Training wasn’t just physical anymore.

  It was muscle memory. Precision. Refinement.

  By the time week nine rolled around, Squad 9 had stopped learning new jutsu—and started owning them.

  Daen stood before them in the middle of Training Ground 14 with a stack of mission reports in one hand and a bck notebook in the other. The squad had just finished a synchronized movement drill: Reina covering mid-range with medical bursts, Daisuke pushing the front with reinforced taijutsu, and Ken using water dispcement to control the field.

  Daen nodded once, then spoke.

  “You’ve reached a point most genin don’t get to for months. Maybe longer. That’s good.”

  He flipped the notebook open. “Now stop learning new things.”

  Reina blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. No new elements. No new fshy moves. No chakra beasts, dragons, or chakra-consuming ego trips.”

  Daisuke frowned. “So… we don’t get stronger?”

  “No,” Daen said ftly. “You get dangerous.”

  He held up two fingers. “Dangerous doesn’t come from power. It comes from control. From familiarity. From a jutsu that’s so ingrained in your body, you don’t think before using it—you just do.”

  He pointed at Daisuke. “Your body flicker? Sloppy under pressure.”

  To Reina. “That healing palm technique? You stall for half a second before contact. Someone dies in that pause.”

  To Ken. “Water film trap? Perfect pcement, but you waste chakra if you don’t end the fight within ten seconds of triggering it.”

  None of them argued.

  Daen closed the notebook. “So from now on, everything you use, you master. D and C-rank jutsu only. Make them second nature. The A and B-ranks will come when you can breathe the basics.”

  That evening, Ken returned to the shinobi public library.

  It was a habit now—once a week, alone. He didn’t browse like before. He went in with purpose.

  One scroll caught his eye in the “Battlefield Utility” section.

  Kage Bunshin no Jutsu – Shadow Clone TechniqueRank: BStatus: Modified Access – Approved for high-potential genin under monitored supervision. Limited copies avaible.

  Ken raised an eyebrow.

  He unrolled it, reading the chakra control requirements, notes on memory feedback, and a caution about stamina drain. It was... detailed. Overwhelming. But real.

  He didn’t check it out officially.

  He memorized it.

  Ten minutes ter, he was back in the courtyard behind his home, breathing deeply, channeling chakra to his core.

  The first clone failed.

  So did the second.

  The third formed—and flickered.

  The fourth stood.

  Ken watched it move. It mirrored him perfectly. For a moment, it almost felt like standing outside himself.

  He dismissed it.

  Then summoned two more.

  He wasn’t smiling—but something clicked.

  Not power.

  Utility.

  The next day, Daen noticed.

  “Clone training?” he asked as Ken and his clone moved in sync across the training field, sparring with Daisuke and Reina simultaneously.

  Ken nodded. “Shadow variant. B-rank.”

  Daen didn’t reprimand him.

  Instead, he said, “You’re learning what matters.”

  Reina blinked. “Wait, you’re not mad?”

  “I said stop chasing high-rank jutsu. I didn’t say ignore ones that fit.”

  Daisuke ughed. “So basically, he gets a pass because he doesn’t look cool doing it.”

  “Exactly,” Daen said.

  He waved them over.

  “Sit.”

  They dropped into the dirt, forming a loose circle. Daen squatted in front of them.

  “Let’s talk future jutsu paths. What you’re building now is the foundation. When your body can use a technique without conscious effort, you’ll unlock more effective ones naturally. But only if your base is solid.”

  He turned to Reina.

  “You should eventually push toward battlefield healing and chakra scalpel. You’ve got the precision, and you’ll be the one keeping us alive when everything’s burning.”

  To Daisuke.

  “You’re brute force, but smarter than you look. Learn reinforcement techniques. Channel chakra into your body—skin, bones, joints. Turn yourself into the shield we need.”

  Then to Ken.

  “You need to keep going the way you are. Ground control, field manipution, silent elimination. Eventually, you’ll move into fog-based genjutsu and misdirection—stuff that doesn’t need high chakra output but makes fights impossible for the enemy.”

  Ken nodded slowly. “And fire?”

  Daen raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t suit you. But maybe ter. When you choose to use it on your terms.”

  That settled something in Ken’s chest.

  He wasn’t being told to reject it.

  He was being told to earn it.

  That evening, just before dusk, the vilge shifted.

  Word spread like fire across Konoha’s rooftops and alleyways.

  Itachi Uchiha, age 10, had registered for the Chūnin Exams.

  The youngest in the vilge’s history. Approved by both his jonin commander and the Hokage himself.

  Ken heard the news from a passing merchant while returning from the weapons shop. By the time he reached the Uchiha compound, it was all anyone talked about.

  At dinner, Airi was glowing.

  “Did you hear?” she said. “Itachi’s going to be a chūnin. At ten!”

  Daiki only gave a slight nod. “The boy’s exceptional.”

  Ken didn’t respond.

  He ate his food slowly, expression unreadable.

  He didn’t feel jealousy.

  He felt... observed.

  Because if Itachi was ascending to legend, the cn would look harder at the ones who weren’t.

  At the anomaly.

  At him.

  And across the vilge, that’s exactly what was happening.

  Elder Nakano read the chūnin registry from his desk and narrowed his eyes at the st column.

  Age: 10. Rank: Genin. Name: Uchiha Itachi. Status: Elite Candidate.

  He slid the paper aside and picked up another—Ken’s recent mission report. Tactical breakdowns, chakra usage summaries, sparring feedback.

  He tapped a finger against the parchment.

  “Two prodigies, same age,” he murmured.

  “Only one belongs.”