First Synthesis

There was a slight resistance as his fingertips passed through the panel.

He couldn't quite describe it. It was cold—not the cold of low temperature, but the cold of touching water. Once he passed through, his fingers felt nothing at all, as if that layer of light was nothing more than light. His palm was damp. He didn't know if it was from nerves or the heat. He wiped his hand on his pants and looked at the panel again.

[Pickup successful. Obtained white card "Basic Taijutsu Fragment", added to card slot.]

A white light flickered. It wasn't blinding, just a faint glow like a firefly. A white card had appeared in the first card slot. On the card face, a small figure was in motion—kicking, punching, dodging. The three movements played on a loop, starting over once finished.

Before he could look closely, the panel expanded.

Five card slots were arranged horizontally. The first one glowed with white light, while the remaining four were gray. Thin lines of light connected the slots, running from the first toward the second before cutting off halfway. Below were category tabs in white text on a black background: [Taijutsu], [Ninjutsu], [Chakra], [Kekkei Genkai], [Other]. They were all empty, gray, and locked.

Further down were two synthesis slots. One on the left, one on the right, both recessed squares. A line of small text appeared below:

[Place two cards of the same quality to have the system automatically deduce a synthesis plan.]

At the bottom was even smaller, gray text: [Recipe hint: White × 2 → Purple | White × 4 → Gold | White × 6 → Orange. Path selection affects success rate and risk.]

Ringo stared at this interface, motionless for a long while.

He closed the panel. The training ground post was still there, the grass swaying in the wind. The sounds of people on the street in the distance drifted over. He opened it again—the interface floated steadily before his eyes. Closed. Opened. Closed. Opened.

It was still there.

It wasn't a dream.

He started to do the math. White was the lowest, purple was likely around the level of a B-rank ninjutsu, and gold was close to A-rank. White to purple was a doubling, and purple to gold was another doubling. It wasn't addition. It was multiplication.

The sky didn't rain free pies. But this thing was truly in his hands.

He remembered standing in front of the village bulletin board at three years old, when he first made sense of those characters.

His legs had gone weak. It wasn't fear. It was the sudden, crushing understanding of where he was, what kind of world this was, and what would happen to the people around him.

He waited from that day on. He waited until five, but it didn't come. Six, it didn't come. Seven, eight, nine—empty-handed. He watched Naruto run past him, watched Sasuke get surrounded by crowds, watched that Hyuga brother and sister walk by in clothes embroidered with their clan crest.

Every child had a surname hanging on them, except for him. He told himself in his heart: Be an ordinary person. Hide behind Naruto, hide behind Sasuke, hide behind everyone with a famous name. That way, he wouldn't have to stand out. He wouldn't have to get beaten up.

He wouldn't have to be beaten up ever again.

The panel was still there. It was real.

He took a deep breath. One white card, the lowest quality. The system called it basic, and the name was "Basic Taijutsu Fragment"—it didn't sound like anything special. But that card—that little bit of white light in the slot. It had been nine years. For the first time in nine years, something wasn't gained through endurance, through waiting, or through anyone else's charity. It was given by the system.

It was enough.

He poked the white card in the slot.

[Usage successful. Basic Taijutsu Fragment activated. Effect: Taijutsu basic movement accuracy increased by 15%.]

No pillar of light. No special effects. A few lines of text appeared on the panel.

But Ringo felt it.

Heat.

It traveled from the soles of his feet upward—ankles, calves, knees, waist, shoulders, fingertips. It wasn't heat from the outside; it was from within.

It felt like someone was pouring warm water into the gaps in his bones. It wasn't scalding, it wasn't numb. It was warm. It felt so good he wanted to yawn. He wiggled his left toes. They were his. He wiggled his right toes. They were his, too. He had never been so certain—this body was his own.

He clenched his fist. The sensation of his five fingers closing was different. Before, when he made a fist, his ring finger and pinky would drag behind, loose and sluggish.

Now, his five fingers felt bound together, tightening in unison. He threw a punch into the air. Whoosh—it wasn't just the sound of a sleeve flapping, it was the sound of wind being broken. When the fist stopped, his shoulder locked, and his elbow joint locked.

In the past, his shoulders would hunch when he punched. Iruka had told him many times, "Relax your shoulders, use your waist." He knew what he was supposed to do. His body just wouldn't listen. His brain knew the answers, but his muscles couldn't write the test.

Things were different now.

He didn't have to think. His shoulders relaxed on their own, his waist turned on its own. He threw two more punches. He retracted the third punch and immediately transitioned into a dodge—turning his body, dropping his center of gravity, and taking a half-step back with his left leg. The entire set of movements was faster than his brain. This feeling of being inside his own body was something he had never experienced before.

He looked at his hands for a moment.

Fifteen. Just fifteen percent. But it was enough. The difference between an orphan who couldn't land a hit and one who could at least connect was those fifteen points. He thought of Da Shan's elbow from today's Taijutsu class—it had hit him in the chest, dull and heavy. If it happened again tomorrow, he might not be able to dodge it entirely. But at least he wouldn't end up on his butt on the floor.

"Tomorrow."

The voice was soft. The wind blew it away.

He had to go back. That Chunin practicing shuriken had dropped a white card. It hadn't fallen out of his pocket—the system said "drop detected." It hadn't appeared out of thin air. It was triggered because the Chunin was so immersed in his practice. If he came back to practice tomorrow, he might drop another. One was a fragment. Two could be synthesized. A purple card. Two whites for one purple.

What use was a purple card? He didn't know. But he wanted to find out.

The sun sank behind the Hokage Rock. A line of orange-red remained on the horizon, like the burned edge of blue fabric. A streetlamp by the training ground flickered on, flashing twice before stabilizing. A few small insects hovered in the halo of light.

He walked back. Two streets over, he turned into the alley of the orphanage. A tabby cat was crouched by a trash can at the corner, glancing at him before licking its paw. Its fur was gray and white, and half of its right ear was missing.

The old woman was at the door. She gripped a broom in her hand and glared at him. "So late again—everyone finished eating ages ago. Serve yourself whatever is left in the pot."

"Mm."

There was half a bowl of miso soup and a bowl of cold rice on the kitchen counter. He poured the soup over the rice and finished it standing by the stove. He couldn't taste the saltiness. The soup was a bit salty, and it left his throat feeling dry as he swallowed.

He closed the door and lay on the bed. He opened the panel.

Five card slots. The first white card had been used, leaving it gray. Four remained empty. The synthesis slots were empty, too. Waiting for the second one.

The ceiling had a crack that snaked from the corner of the wall to the base of the lamp. The light from the room next door leaked through the crack, orange-yellow. The quilt smelled of laundry detergent—he didn't know the brand. It was faint. Clean.

For nine years, he told himself that being an ordinary person was the only way to survive.

He didn't think so anymore.

The card slots were empty. The synthesis slots were empty. The system was there.

He rolled over, pulling the quilt up to his chin. He closed his eyes.

The corners of his mouth twitched.