The Cycle of Hatred: A Naruto Insert

Hey, I have 50 chapters worth of words on Patreon and am mass-releasing, so read these instructions carefully if you're interested in reading ahead: go to patréon.com/eternalyujin and go to Collections —> The Cycle of Hatred.

After that, enjoy your reading!

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On the days we sparred, school ended at 1:30 PM. Everything from then onwards was dedicated solely to the skills necessary for shinobi. We finished at 5:00 PM, with sparring taking up the last two hours.

So far, I'd already fought twice and won both matches.

My chakra skills widened the gap between me and the vast majority of the class. However, it wasn't nearly enough to overcome the clan kids' specialised training. Chakra adhesion was little more than a trick, and one easily dispelled at that. All it took to break the adhesion was my opponent using their chakra to dispel mine. It had its uses, but against the clan kids, the furthest I could go was to use it to leverage more of my weight in my strikes.

That still left my limited range as a glaring issue that almost all of them were able to take advantage of. Most of them, anyway. Ino preferred to use our matches to strike up conversations with me before surrendering.

"I wonder who'll fight next?" Choji asked as he returned victorious from his match.

"How about you look through Iruka-sensei's notebook, Hinata?" Shikamaru suggested.

"That's an invasion of his privacy!"

He leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. "Too bad. I'd be able to get a nap in if I knew I was done fighting for today. Oh, well."

She folded her arms and muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. Honestly, sometimes that girl was too tightly wound for her good. I guessed her growing closer to her father a lot earlier than she would have without my interference had made her more like the man.

Taking a look at Iruka, who was still going through his notebook, I grabbed her attention with a cough. "I'm not hearing you say no. Does that mean you'll do it?"

Inhaling sharply, Hinata readied herself to say something—but to my delight, Iruka signalled us to gather around him, cutting her short.

"The next spar will be between Shikamaru Nara and—"

When we all turned to look at him, he groaned loudly. "Me again? I fought like twenty minutes ago!"

"A shinobi must always be prepared for battle," Iruka replied cooly. "As you know, we can't gather vast amounts of chakra instantly. Doing so would burden the chakra network. You might be wondering why I'm bringing this up. I'll say this at the risk of stating the obvious: were you to have made sure your chakra network was active between your last fight and now, you would have had the advantage, Shikamaru. The leaf-sticking exercise taught in your first year wasn't just for concentration, you know."

He was right—and it wasn't just something that applied to Shikamaru; he was just reaping the reward for his laziness. Iruka's advice applied to all of us. Despite having last fought almost an hour ago, I should have at least been making sure my chakra network didn't fall into its dormant state.

Keeping moulded chakra in my body without expelling it was an easy way to speedrun chakra burns, but I had enough that letting it leak out my tenketsu wouldn't amount to any real loss. If they were smart about it, it wouldn't bother most of the class—even the ones with meagre reserves—and if it did, it would still help build endurance and teach them to fight in nonideal circumstances.

I started to gather my chakra and let it leave my hands, starting slow and steady. I wasn't sure when I would fight, but it would only help me to make sure I was as ready as could be.

Shikamaru joined the crowd and Iruka turned back to announce his opponent. "As I was saying, the next battle will be between Shikamaru Nara and Naruto Uzumaki."

I almost stopped moulding my chakra.

I hadn't fought Shikamaru in a while and if there was anybody I wanted to fight more than I did Sasuke, it would be him. Not for any sense of personal progress or rivalry, but to simply prove a point. That was the extent of my stake in it: not wanting my friend to die one day because he didn't work hard enough.

With all the small changes I'd made, I could only help but wonder whether I'd created a tornado somewhere else in the world. Maybe someone important died when they were meant to live. The fact that I just didn't know was cause for worry but I shook the thought free from my mind.

Even if that were the case, there was literally nothing I could do about it, so I walked to the field without looking back. 

Shikamaru would come.

He would come because a strange arrogance lay beneath his laziness. A practical kind of arrogance that could almost be excused as pride. He only ever bothered being lazy when he was thoroughly outclassed. If it was something he wasn't sure he could complete, he either half-assed it or didn't try entirely.

That was my friend's approach to life, extending as far as the most mundane of tasks, to the shinobi kumite we engaged in. Were he to be matched up with Hinata, Kiba, Shino, or Sasuke, he rarely tried to fight them. Either he'd do just enough and then lose, or surrender without putting up an effort at all.

That he fought me earnestly was very telling of what he thought of his skill level in comparison to mine. It should've pissed me off—and it did—but the arrogance aside, I was also happy that he was able to accurately assess each situation he found himself in. His mind was a fearsome weapon, but so was his body—one he refused to train beyond the minimum.

There was only one goal for me in this spar: to show him the consequences of not improving his body. I wasn't entering it with the intent of sparring, but of throwing every single skill I currently possessed right at him. This match would be unlike any of the ones before—the ones I'd fought to figure out his control over his shadow, dipping in and out of his jutsu's range and dragging him to the depths of exhaustion.

The ones I'd treated like practice, holding myself to a set of unspoken rules. I couldn't claim to be a shinobi, not as I was now, but I'd tried and tried and tried and failed to get him to see reason.

Nothing worked with him. 

So, this wasn't just a spar—it was a lesson. A demonstration of the consequences of complacency in the world of shinobi. If nothing else, I would make sure that Shikamaru wouldn't have the chance to rely on his crutch today.

I formed the Confrontation Seal and watched him carefully. He'd barely made the seal when I blitzed forward with inhuman speed. I could feel the heat of my chakra coursing through my feet as the world blurred. I dug my heels into the ground, rubber soles grinding against the earth, and skidded to a stop.

Shikamaru's eyes widened and he just barely blocked a body blow, my fist slamming against the outer side of his elbow. He immediately tried to shift around me, but I didn't let him, gripping his forearm and reeling him in. With my kunai against his throat, I leaned in close enough that only he could hear me.

"You're dead."

I felt his gulp through the hilt.

He broke away in a single jerky motion, bringing his hands together—not that I'd let him mould his chakra, let alone weave hand seals.

I rushed after him and closed in again, smashing a fist through his gathered hands and doubling him over. Backing away, I got ready to load up a kick but only got as far as chambering my leg before I stopped. Shikamaru lurched forward, still bent over, and I caught the glint of steel. Lowering my foot, I brought up my guard and cupped the blow, once again using chakra adhesion to guide his wrist off-centre.

He dispelled my unnaturally strong grip by cycling his chakra and directing it to the affected area. Too bad for him, I was already holding onto his arm without the help of my chakra, but he deduced the source of my unnatural grip strength.

His doing so only proved why I had to get rid of his irritating work ethic even more. He smirked in self-satisfaction as he disrupted my chakra flow and I immediately slammed a fist into his face, sending him stumbling back.

I watched him take a few moments to recover and pointed my kunai at him. "You're dead again."

Wiping his face, he swiped his kunai off the ground with a glare and threw it at me. I smacked it away using mine, not even breaking my run. The tactic had delayed me a little, but not for long enough to let him use his signature jutsu.

Once more, I closed the distance using some well-timed chakra repulsion, but instead of slowing down, I threw my kunai. It clipped his shoulder, cutting into his shirt and the flesh beneath, and plunged into the ground behind him. Halting the chakra flow, I entered close range.

Shikamaru brandished his kunai threateningly. I side-stepped his initial strike, feeling the blade slice through the air, and launched a barrage of punches, aiming for any opening in his defence. Shikamaru was quick to react, his kunai deflecting each blow with precision. His movements were economical, conserving his energy as he focused on figuring me out. I pressed on relentlessly, refusing to give him a moment's respite.

Grunting, he overcommitted on a swing, leaving his body open and I drove an uppercut into his exposed torso, whispering, "And you're dead."

He stiffened—while his lazy demeanour may have fooled others, I knew better. We continued to exchange blows and I could see the frustration boiling in his dark eyes. There was a competitive side to him that may not have been as strong as Sasuke's or mine—but it was definitely there.

I redoubled my efforts in a determined surge, raining down a flurry of strikes in rapid succession. All of my moves flowed, and I was completely in control of every single move I made, trapping his arms to keep him in place and slipping quick blows whenever I was able to.

Shikamaru struggled to keep up, his movements becoming more erratic as he tried to anticipate my next move. I refused to let up, pushing him to his limits in a relentless onslaught. Growing sick of the one-sided beating, he leapt back and threw a kunai to keep me occupied, bringing his hands together again.

I caught the thrown kunai by the hilt and returned it to him with a flourish of my wrist, sprinting after it. I'd aimed for his other shoulder and it whizzed past, tearing into his shirt and skin. Having succeeded in breaking his focus, I readied myself for the imminent collision.

We slammed into each other, falling in a tangle of limbs. I pinned him below me and released my second kunai from its holster, ready to force him to yield. Instead, I inhaled a flood of smoke through my nose and my mouth so potent that I fell onto my back.

I dropped my kunai to rub and wipe the tears from my burning eyes. Spluttering, I looked at the paper remains of a smoke bomb draped around my neck and shoulders. Then my eyes darted about wildly—where was Shikamaru?

All at once I realised the smoke bomb was his. Ignoring all subtlety, I leapt up in an uncontrolled burst of chakra, clearing the smoke cloud, and looked down at my quickly shrinking shadow. I stiffened unwillingly just as I reached the apex of my jump, falling feet first and slamming into the ground.

I didn't fall, and despite the throbbing in my knees, walked one painful step at a time. I struggled against the jutsu while trudging ahead, but it was like trying to push a boulder. Forced to bend over and crouch low, I watched myself swipe the discarded kunai off the ground and face Shikamaru.

The bridge of his nose was beginning to swell. Bloody trails trickled down both his arms in thin trails, crossing and merging about halfway down his forearms. He clutched his left hand over his ribs and despite his numerous injuries, made a show of slowly raising his right hand with a smirk.

I felt the press of cold steel against my throat.

"You're dead," he said.

"Seems to be the case, yeah," I grunted. "Mind letting me go?"

He smiled. "Say the words."

"...I yield."

Iruka came over, smiling from ear to ear. "Shikamaru, well done! You fought extremely well, despite the gap in your skills, and used your strengths to wrestle the fight in your favour.

"Thanks, sensei," said Shikamaru.

"Your performance was good as well, Naruto," said Iruka. "You lost, not because of a lack of skill, but because you didn't end the fight when you should've. I counted at least two chances you didn't follow up on."

I didn't have to look to my left to see that Shikamaru was smiling.

Iruka let us return to the rest of the class with a reminder to keep our chakra networks active—just in case—though I doubted either of us would be called up to spar again so I took Shikamaru to the infirmary. The medical ninja stationed there disinfected Shikamaru's cuts, gave him an ice pack, and then sent us on his merry way.

He and I met Choji and Hinata under the tree as usual and two stared at the ice pack pressed against his face.

"...Wasn't this a bit too far?" Choji asked.

I pulled my lips into a thin line. "I didn't want to punch him that hard, but he wasn't exactly able to defend himself. Instead, he stopped and smirked when he figured one of my techniques out."

Shikamaru looked off to the side and refused to engage.

"For once, you've got no snarky comeback," said Hinata with a small smile.

Choji snorted. "You reckon we should give him a shiner every time we spar with him? It might break that habit of his."

"Let's not do that, please," said Shikamaru. "My mother won't let me hear the end of it. I bet she'll take a picture of my face when I get home too."

To be honest, I thought Hinata and Choji would be a lot more upset given how aggressive I was in our match. I expected them to act like the children they were but forgot that this world wasn't my original one.

Injuries that would see an ordinary school shut down for good come were just business as usual here and, while I'd acclimated to the world for the most part, I'd forgotten the Academy wasn't an ordinary school. I lost myself in my thoughts for a while as I replayed the spar with Shikamaru.

A voice broke through the din, calling out names for the next match. My ears perked up as I heard Sasuke's name being called, followed swiftly by Shikamaru's. I blinked in surprise, my mind struggling to process what I had just heard.

Sasuke against Shikamaru? The idea seemed surreal. Shikamaru had only fought twice so far, and his second fight was the only one to give him any difficulty, but Sasuke? A completely fresh Sasuke facing off against Shikamaru, no less.

It was a match-up I hadn't expected and one that piqued my interest.

As the crowd around me began to stir with excitement, I watched in anticipation as Sasuke and Shikamaru made their way to the centre of the training ground. The atmosphere crackled with tension, mounting until the match began with Sasuke moving with a level of speed and agility that left Shikamaru struggling to keep up.

I couldn't help but be in awe of his skill. His strikes were precise and carefully calculated to exploit Shikamaru's injuries and lack of comparative skill. Despite being outclassed in terms of speed and power, Shikamaru relied on his intellect and cunning to try and gain the upper hand. Unfortunately, it was just a bad matchup; Sasuke excelled at shurikenjutsu, completely nullifying Shikamaru's main strength and not just that, he was also really good at close-quarter combat.

Ironically, Shikamaru was no slouch. He acquitted himself well but was clearly fighting a losing battle. Taking into account the fatigue from our earlier fight, his injuries, and the chakra he was expending in trying to catch Sasuke in the Shadow Bind Jutsu, it was no surprise he was starting to look like he was moving underwater.

Not that he was likely to win, even if he was in peak condition—which he wasn't. He started pawing at Sasuke, swaying without moving his feet to conserve energy while dodging. It let him keep going for much longer, but he was also forced to take some hits. Eventually, he gave in, sagging to the ground and acknowledging his defeat.

Sasuke helped him up and walked away, leaving Shikamaru alone on the field. They weren't the last spar of the day, so I volunteered to help bring him back. Pulling him to his feet, I slipped under his arm and leaned him on me as we walked back.

"...He sure did a number on you, huh?" I remarked.

Shikamaru grunted.

"You did well against him but I'm going to be honest: your chances of beating him on a good day aren't all that high." I was quiet for a moment. "Today wasn't a good day for you—no thanks to me, anyway. And for that, I don't apologise, but you know what?"

I was met with silence, which was a little off-putting. Still, this was something he needed to hear. He wouldn't like it, but there wasn't a better moment for me to hammer home everything I'd been telling him for the last year and a half.

"If you trained as hard as you tried to win that fight, you would've beaten him. We both know this isn't about that fight or our fight. I've been telling you this for a while: your entire work ethic isn't one a shinobi should have. 

"You've probably already heard from your parents, me, and Iruka-sensei, but at a certain point, you've got to ask yourself whether not working hard is something you'll regret. If you don't work hard, you only have yourself to blame when you come up short—whether that's here and now, or far into the future."

Shikamaru stopped walking completely. "You mean like you?"

"Sorry?"

"You," he said. "You train every day and were Rookie of the Year since we started the Academy, but you lost to Sasuke the last time you guys fought. That's on you, right?"

I frowned at him, not liking where this conversation was going. "...And your point is?"

He was quiet for a while. The last pair to spar walked past us without a sound and soon, our classmates' attention was on their match instead of us. He only spoke once the cheers started up.

"It's nothing much, really," The smile he shot me was thin and sharp at the corners where his lips curved up, drawing towards his malicious dark eyes, "Just… it looks like you won't be Rookie of the Year anymore, is all. Wouldn't that be a waste of your hard work? I guess that's too bad."

Against all sense of reason, I felt a strange heat in my chest. My breathing picked up, and before I knew it, I could hear my heart hammering away. It wasn't the same as the anger I was used to feeling. It wasn't the kind of anger I felt watching the play about my father, or the sort I grew up with because of the villagers. There was an odd pain there too—it hurt.

I was hurt.

Hurt that my friend didn't appreciate the care I was showing him by offering sincere help for help's sake. I hadn't felt that way in a long, long time.

The next few words came to my tongue unbidden.

"Don't blame me for the failing grade you'll walk out with this year—and don't pretend it doesn't get to you. I know it does. Disappointing everyone who has hope for your talents?" I shrugged. "Just know that's on you—no one else."

Shikamaru gasped. It was a faint, crushed sound that extinguished all my anger.

I didn't know how long we were still for, but it was long enough that Choji and Hinata had run up to us, freezing at whatever looks were on our faces. I passed Shikamaru over to them in silence

I stumbled at the sheer disgust overflowing within me. I'd made a child cry solely to make myself feel better because his words had hurt me—there was no other reason.

Looking around at the other children readying themselves to go home, I only felt the disgust rise. I left the Academy as fast as I could without looking one way or the other. The sight of his hurt expression and the heartwrenching sound of his gasp clung to me as I walked away.

The bitter taste of regret lingered on my tongue and I knew I'd crossed a line.