The clearing was shrouded in an otherworldly stillness, the kind only found in the forgotten corners of the forest. Dusk lingered faintly on the horizon, streaking the sky in amber and violet hues. Tomaru knelt at the heart of the clearing, his breathing steady, his focus sharper than ever.
The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds faded from his awareness as he closed his eyes.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, Tomaru turned inward. The reservoir of chakra within him churned steadily, vast and vibrant, a testament to his growth. Every pathway, every tenketsu thrummed with energy, alive and eager. His synchronization with the Tenseigan had elevated him to an unprecedented level of clarity. No longer did his body and chakra feel at odds; they moved in harmony, like the strings of a finely tuned instrument.
And yet, harmony wasn't enough.
Tomaru began to channel chakra outward, guiding it toward his Tenseigan. The concentric rings in his right eye glowed faintly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Control it. Shape it.
The air around him grew heavy as his chakra flared to life, radiating a cyan hue. The energy enveloped his right arm, the flames smooth and fluid, like water flowing over his skin. It was powerful—he could feel it in the way the air seemed to bend around him.
But no matter how much he focused, the transformation stopped there.
His breathing quickened. Tomaru willed the energy to spread further, to engulf his entire being as the legends described. Yet, the cyan flames flickered, faltered, and retreated to his arm alone.
Tomaru exhaled sharply, frustration evident in his furrowed brow. He opened his eyes, the glow in his Tenseigan dimming.
Instead of forcing the energy further, he paused. The problem wasn't raw strength. It was something deeper.
Tomaru shifted his focus inward again, this time with a different intent. He wasn't trying to manifest the Tenseigan Chakra Mode; he was trying to understand it.
The heightened perception granted by his synchronization allowed him to observe the flow of his chakra with unparalleled clarity. He followed it, tracing its movement as it surged toward his Tenseigan.
At first glance, everything seemed normal. His chakra was vibrant, strong, and potent—everything a shinobi could hope for. Yet, as he delved deeper, he noticed something subtle, a difference so faint it had eluded him before.
The chakra radiating from his Tenseigan was... different.
Its essence was thicker, richer, almost luminous in quality. It was purer, as if every particle of energy had been refined to its utmost potential.
By comparison, his own chakra felt diluted. It was strong, yes, but lacked the same concentration. It was like comparing pure milk to a mixture of milk and water—similar in appearance but fundamentally different in essence.
"This…" Tomaru murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "This is why."
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He recalled the brief moment when his right arm had transformed, encased in the shimmering cyan armor of the Tenseigan Chakra Mode. At that moment, the Tenseigan's celestial energy had overwhelmed his own, asserting dominance in a small part of his body.
Beyond that, however, his diluted chakra had acted as a bottleneck, preventing the transformation from spreading.
The Tenseigan isn't just a source of power—it's a different kind of power altogether.
Tomaru's theory, one he had pondered in frustration, began to solidify. His failure wasn't due to a lack of chakra control or reserves; it was a matter of compatibility.
His human chakra, though vast, wasn't naturally attuned to the celestial energy of the Tenseigan. The two forces coexisted but didn't harmonize. They were like two instruments playing in slightly different keys, creating dissonance instead of harmony.
"This means…" Tomaru's thoughts raced. His theory was incomplete, but it was enough to ignite hope. If the difference between his chakra and the Tenseigan's could be bridged, then full activation might be possible.
Tomaru's mind wandered to the Ōtsutsuki clan. The Tenseigan was a relic of their divine legacy, a power intertwined with their very essence. They weren't just shinobi—they were celestial beings, creatures who had transcended mortality to wield chakra as naturally as breathing.
The lore of the Ōtsutsuki whispered through Tomaru's thoughts. He had read of their parasitic nature, their endless quest for evolution. Through consuming worlds, they refined themselves, pushing their chakra to levels that no human could ever achieve. The Tenseigan was born from this refinement, a testament to their mastery.
And yet, here he was—a human wielding a power meant for gods.
Tomaru clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I don't have their biology," he muttered. "But there has to be a way to mimic it."
To succeed, he needed to refine his chakra, aligning it more closely with the essence of the Tenseigan.
Training his chakra control to perfection was the first step. If he could shape his energy at its source, he might close the gap. Meditation, intense chakra exercises, and perhaps even forbidden techniques—all would be necessary to achieve the purity he sought.
But that wouldn't be enough. The Tenseigan's energy wasn't just pure; it was vast. Its power drew from all elements, a perfect balance of fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, and the elusive yin-yang release.
Tomaru's own chakra affinity, limited to water and earth, wasn't sufficient. To master the Tenseigan Chakra Mode, he would need to expand his elemental mastery.
"It's not impossible," he whispered, determination flaring in his gaze.
—
The faint rustle of leaves drew his attention upward. The moon hung high above the treetops, its silvery light scattering across the clearing. Tomaru rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his palms.
This wasn't failure—it was progress. He had identified the missing piece, and with that knowledge came clarity.
"This isn't the limit," Tomaru murmured, his voice firm. "It's just the next step."
The path to mastering the Tenseigan Chakra Mode was long, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of certainty.
The gap between human and celestial was vast, but it wasn't insurmountable.
And he would find a way to cross it.
—
The dawn sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, the kind of colors that signaled a peaceful beginning. Tomaru stood alone on the training grounds, the crisp morning air biting gently at his skin. The world felt serene, alive in a way he hadn't noticed before.
It wasn't that the village had changed. The subtle rustle of leaves, the chirping of early birds, and the rhythmic echo of distant footsteps from early risers were all the same. What had shifted was Tomaru himself.
He stretched his arms above his head, feeling his muscles respond without resistance. The tension that had once plagued his body, the constant reminder of dissonance within, was gone. Since achieving synchronization with the Tenseigan, every part of him felt connected, whole.
For months, he had pushed himself through grueling morning routines, desperate to hone a body that had felt foreign and inadequate. But now, he moved with ease, not because he was taking things lightly, but because he no longer needed to overcompensate.
Tomaru flowed through his usual drills, each motion felt deliberate yet effortless. There was no urgency, no frantic need to improve overnight.
Power had given him confidence.
As the sun climbed higher, bathing the village rooftops in golden light, Tomaru wiped the sweat from his brow. The training ground felt smaller than before, as though his growth had outpaced the space around him. With a final deep breath, he turned and made his way toward the Academy.
---
The hum of conversation greeted Tomaru as he stepped into the Academy classroom. It was a scene he had seen countless times before: students chatting in small groups, some excitedly recounting their morning sparring sessions, others groaning about the latest assignments Iruka had given them.
It was ordinary, yet Tomaru felt a distinct difference as he crossed the threshold.
For the first time, he wasn't trying to blend into the background. He no longer moved like a thief sneaking into a place he didn't belong, feigning calm so no one would notice him.
He walked with purpose, his steps steady, his gaze sweeping the room. It wasn't arrogance—he wasn't seeking attention—but his presence commanded it nonetheless.
As he approached his desk, a faint hush seemed to follow him. Conversations dimmed briefly as a few students glanced his way, their eyes lingering just a moment longer than usual.
Tomaru noticed but didn't react. He slid into his seat, resting his elbows on the desk as he let his gaze wander over the familiar faces around him.
"Good morning, Tomaru!"
The cheerful voice cut through the general buzz, and he turned to see Ino approaching, her bright smile as radiant as ever. She moved with a lightness that seemed effortless, her blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Good morning, Ino," Tomaru replied, his voice calm but warm.
She stopped beside his desk, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "You're here early today. Usually, you're the last one to sneak in before class starts."
Tomaru shrugged lightly. "I had some time after training."
Ino's eyes narrowed slightly, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "Training, huh? You're always so serious. But…" She leaned in a little, lowering her voice. "There's something different about you lately."
"Different?" Tomaru raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, her gaze flickering over him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "I don't know… You just seem calmer. More confident, maybe? Like you're not carrying so much weight on your shoulders anymore."
Her words lingered in the air, drawing Tomaru into a moment of quiet reflection. She wasn't wrong. The storm inside him—the one that had made every interaction feel like a battle—had stilled.
The Tenseigan hadn't just granted him power; it had reshaped his entire being.
"It's nothing," he said finally, his tone measured. "I've just been focusing on balance."
Ino smiled, her expression softening. "Well, whatever it is, it suits you. Keep it up."
She turned and walked away, her presence as light as her step. Tomaru watched her rejoin Sakura and the others, her cheerful voice quickly blending back into the classroom buzz.
As the day unfolded, Tomaru noticed subtle changes in how the class interacted with him. He wasn't seeking attention, but it found him anyway.
Naruto, usually the loudest voice in the room, seemed to pause when their gazes met, his boisterous energy dimming for just a moment. Kiba, often competitive and teasing, didn't throw his usual jabs. Even Sasuke, whose cool detachment rarely wavered, acknowledged him with a fleeting glance before returning to his own thoughts.
It wasn't fear or intimidation—Tomaru knew that much. It was a quiet respect, born not of brute strength but of presence.
For so long, Tomaru had been content to linger in the background, avoiding conflict and attention. But now, without trying, he was stepping into the light.