And so, fifteen minutes later, I'm standing on the Third Training Ground — a very convenient spot, since it has exits both to the forest and to the river.
As you've probably guessed, it's time to master walking on trees and water.
I have pretty high expectations, since chakra control seems to be my strong suit.
All this time, I've wanted to start learning these two skills, but constant lack of time never allowed it — so now is the perfect moment.
First of all, I already have a somewhat similar ability, though I only practiced it to enhance my limbs by directing chakra; now I need something a bit different.
For this, a shinobi concentrates chakra energy into their soles. If the energy isn't focused enough, you can fall while climbing; but if there's too much energy, instead of climbing up, the ninja will be pushed off the tree — causing the spot on the trunk they were in contact with to break.
That's what I know from anime — so now it's time to try it myself.
I took the first step — just as much as I dared to send chakra.
My foot stuck to the trunk. Perfect. The second step… and immediately I felt the "glue" weaken. Another moment — and slap! — I slid down just one and a half meters.
"Not enough," I muttered, brushing myself off. There wasn't even a mark on the bark.
Attempt number two. This time I poured a stronger flow into my soles, almost like when powering up a punch. I jumped right up to shoulder height, ready to move forward — and…
BAM!
The bark cracked like a pinpoint explosion, and I was thrown backward. I flipped, heels digging into the ground — my heart dropped to my stomach, but I held my ground.
"Too much," I exhaled, staring at the dent in the tree.
So, I'd found "too little" and "too much" — now to find the golden middle.
I closed my eyes, listening carefully. Chakra flowed through my channels like a warm stream. I pictured my feet as two flat seals, each a round magnet: the pull must exactly balance my body weight. Not stronger, not weaker.
Third try. I touched the trunk lightly with my toes, like testing the water before a jump. Poured exactly half the previous amount… a little more… My foot stuck. I shifted my weight, lifted the other — it also "nailed" to the wood.
Step, two, three — my breathing rhythm matched the pulsation of chakra. Half a meter, one meter, two. Leaves rustled by my face. I wasn't rushing: each step was a micro-adjustment, like turning a tiny valve on a thin stream.
Five meters… six… and I grabbed a branch with my palm. Above me was the pond — smooth, dark surface, the next level of challenge.
I smiled, catching my breath.
"Not bad for a start," I whispered to myself. "But no time to celebrate."
I climbed down — this time carefully, backward, maintaining the flow. At the base of the tree was just a thin chain of oval prints — no cracks, no dents. Just right.
Not quite Sakura's level of control, of course, but I managed it on the third try — better than Naruto and Sasuke. Though, considering their chakra reserves are many times larger than mine, it's a small victory.
Now I need to cement this —
…repeating the same thing: up the trunk — down, push off — turn in midair — place feet at the exact same angle again.
At first, my body ached, especially my calves — they held static tension to not "fall apart" even for a moment. But the longer I moved, the more natural the feeling of the thin chakra film under my soles became. With every ten steps, conscious control was needed less and less — muscles and channels began working "on autopilot," as if I'd been running vertically since childhood.
At the "two-hour" mark, my shirt stuck to my back, my breathing burned my throat, and the tree displayed an invisible ladder of my footprints. I jumped to the ground — this time without even the slightest chakra slip — and pressed my palm to the trunk: smooth, unscathed bark.
"Not bad." I allowed myself a brief rest, leaning my shoulder against the tree. "Locked in."
The next step — increase difficulty.
Speed: aim to reach the upper branches in five seconds, not twenty.
Variety: run not only on straight trunks but also on slanted, slippery, wet ones.
Combine with combat: learn to throw kunai or form seals without breaking the chakra flow to my soles.
I glanced at the pond — ripples shimmered under the midday sun.
"Fifteen minutes rest, then a timed 'promenade' on the water," I decided, smiling. "Chakra control is like breathing: the more you think about it, the more you mess it up. It needs to become as natural as a step."
I sat down on the grass, stretching my legs toward the pond's mirror-like water. Fifteen minutes — a tiny luxury: to quickly jot in my notebook everything I felt while running up the trunk — and only then let my muscles cool down.
A quick note in the field diary:
Peak chakra volume per sole: ≈ 6% of total reserve.
Comfortable range: 3–4%.
Breakdown at 8%+ — bark cracks, repels.
After writing, I clicked the notebook shut — time was up. The pond gleamed invitingly: a smooth surface with no current, a perfect training track.
I stepped to the edge, focused chakra in my soles, and stepped forward. The water accepted me like a springy mat — I took three steps… and heard a characteristic "squelch." My left boot instantly sank ankle-deep.
"Damn…" I muttered quietly, shaking off drops. "Didn't pour enough chakra at the turn."
Walking on water is different from climbing a tree: here you can't just "stick" with a constant energy flow.
To stay afloat, the practitioner must release a continuous stream of chakra from the bottom of their soles. This thin film creates a water-repelling force, like standing on a springy membrane. But water is alive: every breeze, every ripple from your steps changes the pressure.
So chakra levels have to be adjusted every second — add a bit here, release a bit there.
Because of these constant fluctuations, this method is considered noticeably harder than "walking on trees."
I looked back at the pond. The waves had calmed, but the faint trembling of the surface clearly hinted: it would only get harder.
"Alright," I exhaled and pulled down the zipper on my jacket. "Gotta strip down. Next time, if I go under, at least my clothes won't weigh me down."
I shed the extra weight, took off my shoes, focused. My heart settled into a steady rhythm: "pulse — release — adjust…"
"Second attempt," I whispered, stepping back onto the water, ready to hold this fickle balance as long as it takes.