The year was Konoha 59, and the autumn air was crisp.
On the outskirts of the Death Forest.
A gray-haired boy stood before a wooden training post in an open clearing.
The boy had delicate features and wore a brown short-sleeved shirt and shorts. White bandages were wrapped around his forehead, while his pale white pupils were particularly striking.
He stared straight ahead, fully focused as he assumed the opening stance of the Eight Trigrams Palm.
"Gentle Fist Art: Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms."
The moment he spoke—
The gray-haired boy shot forward, moving so fast that afterimages trailed behind him.
"Two Palms!"
"Four Palms!"
"..."
"Sixty-Four Palms!"
His footwork was light and graceful, and his palms flowed as smoothly as drifting clouds and running water. It was a feast for the eyes.
Thud, thud, thud...
For a time, palm shadows flew like butterflies dancing among flowers. Every strike landed solidly on the wooden post, producing sounds like pearls falling onto a jade plate, their wondrous rhythm utterly captivating.
As his words ended—
The gray-haired boy was slightly out of breath, but a delighted smile appeared on his face.
Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms—flawless!
The boy was named Hyuga Hayato, a member of the Hyuga Branch Family. Hayato was only twelve this year, yet he had already mastered a secret technique that only the Hyuga Main Branch could use. Who would believe it if he told them?
However, Hayato had not become arrogant.
He had originally been an ordinary civil servant back in China on Blue Star. With no connections or money and no prospects to speak of, he had lived like a salted fish, believing that such a life would continue until the day he retired.
Forrest Gump had said, "Life was like a box of chocolates. You never knew what