The Academy's training ground was the closest one, and after the recent events, it seemed better for me to stay near a populated place, so I could quickly leave if necessary. This place felt the safest for training, especially considering that students and teachers often came here.
Walking through the massive arch of the Academy, I headed towards its side, where there was another training ground. The last time I was on the roof, I noticed it, and judging by what I saw, it was better equipped than the main one. That's why I decided to go there.
The main difference with this training ground was that there was a lot more throwing equipment. Along the walls stood special wooden racks with targets of various shapes and sizes. Some of them were set at different angles, making the task more challenging. In some areas, ropes were stretched with hanging targets intended for practicing accuracy and throwing speed.
But right now, I would be happy just to hit a regular target, I thought, looking over the empty training ground.
My goal today was to learn how to throw weapons properly. Although I didn't have a clear set of instructions or a diagram, I had already seen other students doing it. The first time I was here, a guy was practicing with a kunai. He didn't always hit the target, but sometimes he did. It's always better to see mistakes from the side, I thought, warming up my hands before the throw.
I started by taking a kunai and flipping it a few times in my hand, getting used to its weight. It was a little heavier than I expected, but comfortable—the balance felt right.
I stood in front of the target, slightly bending my knees and raising my arm for the throw. I took a short breath, focused... and sharply threw the kunai forward.
The metal slipped from my hand, but instead of smoothly heading towards the target, the kunai veered off to the side and with a dull thud, plunged into the ground several meters away from the target.
"Damn..." I muttered, frowning.
Alright, no big deal. The main thing is to understand where the mistake is.
Throw harder, I decided, picking up the second kunai. Now I focused even more, paying attention to every movement. I tensed my muscles, putting more strength into the throw...
The kunai flew past again—this time it went over the target and bounced off the wooden fence.
"Seriously?.."
I sighed in frustration. Clearly, just increasing the force wasn't going to help. The technique was important.
That's how my battle with the targets began.
For about ten minutes, I threw kunai after kunai, but there was no result. Either the weapon fell too early, or flew higher, or simply spun in the air, losing its trajectory. I tried changing the throwing angle, hand position, even balancing my weight differently, but nothing gave me consistent results.
Fifteen minutes.
I began to get angry. It felt like my hands just refused to understand how to do it right. I remembered seeing more experienced students throw—everything looked so easy and natural. Why couldn't I get it?
Half an hour.
My wrist began to ache from the constant attempts. The kunai no longer felt as comfortable in my fingers, and I had to shake my wrist after each throw.
"Relax your hand."
I flinched. The voice came unexpectedly, but it wasn't harsh or rude. Turning around, I saw a man in a dark blue uniform with the Academy's symbol on his sleeve. He was standing with his arms crossed, watching me closely.
He was a Chuunin, probably one of the instructors, but I'd never seen him in any of my lessons. He looked older than most mentors—around thirty, with short dark hair and a sharp gaze.
"If you grip the kunai like that, you'll never make a good throw," he continued, taking a few steps toward me. "Show me how you're holding the weapon."
I simply obeyed and handed him the kunai, and he shook his head.
"Too tense a grip. You're clutching it as if you're afraid it will slip out. But do you know what happens because of that?"
He loosened his fingers, and the kunai silently slipped from his palm.
"This happens during the throw. When your fingers are clenched, you hold the handle longer than necessary, and you lose control of the throw."
I frowned. I hadn't even thought of that.
"Try holding it as though you're just guiding it, not squeezing," he said and placed the kunai back into my palm. "Now throw."
I took my stance, but this time, I tried to follow his advice. The sensation was unfamiliar—it felt like my hand was "empty," as if I could accidentally drop the weapon. But I made the throw...
And the kunai hit the target.
The bottom edge of the target, but it still stuck.
"Better," the Chuunin nodded. "But this is just the beginning. Now, pay close attention."
He stepped forward, picked up one of the kunai, and stood in front of the target.
"Throwing isn't just a hand movement. It's the whole mechanics of your body. You don't just throw, you direct the energy from your legs, through your torso, into your shoulder, and then into your wrist."
He smoothly raised his arm, and in the next moment, the kunai, barely spinning, pierced the center of the target.
I involuntarily held my breath. Everything looked so natural and fluid that it seemed like he hadn't exerted any effort at all.
"Try again, but now use not just your arm. Involve your torso. The weight shift is more important than you think."
I nodded, raised the kunai again, and took a deep breath. Now everything felt different—I felt the tension leave my body, and I could sense how my body moved in sync.
The throw.
The kunai hit the lower center of the target.
"Like that. Now you're starting to get it."
I felt a light surge of encouragement. It wasn't perfect yet, but for the first time, I felt real progress.
The Chuunin smiled.
"I need to go now, but if you want, tomorrow at the same time I can help you with your weapon throwing."
"Yes, please!" I said without hesitation.
"Well, then I'm off," he said and, using some technique, disappeared from sight.
"He's awesome," I thought. "He came, helped, and even left using some cool technique. And I didn't even ask his name. In 5 minutes, my progress skyrocketed under his guidance."
I need to quickly remember how I did it, so I don't lose my progress, I decided, grabbing a kunai from my pocket and taking my stance again.
Teacher Kohoshi's side: As usual, I was sitting in the teachers' office, taking care of my own tasks. The work I had to finish was done, and now, finally, I had a chance to relax a little. I went to the window to distract myself from the daily routine for a moment. Down below, on the training ground, I noticed a student training. Probably nothing special, I thought. Most of the time, beginners just try something new, but lose interest quickly. After all, it's just an academic training ground—nothing suggested he'd stay there long.
Nonetheless, I decided to watch him for a bit. Nothing unusual—just an ordinary guy with a kunai trying to hit the target. I assumed he'd get bored soon, and the training would end, like it always does for most kids. But time passed, and he kept going.
Half an hour passed. It was almost surprising that he hadn't given up. I could see him trying to change the angle of his throws, paying attention to his hand movements, but there was still almost no progress—throws were too weak or veered off course. But despite this, he didn't stop. I began to respect him a little. It was still rare—persistence among the young.
He might not be a genius, but... He reminded me of myself back when I first started. Apparently, he's also from a non-clan background, and he'll have to fight the same battles I did. If someone had helped me like this back in my time, maybe I would have achieved much more. But instead, I got stuck here, at the Academy, wasting my potential as a child. I never became the great ninja I dreamed of. There were moments when I could have leveled up faster, but the environment, the lack of mentors guiding me in the right direction, kept me from reaching my full potential.
And now, watching this guy, I felt a strange unease. If I couldn't realize my potential myself, maybe I should try to help someone else? Maybe I have a chance to do for him what I couldn't—pass on the knowledge I've accumulated over the years, and help him avoid my mistakes. This might be the opportunity that redeems all the chances I missed.
I have to try!