(One month later)
Pant... Pant...
A boy lay gasping on the ground, the dirt biting into his knees as sweat dripped from his brow, his head hanging low.
In front of him, another boy stood beaming with enthusiasm.
"C'mon, Amon! Let the fire of youth burn through your soul! It's way too early to collapse like your life is over! Let your youthfulness surge through your veins and embrace the wonders of childhood!"
With that declaration, the boy dropped into a handstand and charged forward on his hands.
"LET'S GOOOOOO!!! YOUTHHHHHH!!!"
Amon lifted his head, watching the boy vanish into the distance like a blazing comet of pure energy.
He sighed.
"How does he have so much energy? I watched the show, but there's no way he's not tired after running around the village 10 times....."
Tilting his head back, he stared at the sky—clouds drifting lazily across the clear blue canvas above.
. . .
Flashback
"95!
96!
97!
98!
99!
100!"
Grunts echoed across the field as a boy powered through a set of push-ups. After reaching his final count, he collapsed onto the ground, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath.
. . .
A week had passed since he met Audrey. Ever since that day, he had devoted himself to at least getting his body into proper condition.
He woke up around 5:00 a.m. each morning for a jog around the village—a routine he'd come to quite enjoy. The morning air that was free of the smog of the city and instead brushed with a refreshing breeze of the country side.
The village's unique architecture stood out in the quiet dawn as he passed by. Occasionally, Shinobi darted across the rooftops, and Genin squads strolled through the streets. He even began recognizing familiar villagers interacting along the sidewalks.
After his run and before the Academy started, he usually stopped by the hospital to check in on Audrey. She was always happy to see him, though their interactions were brief before they went their separate ways.
. . .
The Academy started around 7:00 a.m. and ended at 5:00 p.m.
During that time, he found opportunities to interact with his classmates—something he found unexpectedly interesting. Asuma and Genma, in particular, were surprisingly mature for their age. Well, mature in the sense that they acted like they were around 12 or 13, despite only being 8 years old. In contrast, Izumo and Kotetsu behaved exactly their age—loud, reckless, and often getting yelled at by Anko.
The girls in the class each had their own distinct personalities. Anko was hyperactive—always loud, enthusiastic, and impossible to ignore. Yugao was the introvert of the class... well, Yugao and Gekko. Though in Gekko's case, he just seemed to be asleep most of the time for reasons unknown.
Rin and Obito were exactly as he'd expected from the anime. Obito, on the rare days he actually showed up to class, acted very differently when alone with Lumian compared to when Rin was around. It was genuinely hilarious to watch the loud and proud boy turn into a shy, stuttering elementary schooler anytime he tried talking to her.
He'd interacted with other background students—fodder, as he called them in his mind—but he found it hard to connect. After all, in his past life, he'd been an adult. His mindset and conversational habits were far more developed than theirs, making most exchanges feel shallow or forced.
. . .
Afterward, he would spend time until 7:00 p.m. taking extra lessons with Toka.
They were... boring, to say the least.
Ever since he almost caused a nuclear explosion on the training field, their sessions had been downgraded to safer topics—village history, basic subjects like math and language, and simple training methods like Academy-level taijutsu and shuriken throwing.
Toka had been enthusiastic upon discovering that Lumian was quite intelligent—or at least, that's what he'd said after Lumian answered all his math questions correctly.
That enthusiasm, however, vanished the moment Lumian threw a shuriken... which promptly sailed over the target and disappeared into the trees. The same went for taijutsu. While Lumian's instincts were sharp, his body simply couldn't keep up. That was why he'd committed to training his physical condition—even if he planned to eventually gain a stronger body from the Marauder potion, which he'd decided to take after the Seer one.
Sure, the Apprentice-level potion from the Door pathway basically gave him Obito-level hacks with Mangekyō Sharingan-tier abilities...
But even so, he wanted a solid foundation. A body that could actually throw hands with his opp.
Like they say in the gym:
"Get that physique boy."
Afterwards he would keep in mind to eat at least 3 meals a day. A banana for break fast before he went on a run, A hearty bento lunch that he would buy from the store after spending the hokage's allowance and a meal at Ichiraku Ramen after he was done training with Toka.
. . .
Lumian sighed and got to his feet.
He stretched his body, then formed a hand seal.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
With a puff of smoke, a clone appeared beside him—pale and sluggish, like it had just finished running a 10-kilometer race. Lumian quickly dispelled it with a hand seal, watching it vanish in another puff.
Progress with the Shadow Clone Jutsu was evident, to say the least. Compared to the limp, corpse-like versions he'd summoned before, this one had at least managed to sit upright. That alone was a small victory.
He formed the seal again.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Another puff. Another slightly more stable clone.
This pattern of forming, summoning, evaluating, and dispelling continued over and over again, with short breaks in between. It was repetitive, exhausting, and slightly mind-numbing—but necessary. He wasn't Naruto. He didn't have a bottomless chakra pool sealed in his gut or the genetic freakshow that was the Uzumaki bloodline. What he did have were high-tier chakra reserves—Jonin-level. Though nothing near the monster capacity Naruto boasted.
If he had to quantify it, he'd say he had about the same amount of chakra as... one and a half Kakashis?
After hours of nonstop effort, Lumian finally collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, his chakra completely drained.
The sky above had long since darkened, scattered stars twinkling through the veil of dusk. The training field around him was quiet now, bathed in the soft hum of night.
He stared up at the stars, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. Every inch of his body ached, but there was a strange satisfaction humming beneath the fatigue.
. . .
The walk home was hard, to say the least.
It felt like he'd just done an intense leg day at the gym and was now trying to get home by walking. Funny to those who would see him, but not the least as bit amusing for him.
Each step sent a jolt of pain up his body. His legs ached, his muscles screamed, and his chakra-depleted body felt heavier than ever.
He had just stopped to take a break beneath a tree, trying to catch his breath, when he heard it.
Crack
Crack
Crack
A steady, rhythmic thumping echoed through the night—sharp, raw, and repetitive. It sounded like someone repeatedly striking wood with a rock, echoing unnaturally in the stillness.
Lumian hesitated for a moment.
Then, curiosity overriding his fatigue, he pushed off the tree and walked toward the sound.
There, in another open field dimly lit by moonlight, stood a lone figure in front of a battered training log. He didn't pause. He didn't flinch. He just kept punching it. Again. And again.... And again....
Lumian narrowed his eyes, instantly recognizing the figure in the moon's glow.
Bowl-cut hair.
Green spandex.
Thick eyebrows.
. . .
Might Guy.
. . .
Though... something was off.
Gone was the usual fire in his eyes—the radiant, over-the-top expression of Youth that usually made everyone stop and stare. In its place was a face twisted with frustration. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed, eyes focused not with confidence, but desperation.
There was nothing about that face that screamed Youth.
No triumphant aura. No radiant optimism.
Only pain. And loneliness.
Lumian sighed, a pang of emotion tugging at his chest.
He knew this version of Might Guy. Knew this point in time. Before the powerhouses acknowledged him. Before Kakashi ever took him seriously. Before the world realized just how terrifying he was. Before he was acknowledged as the strongest Taijutsu user by Madara.
Back when the only person who ever believed in Might Guy… was his father.Might Duy.
A man laughed at by many. A man who, in the shadows of history, would one day die saving Konoha from the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.
Lumian turned, ready to walk away. It wasn't his place. He had enough on his plate already.
But then he heard it.
The thumping grew louder. Faster. More erratic.
He glanced back—and saw the tears streaming down Guy's face as he kept punching the log. His fists were bruised. Splinters dug into his skin. Yet he kept going, as if trying to punch away the crushing weight in his heart.
Lumian froze.
Then, after a long pause... he turned around.
And took a step forward.
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He punched it.
And punched it.
And punched it.
Again and again and again.
But the pain inside didn't go away.
It wasn't the blood.It wasn't his bones, cracking beneath his skin.It wasn't the aching swell of his arms, throbbing with every impact.
It was something deeper. Something that couldn't be struck away.
. . .
An instance.
"You should give up, weakling…"
The boy shoved him to the ground. He tried to rise, fury in his eyes, but a swift kick to the face sent him sprawling again.
They laughed.They spit on him.And walked away without a second thought.
. . .
Another.
. . .
"You have no talent for being a ninja, kid… I'm sorry…"
A man in a Chūnin vest stood over him, his tone filled with forced sympathy. But his eyes—those eyes—held only pity.
As if he were already defeated.Already written off.
A failure.
The boy's voice cracked with fury as he pointed at the man.
"Shut up! You don't tell me what I can or can't do!"
He stormed out of the Academy, fists clenched.
. . .
Another instance.
. . .
"You heard about that ninja who can only use taijutsu?"
"Yeah, I heard he's still just a Genin."
Two Chūnin strolled down the road, passing a boy quietly eating dango on a bench. They didn't notice him.
"Tsk. Shinobi like him die first in battle. Don't know why Lord Hokage hasn't forced him out already."
The other one laughed cruelly. "Probably 'cause we need an extra meat shield! Bet his body could take fifty kunai before dropping!"
Their laughter cut through the air, oblivious to the boy sitting just feet away.
He stared at the ground.
The dango stick slipped from his hand and hit the dirt.
His teeth clenched. His fists shook.
. . .
Another instance.
. . .
"Hey, Kakashi! I challenge you!"
He stood tall, finger pointed at the boy with silver hair and a mask over his face.
Kakashi didn't stop walking.
Didn't even look at him.
He passed by like the challenge—like he—wasn't even worth acknowledging.
Guy stood there, arm still raised awkwardly at empty air.
"…Hey!"
This time, Kakashi paused.
Turned slightly.
"I have no reason to accept the challenge of a weakling like you."
His voice was calm. Cold.
"I don't know what my failure of a father ever saw in you… or in that man. But I want you to stop."
Then he walked away without another word.
. . .
More instances.
. . .
Dozens.Hundreds.All echoing the same truth the world tried to force into his heart.
That he wasn't enough.That he never would be.
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"AAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!"
A final blow struck the log.
CRACK!
Wood splintered, and blood exploded from his fists. The crimson ran down his hands, dripping to the earth, soaking the ground beneath him.
Tears streamed from his eyes. Sweat poured from his body, drenching the green spandex he wore like armor.
They had all told him.
Again and again.
He refused to believe them—but they insisted.
Every day.
They didn't just want him to give up.
They wanted him to accept it.
That he was nothing.
. . .
He was a Failure. A mistake. A boy born from the wrong father in this cruel world.
. . .
"Damn it..."
Might Guy dropped to the ground, falling to his knees. He stared blankly at the dirt in front of him, breath ragged, chest heaving. The night was silent—oppressive.
Then, a voice broke the stillness.
"Hey."
Guy jerked at the sound. Startled, he jumped up at the sound. He looked behind him to see..... a boy....
The boy had black hair, and his eyes seemed as pale as the void. He wore a black shirt and white pants, an odd contrast that only added to the unease.
. . .
"Who—who are you?"
The boy smiled faintly. Calm. He walked forward, each step echoing through the quiet night. He stopped a few feet away from Guy.
"And who are you?" the boy replied.
Guy blinked, thrown off. Moments ago, he'd been drowning in grief. The sweat-stained spandex clanged to his chest as the tears on the his face dried up. Now, this boy stood before him, seemingly having come out of nowhere.
Teeth clenched, Guy met the stranger's eyes and shouted, "And what's it to you?!"
The boy didn't flinch. He just stared—calmly, curiously. His eyes shining with an unusual brilliance has the pale light of the moon reflected across his eyes,
Guy was about to follow up with another response. Suddenly the next words that came out of his mouth surprised even him.
He gritted his teeth. He couldn't take it anymore. Everyone that spoke badly of him. Everyone who doubted him. They shook him relentlessly and then in the coldness of night standing next to a unknown figure.... he admitted it.
A whisper. A confession.
"I'm a failure."
The words hung in the night, suspended between two boys and swallowed slowly by the vast, starless sky.
. . .
The unknown boy smiled without a hint of a change in his expression. As if he never registered the boy's words.
Guy grew angry at seeing that the boy had no reaction.
This time he spoke again. Louder this time.
"I said I was a failure! I'm a failure! A failure is all I'll ever be and ever will be!"
He puffed as he let out the stress that ate at him from the inside. He released the stress that could never be heard by anyone. Not even his father.
A period of silence surrounded the boys.
After a while..... slowly.... the unknown boy looked around the field. His eyes darting left and right for a brief moment,
After a moment... he moved.
He took a step forward and spoke.
"You say your a failure.... why?"
Gai ignored the footsteps of the boy as he spoke again. "Ever one says so..... I can't do anything right they say... Every time I try something they laugh at my face....."
The footsteps continued. "And do you believe them?
Guy snapped. He yelled in frustration.
"Yeah! I believe them! Is that what you want me to say?!!!! Will you laugh at me too??!!!! Spit on me!!!!???? Go Ahead!!!!"
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The boy never said anything. The only thing that Guy heard were the sandals clapping against the dirt as he walked.
Guy's fists clenched. That lack of reaction—it only made his blood boil.
He was about to say something else when the words caught in his throat…. Then he sobbed as he choked up….
He panted, breath ragged,as he clutched his chest in pain. His fist grasping the green fabric as they wrinkled in reponse to his grip.
. . .
The footsteps stopped.
. . .
The boy bent down and picked something up—a stick.
He turned toward Guy, a small grin tugging at his lips.
"Alright, failure..." he said, pointing the stick at him. "Listen well."
"Have you heard of people with unique powers?"
Guy blinked, taken aback.
Without waiting for a reply, the boy continued.
"I have a power. I can see the fate of anyone I choose—what their future holds."
He crouched and planted the stick upright in the soil.
"This stick is my medium. If it falls to the left, fate has marked you a failure. If it falls to the right... you're destined for greatness."
He let go.
The stick wobbled… then tipped to the left.
The boy picked it back up, his expression unreadable.
"Seems like fate has spoken."
Guy looked down, heart sinking.
But then.....
. . .
*Snap*
. . .
The sound rang out as the boy broke the stick clean in half over his knee. Splinters scattered to the ground, its broken halves lifeless in the grass.
The boy dusted his hands and smiled.
"And that," he said, tossing the pieces behind him, "is what I say to fate."
Guy stared, eyes wide, as his mouth gaped open in shock.
He stepped on the broken remnants of the stick as he took a step forward, not even acknowledging the objects.
"That's what you should say too. No one gets to decide who you are. Not them. Not fate. Only you."
He stepped closer—just inches away now.
"So I'll ask again..."
. . .
"Who are you?"
. . .
Tears welled in Guy's eyes. The question echoed in his head, reaching somewhere deep, where no one had dared speak before. He sniffled, rubbing his nose with his sleeve.
No one had ever done this for him.
No one had ever believed in him.
But this boy—this stranger—had claimed to break fate in front of him. Had told him to believe in himself...
Guy's reaction to that?
He laughed. A raw, ridiculous laugh. His arms crossed over his chest as his body shook. Spit dribbled down, snot ran from his nose, and still he laughed. It made no sense—but it felt right.
Truth to be told..... it was the first time, that he ever acted such a way..... and in front of another person even....
Might guy rapidly blinked through the blur of tears and madness. He raised his arms to wipe them away.
Blood stained his face. But he didn't care. The only thing that mattered..... was declaring the next words... Words that he knew that he had to say.
After a while his eyes sharpened. His chest heaved up and his voice rang out with the fire of something newly born.
"I am the Mighty Green Beast of Konoha! The person who would show everyone how youthful he is!
I am Might Guy!"
He pumped his fists. Seemingly having his mood swap 360 degrees.
The boy smiled at Guy's remark. He raised his hand and offered it to guy. As if he was greeting him casually.
"Hey, Mighty Green Beast of Konoha... My name is Amon."
A breeze swept through the field, rustling their clothes, cooling their skin.
Two boys. Two names.
And the start of a friendship.
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Hey guys!!!!!!!
After careful consideration I decided. I'll pick the third option. Post a chapter whenever the hell I feel like it!!! lol.
Thank you for reading and always make sure to support the book in anyway you can.
Please leave comments or any criticisms and suggestion you have with my writing,
Thank you... and POWER STONES!!!!!!