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. He didn't fear her. He forgave her.
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, Hiashi 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-training.
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 us, 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.
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—solid academics, middling combat, no behavioural flags—read like a recipe for the logistics corps, not the battlefield. 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 practice 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—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 in ledger ink. 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, never drew attention. Iruka admired the grit and pencilled a note about recommending him for clerk work—safe, honourable, and far from shuriken arcs.
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 as though realising too late he'd misread a trap seal. 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 chuunin 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 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 Shiozake as worth observing from afar, anyway. If anything is found, then only then would they act.
When class started again, though, the scarred teacher had another reason to take note of Kenta.
Palm‑sized flashcards 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 would 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 ledger tells a different story. At this point, there was no denying that there was something special about the boy. The question is no longer 'Is he hiding?' but rather, '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.
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 chuunin, 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 defences 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 chuunin 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—not just because he was right, but because 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?
How much of the forest had I ignored while staring at a single tree?
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."
That wasn't just an excuse. I meant it. Even as the self-awareness crashed over me like a wave, I couldn't ignore the danger I was still in.
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. No dramatic moment of clarity. Just a slow, creeping realisation: 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. No formal training. No years of fieldwork to draw from.
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 taste like crisis. 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, a white‑knuckled boy glued to his side.
Hiruzen registered details the way a hawk marks movement in 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. I've seen it in war orphans and in ANBU fresh from their first black operation.
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 guide him forward. The boy would have to step 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 of paper. He perched on the chair's edge, spine straight and stiff. Not the measured ease of a trained bodyguard, but the brittle discipline of someone who had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in nightmares.
Nothing in his files indicated this degree of neurosis, which immediately put the aged ninja on edge. 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 at the edges, "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. Hiruzen noted the teacher's restraint with quiet approval.
Inside, the Hokage weighed possibilities. He could refuse, assert authority, and watch the boy fracture. He could grant the request, gamble on what secrets a terrified child 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.
He formed a chain of seals so fluidly even Iruka's experienced eye blinked to follow. The Hokage's palm met the inlaid kanji panel on his desk; scarlet script blossomed across walls and floor like petals chasing sun. A soft chime reverberated, then silence—thick, weighty, a hush that swallowed the world beyond oak doors.
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, not exactly, but a means. 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—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. No advisors' ears, no scribes' scrolls. If you must record, do so in your own hand and keep it under your seal alone."
A flicker—not fear, exactly, but 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 tea cup. "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 calculation, but dread harnessed to iron purpose.
"Very well," the Hokage said at last. "These terms are severe. But perhaps severity is warranted. I will consider them—after I understand the stakes."
Kenta set his cup aside. Both hands now free, he placed them palms down on his knees, as though bracing for recoil. 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. No large‑scale explosion tags detonated. No evacuations recorded."
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 firefight 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 village 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 before courage fled. "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 knives."
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 not merely warmth. It 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. It's not a minor insight. 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 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—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? That was something else entirely.
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 a truth 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 affinity, 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 wasn't just about childish notions of power or prestige. It was about the kind of pain that came from being told—implicitly, systemically—that no matter how hard you tried, you would always be less.
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, 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—not a yell, but a command, firm and deliberate.
"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 quiet authority.
"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—the theory, the emotional context, the implications. 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.
"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 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. Their tongues shall be bound by oaths stricter than ANBU secrecy seals."
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 present as student, myself 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 chuunin.
Also, I saw five-year-old Uchihas flinging fireballs in the anime. 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:
Spoiler
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 water-down version of Senju Tsunade's signature achievement.
If applied 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—from fiction—it was always dramatic: inner worlds, golden cores, enlightenment under waterfalls. 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 micro-control. Still maintaining precision and adhesion.Fatigue threshold: expanded by about 20%; recorded through controlled workouts—100 pushups, 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.
No explosions. No glowing auras. Just steady, measurable change—proven in reps, minutes, and results I could write down. 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 iteration of the xianxia genre that it's 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.
Spoiler
I tapped my pen 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 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 scroll 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 pen 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. Not with his hands, but with his focus. 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 not stopping the flow—you're guiding it, 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. Not pain, but resistance. As if the chakra didn't want to be condensed. 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 didn't surge. It simply… 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. "No foreign chakra techniques. No bloodline. No complex seal matrices. Just… discipline."
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. Not as a child. As something else.
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… 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.
But enough.
----
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—like a room waiting to exhale.
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. 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. Not its raw strength, but its 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, 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. No shortcuts. No adjustments. Just the method 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, but through quiet, unseen progress.
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 achieve 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 stealing a handful of 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 getting 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.