Time slipped quietly by like sand through an hourglass. In the blink of an eye, Shira was seven years old.
A year of frenzied training had left a clear mark on him.
He had grown a little taller. Though he was still leaner than other children his age, smooth, solid muscle now showed on his bare arms and calves, as if carved from the hard, weathered rocks of the desert.
The scorching sun had tanned his skin a healthy bronze. His eyes were still clear, but they held more resolve and composure. Even standing quietly, he gave the impression of being as dependable as a rock.
The atmosphere on the Ninja Academy training ground was also completely different from a year ago.
Shira was still putting himself through physical training far beyond what an ordinary person could manage. Wearing his heavy vest sewn with metal plates, he repeated sprints, frog jumps, and pull-ups.
Sweat streamed down his temples and dripped onto the scorching sand, evaporating in an instant.
But this time, he was no longer surrounded by jeers and whispers.
After finishing their own exercises, many of his classmates found themselves looking toward the figure still pushing himself so hard.
The contempt and ridicule in their eyes had long since vanished, replaced by a complex mix of emotions-surprise and bewilderment, but above all, heartfelt admiration.
"Hey, look at him. He's still training."
"I heard he's the first one here and the last one to leave every day..."
"That weighted vest looks insanely heavy, and he can still run that fast!"
"What a monster! A monster when it comes to hard work, anyway."
The whispers had changed. When someone took something to its limit, even if it seemed inconceivable to others, it was enough to earn their awe.
During breaks, classmates began approaching him of their own accord to greet him.
"Shira, want some water?" A boy with short, light-brown hair walked over. His violet eyes were clear as glass, and he handed Shira his water bottle with some nervousness.
"Thanks, Koji." Shira stopped and took it, breathing heavily. He tipped his head back and gulped down a few mouthfuls, then gave Koji a polite smile.
"N-no problem." Koji seemed a little embarrassed. He returned a shy smile and walked away.
A little later, another girl, who had done well in Shuriken-throwing class, came over and asked curiously, "Shira, your breathing method seems pretty unusual. Don't you run out of breath if you do it for too long?"
Shira wiped away his sweat and smiled. "At first, but it's fine once you get used to it. It increases your lung capacity."
He didn't go into the secrets of the Seven Heavens Breathing Method, but he didn't keep her at a distance, either.
Once, even Temari and Kankuro watched him train from a distance. They exchanged a few quiet words, no longer wearing the expressions of rejection and warning they once had. They merely watched him for a while with complicated looks before turning and leaving.
The Kazekage's warning might still have stood, but a year of sweat had at least earned Shira their outward silence and a hint of something hard to describe in their attention.
The most obvious change was in Ameno.
She could now walk naturally to an area near where Shira trained and practice her own water-nature chakra.
Sometimes she quietly watched Shira's training, full of power and rhythm. At other times, during his brief breaks, she shared interesting things happening around her or small frustrations with her training.
"Today I tried to split a water ball into two, but they all burst and soaked the teacher." She pouted in annoyance.
"Precision takes time. You can't rush it," Shira said, offering a simple suggestion as he adjusted his breathing.
Though he knew nothing about Ninjutsu, he had a profound understanding of control and practice themselves.
Their conversations were still uneventful, but there was a natural, comfortable understanding between them. Ameno admired Shira's pure dedication and tenacity, while Shira was grateful for her kindness, free of prejudice.
A quiet, pure friendship was growing between them.
At dusk, having finished all his training, Shira returned to Chiyo's courtyard.
A year had changed the atmosphere here, too.
Chiyo was as sharp-tongued as ever, but the chores she assigned Shira seemed less random and demanding. Sometimes she even deliberately left behind scraps that were useless to her but quite valuable to Shira.
"Sort these herbs for me today. Pick out the old and yellow leaves. Get a move on, and no dawdling!"
Chiyo gave her orders, then leisurely sipped her tea nearby. Now and then she glanced at Shira's sorting, and when she saw a mistake, she couldn't help scolding him. "You silly boy! That's dried sand mallow, the part with the best medicinal properties. You're throwing it away like a rotten leaf?"
Though he was being scolded, Shira learned things of real value from it. He increasingly felt that this old woman, strange-tempered as she seemed, was not as cold at heart as she appeared.
After finishing his work, Shira prepared to collect the medicinal dregs and pick out some metal offcuts as usual.
But Chiyo suddenly called him back and tossed him a small cloth bag.
"Take it."
Shira caught it. It had a little weight to it. When he opened it, he found training Kunai and Shuriken inside! They were old, but polished until they were smooth and gleaming coldly. They were worlds apart from the crude chunks of metal he had used before!
"This..." Shira froze.
"Now you can stop waving those pieces of junk around every day. They're an eyesore," Chiyo said in her usual disdainful tone, turning her head and continuing to work on her puppet.
"They're all things my grandson... ahem, they're all old castoffs. They're just taking up space here, so hurry up and take them away!"
Shira held the heavy bag of genuine ninja tools, and warmth welled up in his heart. He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Granny!"
"What are you thanking me for? Get going, and leave me in peace!" Chiyo waved impatiently.
But as Shira turned to leave, he seemed to see the corners of Chiyo's mouth curl upward, ever so briefly and almost imperceptibly.
Walking home, he saw the setting sun stretch his shadow out long. Shira stroked the cold, smooth Kunai in the bag, feeling the kindness it held, worth far more than the weapon itself.
A year's sweat had not been shed in vain.
It had washed away prejudice, won him a small foothold, and earned him simple greetings, small but sincere acts of kindness, and even an old woman's silent approval.
The road ahead was still long and difficult, but Shira's steps grew ever more resolute.
He knew that respect was not handed out by others, but something he had to water into being with his own sweat, drop by drop.
And all of this was only the beginning. His goal lay far beyond it.