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 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 microfactures 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. The day was spent 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. I've simply exhausted all other possibilities. Well, maybe not all.
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. 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.
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.
"Kenta Shiozaki!"
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.
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 like smoke—soft, indistinct, but just loud enough to make my skin crawl. 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—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—no sparks, no mysterious aura, no glowing eyes. Just cleaner, sharper, faster execution. 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—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 eyes—narrow, sharp, dark brown—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 Kiba Inuzuka."
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.
"Well," Mum 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 college. 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."
"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, 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. Not yet.
Too much to process. Too many unknowns. 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.
I needed clarity. Something solid to hold onto.
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.Zero conscious lag between decision and action.Possible Factors:
Extended chakra cycling over the previous three 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. I was studying them.
There was power in that. Not chakra power, but mental power. The kind that came from treating a problem like a puzzle instead of a threat.
It didn't fix anything. But it helped me breathe.
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. Not from teachers. Not from clan kids. Definitely not from Root.
My goal was to survive until I was strong enough to protect my parents and anyone else I cared about. And survival didn't start with being strong—it started with being smart.
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'll finish the rest of the analysis.
Tonight, I needed to remember how to be normal.
------
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: NormalHeart rate: Elevated, but likely due to stressChakra 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 recurringEmotional state: Restless, low-grade anxiety with mild detachmentI 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 from last night. 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, explosiveCultivation Qi: Stable, internal, growth-focused
Uses
Chakra: Techniques, attacks, augmentationCultivation Qi: Self-refinement, long-term gains
Control Method
Chakra: Mental focus, hand sealsCultivation Qi: Meditation, breathing, spiritual flow
Flow Pattern
Chakra: Circular, jutsu-specificCultivation Qi: Looping, ascending tiersI stared at the list for a long time.
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 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 journalingBegin control tests (sensory, strength, and dexterity drills)Avoid combat practice with notable changes for nowObserve chakra flow changes when exhausted vs well-restedTrack 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," Mom called.
"Got it!"
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.
After all, knowledge was power. And power, in this world, was survival.
-----
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? Some kinda pressure point thing?"
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, 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. And not just beat—dominated. It wasn't even a flashy move. No tricks. No dog. Just raw movement. Clean and efficient.
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.
There it was.
Not a punishment. Not a warning.
A test.
----
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 would 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. Just strategy.
Let her pull aggro. Let Shino do the real scouting. I'd act as the floater—support, counter, backup. 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. Not with suspicion, but with that careful instructor's eye. Measuring. Weighing.
I kept my reactions minimal. My movements controlled. My breathing steady.
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.
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. Gentle. Measured.
A quiet reminder: I saw. I'm watching. But I'm not hunting.
It didn't make me feel safe. But it didn't make me panic, either.
-----
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—not surging, not volatile, just present. 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. Flow.
The sixth 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 shut 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 – coated it – even 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.
No interrogation. No alarm. Just… recognition.
The rest of the session passed in a blur. I intentionally missed a couple of throws to even out my results. 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.
"Clean technique. Near-flawless control."
I offered a noncommittal shrug.
"Been practising."
"I can tell."
There was a beat of silence. Not heavy, but not light either.
Then he placed a hand on my shoulder. Not firm. Just present.
"You're doing better. Keep going."
He said it like he meant it. Like it wasn't just a teacher's platitude.
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. He wasn't digging. He was watching.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt like maybe—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.
And that, for now, was enough.
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 way he asked his students to do before a spar. Inhale—steady. Exhale—steadier.
Only when his pulse stopped echoing in his ears did he give the ANBU guard a sharp nod.
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 like a second uniform. Hiruzen Sarutobi 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 in my absence?"
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. Clean, efficient, and," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "quiet. Almost completely contrary to his past performance."
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: tighter footwork, improved balance, faster recovery." 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, 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. Duty done, for now.
Behind him, the office doors whispered shut.
Silence re‑settled once Iruka's footsteps faded down the hall. For several long breaths, the Third Hokage remained at his desk, gaze fixed on that slip of parchment bearing Kenta's name. A single note, as weightless as rice paper. Yet the village's future often balanced on less.
He inhaled on the pipe again, letting the ember burn low while he searched memory. A boy with unnaturally clean chakra … it pricked at half‑forgotten lessons from Tobirama: Refinement without expansion is a blade honed thinner every pass – sharp, yes, but liable to shatter. Hiruzen exhaled, smoke curling through a shaft of amber light.
"Let us hope the edge does not turn against its wielder."
A polite knock at the door broke the musing. "Enter."
Instructor Kayo stepped inside, pale hair pulled into an austere bun and scroll case tucked beneath one arm. "You wished to review the sensor logs personally, Hokage‑sama."
"I did. Thank you for coming so quickly." He gestured to a chair opposite the desk. "Please."
Kayo sat, posture crisp. She slid three slim scrolls across the wood. Seals along the edges confirmed no tampering.
"Here are the compiled observations over the last four weeks. Chakra signature charts, emotional resonance readings, micro‑fluctuation graphs. All routine for performance outliers."
Hiruzen unrolled the first sheet. Neat ink strokes plotted Kenta's signature: a central line steady as candle flame, flanked by faint ripples that never breached the margins. Balanced, the annotation read, no turbulence. Compared to the violent arcs of a typical adolescent shinobi, it was almost tranquil.
"You described it to Iruka as 'clean.'"
Kayo nodded. "It was the best way I could put it. It reminds me of chakra that's been filtered through multiple suppression seals, except there are no seals, stagnation, or artificial dampening."
"Could he be masking his reserves?"
"If so, he's doing it at a complexity beyond ANBU stealth doctrine. Even high‑grade concealment leaves micro‑tremors. Shiozaki's flow is simply… efficient." She hesitated, expression unreadable behind professional calm. "Almost meditative."
Hiruzen absorbed that. Efficiency was not unheard of. It was the entire basis of medical ninjutsu, along with chakra control.
"Did you detect any foreign signatures around him? Residual training chakra from a mentor?"
"None. If anyone's guiding him, they are doing so without direct contact."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Hiruzen's lips. Or the boy's teaching himself. Dangerous ingenuity, if left unguided. He replaced the scroll and reached for parchment. Quick strokes recorded a new notation: Potential self‑taught control method – monitor for replication.
Kayo shifted, curiosity finally edging into her tone. "If I may be frank, Hokage‑sama. Why not test him? A controlled chakra load, maybe a medical scan. We could verify potential threats sooner."
"A reasonable suggestion," Hiruzen conceded. "Yet unnecessary pressure can warp a budding talent. I have seen many promising seeds crushed by over‑eager hands. For now, we observe."
Kayo inclined her head, accepting the decision even if she did not wholly agree. "Then I'll continue weekly sweeps, undetected."
"Thank you. Your discretion is appreciated."
She stood, bowed, and departed as silently as she'd come. The office door clicked shut. Evening shadows pooled wider across the floor, creeping toward shelves stacked with histories, regrets, and half‑burned correspondence from distant allies.
Hiruzen extinguished his pipe, slid Kenta's file atop a growing stack labeled Watch–Low Priority, and finally rose. Old knees complained, but he ignored them, stepping to the window. Lights blossomed throughout the village. Lanterns outside noodle stands, fireflies caught in garden nets, the gentle glow of homes settling for the night.
From here, every life seemed a fleck of light, fragile and exquisite. Among them, a single glimmer now carried his cautious attention.
"Grow straight and true, little sapling," he murmured to the glass. "May the storms pass you by."
He drew the curtains, locking dusk outside, and turned toward the inner corridor. There were still council memos to sign, patrol routes to approve, and a letter to pen for an orphan boy who would one day need reassurances he didn't yet understand. Village business marched regardless of personal intrigue.
----
Kenta POV
Three months of pretending to be average have taught me two things:
Camouflage is exhausting. Keeping your head below the metaphorical grass line means stooping until your spine protests and your pride files a grievance.Exhaustion is 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, 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.
Leaf‑Stick Test #17
Baseline control: nine leaf‑sticks for 11s before drop. Compression loop: nine sticks, 24s. Improvement factor = 2.18×. No visible shimmer. Paranoia level: mild.
Paranoia deserves its own scale because it's the closest thing I have to a medical diagnosis. Low means I risk slacking. High means I'm one hallucinated ANBU away from sprinting into the Forest of Death to live as a hermit.
My notebook is half battle diary, half budget spreadsheet. Every drop of chakra is a coin. Every technique is an expense. The goal is to finish the fight in profit. The shinobi world loves flashy overdrafts: Rasengan, Chidori, explosive tags by the yard. But my balance screams no overdraft fees. Maximum damage, minimum spend. Welcome to frugal murder.
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, the way monks pour tea: steady, deliberate, no splash. Efficiency sings under my skin like tuning forks. It's not multitasking, exactly. 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, micro‑fatigue starts to prickle behind my eyes. Good. I end the session there before idiocy overrides my prudence.
Notebook update:
ROI Note: quality is up, volume status quo. Pursue density, not capacity—for now.
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.
Two hours later, I'm in homeroom with my usual slouched posture, eyelids at half‑mast. Iruka launches into a lecture on chakra elemental theory. I doodle meaningless spirals while actually jotting micro‑notes:
Fire = excitation + expansion (energy costly)Lightning = oscillation + linear burst (precision but hefty drain)Earth = structural damping (mass increases)
Theory: combine compression with minimal elemental tinge for edge? Test with paper later.Naruto elbows me, whispering, "Bet Iruka's clone could teach this in his sleep."
I deadpan, "He could still tag you with a piece of chalk with his eyes closed."
He snorts loud enough to earn the chalk I just mentioned. It hits Naruto, the class laughs, and the spotlight slides right off me.
Perfect.
During lunch, I'm sitting under a maple tree and civilian kids crowd around my flashcards: 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.
Notebook note:
Edge Efficiency is up — migrate doctrine toward micro‑projectiles.
For my next trial, I applied a whisper of electricity affinity (oscillation) 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.
That night, I'm on the roof again, staring at the stars, noodles of clouds, and the village breathing softly. I flip to a clean page and draft the Kilobyte Manifesto 1.0:
Economy first. Never spend chakra you can kill without.Surprise > force. One unseen hit outscores ten blocked swings.Allies are multipliers. Konoha ninja operate in teams for a reason.Knowledge = weapon. Study affinities, seals, bloodlines, not to copy but to counter.Live to iterate. Dead men don't debug.I sign with a flourish that looks cooler than I feel, close the notebook, and pocket it inside my shirt where the pulse meets the page. Tomorrow will be another loop of dull classes, hidden tests, and incremental graphs.
----
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.
Coupon #1 – Shrinking the EdgeShuriken are cheap, senbon are cheaper, but even senbon need metal, and metal needs chakra coating. If I want to make any headway in testing my theories, I'll need smaller cutting surfaces.
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).
Coupon #2 – Breath is BatteryThe Hyūga breathing routine (thank you, Hinata) isn't about relaxation at all. Turns out, diaphragmatic pulses can recycle microscopic 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.
Naruto Interlude – Economics for IdiotsAfter 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 his enthusiasm is good camouflage, now that I'm stuck 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. Questions:
Why does the paper test split clean for wind users? Hypothesis: The chakra vibrates at a wavelength resonant with cellulose bonds.How do elemental combinations (e.g., mokuton) circumvent the equal‑and‑opposite rule? Possible genetic hash functions regulating dual‑wave overlay.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 designing counters that cost pennies.
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 (actual chorus: "Fire and Wind make Glass that Slices Skin". Catchy). While they sing, I practise micro‑circulation sequences in my wrists. Two birds, one alibi.
Kunio, a shopkeeper's son with arithmetic terror, thanks me with dried squid strips. I trade them to Choji for intel on the best orchard shortcuts (escape routes). Goodwill is its own currency.
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: no training, just bookstore browsing. Even picked up a pulp novel about a kunoichi chef. Call it a cultural study.
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 the 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 GeometryThe Hyūga diaphragm pulses essentially recharge my micro‑reserves. The hex‑weave wire then doubles as a conduit. Individually, neither is all that impressive. But what if the exhale‑pulses drip straight into the wire loop, topping the edge mid‑orbit?
Prototype 3‑Alpha:
3m tri‑twist wire anchored to finger‑sleeve ringsEight tailor needles are threadedBreathing cycle: four‑count inhale, six‑count exhale, chakra pulse on the fifth beatAfter 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 speak of thumbnail containment glyphs. Following some careful research, I eventually managed to find a way to etch micro‑seals onto 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.
Chakra-enhanced weaponry have been around for ages, 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 AuditFire — Heat flare cue, chakra multiplier about ×4. Verdict: skip; too costly.Wind — Subtle edge vibration, multiplier roughly ×1.6. Verdict: promising and affordable.Lightning — Audible pulse‑crackle, multiplier ×2. Verdict: effective but loud, unsuitable for stealth.Earth — Chakra densifies mass, multiplier ×3. Verdict: slow and counter to speed doctrine.Water — Binding flow effect, multiplier ×2.5. Verdict: niche; 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. When she outlines some Gentle Fist burst maths (I was as surprised as anyone after learning that this existed), 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: fresh air, fewer eyes, perfect.
Kayo enters with her trademark clip‑board and calm that could freeze lava. She begins her silent sweep: eyes glaze infinitesimally, sensory field blooming like invisible pollen. 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 micro‑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.