Father taught me many things.
How to face a single opponent who stood firm in challenge. How to endure against many foes who came like relentless waves. And how to survive amidst ranks of soldiers advancing like a storm that knew no mercy.
Yet to Father, there was something far more precious than merely keeping one's emotions steady.
Something no less vital than mastering the turmoil of the heart when life itself hung by a thread.
Something unseen by the eye… yet capable of deciding life and death within a single breath.
I remember it clearly.
The day he demonstrated it, years ago, beneath a quiet sky that seemed to grant the world a rare stillness, as though even time itself had paused so that the lesson might carve itself into my memory.
"Remember this, Ian. Battle is not about how great your raw strength is, nor how devastating the ninjutsu you release may appear. All of it becomes meaningless the moment you abandon your mind in the midst of a fight."
His gaze was sharp, unwavering, filled with a conviction that could not be shaken. His hand rose, pointing toward a massive boulder in the distance, as large as an adult ox from our farm. It stood firm, roughly fifty feet from where we stood, and even farther from the open training field we often used.
"That stone would consume a great deal of chakra if I were to melt it with a fire technique of C rank or higher… and then shatter it into fragments."
He paused.
Just long enough for his words to sink into me.
"The same applies to lightning techniques. Yet if I increase the momentum and speed of my strike, that stone can be destroyed with only a small amount of chakra, without wasting even a fragment of it."
His hands moved lightly as he spoke, as though weaving an unseen thread of understanding. Then his finger rose and touched his temple.
"That… is the essence of tactics and strategy."
"Do not be captivated by power that merely appears magnificent. It may be no more than a meteor tearing across the heavens, terrifying and grand… yet reduced to ash before it ever reaches the ground."
Father looked at me with a faint smile.
He knew.
Without a word from me, he understood that doubt still lingered within my mind.
And it was true.
Could I truly accept such an explanation so easily?
It was not that simple.
At that time, strength was everything to me.
Like lightning falling from the heavens, carrying divine judgment that none could defy. Yet even lightning, I would come to realize, was not always effective against something small… something difficult to strike.
My thoughts drifted to my older sister.
There had been a time when she stood proudly, displaying her new technique, lightning descending from the sky as though summoned by the gods themselves. She called it an S-rank ninjutsu.
Its power was so overwhelming that the air trembled, the earth quaked, and even Mother believed a great storm was approaching when she saw the distant flash from afar.
Back then…
I was captivated.
Utterly captivated.
In those days, I could not accept Father's reasoning, for my mind was wholly enthralled by destruction. By power that dazzled the eyes and shook the heart.
But as time passed, understanding began to take root within me.
Slowly.
Like a fragile sprout forcing its way through hardened soil.
If I possessed one hundred measures of chakra… and I used fifty of them for a single S-rank technique…
What if that attack failed to strike my opponent?
The thought struck me like a blow.
A grave loss.
Not only for myself, but for those who might stand beside me in battle. They might marvel at the destruction, yet behind their admiration, there would be silent doubt.
A waste.
Power that resembled the judgment of the gods upon mortal beings might appear grand and awe-inspiring… but if it failed to reach its target…
Was it not merely a display?
A hollow brilliance.
A thunder without consequence.
Nothing more than wasted energy.
Just as Father had said.
From that moment on, I began to understand.
And Father, as always, did not stop at words. He knew doubt still remained within me, and he intended to extinguish it completely.
"Watch closely. I will destroy that stone with my bare hand."
"Use your Sharingan and measure how much chakra I use."
"Understood, Father!"
A smile blossomed upon my lips, warm and filled with anticipation.
Even with doubt still hiding in the corners of my heart, there was one truth I could never deny.
I always cherished these moments.
Moments when Father chose to show rather than merely tell.
Because in those moments…
The world itself seemed to open before me, revealing its secrets little by little, as though inviting me to step closer… and understand.
I have always favored practice above all else.
Even in those distant days when I was but three years of age, sitting quietly and listening as Father explained jutsu to Sister Charlotte was enough to make my heart bloom with quiet joy. Every word that left his lips felt like a thread in a grand tapestry, as though I were turning the pages of a living tale written for me alone.
Yet between hearing and witnessing, there lies a gulf no bridge can truly span.
To listen is to drift, to be lulled into the gentle embrace of a story. But to see… to see is to step within that story, to walk its path, to feel its pulse beating beneath one's feet.
Father took several steps forward.
My gaze followed the breadth of his back, straight and unyielding like a pillar that held the heavens aloft. The strength of his form revealed itself faintly through the silhouette of his shirt, the quiet tension of muscle beneath cloth.
He had always favored such garments.
Without realizing it, I had begun to mirror that preference. Long sleeves, modest cuts. Though unlike Father, who leaned toward darker hues, I cared little for color, so long as it did not carry a softness unbefitting a man.
Then he moved.
Swift.
So swift that the world itself seemed to falter in keeping pace.
And yet… my Sharingan followed.
To my crimson sight, long accustomed to measuring speed, it was not overwhelming. Not yet. For now, only that which surpassed the frantic beating of wings across the sky a hundredfold could truly stir awe within me.
Even so…
It was astonishing.
Not merely for the speed, but for something far more profound.
The use of chakra.
Its efficiency bordered on perfection.
With every step he took, chakra flowed in the faintest measure, precise and deliberate, as though each fragment had been weighed by the hands of a master craftsman. Nothing wasted. Nothing excessive. Only what was needed, no more, no less.
Compared to myself, his use of Shunsin was refined beyond measure.
Cleaner.
Calmer.
Deadlier.
In but a breath, Father stood a single step before the great stone.
Then…
A dull, resounding impact.
My eyes captured everything.
The stone, vast as a full-grown cow, shattered into countless fragments beneath a single strike of his fist.
Before the blow even landed, the air itself split apart.
As though space could not endure the force that approached, the very atmosphere trembled, rippled, and gave way, yielding to the oncoming fist that carried destruction at its core.
The impact…
It was like striking softened butter.
And yet its consequence was akin to an explosion that sundered the earth.
The stone burst apart, scattering into ruin, its form erased within a single fleeting moment that felt as though it stretched into eternity.
I saw it.
The flow of chakra.
Clear… unmistakable.
Father had not gathered it into a single point.
Instead, he coated his entire arm, from shoulder to fist, reinforcing it evenly, spreading the chakra with seamless balance.
No concentrated surge.
No singular focal point.
Nothing like what he had once shown when teaching alongside Sister Charlotte.
And yet…
Why was the destruction so overwhelming?
There was no immense surge within the fist.
No crushing pressure condensed into a single instant.
Everything appeared… simple.
Too simple.
Far too simple to yield such devastating force.
I sank into my thoughts, trying to piece together fragments of understanding that refused to align.
When I lifted my gaze once more, Father had already turned.
And somehow… without my noticing, he stood beside me.
Faster than a single blink.
A faint smile touched his lips before his eyes returned to the shattered remains scattered across the ground.
The attack had seemed simple.
But to an untrained eye, it would have appeared as nothing short of a miracle.
They would not understand.
They could not.
To them, Father merely stood before the stone… and in the next instant, it was destroyed without cause or reason.
But to me…
With the strength I now possessed, even without relying on my crimson eyes, I could still follow every movement.
Nothing escaped me.
Nothing was hidden.
Father turned his head.
That calm, unwavering presence of his had long since taken root within me as something to aspire toward. A silent compass, guiding me without words.
"Well, Ian? Do you understand the difference between this… and that?"
The difference…
Of course I understood what he meant.
He wished to make it clear that what he had shown was not the same destructive force I wielded alongside Sister Charlotte.
The Super Fist.
That was what he called it.
A technique of bare-handed combat, one that gathered and directed chakra into a single point within the palm and knuckles, unleashing devastating power in a brief, explosive instant.
My sister had once declared, with unwavering confidence, that if she were to strike the lower floor of our home with that technique, as she had when she first mastered it, she could bring the entire structure crashing down.
Her conviction had been absolute.
So radiant it bordered on arrogance.
Just as when she would, with boundless confidence, hurl her dreadful jokes into the air, even daring to propose our home as the target of her Fireball Ninjutsu.
Truly…
She was a most peculiar sister.
My gaze returned to Father. The light in my face dimmed slightly, a faint, awkward smile forming despite my efforts to conceal it. I knew it well… my understanding was still incomplete, still riddled with gaps I could not yet mend.
"Forgive me, Father… the only difference I can perceive is that your swing is far swifter… yet its destructive force does not fall short of the Super Fist."
Silence lingered for a brief moment, stretching just enough to weigh upon my thoughts.
"What else?"
"The chakra you used… was far less."
Father gave a slow, measured nod.
His expression was ever the same.
As though the correctness of our answers held little importance, and yet he offered that quiet, approving warmth so long as we dared to answer at all. It was never perfection he sought, but the courage to think… and to speak.
Such was his nature.
Calm… yet unfathomably deep.
He continued, his voice softening, though its depth only grew, filling the empty spaces within my still-forming understanding.
"My son… this world does not stand upon physical strength alone."
"The chakra within you… the aura wielded by aurors to fortify their bodies…"
"The laws that govern this world are built upon firm and ordered principles. Even that which appears miraculous can, in truth, be understood."
"Consider the chakra within your own body."
Father gestured toward me.
A gentle breeze passed between us, stirring the strands of his hair as though they moved in quiet harmony with his words.
"Why does your physical strength change so drastically when you use chakra?"
The question lingered in the air.
Had I still been three years of age, my answer would have been simple… perhaps even beautiful in its innocence.
That chakra was magic.
That it was wonder itself.
For a child, the world requires no explanation. It is enough to feel it… enough to marvel at it.
But now…
I was no longer that child.
My understanding had traveled far, leaving behind those days where awe existed without question.
"It is because every part of my body… my nerves, my cells, my muscles, even my bones… all are reinforced by chakra. Like a tonic that strengthens the body from within, enhancing endurance… even aiding in recovery."
Father nodded without hesitation.
"Correct."
His gaze sharpened ever so slightly, as though guiding this conversation toward deeper waters.
"Then what of Mages?"
"How can the wonders they weave in the air be explained through reason?"
My thoughts fell silent.
The question arrived like an unbroken wave, leaving me no time to brace myself.
I did not know.
The answer formed within me with quiet honesty, unadorned and unrefined.
Unlike ninjutsu.
Ninjutsu is born from the chakra within my body, shaped through hand seals, forming elements that are then released into the world beyond.
The human body is a vessel.
Chakra is the breath that fills it.
Hand seals are the spark that ignites the reaction.
Without the vessel, without the breath, without the spark…
Flame can never be born.
Impossible.
Like fire that cannot exist within a void.
Chakra and living beings… they are bound together.
Without chakra, a living being is but an ordinary shell.
Yet without living beings, chakra would never be known as something that exists.
It exists… because it is used.
Because it is felt.
Because it is understood by those who live.
Like a concept without form, yet undeniable in its presence.
If one were to ponder it…
Would mathematics exist without humankind?
Even with humankind, it remains without form.
It exists only within thought.
Within understanding.
Within awareness.
I call it… existence.
Something that is… because there are those who see it, hear it, feel it, and give it meaning.
But then…
What of Mages?
Father once said that magic is not as simple as uttering a chant.
If it truly were that simple… then would not anyone be capable of wielding it, without needing to be born as a Mage?
Then…
What truly is the difference between a chant… and a hand seal?