Chapter 3: Normal-type Pokémon

Earth, Tokyo

Six-year-old Yami watched intently as his grandfather swung a wooden sword through the air. The old man's routine was unwavering – a hundred, sometimes a thousand repetitions of the same vertical strike, day after day. Yami couldn't fathom why he'd waste his time on such a seemingly pointless exercise. It wasn't like his grandfather, a retired Kendo instructor, was preparing for war or some grand slaying.

"Old man," Yami began casually, a stark contrast to the formality he used with his parents. His grandfather was a pillar of warmth and affection, a safe haven for the young boy. "People your age are supposed to be contemplating their mortality, you know, praying by the deathbed. Here you are, playing with your wooden toy when you could be spending time with me. At least use a real sword or something."

The old man boomed with laughter. "Ah, you little rascal. You wouldn't understand this passion. Sometimes, actions don't need an immediate purpose. This… this gives me life, keeps me grounded." He turned, demonstrating his grip on the wooden sword. "And here's a little secret: though it appears I'm wielding it with two hands, I'm actually using just one."

Yami's eyes widened in surprise. Observing from the right side, he had only seen his grandfather hold the sword with his right hand. The left hand rested on the hilt, but wasn't truly gripping it. The purpose of this technique, however, remained a mystery to the young boy.

"Still, what is that for? Faking it to the enemy?"

"Nah, just gripping with both hands makes a hell of a difference," his grandfather replied.

"...Old man, are you watching some kind of anime or something?"

"Haha!" His grandfather placed the wooden sword down and smirked, "But it wasn't like it doesn't serve any purpose. Let me show you the cool side of my mastery."

With a newfound purpose in his stride, the old man walked towards a stand of bamboo, assuming a practiced stance. The air around him seemed to crackle with energy, even drawing Yami out of his boredom. The old man's eyes snapped open, and in a blur of motion too swift for Yami to follow, a brown flash danced behind the wooden sword. In the aftermath, the bamboo at the target point lay cleanly severed.

"Whoa!" Yami's voice echoed with pure, unadulterated excitement, momentarily eclipsing his usual rationality. "But… how?"

"Seems impossible, right?" the old man chuckled. "But that's the beauty of practice, young man. This – this is the fruit of my dedication."

Stars sparkled in Yami's eyes. "That's incredible!"

A sly grin spread across the old man's face. "Want to give it a try?"

"Heck yeah!"

And so, Yami took the wooden sword in his small hands, mimicking his grandfather's movements. From that day on, they swung their swords together, a daily ritual that continued until the old man's passing. He later found out that the bamboo cut was fake, but practicing that swing gave Yami a purpose to move forward, or he would have already given up.

"Ha! Ha!"

Back in Konoha, the 2-year-old Yami was also swinging his sword as he used to in his past life. Of course, the wooden sword was nothing more than a stick, but it was still something Yami could practice with. It was something he could focus on in his life.

---

A man with a spiky lower ponytail breezed through the doorway. Securing a day off while ninja nations were at each other's throats was no easy feat, but Yamai Nara wouldn't miss a chance to unwind with his family.

After a quick bite, he headed for the backyard, finding his son Yami fiercely wielding a wooden stick in the air. A proud smile bloomed on Yamai's face as he watched the sheer focus etched onto his son's features. Unlike other children who reveled in playful companionship, Nara clan members possessed a distinct psyche.

 Shikaku Nara, hailed as a genius among geniuses in his generation, had ushered in an era of exceptional intellect within the clan, and Yami was well on his way to matching, if not surpassing, that legacy.

However, Yamai harbored a nagging concern – talent like Yami's could easily be exploited as a means to climb the ranks. Konohagakure, with its plethora of powerful clans, offered a narrow path to the top, and only a select few, a mere 1%, achieved true prominence.

Pushing those worries aside for now, Yamai approached Yami as he finished his "practice," offering him a towel.

"Here's your towel, Yami-sama – ahem, I mean, wipe your sweat, Yami." A blush crept onto Yamai's cheeks as he stammered. Despite Yami's young age – barely three – his father couldn't shake the feeling he was conversing with an old man trapped in a child's body.

Yet, the paternal love burned bright.

"Why thank you, Yamai-san, ahem – I mean, Father," Yami replied, accepting the towel and wiping his brow. "Do have a seat."

Yamai rolled his eyes, still struggling to adjust to his son's mature demeanor. Taking a deep breath, he initiated conversation. "So, what kind of… pocket monster are you aiming to be?"

He recalled Yami's previous attempt at a jutsu, accompanied by muttering about "Pokémon types." Though Yamai could offer guidance on basic jutsu, academy training was the official gateway to learning. Clan techniques were a separate entity, reserved solely for clan members. The academy served as the foundation for all ninja hopefuls.

Yami shot him a flat stare. "Honestly, you're ruining the moment." He then added in a bored tone, "You could at least help me figure this out."

"I understand your eagerness, but the academy is the right place to learn these things."

Yami fell silent for a moment before muttering, "By the time the Third Ninja War starts, they won't care if you're a Genin or a Chunin. Your son will be on the front lines before you know it."

Yamai's silence spoke volumes. As much as he loathed admitting it, Yami had a point. Children as young as ten were often fast-tracked through graduation, only to be thrown into the brutal crucible of war. If the Third Ninja War did erupt, Yami would undoubtedly find himself on the front lines by the tender age of ten.

"Hmm, I was considering asking Sakumo Hatake to take you under his wing," Yamai mused, pulling out a Chakra Induction Paper. "But first, let's get your elemental nature tested."

Yami's eyes widened at the sight of the plain paper, a flicker of childlike excitement replacing his usual stoicism. Yamai chuckled silently, a warmth spreading through him at this glimpse of his son's true age.

"Alright, here's a basic rundown," Yamai began. "There are five elemental natures a ninja can possess: Fire, Wind, Lightning, Earth, and Water. Channel your chakra into the paper." He placed the paper in Yami's small hand.

Yami studied the paper for a moment before nodding in understanding. Chakra, the inherent energy that flowed through every shinobi, was a familiar concept to him. While its true potential remained untapped, he could sense this intangible force within him. The challenge now was to coax it out.

With a focused expression, Yami closed his eyes and concentrated on channeling his chakra. After a few tense seconds, his fingertips emitted a faint blue glow.

'No way!' a startled thought echoed in his mind. Unrefined chakra surfacing so naturally, especially at such a young age and without any training – it was practically unheard of. Chakra doesn't show that easily!

However, despite the initial surge, a minute passed with no further effect. The paper remained stubbornly unchanged, devoid of burns, tears, or any elemental reaction. Disappointment washed over Yami, crystallizing into tears that welled in his eyes.

"I-I'm a… a normal type?!" he choked out, his voice thick with despair. "This is all your fault, Father!"

"Wait, what did I do?!" Yamai exclaimed, reaching out to console his son. But before he could, Yami bolted towards the house, leaving his father bewildered. A moment later, a terrifyingly familiar energy erupted from within the house.

"WhAt dId yOu Do wItH oUr sOn?!" a booming voice reverberated through the walls.

"Wait, Aoi, listen! No! Stop! AAAHHHH!" The house echoed with Yamai's frantic pleas as he was unceremoniously sent flying across the room by an unseen force.

Little did either Yami or his father know, the seemingly unremarkable Chakra Induction Paper had undergone a strange transformation. Its surface shimmered for a fleeting moment before dissolving into dark particles, vanishing into the air without a trace.