Naruto: God of Shinobi

Chapter 17: Tree Climbing

The house was small and warm and smelled of wood smoke and cooking rice. Tazuna had built it himself, years ago, before Gatō's men had started coming in the night and making everyone afraid. The walls were thick and the roof was low and the windows were covered with paper that glowed orange in the light of the lamps. It was the kind of house that had been built to last, built to hold a family, built to keep the cold and the mist and the things that lurked outside from getting in.

Naruto sat in the corner with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. He was not sleeping. He was not resting. He was simply existing in the space between one fight and the next, letting his body recover while his mind ran through the events of the battle over and over, looking for mistakes, looking for lessons, looking for anything he could use the next time.

Sasuke lay on a futon across the room. His leg was bandaged. His shoulder was wrapped. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds were deep and would take days to heal. He stared at the ceiling with his dark eyes and did not speak. He had not spoken much since the battle. He was thinking about the twins, about their speed, about the moment when he had been unable to keep up and Naruto had saved him with a swarm of clones and Kakashi had saved them all with a dragon made of water.

Sakura sat beside him, her hands in her lap, her eyes red from crying. She had not cried in front of the others. She had waited until she was alone, until she thought no one was watching, and then she had let the tears come. She had been useless. She had tried to block one of the twins and had been thrown aside like a doll. She had woken up after the battle was over, on the ground, with no memory of how she had gotten there. She was a kunoichi. She was supposed to be able to fight. She had not been able to fight at all.

Kakashi stood by the window, looking out at the mist. His Sharingan was covered. His hand rested on the windowsill. He had not said much since they arrived at Tazuna's home. He was thinking about Zabuza, about the twins, about the masked figure who had appeared at the end and taken them all away. He was thinking about the fact that his students had almost died and that he had almost let it happen because he was not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough to protect them and fight at the same time.

Tazuna sat at the table with his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. He was crying, silently, the way old men cried when they had been carrying something heavy for too long and had finally put it down and realized how much it had weighed.

Tsunami moved through the room with a quiet efficiency that reminded Naruto of the way his mother's ghost might have moved, if he had ever known his mother's ghost. She was Tazuna's daughter. She had her father's eyes and her mother's determination and the kind of face that had been pretty once, before worry and grief had carved lines into it that would never fully fade. She brought blankets and food and medicine. She did not ask questions. She did not demand explanations. She simply did what needed to be done, the way people did when they had been surviving for too long to remember what it felt like to do anything else.

Inari sat in the corner opposite Naruto.

He was small for his age. Thin. His clothes were too large for him, hand me downs from someone who had grown out of them or died and left them behind. His eyes were dark and flat and older than the rest of his face, the kind of eyes that had seen too much too young and had decided that the world was not worth looking at anymore.

He stared at the shinobi in his home with an expression that was not quite fear and not quite resentment and not quite anything that Naruto could name. It was the expression of someone who had stopped hoping a long time ago and had not yet found anything to replace hope with.

"My stepfather," Inari said. His voice was quiet. Flat. "He tried to fight back. Against Gatō. Against the men Gatō sent."

No one asked him to continue. He continued anyway.

"They killed him. In front of me. So I could see what happens to people who think they can make a difference."

He looked at Naruto. At Sasuke. At Kakashi and Sakura and his grandfather and his mother. His eyes moved from face to face, searching for something, though he did not seem to know what he was looking for.

"Heroes are not real. They are stories. Things people tell themselves so they can sleep at night. The real world does not have heroes. It has bullies and victims and people who are too scared to do anything about either of them."

Naruto listened. His face did not change. His eyes did not blink. He looked at Inari the way he looked at everything now, as a problem to be understood and solved, as a variable in an equation he was still calculating.

The boy was broken. That was useful. Broken people were easier to mold. They were grateful for attention. They were loyal to anyone who showed them kindness, even kindness that was not real, even kindness that was just a tool used to shape them into something more useful than they had been before.

Naruto did not respond. He did not offer words of comfort or encouragement. He simply filed Inari away in the back of his mind, in the cabinet where he kept the things he was not ready to use yet but did not want to forget.

He would come back to this boy. Later. When the time was right. When the boy had been softened by grief and loneliness and the desperate need to believe in something, anything, that would make the pain make sense.

Not yet. But later.

---

Kakashi gathered them outside the next morning. The mist was thinner here, closer to the house, though it still pressed against the edges of the clearing like something waiting to be invited in. The trees were tall and green and wet with moisture that had not dried in weeks. The ground was soft and muddy and covered with leaves that had fallen too early and were already beginning to rot.

"We need to work on your chakra control," Kakashi said. He had his hands in his pockets and his book in one of them and his visible eye fixed on the trees behind his students. "Before we face Zabuza again, you need to be better. Faster. Stronger. None of that matters without control."

He walked to the nearest tree. It was old, thick, its trunk covered in bark that had been growing for decades. He placed one foot on the trunk. Then the other. He walked up the tree as if he was walking on flat ground, his body perpendicular to the earth, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unchanged.

"Chakra adhesion. You push chakra to your feet. Just enough to stick. Too little and you fall. Too much and you push yourself off." He stopped at the top of the tree and looked down at them. "The goal is to reach the top. The first one to do it gets to eat my portion of dinner."

He jumped down. The landing was soft. Silent.

Sasuke went first.

He placed his foot on the trunk. Chakra flowed to his sole. He pushed off. He ran up the tree in three seconds, his body straight, his arms at his sides, his expression focused. He reached the top, touched the highest branch, and jumped back down. His face was calm. Unimpressed. As if he had expected nothing less.

Sakura went second.

She placed her foot on the trunk. She did not run. She walked, slowly, carefully, testing the adhesion with each step. Her chakra control had always been her best subject at the academy. She reached the top without hurry, without hesitation, without a single misstep. She looked down at the others. Her expression was not proud. It was something closer to relieved. She had not been completely useless. Not yet.

Naruto went third.

He placed his foot on the trunk. He pushed chakra to his sole. Too much. The chakra exploded beneath his foot, propelling him away from the tree and sending him crashing into the mud on his back. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the grey sky, listening to the sound of Sasuke's quiet breathing and Sakura's nervous silence.

He stood up. He walked back to the tree. He placed his foot on the trunk. He pushed less chakra. Still too much. He was thrown back again. Harder this time. His shoulder hit the ground and he rolled through the mud and came to a stop against a root that had risen from the earth like a grave marker.

He stood up again.

He tried again.

He was thrown back again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each time he adjusted. Each time he pushed less chakra. Each time he thought he had found the right amount, the perfect balance, the precise measurement that would let him stick instead of fly. Each time he was wrong.

Sasuke watched. His arms were crossed. His expression was unreadable. He did not mock. He did not offer advice. He simply watched.

Sakura watched too. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest. She wanted to say something. She wanted to help. She did not know what to say or how to help. Naruto was not the same boy who had failed the academy exams. He was different now. Colder. Harder. She was not sure he would accept help even if she offered it.

Kakashi watched from the edge of the clearing. His book was closed. His visible eye was fixed on Naruto. He was not surprised by the boy's struggle. Massive chakra reserves were a blessing and a curse. They gave you power. They also made it difficult to control that power, the way a fire hose was more difficult to aim than a garden hose. Naruto had the fire hose. He had not yet learned to point it in the right direction.

Naruto sat at the base of the tree. His back was against the trunk. His feet were in the mud. His chest was heaving. He was not exhausted. His Uzumaki vitality and the Fox's chakra saw to that. He was frustrated. He had power. So much power. He could feel it inside him, warm and waiting, a reservoir that stretched deeper than he could see. But he could not use it. He could not aim it. He could not make it do what he wanted it to do.

The Fox's chakra pulsed in his chest. A heartbeat that was not his own. It was there, always there, warm and waiting and patient. He had used it during the battle. A taste. Just a taste. Enough to break through Haku's ice mirrors. Enough to land a punch that cracked a mask. But using it required control. The Fox had warned him. Too much would burn him from the inside out.

He could not even walk up a tree.

He looked at his feet. His sandals were caked with mud. His toes were numb from the cold. He had power. Raw, enormous, world shattering power. And it meant nothing. Less than nothing. Because he could not aim it. Could not control it. Could not use it without destroying himself in the process.

He closed his eyes.

He thought about the archive. About the Cloud report. About his mother, Kushina Uzumaki, who had carried the Nine Tails before him and had learned to control it. She had been Uzumaki too. She had had the same blood, the same vitality, the same enormous reserves. She had learned. She had mastered it.

He would learn too.

He opened his eyes. He stood up. He walked to the tree. He placed his foot on the trunk.

He pushed less chakra.

He stuck.

He took one step. Then another. Then another. He was slow. Awkward. His body tilted too far forward. His arms windmilled for balance. But he was moving upward, centimeter by centimeter, meter by meter, until he reached the lowest branch and grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself onto it.

He sat there, breathing hard, looking down at the others. Sasuke was watching. Sakura was smiling. Kakashi had opened his book again.

Naruto did not smile. He did not feel pride. He felt something closer to grim satisfaction. He had done it. Once. He would do it again. And again. Until he could do it in his sleep. Until his chakra obeyed him the way a kunai obeyed his hand. Until the Fox's power was not a burden but a tool.

He jumped down. He landed in the mud. He walked back to the base of the tree.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

The sun set. The mist grew thicker. The air grew colder. Sakura had gone inside to help Tsunami with dinner. Sasuke had gone inside to rest, his wounds still healing, his body still weak from blood loss. Kakashi had gone inside to warm himself by the fire and read his book in a place where the wind could not turn the pages for him.

Naruto stayed outside.

He sat at the base of the tree with his back against the trunk and his feet in the mud. His chest was not heaving anymore. His breathing was slow and even. His body was tired, but his mind was clear.

He looked at his hands. He flexed his fingers. He had power. More power than anyone in his class. More power than most grown shinobi. But power without control was not power at all. It was a liability. A danger to himself and everyone around him.

The Fox's chakra pulsed in his chest. Warm. Waiting.

He would learn to control it.

He had to.

The alternative was not acceptable.

---

Next Time: Meet the Enemies

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