News

Time passed in a blur, and soon it was the autumn of the 59th year of Konoha.

For Hyuga Ningxue, this past year or so felt like a pre-programmed routine; every day, he simply followed the schedule and did what he was supposed to do.

Early morning, before the sky had brightened.

He would wake up right on time to engage in high-intensity physical training and chakra control exercises in the courtyard.

Every day, he would pour sweat into that quiet, secluded training ground. Every punch and every kick carried the force of a gale, fueled by his resolve for revenge.

Revenge required strength—this was something he never forgot, and it was the driving force that sustained him through this monotonous, repetitive cycle.

As training ended, the sky began to pale.

He would return to the kitchen, skillfully preparing breakfast for his mother and himself, along with a bento for his mother's lunch.

His mother's complexion remained pale, her health fluctuating from day to day. Those eyes, once so gentle, now often stared blankly out the window, as if a part of her soul had already departed with his father.

Ningxue would silently place the food before his mother. The two of them would sit in silence, broken only by the soft clinking of bowls and chopsticks.

Morning, Ninja Academy.

He still sat in that corner by the window, wearing earplugs to shut himself off from the surrounding clamor. His notebook was no longer filled with mere ninjutsu concepts, but increasingly with detailed diagrams of chakra meridians.

His theoretical grades remained in the upper-middle range—neither outstanding nor lagging—perfectly concealing his true self. His interaction with classmates was almost zero; that outburst in the classroom felt like nothing more than a minor interlude.

All that remained was a sense of estrangement and the occasional gaze cast his way, tinged with fear.

Shikamaru would still glance at him occasionally with that look of seeing through everything, but he seemed too lazy to delve any deeper.

In terms of taijutsu, he maintained the level of a normal person, whether it was running, push-ups, sit-ups, or other basics—and, of course, appropriate sparring.

Lunch break, the rooftop.

He still went there, but more often than not, he was alone. Neji would occasionally show up, and the two would sit in silence to eat, though their conversations grew even fewer.

They shared the same flames of rage and the same goal of revenge, but their paths were different; there was no need for words.

Neji had become even more diligent, his training volume far exceeding his past self, the sharpness in his eyes growing day by day.

Afternoon, after school.

He would first head home to ensure his mother was well and prepare ingredients for dinner. Sometimes, when his mother was feeling unwell, he even had to wash and hang up their clothes.

Only then would he rush to the training ground to meet Neji. Their sparring became increasingly intense. Ningxue no longer held anything back; he poured all the exhaustion, anger, and helplessness accumulated from his part-time job and daily life into every clash.

Neji, too, gave his all. In this way, the two honed each other through one ruthless move after another.

Evening, rushing home.

He would quickly prepare dinner, eat in silence with his mother, and then clear the table.

Watching his mother's increasingly haggard profile and the sorrow that never faded from her eyes, he—not being one for words—did not know how to comfort her, while his own heart felt as if it were being squeezed, unbearable and painful.

Night, Ichiraku Ramen.

He would tie on that familiar apron, drowning in the dishwater and the clamor of the customers.

Teuchi remained kind, occasionally giving him extra pay or food. Naruto was still a regular, boisterous and seemingly forever full of energy. Occasionally, he would run into other classmates or teachers; the initial awkwardness had long since been replaced by numbness. He simply kept his head down and did his work until he returned home, exhausted, late at night.

Late night.

When he returned home and saw that his mother had already fallen asleep, he would go to the bathroom to wash up before lying in bed to relax his mind.

Day after day, month after month. His coldness had long since been replaced by fatigue. The immense responsibility and pressure made this already quiet boy even more silent.

But only... only the fire of revenge remained, etched deep within his heart, impossible to dilute.

But after that day, he understood this decaying Will of Fire.

He also understood what it meant to be a "discarded tool."

That day, the air was filled with an unusual sense of oppression, along with a faint scent of blood.

On the way to school, pedestrians looked anxious, their whispers filled with unbelievable terror.

From these fragments of conversation, Ningxue extracted the key information.

But the news left him utterly aghast.

Because the Uchiha... were all dead! Only one remained.