Reluctant Cultivator in Konoha

[Champjklccmk]

Hello everyone!



Not sure how this will do on this site, but I'm posting it here anyway.



Hope you enjoy reading it!



---

Prologue

It worked!



Why did it work?



It shouldn't have worked.



What the fucking fuck?



My mind was awhirl. Sweat drenched my whole body, causing my clothes to stick uncomfortably close to my skin. No strength reached my limbs and my lungs felt devoid of air.



Yet, all of that was ignored.



Chakra flooded my pathways, which isn't all that strange. I was learning to be a shinobi of Konoha, after all. Our class was taught to use this energy a few months back and every single one of us has succeeded to varying degrees.



But not like this.



It was just a passing fancy. A lark. Nothing should have come of it.



The denser, purer particles of spiritual matter currently flowing through my body proved otherwise.



Was this always possible? How did no one figure this out? Konoha spawned some of the most powerful monsters in the world! Not to mention the Warring States era that preceded its founding.



The Kages. The Sannin. Shit, the sages who made nature energy their bitch!



None of them? I refuse to believe that.



Still, what I accomplished was undeniable. I actually cultivated chakra and its effects were already showing.



Vision, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. All my senses have been enhanced.



Then the full implications of what I'd done hit me like a Rasengan to the gut.



"What am I going to do?" I couldn't help asking out loud in dread.

Chapter 1 - Time-skip no Jutsu!

Tell me if you've heard this story before. Some dude dies (doesn't matter how) and somehow finds himself in a place that's supposed to be fictional.



I've certainly read my fair share of those. Mostly to pass the time. Never because I actually wanted to experience it.



Yet, here I am.



No, I'm not going into the whole 'getting squeezed out between my new mother's thighs' schlop. I was born, I grew up, and now I'm learning to be a ninja.



Dear god, I still flinch when I think that word.



'Ninja.'



Before you start reaching for those pitchforks, I've got nothing against anime enthusiasts. I watched a few, myself.



I'm what you would call a 'filthy casual' or something. Fanfiction and web novels were as far as my 'nerd cred' extended. What can I say? They helped stave off boredom.



But, back to the main point: Inexplicably finding myself in Konoha.



My status? Civilian. My parents owned a store selling general goods. Nothing exciting.



As for my (ugh!) ninja abilities – until today, I had none. No, seriously, I was painfully average.



Even with my retained mental faculties, I had absolutely zero luck with gaining any kind of advantage expected of someone in my situation. To a certain degree, I understood why a lot of the fics I used to read exaggerated crucial details. If they made the main character's life too hard, it wouldn't be fun.



Unfortunately for me, this isn't fanfiction. This world had actual rules and imposed serious limitations.



Take chakra, for example. Some stories made sensing and using it sound simple. As a newborn, you had all the time in the world. So, it should be easy to focus on finding your chakra, right?



Wrong!



I spent months trying and all I managed to do was scare my parents into thinking I had severe constipation. This didn't change until I got into the academy, where chakra use was strictly regulated.



Yeah, who would have thought that teachers wouldn't want to just hand little kids a live grenade before sending them out to play? Well, when there wasn't a war going on, that is.



Different times, different rules.



And I'm getting off topic again. Where was I?



Ah! Chakra, yes. So, no, I couldn't use chakra until I got to the academy. I could, however, start preparing for my inevitable entrance into 'child soldier university' in several ways. Namely, exercise and reading.



By now, some of you might be wondering why I would want to be a ninja in the first place. I'm not the main character. There was no clan name or great legacy forcing me down the path of blood and violence.



My family wasn't rich, but we were fairly well off. I could have gone to regular school (yes, they have those here) and helped out with our store. If I were an actual native of this reality, I might have done just that.



But I wasn't. I knew stuff. Stuff that would inevitably find me, even if I didn't go looking for it.



To my admittedly limited knowledge, Konoha would be attacked twice. Once by Orochimaru and then by that Pain dude. Or was it Pein? Never mind, doesn't matter.



Why not just leave, you ask? How? How would I do that?



Even forgetting the fact that I had parents who had built a life here, there's no internet in this world. No convenient transportation systems, either. The most advanced form of widely available mode of mobility is the steamboat.



You know what else is here? Bandits. No, not just bandits. Ninja bandits. The kind who reduce civilian caravans into slurry on the regular.



How do you think hidden villages pay their highly skilled, highly trained cannon fodder who never got any screen time? Escort or guard detail, that's how.



Living out in the boonies isn't any better, either. Bandits attack smaller towns and villages too.



Ironically, Konoha is one of the safest places to live in if you were a civilian. Until it isn't.



So, where does that leave me?



Well, if I can't count on others to protect me and those I care about, I'll have to do it myself. Problem was, I turned out to be supremely untalented in all things ninja.



Hear me out before you start calling me a lazy bum, making excuses, and never putting in the work.



I'm not saying that I'm completely hopeless. That would be Naruto (relax, we'll get to him later). But for all of my perceived advantages and preparations, I was still completely outclassed by some of the kids I got to school with.



A few names are fairly obvious, with Sasuke being right at the top of the list. But Kiba, Shino, and even Hinata were all kicking my ass.



It's hard to even describe how fast these named characters were, even as children, or how hard they can hit. The first time I went up against the Hyuga girl, for example, was also the first fight of the Taijutsu class. I don't know if I was just unlucky or if this was part of some planned match-up.



Either way, I got the absolute stuffing beaten out of me.



She didn't even use her eye thing! And her attacks? Dear god, they were indescribable. Those tiny hands packed so much force that a later examination revealed microfractures all over my arms and chest.



How did anyone ever consider this tiny terror weak?



By the end of the day, she did come over to apologize for hurting me and I admit, it yielded some complicated feelings.



On one hand, she didn't mean to be so rough. On the other, I couldn't get my head around the fact that this was the same person who showed me a glimpse of how vicious ninjas can be. The two concepts just wouldn't merge.



In the end, I could only give her a strained smile and tell her there were no hard feelings.



Things didn't really get much better from there.



Practically all of the clan kids were better than me at fighting. I did better than the other civilians, but that's not saying much. As for Naruto…



Look, it's complicated, okay?



He's got stamina for days and even though his technique was atrocious, he didn't need it when facing me. The kid was a pure brawler and while Sasuke had the skills to take him down with no issue, I found the hellion a lot more challenging.



Not because he was better at combat than I was.



It's because He. Would. Not. Stay. Down!



When we first fought, I moderated my strikes like I did with the other civilians. That turned out to be a mistake. When the spar finally ended with me as the victor (barely), my fists, knees, and elbows felt like ground meat.



I've only fought him four times in the nearly three years we've been at the academy, and I thanked Lady Luck every day for this boon.



Regarding the rest of the schooling aspects, I was doing quite well! While not exactly a genius, I was raised in a house of academics in my previous life. So, I've made use of a few effective methods to make studying more productive. I even shared these methods with my classmates, though, only those who didn't come from clans.



Those brats already had plenty of advantages. I wasn't giving them another one.



Did I share it with Naruto? I suppose this is a good spot in this long and winding monologue to talk about him.



Now, we all know his story. Ostracized by people through no fault of his own, the protagonist grows up lonely and isolated. Some self-inserts then enter the picture and all of Naruto's troubles disappear.



Hurray!



As with all things related to him, though, it ain't that simple.



Contrary to what quite a few what-if stories depict, the villagers weren't actually cruel to him. They didn't chase him away, form mobs while chanting "Burn the demon!" or go out of their way to make his life miserable.



No, Naruto was ignored and neglected.



One could argue that this was still bad and I would agree. It also, unfortunately, left my hands tied.



Had I been born an orphan, our team-up would have been swift and legendary. But I wasn't. Instead, I had parents. Parents who would become targets if I went anywhere near Kurama's container.



Not just by the other mundane inhabitants of Konoha, either. But by other ninjas, Root…Danzo.



You see my problem?



On top of that, I didn't have any cheat skills or convenient gifts from ROB to get me out of trouble. I had to make a choice and I chose my family.



This wasn't to say that absolutely nothing changed for Naruto. At school, I could get away with giving him some assistance. I just had to frame it the right way.



While helping my fellow civilians, I could also toss some advice or useful observation his way. It didn't always work, but he wasn't as bad as he was portrayed in the source materials. I also asked questions and clarifications in class as often as I could get away with. If it ended up helping Naruto understand the lessons better, well, that's not my fault.



At the end of the day, though, I'm severely limited in how much I can change things. Take the Uchiha clan massacre, for example. Given everything I told you about my time here, could I have done anything to prevent it?



Don't bother, the answer is no. I'm basically a nobody here, with all that entails.



Or, I was.



Which brings us to what happened today. See, I've been training to use my chakra for a while now. As it turns out, you really do need the assistance of an experienced teacher to even get started. By exposing us to their chakra, the academy's instructors acted like car batteries to jumpstart our own sleeping potential.



Not the best analogy, but I'm sticking with it.



Naturally, the clan kids didn't need such distasteful methods since they had mommy and daddy to help, the pampered little shits.



…



Okay, I may have grown bitter at some point.



Moving on, I considered my chakra awakening the true start of my journey toward power. Alas, it wasn't that easy. Control came easily enough, but I had such paltry amounts that I may as well not have had any.



Thanks to my meta knowledge, I was able to increase how much chakra I had through some grueling training, but the improvements were miniscule. Half a year later, my capacity was only a little above what someone from my background should possess. Not bad. But not good, either. Especially for what's coming.



So, there I was, in one of the least-frequented training grounds in Konoha, resting against a tree after busting my ass off for little to no gain. It was a Saturday and I had already spent hours walking up and down its trunk to hone my control and expend my store of chakra.



Of all the options via fanfiction that I've tried, this was really the only one to produce measurable results. That I was able to do it at all while would have been a major accomplishment given my relative youth. But knowing what I did, it also highlighted how badly I stacked against my contemporaries in chakra capacity.



Unfortunately, I've simply exhausted all other reasonable possibilities.



And this is where the trouble started.



It began as a stray thought, really. A spark of insight where the similarities between chakra and chi started dancing in my mind. Thinking of chi got me thinking of all the myths and legends about it back on Earth. And following that trail of ruminations somehow brought about memories of fics involving young masters, magical plants growing in random places, and flying swords.



This then got me thinking of absurd possibilities. Ridiculous possibilities. Impossible possibilities…



…Might have gone too far with that last one, but the point is – could it be? Well, why not? I've already tried everything else. This is just the proverbial kitchen sink I have yet to throw, so throw, I shall.



Having made up my mind, I then had to consider how I would even start. Do I just…think really hard?



Should I curse at the sky until the heavens strike me down with lightning?



Fuck it, the KISS methodology, it is.



Closing my eyes, I focused inward to feel out my chakra. Through constant practice, my control now allows me to move the energy through my pathways at the speed I want. What I haven't tried yet, however, was compressing the stream of jutsu fuel in my body.



You know, like how those cultivators supposedly get stronger while hiding in their closets.



As I was doing this, the similarities between the concepts governing this reality and those stories I remembered became more difficult to ignore. Chakra and Chi or Qi. Tenketsu and Meridians. Chakra Coil and Dantian.



I'm sure I got some of those wrong, but that's not important right now.



Not when I started noticing tangible developments with this approach. Kicking my mounting disbelief down to the abyss of my consciousness, I started putting in more effort to compress and circulate my chakra all over its pathways.



Finally, after literal hours of me doing this, I felt a shift that was nearly impossible to describe to someone who couldn't feel chakra. The best way I can put it would be like switching to 4K resolution after watching YouTube at 240p for most of your life.



When I opened my eyes, I knew deep in my soul that my life was never going to be the same ever again.



-----



It took me far longer than I'd like to admit before I calmed down enough to go home. At that point, night had already fallen, and my folks were worried sick.



They grounded me for a week.



I would've protested, but honestly? The punishment gave me an excuse to hid- I mean, spend more time at home. I had to get a handle on this problem before school started, but I didn't know where to even begin.



A few tests in my room immediately made a few things clear, however.



My chakra flowed more easily than it ever did. It responded to my wishes like an eager puppy, unaware that its very existence is putting my life in danger. While I did appreciate the difference that its new (density? purity?) quality is making in weaving jutsu, I was more interested in avoiding attention.



Konoha is constantly being monitored. The Yamanaka clan has incredible sensors and don't even get me started on the ninja working at T&I. That they didn't immediately track me down after my reckless discovery was a miracle on its own.



Still, I'll be going back to school tomorrow and I'll be surrounded by teachers. All of whom are ninja and are bound to notice the changes in my chakra.



Do I quit the academy? It wouldn't be strange. Civilian students drop out all the time.



But then my parents would ask questions. The teachers would ask questions. What excuse could I possibly give that wouldn't lead to more, well, questions? I wasn't exactly struggling and I practically had to beg before I was allowed to enroll in the first place.



So, what? Just go to class and pretend that nothing happened? Play dumb when the inevitable inquiries start raining down on me?



Lying in bed, I groaned into a pillow.



How did such a stupid test end up trying a noose around my neck? Even now, I still can't believe that no one else has made this discovery. After thinking about it more, it's so stupidly obvious!



We were already practicing chakra control. Sage training existed in this world. What? Did no one wonder what would happen if you compress those energies and rapidly circulate them around the body's local network of pathways?



Then there are the biju, tailed beasts that are basically just masses of chakra given form. That last part shouldn't be possible without compression. Chakra dissipated when it escaped the body. So, the biju must be drawing in their energy to a fixed point, thus making their chakra denser.



Of course, none of this is confirmed. For all I knew, I could be completely wrong. But they are a good jump-off point to cultivation.



There wasn't any indication that someone made this connection, though. Not in the anime. Not in any of the fanfiction I used to read. Heck, not even in our academy books and scrolls, and I've read practically all of them.



I was trying to get ahead, okay? Sue me.



Without any point of reference, I wasn't sure how the changes in me would be perceived. Will I be treated as a spy? Will they think that I was replaced by a foreign shinobi?



By the end, I couldn't think of a solution, so I went back to school a trembling mess. Naturally, my parents noticed and I gave the excuse that I didn't get enough sleep. My mother wanted me to stay home for the day, but that would just be putting off the inevitable, so I convinced her I'd be fine.



At the academy, some of my classmates made comments about me looking like a corpse warmed over. I gave them the bird.



Strangely enough, classes started as they usually did. Some of the teachers did ask if I was okay, and I used the same excuse I gave my parents. I was chided for being so irresponsible, but that was about it.



It was during Taijutsu that things took a turn for the worse. In hindsight, I should have expected it. It was always Taijutsu class.



Expecting to get my ass handed to me, as usual, I squared off against Kiba. Cue obligatory taunts and boasting by my opponent, followed by Naruto screaming encouragement and vitriol at the sidelines.



When Iruka gave the signal to begin, Kiba charged straight at me, fully confident that I wouldn't be able to deal with his speed. This was certainly the case every time we sparred in the past.



Now, though? He was much slower than usual. Not in the 'moving through syrup' way. More like he was just a regular kid with no special training.



As such, he was much easier to follow and counter.



Full disclosure: the prospect of finally winning a fight against one of the clan kids completely pushed my chakra issue out of my mind.



He swiped, I ducked, grabbed the offending limb, twisted my hips and legs, and then threw Kiba out of the ring. From the look on his face, the Inuzuka clearly wasn't expecting that. It would have been funny if it wasn't for the deafening silence that followed.



Then I remembered and froze.



Oh, fuck.



"Kenta."



I was fucked. Utterly and completely fucked.



"Kenta!"



Root was going to find me. Danzo will give me to Orochimaru and I'll be dissected on a lab table, probably while conscious.



"Shiozaki Kenta!"



Or maybe I'll be taken to T&I where Ibiki will pull out my fingernails and–



Before I could spiral any further, hands grabbed my shoulders and I blinked. Iruka was there, kneeling in front of me, face full of concern and worry.



"You back with us, Kenta?"



I didn't trust myself to speak, so I jerkily nodded my head instead.



"What happened?"



The question was simple enough. It should have been easy to answer. But out of nowhere, all the stress, anxiety, frustration, and humiliation that I've accumulated over the years hit me all at once.



"I don't wanna die, sensei."



The choked sob escaped me before I could stop myself.

Chapter 2

My fingers curled into the fabric of my pants, the echo of Kiba's crash landing still reverberating in the stunned silence of the training field. The other students stared, some wide-eyed, others slack-jawed.



But those were the least of my concerns.



Oh no. Oh no.



Iruka's eyes were wide in alarm, his mouth open in shock.



Why would you say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid!



Before the spiral of self-berating thoughts could tighten any further, a loud voice shattered the tension.



"Yeah! Take that, dog breath!" Naruto whooped, pumping both fists into the air with all the subtlety of an exploding tag.



And just like that, the vice clenching my heart loosened its grip.



"What'd you say, you idiot?!" Kiba barked, scrambling upright, his earlier disbelief replaced by the more familiar scowl of bruised pride.



"You heard me! How'd you like the taste of dirt?" Naruto stuck his tongue out for good measure.



The argument flared instantly, the kind of noisy, over-the-top chaos I usually found exhausting. Today, it was a gift from the gods. A perfect distraction.



Iruka sighed, rubbing his temples, "Alright, that's enough! Naruto, back to your spot. Kiba, get over here."



Naruto stuck out his tongue again as Kiba snarled, but both obeyed with only a few grumbles. Then Iruka turned to me.



"Kenta, are you alright?"



I swallowed hard.



"Y-Yeah. Just tired."



Iruka didn't press. He gave me a long, assessing look, then nodded.



"We'll talk later if you want. For now, you and Kiba make the seal of reconciliation."



Once we did, Iruka told us both to take a seat.



I nodded and made my way to the benches, legs suddenly shaky. My pulse still thudded in my ears, but Naruto and Kiba's commotion had given me the time I needed. My breathing was gradually evening out.



That... could have gone so much worse.



I just had to hold it together for a little longer.



I sat as still as I could, trying not to draw any more attention.



It didn't work.



Whispers drifted through the air. I caught snippets: "Did you see that?" "It was so fast!" "Kiba got tossed."



Someone actually whistled.



I kept my head down and stared at the dirt beneath my feet, doing my best impression of someone too exhausted to care. If I were fortunate, they'd chalk it up to luck. A freak accident. Kiba had overextended. I'd reacted on instinct. Nothing worth talking about by next week.



I hoped.



Naruto's argument with Kiba had bought me precious seconds. Iruka's professionalism kept it from escalating. But the classroom jungle operated by its own rules, and kids noticed.



I couldn't afford to stand out.



Letting out a slow breath, I catalogued what had happened. My movements during that match weren't anything flashy. If I played it cool, I might be able to pass it off as the result of extra training.



And Naruto... bless that chaotic little menace. The boy could derail an entire funeral with his mouth, and today, that trait had probably saved my skin. Between him and Kiba yelling at each other, most of the attention had been siphoned off me.



I reminded myself to never admit that out loud.



All right. Don't panic. Stay boring. Fade back into the middle of the pack.



Just a normal civilian kid doing his best.



And maybe getting lucky once in a while.



-----

Dinner that night was curry, Mom's go-to for cold or stressful days. I didn't know which she'd had, but my guess was both. The scent hit me the moment I walked through the door: garlic, ginger, and something spicy enough to clear sinuses.



"Welcome home," she called from the kitchen. "Wash up and set the table, please!"



"Yes, Mom," I replied, kicking off my sandals and heading straight for the sink.



The table was already half-set, like always. My father's habit of leaving out the plates and letting me finish the rest was a kind of unspoken ritual. It wasn't a big thing, but it was consistent and comforting. Like the slight clatter of chopsticks on ceramic. Like the squeak of Mom's apron as she moved between pots.



When the three of us finally sat down, the silence lasted all of three seconds.



"You look like you went twelve rounds with a wild boar," Dad said bluntly, peering at me over his glasses. His sharp, dark brown eyes studied my posture like I was a complicated receipt.



"I'm fine," I said, mechanically scooping rice into my bowl.



"You're pale," Mum added, brow creased. "And you've barely touched your curry."



"I just sat down."



Dad raised an eyebrow.



"Not denying the pale part, though."



I sighed and leaned back slightly.



"We had sparring drills today. I was paired with Inuzuka Kiba."



Mom clicked her tongue.



"Those Inuzuka boys. Always so reckless."



"His dog wasn't there, was it?" Dad asked immediately. "You'd tell us if you were fighting animals, right?"



I resisted the urge to snort.



"No, Akamaru's still too young for that. It was just Kiba. I got lucky."



Dad and Mom exchanged a glance. Not suspicious, exactly, but knowing. The sort that said they'd heard me pull this kind of excuse before.



Which I have.



"Well," Mom said, ladling more curry onto my plate even though I hadn't asked, "luck or not, don't let him hit your head. We don't want to test how thick your skull really is."



"I'm starting to think the academy's harder on civilians," Dad muttered, stabbing a potato chunk with intent. "They expect you to keep up with all those clan kids. Ridiculous."



I winced. My first bout with Hinata remains unforgotten by Pops, it seems.



"We knew it wouldn't be easy," Mum replied softly. "But he wanted this."



That earned me a pointed look from both of them. I offered a half-hearted shrug.



"Still do."



It wasn't a lie. Not completely. Dad sighed and leaned back, one hand resting on his still-full bowl.



"You sure nothing else happened? You're twitchier than usual."



That was harder to answer.



"I just pushed myself too hard," I said eventually, reaching for the water jug. "Didn't expect to do well. I guess I surprised myself."



"You don't have to outdo everyone, sweetheart," Mum said gently, giving my hand a brief squeeze before pulling her own back. "Just do your best."



I nodded, chewing slowly, aware of how carefully I was being observed. Mom's sharp eyes, Dad's furrowed brow, both tracking me like I was going to burst into flames if left unsupervised.



This wasn't new.



I wasn't a prodigy. I was fit, as required by the academy, but not the fittest. But my parents had always supported the whole ninja thing, even if it clearly terrified them. They knew what the academy meant. What being a shinobi meant.



And they still signed the papers. Still made lunches. Still made sure I got home every day to a warm meal and clean clothes.



"You know," Dad said suddenly, reaching for seconds, "I still think you should've taken that aptitude exam for civilian school. You'd do well running the store. Business is going up. We could expand."



"Masaru," Mum said with quiet exasperation.



"I'm just saying! Options can't hurt," he offered.



"I'll think about it," I muttered, forcing a smile.



That seemed to be enough. The conversation shifted to shop talk–new supplier delays, a customer who'd tried to haggle over dried persimmons, a passing mention of next week's flower festival. I played along, contributing where I could, and feeling grateful for the routine.



By the time dinner wrapped up, I'd managed to finish two bowls and even mustered a laugh when Dad made a pun so bad it earned him a flick to the forehead.



Mom gave me one last once-over as she collected the dishes.



"Go lie down early tonight, Kenta. You look drained."



"I will," I promised, and meant it.



Sort of.



I was going to my room. But sleep wasn't in the cards yet.



There was too much to process and too many unknowns for me to settle. I needed clarity. And journaling, oddly enough, had become my best tool for that.



Still, for a little while longer, I stayed at the table and listened to the soft domestic sounds of my parents cleaning up.



It helped.



Normalcy helped.



Because I had no idea how long I'd be able to keep it.



-----

Back in my room, I shut the door with a soft click and leaned against it for a moment. The warmth from dinner still lingered in my chest, but it couldn't hold back the tide of thoughts pressing at the edges of my mind.



Neither did a shower.



Fortunately, I'm not completely out of options.



Dragging my chair to the desk, I reached for the battered notebook I'd hidden under a stack of school scrolls. It was plain, matte black, and filled with handwritten notes, hypotheses, and flow diagrams. All of it written in English.



My chakra journal.



The one I started in my frantic attempt to gain some modicum of control over my spiraling situation.



I flipped to a fresh page, sharpened my pencil, and wrote the date at the top.



-



Entry #9 – Post-Sparring Observations



Subject: Kenta Shiozaki (Self)



Objective: Continued documentation of internal energy manipulation. Observations following unintentional enhanced physical performance during academy sparring.



Overview: Earlier today, during scheduled taijutsu practice, I experienced a notable performance spike. Successfully redirected and counter-threw opponent Kiba Inuzuka. Subjective time perception during the engagement was altered – visual input appeared clearer, and movement tracking was easier.



Hypothesis (Working): Ongoing chakra compression and circulation practice has measurably improved baseline physical capabilities. Likely due to increased chakra density and efficiency in internal pathways.



-



I paused, tapping the pencil against my chin. That was a lot of speculation. I needed more detail.



-



Supporting Data:






[*]Sensory Augmentation:
Visual: Able to perceive minute shifts in opponent posture.
Auditory: Heard Kiba's foot pivot on packed soil before attack.
Tactile: Noted grip tension in opponent's arm prior to execution of throw.
[*]Motor Coordination:
Reaction time decreased.
Joint movement felt smoother, more instinctive.
Reduced conscious lag between decision and action.
Possible Factors:





Chakra cycling over the previous two days.
Compressive hold techniques (see Entry #8) prior to chakra exhaustion.
Mental state during spar: high alertness, strong fear stimulus.
-



That last one was important. I scribbled a note to revisit it later.



-



Interpretation: Early signs suggest this form of chakra refinement mirrors certain aspects of xianxia-style cultivation (as depicted in low-accuracy fictional accounts). Dense chakra appears to improve mind-body synchronization.



-



I snorted. Low-accuracy was putting it kindly. Most of the cultivation stuff I'd read focused on shouting at the sky, hoarding magical pills, and jade-like beauties (whatever the hell that meant). Very little attention had been paid to the actual logic behind the power scaling. Then again, most of those stories were meant for spectacle, not scholarship.



Still, there were parallels worth considering.



I turned the page and drew a basic diagram of the human chakra pathway system. Well, my understanding of it. The tenketsu points, the major and minor channels. Overlaying it in pencil, I tried sketching out what I thought might be the equivalent of meridian networks from those old novels. Nothing exact, but the resemblance was enough to make me uneasy.



Were they the same system? Had I just stumbled into a forgotten method of refinement that this world had long since abandoned?



Or had I accidentally forced my chakra into a new configuration entirely?



I underlined that question twice.



-



Risks and Unknowns:





Chakra behaviour under extended compression: no existing models.
Possible long-term side effects: strain on tenketsu? Coil degradation?
Detection risk by sensors or higher-level ninja.
Psychological strain (paranoia levels increasing; see Entry #7).
-



I paused again, setting the pen down and flexing my fingers. Writing helped. It created distance and gave me something to measure, track, and analyse. I wasn't just panicking over unexplained power jumps, but rather, studying them.



There was a comforting reassurance in that. The kind that came from treating a problem like a puzzle instead of a threat to life and limb.



It didn't fix anything, but it helped me breathe a little easier.



I picked the pencil back up.



-



Next Steps (Preliminary Plan):





Continue daily cycling, but no new compressions for three days.
Record physical/sensory baselines each morning.
Begin sketching a training regimen adapted for stealth conditioning.
-



The last point came with a bitter edge of irony. Here I was, a supposed ninja-in-training, trying to avoid being noticed for getting better.



But the truth was simple. I didn't want attention from teachers. I definitely didn't want Root sniffing around.



My goal was to survive until I was strong enough to protect my parents and anyone else I cared about.



I closed the notebook, slid it back under the scrolls, and sat in silence.



Stillness was good. Stillness was safe.



But my hands wouldn't stop trembling.



Tomorrow, I'd finish the rest of the analysis.



------

The next morning, I woke early. Too early.



I hadn't slept much, but my body felt strangely light. The way it does after too much caffeine and too little rest: wired, but not quite functional.



Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed the notebook again and returned to my desk. My parents wouldn't be up for at least another hour. That gave me time.



-



Entry #10 – Continued Observation & Baseline Establishment



Physical Status (Morning):





Muscle soreness: Moderate (primarily in legs and shoulders)
Breathing: Normal
Heart rate: Elevated, but likely due to stress
Chakra flow: More responsive, smoother circulation through standard control exercise (leaf sticking test passed in 1.4 seconds, meeting the 10-minute minimum duration)
Mental Status:





Focus: Fractured, intrusive thoughts recurring
Emotional state: Restless, low-grade anxiety with mild detachment
-



I scribbled a note beside it: Begin meditation? Look into actual shinobi mental conditioning techniques.



As I sipped a lukewarm glass of water, I turned my thoughts back to the central question since all of this started. Why had this worked? What mechanism had I accidentally stumbled into?



In fiction, cultivation usually involved something abstract. Intent, willpower, spiritual resonance, whatever handwave the author needed to justify powering up. But there was almost always a structure to it, even if it was nonsensical.



Could I reverse-engineer one that made sense in this world?



I flipped to a clean page.



-



Attribute Comparison: Chakra vs Cultivation Qi





Source
Chakra: Physical + Spiritual energy (dual origin)
Cultivation Qi: Spiritual energy only (usually)
Behavior
Chakra: Malleable, explosive
Cultivation Qi: Stable, internal, growth-focused
Uses
Chakra: Techniques, attacks, augmentation
Cultivation Qi: Self-refinement, long-term gains
Control Method
Chakra: Mental focus, hand seals
Cultivation Qi: Meditation, breathing, spiritual flow
Flow Pattern
Chakra: Circular, jutsu-specific
Cultivation Qi: Looping, ascending tiers
-



I stared at the list for a long time while trying to repress the incredulity rising from my gut.



Could my breakthrough have come from treating chakra as if it were qi? What if I had simply... forced it to behave differently?



I'd always assumed the mechanics were fixed: Chakra as a force, chakra as fuel. But what if that assumption was wrong? What if chakra was more flexible than even the textbooks said?



I flipped back to my sketch of the chakra pathways and began adding directional arrows. Mapping where the compression might be strongest, where flow met resistance.



Somewhere around the lower stomach, I drew a new circle and labeled it tentatively: "Core Compression Node?"



Not quite a dantian. But not not a dantian either.



I jotted down another note: Develop a chakra map tailored to personal circulation habits. Compare with basic academy flow charts.



A yawn tore itself free from my throat, but I forced myself to keep going.



-



Additional Notes:





Previous tests show chakra strings respond better to denser chakra. Thread techniques (if developed) could become more effective.
Could apply to tool manipulation.
Hypothesis: Denser chakra equals better weapon control?
-



The idea of spinning a storm of shuriken around me like in a goddamn anime boss battle wasn't as far-fetched as it used to be. Dangerous? Yes. Flashy? Unfortunately. But plausible? If I kept this up, maybe.



Still, for now, I wrote in bold: No experimentation with weapon manipulation until control is more precise.



I didn't need to accidentally behead myself trying to recreate Kratos' Blades of Chaos with some ninja wire and overconfidence.



-



Next Steps (Updated):





Daily chakra journaling
Begin control tests (sensory, strength, and dexterity drills)
Avoid combat practice with notable changes for now
Observe chakra flow changes when exhausted vs well-rested
Track chakra quantity over time with basic chakra exercises and low-ranked jutsu
-



The page was half-full when I sat back, rubbing my eyes.



This was going to be my life now: Quiet experimentation. Vigilant secrecy. Meticulous data.



It was almost like being in a lab again.



Except this time, failure didn't mean a bad grade. It meant exposure. It meant Root. It meant getting dissected by a snake man in a cave.



I closed the notebook.



A quiet knock on the door snapped my head up.



"Kenta, breakfast in ten."



"Got it, mom, I'll be right there!"



I slipped the notebook back into its hiding place and rolled my shoulders.



Time to play the civilian student again.



But I'd be back here tomorrow. Same time. Same plan.



-----

The morning started off deceptively normal.



I arrived at the academy just early enough to avoid the main crush of students and settled into my seat like I hadn't just rewritten a small part of chakra theory in my bedroom the night before. That was the goal, anyway: blend in, be forgettable. Fly so low to the ground, I might as well be a worm.



And for maybe fifteen minutes, it worked.



Then Naruto showed up.



"Yo, Kenta!"



I winced.



"Dude!" He was practically vibrating as he dropped into the seat beside mine. "That throw yesterday? That was awesome! I didn't think you had it in you!"



"Neither did I," I muttered.



"You gotta tell me how you did it," he said, already leaning in like we were co-conspirators in some grand scheme. "Like, was it a secret technique?"



I blinked at him.



"Naruto, I'm a civilian."



"So? You still pulled it off. I've seen you fight before. You don't usually win."



"Gee, thanks."



"No offense!" he said, waving both hands. "Just, this time you were like BAM! WHAM! And Kiba was all 'what the hell just happened?'"



I rubbed my temple, a headache starting to form. I'd had contingency plans for dealing with Iruka. For deflecting teacher suspicion. For hiding changes in my chakra flow.



I had not accounted for Naruto's complete lack of verbal brakes, essentially demanding tips and tricks that he could use.



"I'll think about it," I said finally, cutting him off before he could yap any further. "I'm still figuring it out myself."



That seemed to satisfy him. At least temporarily. He gave me a broad grin.



"Cool! We can train together sometime, right?"



I gave him a noncommittal noise in response and immediately turned my attention to the front of the classroom. Let him interpret that however he wanted.



The moment class officially began, Iruka entered with his usual clipboard and calm expression. I braced myself for… something. A pointed look. Maybe a subtle comment. But nothing came. He greeted the class, ran through announcements, and moved straight into the day's first lecture like it was any other morning.



Which almost made it more unsettling.



I tried to focus, but I could feel eyes on me. Not Naruto's. He'd gone back to doodling something that looked suspiciously like a frog wielding a kunai. No, this was someone else.



I glanced across the room.



Hinata.



She wasn't staring, exactly. But every so often, her eyes flicked in my direction, thoughtful and quiet. She didn't seem upset or suspicious. Just... observant.



Which was arguably worse.



I'd gone three years without being particularly remarkable. And in less than 24 hours, I was being watched by both the class loudmouth and the shy genius with a built-in chakra microscope.



Perfect.



Behind me, I heard a quiet sniff.



Kiba.



He was seated two rows back and one aisle over. Arms crossed, jaw tight. His leg bounced beneath the desk like he was restraining the urge to bolt.



He didn't look angry. Not really. More like... unsettled. Embarrassed, maybe. Confused?



I didn't blame him.



We'd sparred half a dozen times over the years. He'd never had trouble beating me before. Yesterday was the first time I beat him. It wasn't even a flashy move. Just a clean and efficient execution borne of muscle memory and instinct.



I didn't think he'd forget it anytime soon.



When the lecture ended, Iruka assigned us a team drill outside. As the class moved to collect training gear and head for the field, he paused beside my desk.



"You're partnering with Shino and Ami today," he said quietly.



I blinked. That was... new. I usually ended up with other civilian students.



"I want to see how you handle being in mixed teams," he added with a small nod.



Yep, there it was.



----



Out on the training field, I kept my head down and listened to Iruka's instructions as best I could. The drill was simple on paper: retrieve a flagged object from a makeshift base while a defending team tried to stop you. Not life-threatening, but an excellent way to see how students handled movement, teamwork, and improvised strategy.



Shino was his usual unreadable self: calm, silent, and already half-vanishing into the tree line. Ami, on the other hand, looked like she'd just been handed a spoiled ration pack.



"Of all the people," she muttered, arms crossed.



"Nice to see you too," I replied dryly.



She rolled her eyes and turned away, muttering something about 'dead weight.'



Great. This'll go well.



Iruka blew the whistle and our group took off. Shino melted into the foliage, and Ami immediately tried to take charge, issuing clipped instructions and veering off into a direct assault path.



I stayed to the side. Not out of spite. I'd just rather play to my strengths, as it were.



I let her pull aggro, and let Shino do the real scouting. I'd act as the floater. Support, counter, backup, what have you. Something neutral and unthreatening.



We didn't win. But we didn't embarrass ourselves either. Shino managed to grab the flag while Ami took a hit to the shoulder and blamed me for not backing her up. I let the complaint slide off me like rain on oiled cloth.



What mattered more was Iruka.



He was watching us throughout the whole exercise, seemingly without paying particular attention to our group. But my recently enhanced senses still caught him glancing our way more times than I was comfortable with.



Funnily enough, I didn't get the impression that he was suspicious, exactly. Rather, it was more watchful and measuring. As if he was trying to piece together a puzzle.



I kept my reactions minimal to the best of my abilities, though, I wasn't sure how well I did.



By the end of the exercise, Iruka called the class into a loose semi-circle and offered feedback. When he reached our group, he gave all three of us the same neutral praise: "coordinated under pressure," "good adjustment to terrain," "could improve communication."



But when our eyes met, he gave me a small nod. No more. No less.



I returned it for want of a better response.



Back in the classroom, things returned to their usual rhythm. Except now I was paying more attention to everything. Who looked at me. Who didn't. Who whispered. Who shrugged me off like before.



Naruto was already bouncing back to his usual antics, dragging Chouji into a loud debate about whether a kunai or a shuriken would win in a fight if they had souls. Hinata still glanced over now and then, but never for long. Kiba didn't say a word.



And Iruka? He kept me in his periphery. Called on me twice during history. Asked me to demonstrate a basic substitution jutsu in the next practical.



It was subtle, but I got the message.



-----



Weapons training was the final class of the day. It was held on the outdoor range behind the academy proper. Rows of wooden targets at various distances, surrounded by worn grass and the occasional embedded kunai someone had failed to retrieve the day before.



We lined up, each of us with a small basket of practice shuriken. The assignment was straightforward: practice accuracy and form. We'd done this dozens of times. Some kids took it seriously, others less so.



Today, I was focused.



Maybe too focused.



I took a spot near the end of the line, away from the more competitive students. My hands were steady, but my head buzzed with calculations. Breathing, grip, balance, weight distribution. My internal chakra flow hummed. Like it was waiting for something.



Iruka paced behind us, correcting stances, commenting here and there. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, but he hadn't said anything to me directly yet.



I picked up the first shuriken and let my breathing settle.



Inhale. Exhale. Aim. Release.



It embedded with a solid thunk. Just a bit off-center.



Not bad.



Second throw. Slightly better. Third, better still. I adjusted unconsciously, aligning the slight changes in chakra flow to guide the rotation.



By the fifth throw, I wasn't even thinking about the weapon itself. Just about timing, intention, and the flow of every motion.



The sixth shuriken left my fingers and cut through the air like a bullet.



It struck the wooden post with a sound like an axe splitting timber. The entire target shuddered.



The silence that followed was instant and complete.



Even Naruto clammed up.



I stared at the shuriken. It had sunk far deeper than anything I'd managed before. Deeper than anyone else in our class, for that matter.



I hadn't used more strength. I hadn't forced it.



It was the chakra.



Too dense. Too refined. It must've leaked onto the weapon and coated it, even if unintentionally. My internal refinement had passed some kind of threshold, maybe a shift in how the energy interacted with physical objects.



Someone muttered a low curse.



I swallowed and stepped back in line, suddenly very aware of my heartbeat.



Iruka walked slowly to the target, hand on his chin. He crouched, examined the shuriken, then stood and looked over his shoulder at me.



His eyes were unreadable.



Then, just a small nod. Barely more than an acknowledgment. And he moved on without a word.



My shoulders slumped in relief.



The rest of the session passed in a blur. I intentionally missed a couple of throws to even out my results. Far too late, I know, but no one said anything.



----



When class ended, most students scattered quickly, eager to play. I stayed back, taking my time to pack up my tools.



Iruka approached, hands in his vest pockets.



"Good work today," he said casually.



"Thanks," I replied, trying to keep my tone even.



He glanced toward the target range.



"Those were some clean techniques you were showing."



I offered a noncommittal shrug.



"Been practising."



"I can tell."



There was a beat of silence, then he placed a hand on my shoulder.



"You're doing better. Keep going."



He said it like he meant it.



I nodded.



"I will."



He gave me a small smile and walked off.



I stood there for a moment longer, watching the last rays of sunlight stretch over the field.



I wasn't sure what Iruka suspected. If he knew anything, or if he was just guessing.



But he wasn't pushing.



And for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt like maybe I wasn't completely alone.



That feeling lasted until I walked home and nearly jumped out of my skin when a cat darted across the street.



Still, the smile lingered a little longer than usual.



Tomorrow would come. More drills, more whispers, more chances to slip up.



But I had survived one more day with my secret intact.

Chapter 3

The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Hokage Tower, painting gold bars across polished floors and the framed photographs of heroes long gone. Iruka Umino stood just outside the circular office doors, breathing slowly through his nose.



The doors slid open with a hush of oiled hinges. Wood smoke and fresh parchment greeted him, an oddly comforting blend that always clung to the Third Hokage. Sarutobi Hiruzen sat behind his broad desk, silhouette defined by a nimbus of late‑day light. He was reading a mission report with the slow care of a man who knew haste birthed mistakes. At Iruka's footfall, the old shinobi glanced up and motioned him forward.



"Iruka‑kun," Hiruzen said, voice warm but alert. "You asked for a few minutes. I trust the academy hasn't burned down?"



Iruka managed a faint smile as he stepped onto the rug before the desk. "No, Hokage‑sama. Though Naruto nearly set the sparring mats on fire again." He lifted the scroll tucked beneath his arm. "This is about a different student."



Hiruzen set his paperwork aside. Fingers steepled, he watched Iruka the way one might watch a cloud to see if it meant rain.



"Proceed."



Iruka unrolled the scroll. Words marched across the page in his neat, utilitarian hand: attendance, grades, health reports, sparring logs. But a single name was circled in red ink: Shiozaki, Kenta.



"A week ago, during a routine taijutsu rotation, Shiozaki demonstrated a level of control that, frankly, didn't match anything we'd seen from him before." Iruka kept his tone measured, professional. "He took Inuzuka Kiba down with a textbook shoulder throw with hardly any effort. It was almost completely contrary to his past performances."



Hiruzen nodded once, encouraging continuation.



"I assumed it was luck. Children surprise us, after all. But over the week that followed, I noticed smaller changes. His footwork is tighter and his recovery is faster." Iruka paused. "He also managed to bury a shuriken so deep in a target that it nearly split in half."



"Natural talent can bloom late," Hiruzen offered, though curiosity flickered in his dark eyes.



"I considered that." Iruka set the scroll on the desk and tapped a column boxed in green ink. "I requested our best sensor, Instructor Kayo, to observe him covertly. She sensed nothing abnormal. His chakra flow is described as 'unusually clean,' but nothing beyond the norm in terms of size or nature. We found no evidence of external tutoring. He trains in isolated but still public grounds, returns home on time, and maintains his written scores."



Hiruzen leaned back, exhaling through his pipe. A ribbon of smoke curled toward the ceiling.



"Yet your instincts disagree."



"Yes." Iruka met the older man's gaze. "Shiozaki's improvement is controlled and intentional, yet he's hiding it. In every subsequent spar, he's held back. I can sense that he means no harm. If anything, he seems frightened of attention."



"Not uncommon in civilians thrust among clan heirs," Hiruzen mused.



"True," Iruka admitted, "but most civilians either flounder or strive openly. Shiozaki is… different. He's improving under a self‑imposed ceiling."



Outside, a breeze rattled wind chimes along the veranda. The faint notes filled the thoughtful pause that followed.



At last, Hiruzen rose, hands clasped behind his back as he paced to the wide window overlooking the village. Shadows stretched across tiled roofs; laundry lines fluttered; merchants' awnings glowed amber in the dying light.



"What do you believe, Iruka‑kun? Is the boy a danger?"



Iruka's reply came without hesitation. "No, Hokage‑sama. I believe he's protecting himself. From what, I don't know."



Hiruzen hummed and turned. "Then we'll watch quietly. Children grow best without heavy hands on their shoulders."



He returned to the desk, took a clean strip of parchment, and inked three simple words: Shiozaki Kenta – Observe. Sealing wax glimmered as he stamped it with the Sarutobi crest.



Iruka bowed. "I'll keep my reports discreet."



"I trust you will." Hiruzen's smile was thin but genuine. "And Iruka‑kun, thank you for seeing the child, and not the anomaly."



The teacher's chest warmed at the praise. He bowed once more, scroll retrieved, and strode to the door.



Beyond the threshold, the Hokage Tower's corridor lay quiet. Iruka let out a slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.


















Kenta POV



Three months of pretending to be average have taught me two things: One, camouflage is exhausting. Keeping your head below the metaphorical grass line means stooping until your spine protests and your pride files a grievance. Two, exhaustion is an excellent cover. Nobody suspects the yawning kid of harbouring secret revolutions.



So here I am at dawn, propped against a frost‑nipped training post, writing in a notebook instead of doing push‑ups like every sensible future shinobi. I've already done the push‑ups: two hundred, slow tempo, and chakra dampened to civilian levels. Wouldn't gain much if you're using jutsu juice to cheat when exercising.



The real workout is documenting what I didn't show. For example – Leaf‑Stick Test #17: Baseline control: nine leaf‑sticks for 11s before drop. Compression loop: nine sticks, 24s. Improvement factor = 2.18×. Paranoia level: mild.



Paranoia deserves its own scale because it's the closest thing I have to a medical diagnosis. High means I'm one hallucinated ANBU away from sprinting into the Forest of Death to live as a hermit.



Moving on, however, my fighting style will be all about maximum damage and minimum spend. The shinobi world loves flashy overdrafts that I simply can't replicate. At least, not the way I was. Frugal murder's gonna be a necessity of things keep going as they are.



With that said, three months of tests, repetition, and theorising has yield interesting results.



For example, while writing in my notebook, I'm also cycling chakra through refined pathways. Efficiency sings under my skin like tuning forks. It's not multitasking since, quite frankly, that's a real thing unless you have Queen Administrator in your head. I just got really good at delegating the process to my subconscious. Kind of like how habits are formed.



Like always, I keep track of any sensations that stand out. Right now, my fingers are tingling, my vision sharpens, but my heart rate stays calm. After three rotations, fatigue starts to prickle behind my eyes. Good. I end the session there before idiocy overrides my prudence.



I'm still at the beginning stages of understanding this new aspect of my daily life. To truly master it, I'll need to collect a lot more data.



During lunch, I'm sitting under a maple tree and civilian kids crowd around while show off flashcards that say Iruka's Pop Quiz Survival Kit, free of charge. Teaching them mnemonics keeps my helpful cover shiny. It also lets me float questions I'm curious about without sounding nerdy.



"Why do you think nature affinity manifests so young in clan heirs?" I toss out while explaining the hand‑seal sequence for Bunshin.



A bespectacled girl shrugs.



"Blood," she says.



Exactly. Blood means genetics, which means there's a mechanism. Mechanisms can be reverse‑engineered. Or, in the case of enemies, countered.



I grin, pass her a card, and file the theory away.



This is just one of several ways I've started trying to even the playing field between clan kids and civilians. Not because I view the former with any ill will. Despite my numerous losses, I'm perfectly aware that these are still children.



No, what I'm trying to achieve is a shift in perspective. To nudge clanless students toward thinking less about competing and more about innovating. After all, quite a few figures of legend come from similarly humble backgrounds.



Cast the net wide enough and who knows? Maybe one of these munchkins could develop methods that would outshine their peers. Me, included.



Then, anything I do wouldn't seem so out of the ordinary.



That afternoon's Taijutsu spar saw me squaring off against Kiba again: fate's little joke. Unlike last time, I aimed to lose believably. Tightening my footwork, I intentionally widen my stance just enough to invite his sweep.



As expected, he takes it and I stumble. Kiba capitalizes on my 'mistake' and pins me on the ground. Was it too easy? Absolutely. Then again, this is usually how our bouts went, with the last one being the single (and hopefully, last) exception.



From the crowd's reaction, my loss was meeting their expectations.



Only Hinata's pale gaze narrows, you saw that feint, didn't you? I offer a sheepish shrug as if to say, Yeah, I'm hopeless.



She smiles back, unfazed.















Back at the forgotten practice clearing later that day, I test my chakra‑edge on a senbon instead of a shuriken. It's got a smaller surface, which requires cheaper coating. The result? A penetration depth into the straw target that's up 37% compared to the shuriken. The chakra expenditure is down 15%, as well.



For my next trial, I applied a whisper of electricity affinity along a wire while launching a senbon storm prototype. It failed immediately. All I got were sparks before the edge got disrupted and the senbon tumbled on the ground.



The problem was easily identified. Energy costs, plain and simple. It turns out, affinities amplify chakra expenditure exponentially. As a result, I'm sticking to making pure chakra edges until my reserves have risen to acceptable levels.















Over the course of the next few weeks, I started testing whether my "maximum damage, minimum spend" thesis survives contact with reality. Not combat reality, but the quieter, nastier realm of numbers, muscle fatigue, and the ever‑grinning blond gremlin who insists we're now training partners.



How? I called it coupon trimming. Why? Cuz I'm a cheapskate in practically every sense of the word.



Shuriken are cheap, but senbon are cheaper. If I want to make any headway in testing my theories, I'll need smaller cutting surfaces to start with.



To that end, I smuggled a handful of tailor needles from my mother's sewing box.



Under the moonlight, I dripped a bead of chakra down each shaft, compressing until the energy layer thinned to invisibility. Then I flicked a needle at a water‑soaked sponge and pinned it to the fence.



Thunk.



Half the needle disappeared and the sponge split like overripe fruit. Chakra cost per throw: less than half a senbon edge. Damage? Equal if the target has vital organs (most do).



The Hyūga breathing routine (thank you, Hinata) isn't about relaxation at all. Turns out, diaphragmatic pulses can recycle chakra waste. A ten‑minute session nets me roughly five percent reserve recovery. Not huge, but free energy is free energy.



I've opted to practice it discreetly under the guise of napping during Iruka's afternoon lecture.



For anyone wondering why she would teach me something that should've been kept in the family, the answer is simple. It's already well-known by Konoha's ninja community and beyond. Granted, it's not commonly used, which is why Hinata brought it up.



Apparently, even in her clan, the routine isn't all that popular since it takes too much effort for negligible returns. When I asked if she could teach me, Hinata seemed surprised. After a moment of gaping at me, she smiled and agreed.



Not really sure what that was about. If I were to guess, no one has really asked for her help in anything. Must have been quite refreshing for the normally shy girl.



After class, at a riverbank close to my training grounds, it's day two of my unofficial sessions helping a certain blond protagonist train. Naruto insists on naming every drill "Super‑Ultra‑Mega Something."



I humour him since I'm stuck now with the gremlin.



At some point during the last three months, I forgot that I was supposed to be keeping my distance from the knucklehead. I was so absorbed with my experiments and drowning in paranoia that he just slipped under my guard.



It took two weeks for me to remember this little tidbit and by then, I was in too deep. Distancing myself from him would be downright suspicious at this point.



Oh, and it would also make me feel like a dick. I could justify not getting closer to Naruto when our relationship was practically nonexistent. Now that it's gone this far, the best I can do is to maintain cordiality.



That's what brought me here with the grinning ball of energy.



I show him the breathing trick. He tries it once, complains it's boring, and asks when we were blowing something up. I explain the coupon concept: get stronger for cheaper.



He stares blankly, then brightens.



"Like finding extra ramen coupons under the bowl lid!"



Exactly, I say. He finally tries again. The ground quakes less than usual. Progress.



We continued until the sun had fully set, at which point, we decided to call it a day.















My night journals now feature a new section: Affinities & Bloodlines – Plausible Mechanisms.



I sketch diagrams that would make my old college physics professor weep: frequency curves annotated with "maybe chakra Higgs field???" Confusing, but I'm getting closer by the day. Understanding how clan cheats work means I could design counters that cost pennies to the dollar that won't leave me a useless lump of meat right after.



That last part is really why I'm going through all this trouble, in the first place.



I remember enough canon details to know that big, flashy jutsu will be out of my reach for several decades. Even relatively simple ones like the Rasengan would require an absurd amount of chakra. Much more than what I currently have.



If I'm ever going to be useful in a fight within the next ten years, I have to find another way.



Tsunade's monstrous strength, using brute medical control and an anchored seal, was considered. But it was impossible to learn without an expert coach and bigger reserves. I'd probably end up blowing an arm off or something.



I wrote "DO NOT TOUCH" in the notebook margins with a double underline.



Going out to find the female Sannin wasn't in the cards, either, for reasons so obvious I won't even bother mentioning them. With that said, how was it possible that absolutely no one in this misbegotten village was able to learn her techniques before Sakura came along?



Did she never have genin students in the many years she was active? Both her teammates were able to teach kids. Why couldn't she?



What about the other medics? Were they that incompetent? Lazy? Uninterested?



These disgruntled thoughts followed me into bed and even in my dreams, I couldn't stop griping.



The next day, I'm once more surrounded by the eager smiles and bright eyes of fellow civilian students. I would have found the situation grating, but helping my classmates study remains my MVP cover. So, I couldn't just tell them to buzz off.



Instead, I stage a lunchtime tutoring circle, introduce more mnemonic songs.



Kunio, a shopkeeper's son with arithmetic terror, thanks me with dried squid strips. I trade them to Choji for intel on the best shortcuts in their clan's public areas, ostensibly to visit their stores. In reality, I'm trying to build a good mental map of possible escape routes.



Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is screaming about "sleazy salesmen", "moral bankruptcy", and "capitalist scum" but I completely ignore it. I'm offering valuable goods and services here!



And I plan to offer more.



Case in point… My Wire Geometry 2.0.



The latest prototype uses hexagonal weave: three wires twisted into a single filament, chakra pulsed in rotating phases to shift rigidity on command. I'm in my bedroom-cum-workshop, trying not to get tangled or cut by my own creation.



It's an integral part of the kind of style I'm envisioning based on my preferences and limitations. Unfortunately, the current ninja wires that exist in the market just aren't suited to my needs. Hence, why I have to make my own.



Early the next morning, I conducted a field test by suspending two sewing needles and had them turn like orbiting moons around me. Compared to using generic ninja wire, the energy cost is down 12% and control is smoother, as well. The downside is the strain on my fingers. I'll need to design finger‑ring reels, maybe scavenged from a broken yo-yo.



Yet another thing on my growing list of things to do.















At the three‑week mark of the coupon campaign, my body filed a complaint that came in the form of a persistent tremor in my left calf and chakra exhaustion headaches creeping daily. These issues forced me to take a mandatory rest day.



It's to be expected, really.



Efficiency is addictive. The more chakra I save, the greedier I get for smaller costs and bigger returns. I could attempt to justify this as being a necessary evil for the sake of my survival, but that would be a lie.



The real reason has to do with agency. For so long, I've felt trapped in a Sisyphean cycle ever since I started at the academy. Always working towards a goal that seemed forever out of reach. Being reminded every day of my inadequacies without having the means to retort.



With the discovery of cultivation and everything that it's allowed me to do over the last few months, I now have answers to my own self-doubts. It doesn't matter that I couldn't talk about it in public.



The approval of anyone not my parents means jack shit to me.



But my discovery about chakra that then led to other subsequent findings? That was a lifeline. A real, tangible sign that I can do more than survive this world.



So, yeah. I refuse to feel bad about having something that is flooding my brain with endorphins instead of cortisol, for a change.



After enjoying a day of rest, I decided to cash in my phase‑two coupons. Time to invest the dividends into compound techniques. Synergies where two economical tricks fuse into something opponents will mistake for high‑tier ninjutsu.



Here's what I've got, so far:



1. Breath‑Battery × Wire Geometry



The Hyūga diaphragm pulses essentially recharge my reserves. The hex‑weave wire then doubles as a conduit. Individually, neither is all that impressive. But what if the pulses drip straight into the wire loop, topping the edge mid‑orbit?



After a few false starts, I finally got a stable result. The needles glow a faint blue, generating a chakra signature so low that even I strain to feel it. Doing this allowed me to extend the runtime by 25% for negligible cost.



Unfortunately, it also caused the wire to hum like a chorus of cicadas that's audible within two metres. It might not be Chidori loud, but it's not exactly stealthy, either. I made a note to investigate a muffling seal.



2. Seal‑Etch Lite™



A few introductory fūinjutsu scrolls spoke of containment glyphs the size of a thumbnail. Following some careful research, I eventually managed to find a way to etch seals onto some shurikens. The seals themselves don't really do anything other than store a minuscule amount of chakra. But that was fine with me.



The only thing I needed them to do was act as a switch that would automatically coat them in my chakra. I'm not exaggerating when I say that anyone with even a decent amount of the energy would find this roundabout approach completely useless. This might explain it isn't all that popular among shinobi.



Again, they prefer flashy Jutsu, remember?



Chakra-enhanced weaponry have been around for ages, as well, to say nothing of chakra-conductive metal. All I really did was make the process instantaneous and marginally more cost-efficient.



If nothing else, the results speak for themselves: Three targets shorn in half, along with three lines almost a meter deep at the shallowest. The feeling of vindication was almost worth the frantic cover-up that followed.



Almost.



Production is a pain in the neck, though, so I won't have a stack of these shuriken anytime soon. They are now a scarce resource for me to guard like a dragon guards its hoard of gold.



3. Affinity Audit with Chakra Cost and Verdict





Fire is ×4. Verdict: too costly.
Wind is roughly ×1.6. Verdict: promising and affordable.
Lightning is ×2. Verdict: effective but loud, unsuitable for stealth.
Earth is ×3. Verdict: slow and counter to speed doctrine.
Water is ×2.5. Verdict: situational at best.
Multiple painstaking tests conducted carefully and under the notice of my parents were needed to gather that data. In the end, wind won. Though it completely defied my expectations.



Getting an element‑test paper was surprisingly simple. I just asked my parents to get me some and they did, no questions asked.



I should have found that suspicious, but at the time, my mind was elsewhere.



Specifically, my mind was trying not to explode upon discovering my nature affinity: Fire.



Wut…?



Fire? The element that cost me the most amount of chakra to use?



…How?



Wind would have made sense. Hell, lightning would have made sense!



But, fire? Is this a joke? Did the paper malfunction? Nope, I tried it again and it turned into ash.



So, yeah. The element that costs the most for me to use would effectively be the easiest for me to learn. Even if I find a fire jutsu meant for combat, I wouldn't be able to use it without absolutely exhausting myself.



…



I'll have to figure this out later because my brain is turning to mush. After hitting this wall, I turned my attention to less stressful pursuits. Like spending time with noisy, pushy, and unruly little rascals.



My god, what's happened to me?















To be perfectly truthful, my fellow academy students aren't actually all that annoying. Once I accepted that I'm dealing with children, they're easy enough to handle. Just prepare a lot of shiny things to distract them with.



The civilian study circle even rebrands me "Note Sensei."



Not the most flattering name, but that's exactly why I like it. "The Professor" might come with a lot of heavy connotations, but who would pay attention to little 'ol "Note Sensei"?



I also continued my little arrangement with Choji. The chubby boy seems to believe that I'm playing a game with him and I wasn't about to disabuse him of that notion. This paid off in an unexpected way when I noticed that my weight was down one kilo. It seems my new lifestyle has been burning calories faster than I can replace them.



After talking to Choji about it, he opted to sell me protein bars at a friend rate. Not only does this help me save money, but it also prevents my parents from worrying unnecessarily.



During lunch, I spend time with Hinata on the academy rooftop. We mostly exchange theories covering a wide range of interests. I asked whether tenketsu can voluntarily narrow to filter chakra. The question clearly caught her off guard, but instead of answering right away, she grew pensive.



In the end, I didn't get a definitive response, not that I was expecting one.



My day ended with the hex wire snapping mid‑swing, slicing my knuckle as a result. Cursing to myself, I hurried to treat the wound with a first-aid kit I brought. Luckily, I was in the isolated training ground instead of at home.



Being grounded once more was not on my bingo card today.



Once the cut had been disinfected and covered, I thought about the implications of this development. First of all, a catastrophic failure mid‑mission is just unacceptable. Second, I'm going to need a source of a stronger alloy.



I decided to leave the question of where for some other time. Getting home in time for dinner was the priority.



Ahh, the life of a ninja-in-training really is full of excitement.



The next morning hit like a shuriken to the sinuses: grey sky, drizzle, and the knowledge that Instructor Kayo's quarterly sensor sweep is scheduled for second period. The memo says "routine chakra wellness assessment."



Translation: scan the kids for strange signatures and make sure nobody's incubating a bijū in their appendix.



I arrive early, posture slumped, clutching my stomach as though indigestion is staging a coup. Iruka raises a brow and I murmur something about questionable squid strips. Sympathy unlocked, he waves me to the back corner near the open window.



Kayo enters and begins her silent sweep. One by one she "pings" each student. A gentle pulse, a quick nod, then move on. I shifted into my breathing exercise, lowering my chakra's surface tension.



When my turn comes, her gaze pauses for a half‑second longer than others, causing my internal siren to start wailing. I add a small wince, placing a hand to my gut for emphasis. She makes a note on her clipboard while murmuring that it was likely a "mild flux, probable illness" and moves on.



After she was gone, I breathed a sigh of relief but didn't relax completely.



I wasn't an idiot. Had I been a regular civilian student with exactly the amount of knowledge that someone from my background would have, that little performance would have worked.



But now I knew for sure.



They already know.



I wasn't certain how much information they've already gathered or for how long I had been under surveillance. Maybe I've had eyes on me from the start and I just didn't notice.



Aside from the huge blow to my ego, this development also left me confused. Why hadn't I been taken away yet? What's the purpose of allowing me so much freedom despite acting so suspicious?



Did I know even less about how this world worked than I initially assumed?



Well, I'm not completely fucked, yet. I'll have to take steps to make sure that I don't get to that point. If not for myself, then for those I've grown to love in this life.

Interlude 1

Hinata POV

Life has certainly turned around for Hyūga Hinata. While she had, by no means, become a brash young lady, she was no longer the painfully shy waif she had been two years ago. These days, she walked with more poise and confidence, fully cognizant of her abilities and place in life.



And the catalyst for these changes? Why, he was currently being pestered by Uzumaki Naruto to train with him once more after class concluded.



Shiozaki Kenta is an odd boy. Hinata has known this for nearly three years.



Their first meeting wasn't something that she liked to recall. It was the first time her eyes were opened to who she was and what she was capable of. The sensation of her palms impacting his body with more force than she intended to impart still echoed in her memories.



Learning afterwards how much damage she inflicted still haunts her to this day.



When she went to apologize after he was released from the academy clinic, Hinata was fully prepared for scorn. To her surprise, Kenta merely smiled in a way that conveyed understanding.



He didn't hate her. There was no fear in those eyes. Only acceptance.



This forgiveness somehow caused Hinata more disquiet. A disquiet that followed her all the way to the Hyūga clan compound.



Like always, the heiress attempted to suppress her inner turmoil when she met with her father for a private dinner. However, based on Hyūga Hiashi's probing questions, it was clear that hiding the day's events was pointless.



Upon reaching the topic of the ill-fated sparring with Kenta, Hinata paused for several heartbeats. The hesitation caught the Hyūga patriarch's attention and waited patiently for his daughter to speak. When she finally did, it seemed to take a considerable amount of effort on her part.



"Father, may I ask you something?"



The uncertainty in her voice caused Hiashi's normally stern eyes to soften.



"What is it, Hinata?"



Tiny fists clenched silken cloth as the little girl grappled with a conundrum that she found difficult to put into words.



Without meeting her father's eyes, Hinata proceeded to relay what happened in Taijutsu class. She shared her feelings when the bout ended, when she apologized and was forgiven by Kenta, and what it all meant.



After several moments of silence, Hiasha asked, "Why does this trouble you, Hinata? Pain will always be a part of being a ninja of Konoha. Someday, you may be required to do much worse to an enemy who will have no compunctions of taking your life. I have never kept this a secret from you."



Nodding, Hinata said, "I know, father."



"Then what is it about your bout that disturbs you so?"



Once more, Hinata floundered in finding the right words to explain the cause of her turmoil. When she finally did, Hiashi's eyes flashed with comprehension.



"I don't want to hurt anyone without meaning to," she said in a small voice. "I don't want to lose control when I fight."



For some inexplicable reason, this pronouncement caused her father to show a rare smile of approval. It was brief, but it was there.



"Then the solution is simple," he said, regarding her with intensity and focus that he had seemingly long since lost. "Become strong and gain mastery over your abilities. Only then can you freely choose when to cause harm and to whom."



Looking back, Hinata now understands that her father was simply using the occasion as a means of motivating her to train harder. Seeing an opportunity to light a fire in his recalcitrant heiress, the clan head did not even hesitate.



And it worked.



These days, Hinata was on par with her cousin, Neji in combat. However, she only ever showed her true capabilities within clan grounds. At the academy, her performance is significantly more restrained to avoid causing unnecessary injuries.



She has been especially careful when paired with Kenta. Though, Hinata suspected that he no longer required as much consideration as he once did.



By all accounts, his unprecedented performance in the match against Kiba three months ago was a matter of luck. He never managed another easy win since then, even when sparring with other civilians.



Not for a lack of trying, though. In fact, to someone with her background and experience, the seemingly unremarkable boy was actually putting in a considerable amount of effort in downplaying his abilities. And she wasn't the only one to notice, either.



Every time Kenta stepped into the ring, Uchiha Sasuke would watch him like a hawk. The same went for Aburame Shino. Even Nara Shikamaru would track the boy's movements from time to time, though, he was careful to keep his observations unobtrusive.



Iruka-sensei himself was watchful, but he never said a word. So, Hinata took her cues from his silence and so did the others.



Even so, Hinata could not completely suppress her curiosity. In their first two years of studying at the academy, Shiozaki Kenta displayed no dazzling skills for combat. He excelled in academics and had incredible chakra control, but that was the limit of his outstanding qualities as a ninja-in-learning.



This was not to say that he had no other admirable traits, however.



Helpful, diligent, patient, and supportive. Kenta was all of those and more. He never yelled. Never shouted. Answered questions respectfully and was always willing to assist his fellow civilian classmates when they asked.



He was even willing to indulge Naruto from time to time, a boy who everyone else considered a disruptive element, at best.



Despite seemingly being polar opposites in personality and disposition, the two boys have built a camaraderie seemingly out of nowhere. Not that Hinata could say any different. Her relationship with Kenta had developed in a similar vein, though, with one key difference.



Whereas the blond ball of endless energy has essentially found a playmate, she instead found a source of intellectual stimulation. Their time together was spent in endless discussions about the nature of chakra, the different applications of existing techniques, and even clan politics.



And to think it all started with a question about those endearing flash cards he shared with his fellow civilian students.



Just today, their lunch period involved a fascinating deep-dive into nature affinities. Kenta proposed that chakra capacity plays no role in determining which element a ninja is most compatible with. Instead, he believes that it merely affects how easily they can use said element.



In a rather strange turn of the discussion, the case of rare shinobi who couldn't perform Ninjutsu or Genjutsu was brought up.



Citing the two examples of a departed genin named Might Duy and a student one year ahead of them, Rock Lee, Kenta hypothesized that theirs was a matter of genetic defects. An absence of certain biological markers that caused chakra insensitivity or instability.



Hinata was captivated by his passionate analysis of the subject that few ever talk about. In the end, they both only finished half their packed lunch before the bell rang. Upon realizing this, Kenta was apologetic while wearing a rueful smile that she had grown quite familiar with.



Now, here she was. Watching as one of the few friends she had walked alongside a figure whom the whole of Konoha seemed hellbent on turning into a pariah. The wind carrying their laughter and chatter warmed her heart.



If Kenta could change her path for the better, perhaps he can do the same for another.

Iruka POV

The academy was silent save for the faint creak of timber settling in the rafters. Umino Iruka sat alone in classroom 2‑B, hair tousled in a way only long days could cause with a single paper lantern throwing soft amber over rows of empty desks. Before him lay the thick brown ledger he reserved for students who were marked for closer observation. Tonight every margin, every hastily pencilled reminder, led back to one name: Shiozaki Kenta.



An ordinary name for an ordinary boy. Or, at least, that's how he started.



Shiozaki arrived small, round‑faced, and hair trimmed so straight Iruka guessed his mother owned a carpenter's square. His first test scores were solid, his taijutsu was clumsy, and his demeanour was polite to the point of fading into background chatter. Nothing about him seemed ninja material.



Iruka's staff notes from that term read like a recipe for the logistics corps, not the battlefield: solid academics, middling combat, no behavioural flags. This was proven pretty much from the get-go with his first Taijutsu class.



The memory still scraped raw, owing mostly to how jarring it was.



In the practise ring, autumn was settling in and the chill air was frosting the students' breaths. Hinata bowed shyly, Kenta bounced on nervous feet, and Iruka expected a gentle demonstration. Three heartbeats later Hinata's palm kissed five of his tenketsu in a blur that drew gasps of alarm from the young spectators. Kenta hit the ground with a crunch that carried to the far benches.



Seven microfractures, the med‑nin said. Far too much for a first‑day spar. Kenta wobbled but smiled, insisting he was fine. The kid was putting on a brave face, he'd thought at the time. Iruka filed the incident under monitor and quietly promised himself to watch the boy.



Just like that, two years slipped by. Kenta's written scores climbed while his taijutsu inched. He ran laps after class, offered to reorganise supply cupboards, and even tutored other civilian kids in kunai aerodynamics. He never complained or drew attention. Iruka admired the grit and pencilled a note about recommending him for clerk work.



Unfortunately, it seemed Shiozaki had other plans.



That day started like any other. Kenta did seem pale, but his condition improved as the day progressed. Then came the match where he was paired with the clan heir Inuzuka Kiba. Many believed that it was a foregone conclusion. To his shame, Iruka felt the same.



At the whistle Kiba lunged in his usual reckless manner. In response, Kenta pivoted, dropped, and hurled him in a textbook shoulder‑throw.



The move wasn't anything earthshaking. It was about as simple as a technique could get. Yet, it still reduced the field to a deafening silence.



Iruka saw the way Kenta's eyes widened. His body frozen mid‑follow‑through. When Iruka asked if he was alright, the boy whispered, "I don't wanna die, sensei."



Not punished, die. A fear too sharp for playground politics.



A timely disruption prevented Iruka from addressing the ominous statement then and there. By the time order was restored, he'd missed his chance. Shiozaki had clammed up and the chunin knew that it would have been pointless to push.



By the end of that week, Iruka was pulling sparring logs and colour‑coding them on staff corkboards after hours. Kenta never won like that again. But he never again took a beating, either. His victory ratio settled at a forgettable forty‑three percent. A perfect camouflage, or so the student seemed to believe.



Iruka enlisted a sensor to scan the boy, who then reported no major anomalies. His chakra capacity was still roughly the same as recorded by previous scans. It felt cleaner, supposedly, but that could be due to any number of things.



Even so, if Kenta really was hiding his strength, it had nothing to do with raw reserves.



Following protocols, all of his observations were recorded and handed over to the Hokage. Nothing of what he said in his report was a lie. At least, not directly. But he couldn't exactly tell his superior about a gut feeling that even he doesn't completely understand.



It would be like raising an alarm about an oncoming storm even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky.



So, Iruka chose to be silent. There was no need to cause a fuss that could put a target on his student's back. The Hokage had already designated Shiozaki as worth observing from afar, anyway. If anything is found, only then would they act.



When class started again, though, the scarred teacher had another reason to take note of Kenta.



Palm‑sized flash‑cards started spreading through the civilian rows. Students then started quoting concepts a year ahead of when they were typically taught: efficiency, minimisation, and chakra budget. When asked about them, Kenta flushed and muttered that they were "just a hobby."



A hobby that let low‑chakra children punch above their weight.



Iruka blinked at that. Then blinked again. If the kid was trying to hide his capabilities, he was doing an embarrassingly bad job of it.



This was how the next three months went. The official transcripts list Kenta as comfortably average. Iruka's private records tell a different story. At this point, there was no denying that there was something special about the boy. The question is why?



Fear of clan politics? Of predators who devour talent? Or something darker lodged in childhood memories that Iruka couldn't even imagine?



He ties the ledger shut and slips it into his satchel. Tomorrow he will ask Shiozaki Kenta to stay after class. It was time he gave a teacher's quiet promise that masks are safer to remove when someone stands guard.



Besides, the numerous half-baked, not to mention failed, attempts at evading attention were becoming quite painful to watch.



Outside, katydids hum beneath the distant clack of patrol sandals. The lantern flames gutter and shadows creep back. And Umino Iruka, steward of far too many futures, hopes one frightened boy chooses to trade silence for trust before the memorial stones claim another name.

Sarutobi Hiruzen – A Glimpse of the Future

Dawn's first light crept over the Hokage Tower, pooling in thin gold ribbons across the office floorboards. Sarutobi Hiruzen stood by the broad eastern window, pipe cradled between careful fingers, the tobacco inside long since forgotten. At his age one learned to savour stillness the way younger men chased action; to him, these quiet, watchful mornings were the lungs through which Konoha itself seemed to breathe.



Outside, roofs glimmered with dew and promise. The village he had shepherded for decades looked…not new, precisely, but tilting toward newness: training fields doubled in size and bristling with fresh wooden targets, chakra‑lit street‑lamps that bathe more of the village streets in light, and a modest research wing, all pale stone and glass, blooming beside the hospital like an unexpected flower.



All of it, every incremental shift in skyline and heartbeat, traced back to that 'discovery' two years prior.



He let his gaze wander higher, to the ring of mountains crowned by the sculpted faces of leaders past. If those stern stone visages had voices, what would they say of the gamble he had made? He imagined Hashirama's booming laugh, Tobirama's flinty silence, Minato's gentle optimism, and felt, briefly, like a young academy teacher again, bracing beneath the weight of legends.



The memory drifted unbidden: shadowed council chambers, candles guttering in half‑empty sconces, and clan heads arguing until stylised courtesy peeled away to reveal raw nerves. Trust built slowly and progress advanced at a crawl.



Mission casualty charts now trended downward in neat if stubborn increments. One of the most obvious boons that came with the leap of faith, no doubt.



As for Hiruzen himself? Being one of the first recipients of such wondrous knowledge certainly brought mountains of benefits. Not least of which is his recovered vitality.



There were less visible fruits, too. A prosthetics workshop tucked behind the research annex had fitted three chūnin last winter with jointed iron limbs that moved almost as smoothly as living muscle.



Hiruzen's shoulders ached of immaterial burdens as he turned from the window. Age, yes, but also the unseen weight of shepherding such change. Tradition was an iron kettle that required careful handling, lest it leads to catastrophic cracks and warps.



The Will of Fire, he reminded himself, was not the kindling or the flame, but the space where the two met. Change must burn bright enough to illuminate, but never so hot as to consume.



A discreet triple rap sounded at the door, heralding arrivals that he had long since noticed through enhanced senses. Very few things escaped the Hokage's grasp, these days.



Hiruzen straightened, tugged the brim of his hat into place, and called for entry.



Two masked ANBU glided in first. Wolf and Rabbit, both freshly promoted if the stiffness of their posture was any indication. Between them strode Team Seven, newly returned from what mission dispatch simply labelled "C‑Rank (escalated)."



Kakashi Hatake led the quartet, both eyes uncovered, with the implanted Sharingan now fully under his control. His habitual slouch had straightened into something approaching parade rest. Even his hair looked marginally tamer, as though the gravity of recent days pulled more than just his shoulders upright.



At Kakashi's left walked Uchiha Sasuke. The boy's expression remained guarded, but the brittle edge Hiruzen remembered had tempered into something steelier, more deliberate. A fleeting glance toward his teammates spoke of cautious camaraderie, hard‑won and still tender. Most noticeable of all were his clan's famed eyes. The red orbs framed by three tomoe putting paid to any doubts of his extreme potential.



Beside him all but bounced Uzumaki Naruto, orange jacket frayed at the cuffs, whiskered cheeks smudged with dust, chakra signature dense enough to prickle Hiruzen's senses from across the room. Yet even Naruto's exuberance carried a new weight, like a festival lantern reinforced with iron ribs.



Last came Haruno Sakura, stride balanced on the balls of her feet, a medic kit strapped tight against her hip, and pink hair cut short at her neck. Ink smudges stained two fingertips. She offered a brief, respectful bow that still managed to radiate quiet pride.



Hiruzen felt a small swell behind his sternum: part relief, part wonder. They were stronger, yes, but also older in the eyes, as though a single mission had peeled away illusions the academy never could.



Children step through one doorway, he thought, and soldiers walk out the other side.



The transformation always hurt to witness, yet he took solace in seeing that none of the four had lost the spark that made them uniquely dangerous to Konoha's enemies, and invaluable to its future.



He eased into his chair, tamped fresh tobacco without lighting it, and folded weathered hands atop the desk. A smile, muted by decades of diplomacy, tugged at his mouth.



"Welcome home," he began, voice carrying the rasp of too many battlefield commands and late‑night policy debates. "Kakashi, give me your report on what happened in Wave Country."



The pipe's bowl gleamed under morning light; the window behind him framed a village poised between past and tomorrow. As Kakashi opened his mouth to speak, Hiruzen felt certain only of this: whatever came next, be it triumph, tragedy, or some mingling of both, Konoha would face it head on.

Chapter 4

There's a strange kind of relief in realising that everything you worked so hard to prevent could never have been contained from the start. Not much relief, just a sliver. But I'll take what I can get. And really, if I had to get confirmation of my worst fears, it was almost a comfort that it came from a relatively kind source.





Still sucked, though.





I already knew Iruka had his suspicions. After the Kiba incident, trying to hide anything from him, or any of the teachers, really, was a fool's errand. But finding out that all my careful efforts to downplay my abilities only made me more noticeable?





That hurt. Not gonna lie.





Looking back, I have to wonder if I suffered a head injury at some point. Did I really expect Iruka, a loyal Konoha chunin, not to report anything suspicious to the Hokage? God, I'm a dumbass.





So here I am again, sitting on the roof of my house, watching the lights of Konoha blink out one by one like dying fireflies. Wondering if ANBU were already en route to haul me off for a friendly chat at T&I.





Iruka insisted that wouldn't happen when he came by after I had dinner with my parents. Some part of me believed him. He was a good man who genuinely cared for his students. Honest, too, for a ninja.





He didn't waste time with preamble when he confronted me, either. Just had me stay behind after class, looked me dead in the eye, and asked, "Why do you keep holding yourself back when sparring?"





I wasn't surprised by the question. Only that he finally said it out loud, after pretending that everything was fine for so long. I'd gotten complacent during those three quiet months. Fooled myself into thinking I had time to come up with a plan. But the walls had been closing in from the start. I just hadn't noticed.





His next question, though. That one short-circuited my brain.





"What are you afraid of, Kenta?"





So… he knew that, too.





I'd hoped, naively, that I'd at least managed to keep that part hidden. But I guess my defenses were made of wet paper the entire time. Still, instinct made me try one last time.





"Why do you think I'm afraid, sensei?"





Iruka's expression turned into a mix of fondness and exasperation.





"Because fear is the only thing that explains why someone like you would go out of their way to hide what they can do."





His voice was gentle, but every word hit like a hammer, and he wasn't done.





"You've done everything short of sabotaging your own education to camouflage your true abilities. Not many chunin know as much about chakra theory as you seem to. And instead of capitalizing on it, you chose to uplift your fellow civilians. Yet, you take every opportunity to downplay your contributions or deflect attention when given praise."





Iruka's voice never carried a hint of accusation while he spoke, but I felt like a cornered rabbit anyway.





"I'm not the only one who's noticed, either," he continued with a wry smile. "The other teachers caught on after the flash cards. Even some of your classmates can see your deliberate underperformance. That's partly why I've decided to talk to you now. You're doing yourself and everyone else a disservice by refusing to truly participate."





And that's when I knew the jig was up, and I realised how badly I'd misjudged everything. I never gave a convincing reason for sandbagging, and the people I thought I was fooling? They were already in the know.





"Does…does the Hokage know?" I couldn't help but ask.





Iruka pursed his lips and frowned before saying, "I brought your case to his attention a week after your first victory against Kiba."





So, the village has known since the start. Just one revelation followed another in rapid fire.





I underestimated them. All of them. These weren't background characters in a story anymore. They were real people. What did I actually know about them?





Had all those years of fear and paranoia narrowed my vision so much that I couldn't see anything else? How much had I missed while obsessively trying to survive?





I didn't even notice I was shaking until Iruka placed a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw real concern in his eyes. Not suspicion or judgment.





Sincerity.





And I felt shame.





Iruka was one of the few people in the original material you could honestly call kind. Even in fanfiction, he's almost always portrayed as a decent, compassionate man. And yet, I treated him like a threat. Like he was some all-seeing, all-knowing Eye of Sauron I needed to avoid at all costs.





And still…





"I'm sorry, sensei. But I'm not ready to talk about it. Not yet."





Iruka frowned, confused more than annoyed. "What do you mean?"





"I mean I can't talk about it here." I met his gaze, willing him to understand what I couldn't say out loud.





It didn't take long. His eyes widened just slightly, the pieces clicking into place.





"What do you need?"





"A place where no eyes or ears can reach from the outside."





There weren't many places in the village that fit that description. He knew it. So did I.





Iruka gave a solemn nod. "I'll make the arrangements. Tomorrow, if possible."





As it turns out, it was possible. My stomach twisted at the thought.





There was no master plan here. I'd been deluding myself. I'd never had a chance of keeping my secrets hidden – not from people trained to uncover them. I had no real experience, because we hadn't been taught those things yet.





I wasn't a spy.





Just a scared kid trying to pretend he had control over a game where the rulebook was written in gibberish.





Some of my secrets had already slipped through my fingers. Others would follow.





But despite how bleak everything looked, I still had one option left. One last chance to flip the board before I was crushed beneath it.





I couldn't play it safe anymore.





If I wanted to survive with my mind, my freedom, and maybe even my life intact, then I'd have to go all in.





Take the risk.





Refuge in audacity.















As Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen was used to unusual developments.





War councils that ran until dawn, summons from the daimyo at absurd hours, reports of blood‑red moons or collapsing summoning contracts, the job shaped a man into expecting his next cup of tea to be interrupted by one crisis or another. Yet even with a lifetime of such seasoning, the old shinobi felt a prick of genuine curiosity when Iruka walked into his office well before sunrise with a white‑knuckled boy glued to his side.





Hiruzen registered details the way a hawk marks movement in the tall grass: the faint tremor in Kenta's fingertips, the sheen of sweat that dulled the boy's hairline despite the morning chill, the deliberate slowness with which he drew breath, as though each inhale was measured for poisons. The child's brown eyes, too large for his still‑soft face, flicked everywhere at once before pinning themselves to a neutral spot on the carpet.





That's a hunted gaze, the Hokage thought.





Even so, beneath the fear lay a tensile thread of resolve, pulled taut rather than frayed. A delicate, dangerous balance. A single misstep, from Kenta or from himself, could turn fear into flight, or worse, into a cornered strike.





"Lord Hokage," Iruka said, bowing deeply.





He steadied his hand on Kenta's shoulder but did not push him. The boy would have to step forward of his own accord.





"Yes, yes. Please, both of you, come in."





Hiruzen's voice was warmth folded over steel. A generation of students had heard comfort there, and a generation of enemies had heard their doom. He gestured to the two chairs set opposite his desk.





Kenta hesitated one heartbeat, then crossed the floor like a man walking a bridge made of paper. He perched on the chair's edge, spine straight and stiff.





Recalling all of the recorded observations regarding the boy, he was expecting nerves and deference. Perhaps a sullen surprise at how his efforts at obfuscation ultimately proved ineffective.





He hadn't anticipated a pre-adolescent seemingly bracing for war.





Formal greetings dispensed, Hiruzen offered tea. Kenta's fingers shook as he accepted the cup, but he did not spill a drop. Another point in his favor. He felt fear, yet maintained control. Very interesting.





With the tea served, Hiruzen leaned back into his chair and brought his full attention on his early morning visitors.





"Well, you wanted this meeting. Is there something you wish to discuss?"





"Lord Hokage," Kenta began, voice raw, "before I say anything of substance, I need your assurance that this conversation will remain unobserved by anyone."





"Even by my ANBU?" the Hokage asked, though he already anticipated the answer.





Kenta swallowed. "Especially by your ANBU, sir. And by your senior advisors." A pause. "I–I realise this is an… impertinent demand."





Iruka's brow furrowed, but he held his tongue.





Inside, the Hokage weighed the possibilities. He could refuse, assert authority, and watch the boy fracture. He could grant the request, gamble on what secrets a terrified child had thought worth such precautions. The Will of Fire whispered that power used without trust was ash waiting to scatter.





Very slowly, Hiruzen set down his pipe.





"You have the benefit of my patience, Kenta," he said. "And my curiosity. What method of assurance do you require?"





"Something," the boy said, "that seals sight and sound both. Permanently woven, not merely temporary, at least for as long as we speak. If such a thing is possible."





"It is," Hiruzen replied.





The Hokage's palm met the inlaid kanji panel on his desk; scarlet script blossomed across walls and floor like petals chasing the sun. A soft chime reverberated, then silence. Thick, weighty, a hush that swallowed the world beyond the wooden door.





Kenta's shoulders sagged, though only slightly. He had gambled and won the first coin of trust.





The boy clasped his hands in his lap, a child's gesture at odds with the steel of his resolve. Hiruzen's heart, battle‑scarred as it was, twinged.





"I… appreciate this, Lord Hokage," Kenta said. "Truly. I've spent months afraid that I'd be dragged from my bed in the night. Thrown in a dark cell. A-abducted." The word came out a whisper, thick with unspent tears. "I don't want that."





Iruka flinched. Hiruzen watched the teacher's hand twitch in helpless sympathy.





"And why," the Hokage asked gently, "would anyone wish to… abduct you?"





"Because I discovered something," Kenta replied. "Something dangerous. Not a weapon, exactly, but a means that I'm almost certain hasn't been found yet. If the wrong hands shape it, the Elemental Nations might drown in blood. In the right hands, we might lift ourselves into an era our grandparents never dared hope for."





"Bold words," Hiruzen said. "But you will forgive an old man if he remains cautious."





Kenta nodded once. "That's why I came. I'm willing to prove my worth. To give you and only you a chance to evaluate the results firsthand. But first, I must know my conditions are acceptable."





"State them," Hiruzen said.





Kenta inhaled, gathering courage like a diver filling lungs before the plunge.





"First, everything I share remains between us. If you must record, do so in your own hand and keep it under your seal alone."





A flicker of professional alarm crossed Iruka's face. Hiruzen schooled his into placid neutrality.





"Go on."





"Second, only I decide who learns from me. I will choose each student personally, and I retain the right to refuse anyone." Kenta's fingers whitened around the teacup. "I-I understand how audacious that sounds."





"It sounds like you value caution," Hiruzen said. "Continue."





"Third, you must test the results yourself. Through observation or, if you wish, direct participation. You alone judge whether what I have has any value."





Hiruzen let the words settle. Three requests, all about control and trust. None about profit or position. A good sign or a clever ruse. He looked into Kenta's eyes and saw not the calculation of the overly ambitious. They were filled, instead, with dread suppressed by an iron will.





"Very well," the Hokage said at last. "These terms are severe. But perhaps severity is warranted. I will consider them, but only after I understand the stakes."





Kenta set his cup aside. Both hands now free, he placed them palms down on his knees. When he spoke, it was of a most unexpected subject.





"The Uchiha massacre happened in one night," he began softly. "Every single member dead. Man, woman, and child. Shinobi and civilian both." His voice quivered but did not break. "Yet there were no alarms triggered in neighbouring districts. Public records indicated no large‑scale explosion tags detonated, and there were no evacuations, either."





Hiruzen's lungs constricted. Scenes he would rather consign to fire returned: blood pooling in pristine corridors, the sickly sweet scent of decay under midnight frost.





"A clan that had as many active shinobi as the Uchiha could not have been attacked without someone setting off a racket loud enough to shake the village awake," Kenta continued. "I know what ninja can do, Lord Hokage. Such a battle would have spilled into the rest of Konoha if it happened organically," the boy's eyes narrowed, as if recalling a memory. "Except this wasn't the case. The Uchiha was Konoha's police force, as well. Yet, every single one was eliminated without raising a fuss. Then the scene was locked down tighter than a vault." He looked up, eyes wet yet steady. "That level of suppression requires more than one man with a blade, Lord Hokage."





There was no accusation in Kenta's tone. He merely stated a fact. A researcher's findings. Still, guilt pricked him like a senbon thrown from the shadows.





"Your point?" Hiruzen asked, voice gentle.





"My point is this: If a secret that large can be hushed inside Konoha, anything can. Including me." His throat bobbed. "And people do terrible things to pry open promises they don't understand."





Kenta pressed on. "Consider Uzumaki Naruto," he said. Iruka sucked in a breath, but Kenta plunged forward. "His burden is classified. Yet villagers glare at him wherever he goes, and children are warned away as if the boy carries a plague."





Iruka's voice cracked. "Kenta–"





"It's the truth," the boy said, voice harsh with pain. "As far as I have been able to find out, there was no announcement about his status, not from you or anyone else. Yet, somehow, everyone knows." He turned to Hiruzen. "My attempts at secrecy were paper-thin, but Naruto's circumstances might as well be protected by smoke and wishes. If even a highly‑classified secret like that bleeds out, what hope do I have if word spreads about me before safeguards are put in place?"





The Hokage bowed his head for a moment.





"None of this should have reached your ears," he murmured.





Kenta laughed, a brittle sound. "Yet it did. And if I noticed, others will. Others with zero compunctions about dragging a knife through my throat."





Silence swelled, thick and cloying. Hiruzen felt the weight of decades pressing between his shoulder blades. Here sat a trembling boy, bright enough to map holes in official history, brave enough, or desperate enough, to demand terms from the seat of power.





The Will of Fire was the stubborn conviction that the future could be shepherded, not shackled. But to entrust a dangerous discovery to a nine‑year‑old? That was a wager even the most reckless daimyo might balk at.





Still…the old man recalled the first time he saw Minato bring the Rasengan into being, blue glow lighting up a field. He has already seen what someone of Kenta's potential can do if given the chance.





Even so, he had to ask. Had to be sure. A gamble like this required a prize worth staking the safety of the village.





"You offer no specifics on this discovery?"





Kenta's clenched jaws and furrowed brows betrayed intense concentration. Not out of frustration, it would seem. Rather, as a byproduct of a mind going over options, choosing and discarding as it went.





Finally huffing a breath of resignation, the deceptively unremarkable boy then proceeded to drop an exploding tag of massive proportions.





"It can potentially revive the First Hokage's Mokuton."





Hiruzen felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop by a fraction before he could stop himself. An extraordinary lapse in control for an old soldier and politician like him.





This meeting's surprises seemed endless.





Iruka was not faring any better. He gaped at the boy in open astonishment. Whatever they discussed that necessitated this meeting, this topic was apparently not brought up.





"That is an astonishing claim," the Hokage said after collecting himself. "One that needs elaboration."





Closing his eyes, Kenta took his time to respond, undoubtedly out of a desire to avoid causing any misunderstandings.





"What I've uncovered appears to challenge the very foundations of chakra theory as we currently understand it. I've combed through countless scrolls, academic texts, history books, anything I could get my hands on, and I'm confident this knowledge hasn't been documented before. Somehow, despite how fundamental it is, it's gone unnoticed or unrecognised until now. Based on the tests I've run so far, this phenomenon has the potential to affect every known aspect of chakra: jutsu formulation, physical enhancements, kekkei genkai, elemental affinities, even the way chakra interacts with the body and the environment. This could redefine everything."





This time, the silence stretched on for nearly a full minute, heavy, thoughtful, and tense. By all rights, such claims should have sounded completely absurd, the sort of grandstanding nonsense expected from a child with an overactive imagination. And yet, Hiruzen couldn't bring himself to dismiss them so easily.





He thought back to the development that had sparked this entire situation, in the first place: Kenta's sudden and suspicious spike in combat proficiency, which the boy had consistently downplayed, and now revealed to have been done out of fear.





Was this groundbreaking discovery the source of that leap in ability? Had he been concealing this the entire time, not out of arrogance, but self-preservation? If so, then how much of what Kenta had just said was truly exaggerated? And more troubling still, how much of it wasn't?





Hiruzen found himself sighing while contemplating the implications of this conundrum.





"And how would this 'potentially' revive the bloodline abilities of Lord Hashirama?" he finally asked, stressing the keyword that both parties mutually agreed on.





"By essentially making chakra more potent," was the immediate answer.





Taking a moment to weigh the implications, the Hokage found himself unable to dismiss the boy's claim outright. As far as established doctrine went, many traits related to chakra were believed to be innate and fixed from birth. A shinobi could be born with greater chakra reserves, or develop them gradually through rigorous training, experience, and age. But chakra potency?





Hiruzen sifted through decades of accumulated knowledge in his mind, an internal library of scrolls, field reports, and academic papers. He carefully avoided reacting to the memory of Orochimaru's contributions among them, knowing better than to let old wounds cloud his judgment.





And yet, despite all that accumulated knowledge, he could not recall a single study, no matter how fringe, that definitively explored or proved the idea of altering chakra's intrinsic potency.





There had always been speculation, of course. Theories on chakra density, behaviour under stress, interactions with nature energy, and obscure clan-specific manifestations. But they were all just that: speculative frameworks, lacking empirical validation.





And now, here sat a boy, not even a teenager, calmly asserting that he'd discovered what generations of researchers, war veterans, and prodigies had failed to see. A child claiming ownership of an answer that had evaded even those who had dedicated their entire lives to understanding chakra.





That alone was enough to give Hiruzen pause.





"How did you come across this discovery?" Hiruzen asked at last, altering his approach in the hopes of drawing out more detail from this most unexpected source.





"By complete accident," Kenta replied, utterly unbothered by the shift in questioning.





The Hokage raised an eyebrow at the casual answer, scepticism clearly etched across his features. In response, Kenta sighed and continued, as if anticipating the doubt.





"I was trying to increase my chakra reserves. You've seen my academy records. There should be a note in there about how pitifully low they were."





That much was true. The records confirmed his statement. Still, Hiruzen found himself paying less attention to the numbers and more to the faint tremor of frustration creeping into the boy's voice. There was a rawness there, something deeply personal.





Kenta's circumstances, while unfortunate, were far from unique.





Many children from civilian backgrounds entered the academy with subpar chakra reserves. In contrast, those born into clans with long, distinguished bloodlines often enjoyed a natural head start. Larger reserves, stronger elemental affinities, even hereditary techniques. It was an unfairness baked into the very structure of their society.





In rebelling against his own limitations, Kenta mirrored the quiet desperation of countless others who had come before him, but few had ever voiced it so directly.





"Nothing I tried worked," he muttered bitterly. "Not enough to actually make a difference."





At that point, Iruka spoke up, tone gentle but firm. "Kenta, chakra capacity naturally increases as you age. You only needed time. Your body would have caught up eventually. There was no need to push yourself so hard."





Kenta snapped.





"You weren't the one getting your ass handed to you every fucking day by kids who won the damn genetic lottery!"





The outburst shattered the calm he had maintained throughout the conversation. His voice rose with each word, no longer tempered by restraint.





"You saw what I did to Kiba, didn't you? I've always had it in me to do that. To all of them! But I couldn't. Not because I didn't train hard enough, not because I was lazy, but because I didn't win the birthright draw! That's the only reason they were able to humiliate me. Day after day. Year after year."





His hands were clenched into fists now, his breath coming fast and uneven.





"Do you have any idea what that feels like? Watching kids who barely put in the effort pull ahead of you anyway? Always faster. Always stronger. Not because they earned it, but because they were born with it!"





His voice cracked, but he pushed through, teeth grit in barely restrained anger.





"Even Shikamaru, fucking Shikamaru, could run circles around me, and that's only if he could be bothered to show up and take it seriously. So yeah, maybe I didn't want to wait around hoping puberty would magically fix everything. Maybe I wanted to level the playing field now."





By the time the final words left him, Kenta was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the weight of years of buried resentment finally finding a voice. His composure, so carefully constructed until now, had cracked wide open. And in that moment, Hiruzen understood.





This was about the kind of pain that came from being told, implicitly and systemically, that no matter how hard you tried, you would always be lesser.





Unfortunately, this was neither the time nor the place to address this sensitive issue.





"So, you only stumbled upon this discovery after exhausting all other viable options?" Hiruzen asked, gently guiding the conversation back on track.





Kenta took a steadying breath, visibly working to rein in his earlier outburst. He gave a single, terse nod.





"Yes," he said quietly. "It just… occurred to me. And since nothing else had worked, I figured I had nothing to lose. So I went for it."





Iruka looked visibly alarmed. His eyes widened with disbelief as he leaned forward, his tone rising.





"Kenta, that was reckless! You can't go around experimenting with untested methods! Not at your age, and especially not when it involves your chakra system! Do you have any idea what could've happened?"





"I know!" Kenta shot back, frustration bubbling again. "I know it was stupid. But I was out of options, and it worked! What else was I supposed to do?"





Iruka didn't budge. "It was still dangerous!"





Kenta's voice sharpened. "Then tell me what I should have done!"





"Come to me! Come to us! You have teachers, mentors, people who care about your progress. You could've asked for help. That's why we're here!"





The conversation teetered on the edge of another explosion, emotions flaring too hot, too fast. Before it could unravel any further, Hiruzen raised his voice.





"That's enough. Both of you."





The words struck like a stone into a pond, stilling the rising waves. Iruka backed off immediately, jaw tight with concern. Kenta's shoulders sagged, the fight draining from him as he lowered his gaze.





Hiruzen let the silence settle, then turned his attention fully to Kenta, his expression unreadable, but his voice layered with the undeniable authority of his station.





"What's done is done. There's no sense arguing over a choice already made. But let me be perfectly clear." His tone sharpened slightly as he fixed the boy with a steady, uncompromising stare. "You are never to conduct a high-risk experiment like that on your own again. Is that understood?"





Kenta swallowed hard and nodded quickly, the earlier fire in his voice gone, replaced by a sobering awareness of the gravity in the Hokage's words.





Satisfied, Hiruzen leaned back, his fingers steepled as he returned to silent consideration. He mentally catalogued everything that had been said in the last hour.





Kenta had not only made an unprecedented discovery, but had done so under the pressure of social disparity and personal inadequacy. The methodology may have been reckless, but the results couldn't be ignored.





What the boy was proposing, what he had already achieved, could very well alter the village's understanding of chakra manipulation. The benefits, if real, were staggering. But the risks? Equally so.





It was a gamble. One that demanded a leap of trust.





And yet… the potential payoff was too valuable to dismiss.





He drew one long breath, as if filling lungs with wisdom plucked from ghosts.





"I accept your three conditions," he said.





Iruka snapped his gaze to the Hokage, shock plain. Kenta froze, disbelief flickering on his young features.





"With a few conditions of my own," Hiruzen continued. "First, I will keep your secret, but I alone decide if future circumstances force disclosure for the village's survival. Second, you will choose whom to teach, but I require at least one initial student so I may observe." He looked to Iruka. "A man you already trust."





Iruka's eyes widened. "Me?"





"You," Hiruzen confirmed. "You who saw potential rather than a threat. And finally, you wish me to judge results personally? I accept. But I will also assign a medical team of my choosing to monitor side effects, and we will take appropriate steps to ensure absolute secrecy."





Kenta sat very still. Tears trembled at his lashes, not fallen. Hope perched on the rim of his survival instinct like an uncertain bird.





"Do you find these terms satisfactory?" Hiruzen asked.





Kenta nodded, once, twice, then again, faster. He scrubbed his eyes. "Yes. Yes, Lord Hokage."





"Then we have an agreement."





Hiruzen folded his hands.





"You will also, effective immediately, cease underperforming in taijutsu. The academy records will adjust gradually. No sudden leaps startling curious watchers. But you will learn to fight honestly, lest your own discovery outrun your body."





The boy's lips twitched. "That's fair."





Iruka exhaled so hard his shoulders sagged. Relief diffused through the air like bitter herbs steeping into sweetness.





"And now," Hiruzen said, "we seal this pact with action. Tomorrow evening you will demonstrate this… new path, shall we say, in a controlled session. Iruka will be present as a student and I as an observer. Agreed?"





"Agreed."





The old man rose. Age creaked through his knees, but the spark in his gaze belied creak or ache. He dispelled the privacy seal. Sounds seeped in, paper shuffling in the outer offices and distant laughter of early patrol shift changes.





Hiruzen came around the desk, placed a gentle hand upon Kenta's trembling shoulder. The boy did not flinch, though a shiver raced through him.





"You are not alone in this," the Hokage said softly. "Konoha protects her own. Let us prove that to each other."





Kenta's reply was a whisper. "I will hold you to that, sir."





Long after Iruka guided Kenta from the office, Hiruzen remained standing at the window, pipe unlit, fingers tapping against the stem. Sunrise had fully broken. Roofs flashed molten gold.





Was this wisdom or weakness, giving a child such autonomy?





Dan–





His mind skipped away from the name. The shadow that always lurked at the edge of policy would not hear of this. Not yet. Perhaps never, if Hiruzen could help it.





He exhaled a humourless chuckle. "Hashirama," he muttered to the carved faces on the mountain, "you always did trust children to change the world."





And tomorrow, Hiruzen would watch his gamble begin.





I didn't sleep that night. Not because of nightmares, though I've had those often enough, but because my thoughts wouldn't stop running. Even after walking out of the Hokage's office alive, I couldn't settle.





The Hokage had agreed. More than that, he'd listened. And somehow, I had walked away with everything I asked for. That should've felt like a victory. But all I could feel was the pit still sitting in my stomach, cold and heavy.





Just yesterday, it felt like everything was falling apart. I got a stay of execution, but there's no telling how long that would last.





I have no illusion about the permanence of the granted reprieve. Right now, I was standing on the edge of a cliff. One of my own making, no less.





Going to the Hokage was a case of choosing the best of a bad lot. Any other option would have left me vulnerable to any of the numerous dangers that exist in this world. So, regardless of my initial plans of keeping the only advantage I had over potential enemies, that path is forever closed to me.





This grim reality setting in is the cause of my current onset of insomnia. Questions, doubts, and fears just keep swirling inside my head. Chief among them is undoubtedly my biggest gamble.





Bringing back the Mokuton? Anyone else making that claim would have either been laughed out of the Hokage tower or locked in a jail cell.





That's why I took the approach that I did. Revealing some of what I knew about the Uchiha massacre and Naruto's furry problem, while couched in more believable terms, was a huge risk. A risk that could have easily backfired, but one I needed to take.





Not only did it provide a plausible (and very real) reason for my fear, but it also forced the Hokage to take me more seriously.





Can I actually deliver? Funnily enough, I actually think I can. And it was all thanks to my relentless pursuit of meticulous record-keeping.





See, after a mind-numbing series of tests, I discovered that my ease of using elemental jutsu isn't all that common. My initial misunderstanding was due to a lack of context that would have been available to me by either learning under a Jonin or becoming a chunin.





Also, I saw five-year-old Uchihas flinging fireballs in the anime snippets that I sporadically saw while doomscrolling. So, excuse me if that skewed my perspective.





The point is, if I hadn't discovered cultivation, it would've taken me years of training to use any element outside my primary affinity, thanks to both my civilian origins and my initially limited chakra reserves. While my low capacity is still a major hurdle, cultivation has given me enough control and density to perform elemental jutsu with a fair degree of proficiency.





So what does this have to do with Mokuton? It all comes down to math:





(Chakra Density + Chakra Capacity + Chakra Control via Cultivation) × (Suiton Affinity + Doton Affinity) = Mokuton Potential





Or





(D + C + Ctrl) × (W + E) = M





Where:





D = Chakra Density





C = Chakra Capacity





Ctrl = Chakra Control (boosted by Cultivation)





W = Water affinity





E = Earth affinity





M = Mokuton (Wood Release) output or potential





Now, does this guarantee that practicing cultivation can actually lead to someone using Mokuton? Absolutely not. However, I'm banking on the possibility that it might not matter in a few years.





After all, whoever I end up teaching has a lot to gain. Exponential chakra efficiency that's only limited by effort and time? Elemental jutsu training reduced to weeks or months instead of decades? Not to mention the chakra enhancement that's essentially a watered-down version of Senju Tsunade's signature achievement.





If used correctly, applications stemming from my version of cultivation could be limitless in number.





But there's the rub.





What if I was wrong?





What if this thing I found, this method that saved me, cracked someone else open from the inside out?





What if it isn't actually as valuable as I hope it would be?





What then?





I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. The room was quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps outside. No dripping faucet. Just the sound of my breath and the faint buzz of chakra threading through my system like an old friend refusing to leave my company.





I got up, turned on my desk lamp, and sat down at my work station. From a hidden compartment recessed inside the wall, I retrieved a notebook that held everything. Everything real, at least. Not my classwork or copied ninjutsu scrolls, but the true work.





What did I actually know about cultivation?





From my old world's fictional stories, it was always dramatic: inner worlds, golden cores, enlightenment under waterfalls, lots of nonsense about ginseng this or pills that. But I had no fancy realms inside me, no spiritual beast whispering cosmic truths. All I had was chakra and an idea. Cycle it, compress it, then push it back through my network, tighter and more refined than before. Rinse and repeat.





That's all I had done. Over and over.





What I lacked in insight, I made up for in obsession.





I flipped back a few pages to where I had tracked my own progress. Based not on assumptions or theory, but on what I could test, measure, and repeat:





Self-Cycle Metrics (Month 3)





Baseline chakra recovery: increased by approximately 12%. Measured through repeated chakra depletion drills followed by rest intervals; recovery time between sessions has shortened, allowing for quicker repetition of basic exercises.





Control: minimal change (already high before cultivation); practiced surface walking using only toes, then fingers, gradually reducing contact area to test control. Still maintaining precision and adhesion.





Fatigue threshold: expanded by about 20%; recorded through controlled workouts: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, kata drills, and three sets of bodyweight circuits. Measured time to full exhaustion and compared week-over-week.





Internal cycling speed: now able to complete a full-body cycle in under 40 seconds, down from nearly 90 seconds during early trials.





Compression tolerance: currently maintaining 13 layered compressions. Early compressions took around five hours total. Now, new layers require up to twenty hours, broken up over several sessions as chakra volume expands.





One thing was clear: it didn't work like in the stories. I wasn't gaining higher understanding or following a Dao…





…Could I follow a Dao here? Is it possible? As far as I understood it, a Dao was a path that chi practitioners dedicated their lives to. Unfortunately, the concept had become so diluted in the numerous iterations of the xianxia genre that its true significance had always escaped me. I certainly wasn't going to learn about it here.





Future project, maybe?





But I'm veering way off course now. Where was I?





Ah, right.





What I was doing felt more like folding layers, over and over again. Every time my chakra reserves expanded, I compressed them again. Folded them tighter. Smoothed the edges. Pressed everything inward until it felt denser, more responsive. Getting to this point, though, was taking progressively more time than before.





The more my chakra capacity grew, the longer it took to actually compress the energy into another layer. It was like the reverse of a lobster's molting issue where the more they do it, the harder it gets. Eventually, it becomes impossible to molt at all.





And that made me wonder: what happens when someone with massive reserves tries this? Would they feel resistance sooner? Would the sheer scale of their chakra make compression more difficult or even impossible?





I didn't know. But I'd find out, eventually.





I turned to a new page and titled it: Teaching Considerations.





What could I safely pass on? What did I really understand? Not much. But I knew what I'd done. I could teach that.





Breathing synchronisation with chakra flow.





Focus on internal mapping: where chakra moved, where it caught.





Compression cue: tighten without clogging.





Timing: don't rush the pulse.





I tapped my pencil against the page.





Iruka didn't need to understand everything. He just needed to try it.





I scribbled out a training schedule. Light first session, maybe two to three hours. I'll have to keep low expectations. What else?





Record any sensation and emotional reaction through every stage of the lesson. You never know what could be relevant down the line. The Hokage would be present, so I couldn't afford panic or overreach on the subject's part.





Not that I thought Iruka would panic.





He was calm, measured, steady in a way I could never be. And he cared, really cared. That alone made him dangerous in the best possible way.





Still, part of me wished I was teaching a stranger. It would be easier, less terrifying, to risk someone I didn't know.





But this was the path I've chosen, and I'll have to live with it.





The training room was quiet, cloaked in the same kind of silence that fell over a battlefield moments before combat. Not tense, exactly, just still. Waiting. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and old ink, like the library after a storm. It was larger than Iruka expected, tucked deep beneath the Hokage Tower in a reinforced sublevel that hadn't been used in years.





At least, not for anything official.





There were seals etched into the walls, faintly glowing with chakra suppression and sound insulation. Enough to contain a disaster, or at least muffle one. In the far corner stood the Third Hokage himself, arms folded within his robes, his gaze calm and unreadable.





Iruka swallowed as he stepped forward into the centre of the room, Kenta at his side.





The boy looked different today. Not physically, but in the way he carried himself. Focused. Steady. Whatever nervousness he'd shown outside the Hokage's office was gone, buried under layers of discipline and a kind of weary determination that didn't belong on someone so young.





Kenta exhaled slowly, then turned to face him. "You ready, Sensei?"





Iruka nodded. "I trust you."





That earned a faint smile. "Alright. Sit cross-legged with your hands over your knees and palms up."





Iruka followed the instructions without hesitation. The floor was cool under him. He folded his legs, settled his breathing, and waited.





Kenta knelt opposite him in a similar position, a notebook and pencil in hand.





"I'm going to walk you through the start. Don't force anything. If you feel something's wrong, you stop. Immediately."





"Understood."





"Good. First, breathe. Deep through the nose. Slow through the mouth. We're not meditating, exactly, but you need to focus inward. Not on thoughts. On movement. On sensation. It might be better if you closed your eyes for this too."





Iruka obeyed. The breaths came slowly. Deliberately. He let his awareness settle into his chest, then his stomach, then further, into the faint current of chakra that pulsed beneath it all.





"Feel your chakra," Kenta said softly. "Let it move the way it wants to. Don't push it yet."





Iruka reached. It wasn't hard. He was a trained shinobi, after all.





"Now start cycling it. Gently. Don't force the pace. Just loop it through your system, up your spine, across your shoulders, down your arms, into your hands. Then reverse."





He followed. It was like tracing a kata through his own body. The path was familiar, but slower. More deliberate.





"Have you started?" Kenta asked.





The question confused Iruka for a moment until he remembered that the boy wasn't a sensor-nin. He wouldn't be able to actually track Iruka's progress.





"Yes."





"Excellent. Please provide descriptions of what you're feeling as we go along. I'm hoping we can use the data to improve future lessons."





The teacher-turned-student nodded.





"Good," Kenta murmured. "Now, start compressing your chakra without stopping the cycle."





Iruka frowned, but didn't open his eyes. "How?"





"Think of your chakra like water flowing through a series of pipes," Kenta instructed, voice calm but firm. "Now imagine pressing in on that water from all directions with nothing but your will. You're guiding the flow, squeezing it evenly as it moves. Keep cycling it while you do. Don't let the motion stop, even as you compress."





He visualised it. Drew his chakra inward as it cycled. Held it a little tighter at each pass. Less spread, more tension.





The sensation shifted, and he felt an almost gentle pressure. Like trying to squeeze water.





Iruka dutifully described as much.





"There," Kenta said quietly. "That's the start."





Minutes passed. Then an hour.





Iruka kept breathing, kept cycling and compressing, and it was exhausting. Not physically, though. The whole thing simply required a degree of single-minded focus he rarely bothered with, a fine-tuned mental grip that left his head buzzing. Sweat beaded at his temples. His back ached from holding the posture.





Kenta didn't speak unless needed. When he did, it was only to nudge: "Hold it longer," or "Let it loosen a bit," or "Try another pass before you exhale."





Another hour passed.





By the third hour, Iruka began to feel it. Something changed.





It was small, small enough that it would have escaped his notice if he wasn't fully focusing inward. If he wasn't told what to look for. His chakra felt different.





Denser.





He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.





Kenta was watching him closely. "Well?"





Iruka hesitated, then nodded. "Something shifted. Not much. But it's there."





Kenta let out a breath of relief. "That's good. That's very good."





Lord Hiruzen stepped forward at last. His presence had been quiet, almost ghostly.





"Remarkable," he said softly. "To see such results with no foreign chakra techniques, bloodline considerations, or complex seal matrices involved. I have never in my life seen such a thing."





Kenta nodded. "That's all I had."





The Hokage looked between them. "How long have you been doing this?"





Kenta shrugged. "For a little over three months now, going on four. The process didn't really change all that much. I just made adjustments as needed."





Iruka shook out his arms. His muscles were sore from stillness. "How did you know what adjustments to make?"





"Mostly going with what felt right. I started measuring and recording my progress right at the beginning too, so I wasn't completely groping in the dark."





Lord Hiruzen stroked his beard. "It flies in the face of everything our Academy teaches about chakra use. Yet here it is."





Kenta said nothing.





Iruka glanced at him, then added, "This might change everything."





The Hokage didn't answer right away. He studied Kenta again, closely this time.





Then he said, quietly, "I wonder how we missed it. All these years. Our scholars, the many brilliant minds that Konoha has produced since its founding. I find it hard to believe that none of them had even conceived of such a thing."





Kenta frowned. "Maybe they were looking in the wrong direction? From what I've been able to gather, ninja tend to focus on the flashier aspects of chakra. Bigger jutsu, more dangerous weapons, faster ways to kill the enemy. This isn't that. This is just work. Slow and ugly and boring."





Lord Hokage chuckled. "As most worthwhile things are."





Iruka stood fully. "What now?"





"Now?" Konoha's leader raised a bemused eyebrow before turning to the youngest in the room. "That would depend on what our resident expert plans to do next."





"I want to keep going," Kenta said without preamble. "With more trials but slowly. Iruka-sensei first, for a few more sessions. Then, we'll see."





Hiruzen nodded. "I'll give you the room when you need it. But no written records. Nothing that can be stolen or copied."





"Agreed."





"And if I wish to participate in the next session?"





Kenta blinked. "You'd really try it?"





"I've lived long enough to know that learning never stops. And if you're right…"





He let the sentence hang.





Kenta gave a small nod. "I'll guide you. If you want."





Hiruzen offered a warm smile. "Good. Then we proceed. Carefully."





Iruka looked down at his hands. The chakra felt different in them. He couldn't explain it, but it responded faster. Truer.





Not much right now.





But it was the seed from which would sprout something of earth-shaking proportions.





Hiruzen Sarutobi remained behind after Kenta and Iruka had left. The quiet returned, blanketing the training chamber in that same stillness it had before the session began.





He took a slow walk around the perimeter, fingers trailing lightly across the old sealwork etched into the stone. Chakra suppression, sound insulation, physical reinforcement, and all the little things needed for delicate workings that required absolute privacy. The design hadn't changed since the war. Back then, this room had hosted interrogation sessions and dangerous jutsu trials. Now, it held the memory of something far more dangerous:





Hope.





Hiruzen exhaled smoke from his pipe and stood still at the center.





He'd seen powerful things before. Jutsu that levelled forests, sealing techniques that froze demons mid-roar. But there was something insidious about this. Something that worked not by force, but by accumulation.





Discipline. Repetition. A grain of rice at a time, until it outweighed a mountain.





That was the true danger of Kenta's discovery: accessibility. It required only time and the right mindset.





He tapped ash into a long-cold brazier and thought back.





Why hadn't any of the sages discovered this? Or the monks at Fire Temple? Or the archives of Uzushio before they fell? Even among the most devoted ascetics, chakra was used as a tool, not reshaped as a living discipline.





The likeliest answer, in the end, was the simplest.





Because no one had thought to treat chakra as a resource to cultivate. At least, not in the same way that Kenta does. They enhanced it with quantity and quality, in mind. Directed it for this end or that. But to compress and cycle it for hours upon hours, perhaps even days, weeks, or years?





Only Kenta.





A boy who has been living in fear of discovery for the past few months.





He'd seen it in Kenta's eyes today. That flickering terror, held in check, but ultimately weaponised. The boy carried too much awareness for someone so young. He was playing a game with stakes he didn't trust anyone else to understand.





And yet he had chosen to share it. Out of seeing no other options, perhaps, but the fact remains.





That alone warranted attention.





"Three months," Hiruzen muttered, "to surpass his peers. Many of them heirs from Konoha's most prestigious clans."





What would a year look like?





Two?





He tapped his fingers against the head of his pipe. Tomorrow, he would test it himself, just as Kenta described.





He wanted to know. To feel it.





Because if this worked, if it scaled, then the shinobi world was about to change. Not through conquest or peace treaties as had been done before, and which often proved fragile. No, it would be a quiet, unseen progress that would wash away the earth from beneath the world's foundations.





And the only person who truly understood its pace was still a student.





He left the chamber then, with slow, deliberate steps.





Outside, the village lights twinkled like stars scattered at his feet.





Walking back home after my first time teaching cultivation to someone else, my mind was buzzing. By every reasonable metric, it was a resounding success. It proved to the Hokage and Iruka that I wasn't blowing hot air. More importantly, the session yielded some fantastic data.





The most valuable, at least, to me, was the confirmation of a theory that I really hoped would pan out. Anyone with more chakra than civilians would have a harder time cultivating. Oh sure, the payout would be enormous if they achieved a breakthrough.





But this would depend entirely on their patience, discipline, and dedication.





I've been able to compress my chakra thirteen times in the span of three months. And that was by cultivating for several hours in the morning after I wake up and in the evening before I go to sleep.





Each layer made using chakra for anything easier, and I'm nowhere near my limit.





When I resigned myself to the possibility of sharing my secrets, I was worried that I'd be losing my one advantage over everyone else. Today's session confirms that this wasn't the case at all. Iruka will likely continue cultivating once he gets the hang of it. The Hokage, likewise. But neither of them is going to get as much out of it as I would.





After all, they have responsibilities that will take up their time. Neither would be able to allocate the number of hours required to successfully form layers with their chakra for a while.





Maybe I'm wrong about that, just like how I've been wrong about a lot of things. But I don't think so. This time, I'm using hard data to form this conclusion, not assumptions. The Hokage cultivating faster than me would be like the sun revolving around the earth. He simply has too much chakra.





At least, that's my theory. Tomorrow, I would learn more.





And so what if I have to teach other kids to do what I do? How many will actually have what it takes to get anywhere with cultivation? Iruka spent three hours just to feel a slight shift in his chakra, and I was observing him the whole time.





He didn't find it easy at all. His chakra capacity isn't even that large.





There's also the fact that I'll be choosing who will be receiving these lessons in the future. Me, no one else. Right at the top of the criteria for receiving this privilege would be a certain degree of loyalty towards yours truly. I'll make damn sure of that.





Now, all I have to worry about is Danzo and his band of killer sociopaths. Having the Hokage's attention puts me closer to the war hawk's sphere of influence, but it also shields me from secret abductions.





Of course, he could always leak my existence to Orochimaru or the other hidden villages. But there's only so much I can prepare for without driving myself insane. Right now, I have no choice but to trust in Hiruzen's discretion.





With that said, I think it's time to enact some of the plans I've had to delay due to my need for anonymity. Once I'm done, I'll be one of the most dangerous motherfuckers in the Elemental Nations.





For the first time since finding myself in this world, I'm actually excited for the future.



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