"What?.." I said aloud, staring in surprise at the girl standing in front of me. It was Tsubaki — a clanless student from my class, quiet and almost invisible among the others.
I had been sitting, minding my own business as usual, just eating lunch by the window, when she suddenly approached me.
"Can you help me?.." she asked, lowering her head slightly and bowing.
"Wait… help with what?" I asked, a little confused, not quite understanding where this was going.
"I can't say here," she replied, glancing nervously around the classroom. A few of our classmates had already started glancing our way.
"Alright then… let's step out," I said, scratching the back of my head as I stood up.
Tsubaki nodded silently, and we left the classroom together. Out in the hallway, where it was quieter and cooler, she stopped by a window, still seeming unsure if she should speak. I didn't rush her — just stood beside her, waiting. A minute, maybe two.
"I'm listening," I finally said, breaking the silence a little.
"So...," she began, not lifting her eyes. "Can you help me with a technique?"
"Which one?" I raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised, though I kept it out of my voice.
"Illusory Cloning," she said quietly, almost in a whisper.
A thought flicked through my head: Why should I be the one asking questions? If she wants help, she should explain everything.
"Alright, so what's the problem?" I asked calmly, looking at her attentively.
She sighed, like she was bracing herself, and then started speaking faster than I expected:
"I can't hold the image. I think I'm doing everything right — forming the hand signs, distributing the chakra, I can even feel it moving... But the clone just falls apart as soon as it appears. Like smoke or a mirage. The teacher says I'm not concentrating, but I am. I really am. Everyone else is managing it, even the ones who don't try that hard. But me... still nothing."
"So the teacher's advice doesn't help... Why do you think I can?" I asked, not mockingly, but without any sugarcoating either. Just straight-up.
Tsubaki fell silent, but then, as if gathering her thoughts, she finally replied:
"Because you don't explain 'by the book.' When you helped Gai with the henge technique — he said he only truly understood it after you explained how it feels inside. Not in words, but in the body. So I thought… maybe it'll be clearer for me too."
I tilted my head slightly, thinking it over. There was no flattery in her voice, no hope even — just an honest attempt.
"Alright, we'll give it a shot. But just so you know: we'll have to do it during breaks. I don't have time after class."
Tsubaki nodded — a small, barely noticeable gesture, but there was no hesitation in it.
I glanced at the clock.
"Nine minutes left. Let's go to the top floor," I said, already heading for the stairs at a run.
We climbed the creaky steps. The top floor was nearly empty.
Good. No one to distract us, I thought.
"Okay, let's start with what you already know. Show me how you perform the technique," I stopped by the wall and nodded at her.
Tsubaki stepped forward, took a deep breath, and started forming hand signs: Sheep → Snake → Tiger. Chakra thickened in the air, and a moment later, a clone appeared beside her. Or rather — a failed attempt. Distorted, unstable, barely holding its form: its outline wavered like a reflection in water, its eyes were blank, and the entire structure broke apart like a jigsaw puzzle with loose pieces.
"Stop," I raised a hand, and the clone disintegrated into chakra dust. "That's not a technique. That's a ball of tension."
Tsubaki's shoulders sank, but she said nothing.
I stepped closer and started speaking slowly:
"You're rushing. Illusory Cloning isn't like other techniques. It doesn't rely on the mass of chakra, but on how precisely it's distributed. You're flooding the image with power, and it can't handle it — so it breaks. This isn't a statue. It's a projection. See the difference?"
She frowned slightly.
"Imagine you're not creating a clone, but remembering it. Your chakra isn't bricks — it's light. You're not building — you're painting. Picture yourself looking in a mirror and sketching your own reflection. Feel the chakra flow into fine lines."
She began forming hand signs again. Tiger → Boar → Ox — chakra swirled again around her like mist. But this time, it was different. The clone appeared a little faster, its outline clearer, though still flickering like glass in the wind.
It wasn't perfect. It still fell apart after a few seconds. But I saw progress. The chakra lines didn't collapse immediately. They were holding — not well, but noticeably better. That was something.
"Better, but still not it," I said. "You're missing the details. This isn't just a projection. The clone should be your reflection — even if it's not alive."
The rest of the break passed in focused silence and effort. There was some progress: the technique grew more stable, but it was far from complete. I sighed, watching Tsubaki's clone dissolve into chakra dust once again.
"Go home and study yourself in the mirror," I said, turning to her. "Really study — your expression, the way your shoulders move, how your lips look when you breathe. Then try making the clone while looking at that reflection. That helped me once. Maybe it'll help you too."
Tsubaki raised her brow slightly, nodded without asking questions, and looked away, already seeming deep in thought.
I'm not doing this for nothing... Even if it's just ten minutes during a break — it might matter later. Teaching someone makes me understand the technique better. Explaining forces precision. You have to say out loud what you used to do instinctively. And when you explain it — you notice where you weren't entirely accurate. It strengthens the foundation.
I glanced at Tsubaki as we headed back to class. She was silent, focused, like she was mentally reviewing her mistakes.
The second reason is simpler — just basic pragmatism. Help doesn't disappear. Today you explain something, tomorrow someone's watching your back. Sometimes, one right person at the right time is worth more than a dozen.
My fingers twitched slightly on the strap of my pouch — a familiar habit when I was thinking about the future.
And the second-to-last reason… reputation. In the shinobi world, that's worth gold. If you want to grow, to be trusted, to be respected and given more — you have to be someone people can follow. Not just strong, but someone who can guide, explain, support. That's not always obvious at first, but over time, it builds an image. It's all part of building yourself. Calmly, step by step.
And finally... how could I ignore a fellow clanless? — I thought, glancing sideways to where Tsubaki had taken her seat. After all, this isn't a secret technique — just basic training. Nothing I can't show. But for her — this might be everything right now. And if I can ease that path, why not do it, especially if in the end, we both benefit?
The bell cut off my thoughts, and I prepared to slip back into the school rhythm.
Another day — another step.