control an arsenal of projectiles. I need to understand and refine my chakra control more.

He exhaled and tried again.

One kunai rose.

Then the second.

They shook, but they held.

The following day, as Renkai stayed late for extra training, he sensed someone approaching.

Immediately, he let go of the threads holding the kunai.

Kurogane Rika.

She was one of the few students who had never openly challenged him or shown direct interest in his skills.

But now, she stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching him with an amused smirk.

"You always stay late," she noted. "What are you up to?"

Renkai didn't answer immediately.

"Just training," he finally said.

Rika tilted her head. "Uh-huh. And I'm a Hokage candidate."

She didn't believe him.

But she also wasn't pressing for answers.

Instead, she watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged.

"Don't burn yourself out," she said before leaving.

Renkai frowned.

She was perceptive. Too perceptive.

He would have to keep an eye on her.

By the end of the week, Renkai could hold two kunai steady.

By the end of the month, he could make them move.

Not fast. Not perfect. But they obeyed his will.

And that was enough.

For now.

He wasn't the strongest yet.

But he was becoming something far more dangerous—unpredictable.

And soon, the world would realize…

He would be confident enough to protect himself by that time.