The First Synthesis

His fingertips met a little resistance as they passed through the panel.

He couldn't explain what it felt like. Cool. Not the kind of cool that came from a low temperature, but the kind you felt when touching water. Once his fingers passed through, he couldn't feel anything at all. It was as if the light was just light. His palm was damp. He didn't know if it was nerves or the heat. He rubbed it against his pants, then looked at the panel again.

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

A white light flashed. It wasn't dazzling, just a faint glow like a firefly. A white card had appeared in the first slot. A little figure moved across its face, kicking, punching, dodging. The three moves played in a loop, then started over.

Before he could get a closer look, the panel expanded.

Five card slots lined up horizontally. The first glowed white, while the other four were gray. Thin lines of light connected the slots, running from the first toward the second before breaking off halfway. Beneath them was a category bar, white text on black: [Taijutsu] [Ninjutsu] [Chakra] [Kekkei Genkai] [Other]. All were empty and gray, still locked.

Farther down were two synthesis slots, one on the left and one on the right. Each was a recessed square. A line of small text appeared underneath:

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

Even smaller gray text sat at the bottom: [Recipe hints: 2 white → 1 purple | 4 white → 1 gold | 6 white → 1 orange. Path selection affects success rate and risk.]

Ringo stared at the interface. For a long time, he didn't move.

He closed the panel. The training ground's wooden posts were still there, and the grass swayed in the breeze. Voices drifted over from the distant street. He opened it again—the interface floated steadily before his eyes. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Opened it.

It was still there.

It wasn't a dream.

He began calculating the odds. White was the lowest quality. Purple was probably around the level of a B-rank jutsu, and gold was close to A-rank. White to purple doubled the value, and purple to gold doubled it again. It wasn't addition. It was multiplication.

Nothing in life came for free. But this thing really was in his hands.

He remembered standing by the village noticeboard when he was three, reading those words for the first time.

His legs had gone weak. Not from fear. In an instant, he'd understood everything: where he was, what kind of world this was, and what would happen to the people around him.

From that day on, he'd waited. He waited until he was five. Nothing. Six. Nothing. Seven, eight, nine. Still empty-handed. He saw Naruto run past him, Sasuke surrounded by people, and the Hyuga clan's brother and sister walk by in clothes embroidered with their family crest.

Every other kid had a surname attached to them. He was the only one who didn't. He told himself: Be ordinary. Hide behind Naruto, behind Sasuke, behind everyone with a famous name. That way, he wouldn't have to stand out. Wouldn't have to get beaten.

Wouldn't have to get beaten 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 its name was "Basic Taijutsu Fragment." It didn't sound like anything special. But that card—that little patch of white light in the slot. For nine years, nothing had come to him unless he endured, waited, or got it from someone else. This came from the system.

That was enough.

He tapped the white card in the slot.

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

No pillar of light. No special effects. Just a few more lines of text on the panel.

But Ringo could feel it.

Heat.

It rose from the soles of his feet, through his ankles, calves, knees, waist, shoulders, and all the way to his fingertips. It wasn't heat from outside. It came from within.

It was as if warm water were being poured into the gaps between his bones. Not hot, not numb. Warm. So comfortable he wanted to yawn. He wiggled the toes on his left foot. They were his. He wiggled the toes on his right foot. They were his, too. He'd never been so sure before—this body was his.

He clenched his fist. The feeling of his five fingers curling in was different. Before, his ring and little fingers had lagged behind, loose and sloppy.

Now it was as if all five fingers were bound together, tightening at the same time. He threw a punch at the air. Whoosh—not the flap of a sleeve, but the sound of air parting. When his fist stopped, his shoulder and elbow locked into place.

Before, his shoulder would rise when he punched. Iruka had told him off for it several times. "Relax your shoulder. Use your waist." He knew what he was supposed to do. His body just wouldn't listen. His mind knew, but his muscles didn't. He'd memorized the answers but couldn't fill in the test.

Now it was different.

He didn't have to think. His shoulder relaxed on its own, and his waist turned on its own. He threw two more punches. On the third, he pulled his fist back and flowed straight into a dodge—turning sideways, lowering his center of gravity, and stepping back with his left foot. His body moved faster than his mind through the whole sequence. He'd never felt like he was truly inside his own body before.

He watched his hands for a while.

Fifteen. Just fifteen percent. But it was enough. The difference between an orphan who couldn't hit anyone and one who could at least land a hit was those fifteen percent. He remembered Da Shan's elbow in taijutsu class today, driving into his chest with a dull, heavy thud. If it happened again tomorrow, he might not be able to dodge it. But at least he wouldn't end up flat on his ass.

"Tomorrow."

His voice was soft. The wind carried it away.

He had to come back. The Chunin practicing with shuriken had dropped a white card. It hadn't fallen out of his pocket—the system had said, "Drop detected." It hadn't appeared out of nowhere. The Chunin had been so focused on training that it triggered the drop. If he came back to practice tomorrow, maybe he'd drop another. One card was a fragment. Two could be synthesized. Two white cards made one purple.

What could a purple card do? He didn't know. But now he wanted to find out.

The sun had sunk behind Kage Rock. A strip of orange-red still lined the horizon, like a blue cloth singed at the edge. One of the streetlights beside the training ground turned on, flickered twice, then steadied. A few bugs hovered in its halo.

He headed back, walked two streets, then turned into the alley by the orphanage. A calico cat crouched beside a trash can at the alley entrance. It looked at him and licked its paw. Its fur was gray and white, and the top half of its right ear was missing.

The old woman stood in the doorway, clutching a broom. She glared at him. "Out this late again—you missed most of dinner hours ago. Serve yourself what's left in the pot."

"Yeah."

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 ate it standing at the stove. He couldn't taste much. The soup was a little salty, and his throat felt dry after he swallowed.

He shut the door and lay down on the bed. Then he opened the panel.

Five card slots. The first white card had been used and was now gray. The other four were empty. The synthesis slots were empty, too, waiting for a second card.

A crack ran across the ceiling, curving from the corner of the wall to beneath the light fixture. Orange-yellow light from the next room seeped through the gap. The blanket smelled of laundry detergent—he didn't know what brand. A faint, clean scent.

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

He didn't think that anymore.

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

He rolled over, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched.