Naruto: Lightning Reborn

The academy smelled like dust and old ink.

Zuberi stood at the gates with his father, clutching the strap of his satchel. The building itself was carved directly into the side of a ridge — tall and angular, with banners fluttering above the entrance that bore Kumogakure's emblem: a sharp, jagged cloud.

It was strange to think that here, in this quiet place, shinobi were shaped. Trained. Hardened.

Zuberi looked up at the academy and didn't feel awe.

He felt ready.

Daisuke Kaminari laid a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "You already know more than most," he said. "But knowledge is only the beginning. Don't measure yourself against the others. Measure yourself against who you were yesterday."

Zuberi nodded.

Inside, the halls buzzed with energy — voices bouncing off the stone walls, kids running back and forth with oversized headbands tied too loose or too tight. Some came from clans. Others from shopkeeper families or civilian homes.

He stood out, and not just because of his height or dreads. There was something quiet about him. Focused. Watchful.

He made his way to Class C, room 3, and took a seat near the back by the window.

That's when he saw him.

Darui.

Same white streak of hair, same unreadable expression, leaning back in his seat with one leg stretched lazily under the desk.

Their eyes met again.

Neither spoke.

The moment passed like a distant thunderclap — barely noticed, but impossible to ignore.

The First Lesson

Their instructor entered — a wiry kunoichi named Shiga with short-cropped hair and a scar across her nose. She wasted no time.

"Stand up, line up, and introduce yourselves. Name, clan if you have one, and what you want to become."

Zuberi stood somewhere near the middle.

When it came his turn, he spoke calmly.

"Zuberi Kaminari. From the Kaminari Clan. I want to master lightning chakra and become strong enough to protect what matters."

Some kids blinked. Others whispered. The Kaminari name wasn't famous anymore, but it still carried weight in Kumo.

Shiga gave a nod. "Good. Precision over pride."

Then it was Darui's turn.

He yawned.

"Darui. No clan. I just want to get strong enough so I don't have to deal with annoying missions."

The class laughed.

Zuberi didn't.

He saw the subtle shift behind Darui's eyes. That wasn't laziness — it was something else. Quiet calculation. Distance.

Maybe even loneliness.

Clash of Currents

The first sparring session came later that week.

Wooden staves. Basic footwork drills. No chakra, just movement and observation.

Zuberi was careful — controlled. His staff felt like a natural extension of his body, its weight familiar. Each swing, block, and pivot was precise. He didn't try to stand out, but he did.

So did Darui.

When they were finally paired, the class went silent.

Even Shiga looked interested.

Zuberi took his stance, feet light, grip firm.

Darui's staff rested on his shoulder. Lazy. Almost bored.

The match began.

Darui moved first — quick, low, testing Zuberi's balance with a sweeping strike. Zuberi blocked cleanly and stepped in, pushing Darui back with a short jab. Darui twisted and reversed the motion, aiming for Zuberi's knee.

It wasn't just sparring.

It was conversation.

Each strike said: I see you.

Each block said: I won't back down.

The exchange lasted less than a minute, but every move crackled with tension.

Then Shiga called it.

"Enough."

No victor. No need.

The rivalry had begun.

Later that day, Zuberi sat on the academy's stone steps, watching the mist roll through the mountain trails. His staff lay across his knees. His muscles ached in a good way — the way that promised progress.

Darui walked by, hands in his pockets, that same bored look on his face.

Then he paused.

"You're not bad with a staff," he said. "Most kids flail."

Zuberi looked over. "You're fast. Good balance."

Darui shrugged. "Guess we'll see who stays standing longer in the end."

Zuberi smirked. "Looking forward to it."

Darui gave a small nod — barely more than a twitch of his chin — then walked off.

A Letter Home

That night, Zuberi wrote in the back pages of an old scroll his mother had given him. It was meant for training notes, but he used it like a journal.

First day. Saw the village from above — bigger than I thought. The air smells like steel and rain. Darui's sharp. I like that. We didn't speak much, but I think we're the same kind of different.Not friends. Not enemies. Just… currents crossing. I think he gets it.My chakra control is improving. Just enough to feel the hum again. The staff helps. Still not ready to channel through it. But I will be.One day, I'll make Kaminari a name again. For real this time.

He closed the scroll and set it beside his bed.

Outside, thunder rolled softly through the peaks.