Hane Genma was practicing walking on water.
The boundless ocean stretching out in every direction had a way of making a person feel insignificantly small, which in turn gave rise to a hollow, displaced sensation—as though one were utterly unnecessary to the world.
But once you got used to it, that feeling instead brought a rare kind of peace.
Because it was the truth. To the world at large, most people really were dispensable.
Shinobi had been killing one another for decades, yet the scenery around them remained eternally unchanged. It was rare for Genma to have a moment like this—detached from all the noise and chaos, quietly admiring the view.
With every burden cast aside, his mood gradually lightened. He didn't have any grand thoughts; he was simply, purely, a little happy.
Running away from everything and living in seclusion… maybe that wouldn't be such a bad life after all, Genma suddenly thought.
Like that master weaponsmith who hid himself away on a solitary island.
The problem, of course, was that a person can run for a while, but no one can run forever.
…Whatever. No point overthinking it. Just treat this as a short vacation. The trip to the Uchiha compound had put a lot of mental strain on him, after all.
A few hours later, Genma stepped onto the shore of a small island hidden deep within the ocean swells.
Once on the island, he quickly spotted a modest little house.
"Anybody home? You've got a visitor."
Ever the polite and civilized guest, Genma didn't barge straight in. Instead, he stood at the doorway and called out loudly.
"The hell do you want? Who told you to come here? Don't you know I don't take guests?!"
The reply came like a lit firecracker. With a loud bang, the front door was flung open, and out stomped an old man draped in coarse cloth, his face and head completely buried under a wild mane of hair, eyebrows, and beard.
His clothes were tattered, his movements frantic. He looked utterly unkempt—like some avant-garde artist who'd long given up on personal grooming.
Unfortunately, his narrow, upturned eyes and a naturally sour expression ruined whatever "grandmaster aura" he might have had.
Genma gave the man a quick once-over. Despite his age, the old fellow was built like an ox, and one arm was clearly thicker than the other…
No need to ask: master or not, this guy was definitely a blacksmith through and through.
"I heard from the Fuma clan that you were living in seclusion here, so I came to pay my respects," Genma said politely. The old man's attitude wasn't exactly welcoming, but it might just be bed-head grumpiness. They'd only just met; Genma wasn't about to drop all manners yet.
"The Fuma clan?" The old man—Kanzuki Shizukami—frowned as if trying to remember, then raised an eyebrow. "Oh right, there was a shinobi clan by that name. They're still around? Haven't been wiped out yet?"
Genma: "…"
The old bastard had a vicious tongue, and worse—he wasn't wrong. The Fuma clan really had been in dire straits for a long time.
Kanzuki Shizukami had originally planned to ignore the kid entirely, but for some reason he suddenly changed his mind.
Maybe he once had a sweetheart from the Fuma clan?
"Today I'm in a pretty good mood. No matter why you're here, I'll give you one chance to make a request… Kid, do you have a summoned beast?"
Genma hesitated for a moment, but eventually nodded. He figured that if he answered "no," the conversation would probably end right there.
"I suppose I have one, technically."
Little Seven was actually Shichimi's summon, but Genma could borrow it from time to time.
Shizukami stroked his beard in satisfaction. "Good. If your summoned beast can beat mine, I'll grant you an audience."
Genma understood instantly. Lonely old men needed hobbies, right? The guy couldn't just smith iron all day.
Square dancing with the grannies? No facilities for that out here.
So Shizukami's hobby was apparently cockfighting and dogfighting equivalents.
In the shinobi world, pitting summoned beasts against each other counted as perfectly wholesome entertainment.
With that, the old man formed hand seals and slammed his palm to the ground. A massive summoned beast nearly two men tall appeared in a puff of smoke.
"Uh…"
Looking at the thing, Genma felt his scalp tingle.
It was an enormous toad covered in iron plating in places, its skin dotted with pus-filled boils. One glance told you it was highly venomous.
This was definitely a "private toad"—its household registration had nothing to do with Mount Myoboku.
As everyone knew, the "toads" of Mount Myoboku weren't actually toads—they were frogs.
More precisely, frogs were one branch of the toad family. The other branch was called true toads, commonly known as poisonous toads.
Exactly like the one in front of him right now.
"I can summon mine, but I can't guarantee it'll feel like fighting," Genma warned.
He performed the Summoning Technique, and in the next instant, Little Seven appeared.
Little Seven's combat ability wasn't an issue—it had already gone up against gigantic summons before. The question was whether it would be willing to fight something oozing pus from head to toe.
Little Seven had visibly changed since the first time Genma met it. Back then, standing on all fours it only reached his waist. Now it stood shoulder-height with him.
Not only had its body grown larger, its previously blocky face had become far more refined—it finally looked like an elegant fox.
What kind of growth speed was this? Did fighting that colossal summon last time trigger some kind of evolution?
If this were a beauty contest, Genma's side would win hands down.
Unfortunately, they were competing in combat strength.
Genma supported Little Seven's chin with his right hand, gently scratching its fur while speaking in a negotiating tone. "Little Seven, do me a favor and take care of this toad, okay?"
Little Seven glanced at the pus-covered toad. Its eyes were filled with aloof disdain, and it turned its head away from Genma's hand.
The message was clear: You're a toad, I'm a fox. Let's stay in our own lanes.
But the toad was an exceptionally violent specimen. The moment it saw Little Seven, it let out a single croak and leapt straight at it.
Little Seven had no choice but to meet it head-on.
Only now did Genma get a proper look at its fighting style.
Little Seven leapt as well, its body enveloped in a dense layer of chakra. The instant it made contact with the toad, it turned into a streak of light and passed straight through the toad's body.
Genma frowned. There wasn't a single wound on the toad, yet he could clearly sense that a portion of its chakra—and even some of its life force—had been instantly siphoned away by Little Seven.
This chakra-stealing attack… why did it feel so familiar?
In just one exchange, the previously arrogant toad collapsed, limbs twitching uncontrollably before it vanished with a poof.
Little Seven gracefully flicked its tail, and having barely completed its task, immediately de-summoned itself in a cloud of white smoke.
Old Man Shizukami stared in stunned disbelief.
Where was the biting? Where was the blood? Where were the agonized screams of being corroded by toad venom?
Your summoned beast's way of winning is way too understated! How am I supposed to get my thrilling, heart-pounding gambling experience like this?!
"Kid… is that summoned beast of yours for sale?"
Genma almost laughed from exasperation. "Old man, what do you think?"
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Shizukami's face, but he wasn't the type to go back on his word. "Come inside."
Genma followed him into the house. This was the man's home; there could be traps anywhere. His expression remained calm, but inwardly his guard was fully up.
"You're here for weapons, right? I do happen to have a few pieces I poured my heart and soul into… but they don't come cheap."
"I'm not stingy. It just depends whether you've got something that can move me."
Shizukami plopped himself down on a stool like he owned the world, then pointed at another chair, indicating Genma should sit.
Genma pretended to think for a moment, then named an offer the old man could never have expected.
When dealing with someone like this, offering money would only get you thrown out.
"Lifespan… how does that sound?"
The words fell lightly from Genma's lips, yet carried the temptation of a devil.
Wasn't the old man already ancient? He must occasionally worry about things like whether the coffin would be too crowded, or whether the underworld gets cold in winter.
So Genma attacked that exact pain point with an irresistible bargaining chip.
Of course, he wasn't here to sell health supplements.
Extended lifespan was a side effect of the Cursed Resentment Aura Secret Technique. The technique altered the user's constitution, and with the ability to continually replace one's heart, it genuinely could prolong life—there were real case studies to back it up, not false advertising.
Though the technique was excellent, Genma had never intended to hoard it. Instead, he treated it as hard currency—almost a universal equivalent—in shinobi transactions.
Continually trading one secret technique for items or jutsu of equal value was, for the currently penniless Yinghuo organization, always a net-positive move.
Sometimes taking a small loss, sometimes gaining a little extra—it didn't need to be calculated to the last ryo.
"L-Life… cough! What do you mean by that?" Shizukami's tiny eyes widened.
Genma handed over the "instruction manual" and said, "You can read it first, but I should mention—the success rate is only about one in ten. There's a very high chance it kills you outright."
Shizukami fell silent. He quickly scanned through the Cursed Resentment Aura manual, still finding it hard to believe.
"This is real?"
Clearly, despite having lived so long, he had never encountered the Earth Grudge Fear technique before.
"Of course it's real. But I have no way to prove it right now."
With that, Genma pulled a Cursed Resentment Aura meat bud from his ninja pouch and handed it over.
Shizukami took it and examined it carefully. He seemed to sense the dense life force contained within.
Suddenly he declared, "Let's do it.
"Do what?"
"You said you can't prove it, right? I'll help you prove it. If the transplant succeeds, the deal is done. If I die, everything here is yours anyway—you don't lose either way."
Genma was stunned. Was this old man serious?
If he wasn't afraid of death, why was he so interested in life extension? If he was afraid of death, why was he immediately volunteering to be the test subject?
This personality couldn't be described with simple words like "eccentric" or "mercurial" anymore.
"You're sure? This thing will very likely kill you," Genma confirmed again.
"Of course. Quit nagging like an old woman."
Genma had nothing more to say—he definitely wasn't the one taking the risk.
Following the old man's instructions, he promptly began the standard procedure to implant the meat bud.
"Here it comes—holy shit, this thing's invasive as hell?!"
Old Man Shizukami's face scrunched up until it disappeared completely beneath his hair.
The bud was rapidly spreading through his body, causing even this tough old blacksmith to start cursing.
Genma shook his head. What a pity—it looked like the old man couldn't adapt to the technique.
"I told you to take my warning seriously. I'm a man of integrity; everything I said was true. A one-in-ten success rate isn't something you just luck into—"
Before he could finish, Shizukami suddenly ripped off his upper clothes.
The mass of black threads that had already begun proliferating along his arm suddenly stalled…
Because that arm had turned transparent.
"…Hydrification Technique?"
The threads could erode flesh, but what if the person no longer had flesh?
"Not bad, kid, you recognized it… Wait, hardly anyone knows I developed this technique from start to finish—how the hell did you know?"
Genma just shrugged. I'm not telling. Guess.
"Whatever. I already taught Hydrification to others long ago… Your secret technique is excellent. Deal's done. Follow me."
All that talk about "if I die from the technique, everything here is yours" sounded nice, but he'd clearly been confident he could control it from the beginning.
You don't get to be that old without being crafty.
Genma followed him into the workshop behind the house. Shizukami pointed at several weapons laid out on a table.
"You can pick one… no, two pieces as payment for the technique. Fair's fair—neither of us loses out."
The workshop was a chaotic mess, but those weapons were polished like works of art.
Genma's eyes were immediately drawn to a long sword. Excluding the hilt, the blade alone was over 1.2 meters, curved in an exaggerated yet perfectly symmetrical crescent—not the shape of a standard tachi.
He picked it up and thought, There's no way he prepared a scimitar just because I keep calling things "perfectly ordinary," right?
"I won't rip you off. That one in your hand is the piece I'm most satisfied with in recent years… It's a chakra blade."
"A chakra blade?"
Genma drew it from its specially-notched sheath. Chakra blades aren't exactly rare.
"You really don't know good stuff when you see it."
Worried his treasure would go unappreciated, Shizukami snatched it back and instantly flooded the blade with his own chakra.
"Get it now?"
Genma's eyes widened. He took the sword back and examined it again.
"I see… it can conduct nature-transformed chakra."
He gripped the hilt tightly and channeled Fire-nature chakra. The entire blade immediately glowed orange-red.
Hell yeah, Flaming Joy.
Then he switched to Yang-nature chakra, and the blade shimmered with gentle green light.
Look, a Blade of No-Kill, a natural Sesshomaru cosplay prop.
This thing was seriously good.
Genma sheathed it and casually tucked it into his belt at the small of his back. Since it was good stuff, obviously he wasn't putting it back.
"Old man, incredible craftsmanship."
Ordinary chakra blades weren't rare, but ones that could channel nature transformations? Completely different story.
"You… sigh, whatever. Just make good use of it."
Having taken the best one, Genma still needed to pick his second weapon, but the rest didn't look particularly impressive.
Suddenly he spotted a pitch-black straight sword. Normal length, actually just a plain sword bar with no fittings at all.
The tip was rounded, not sharp, and both edges looked completely dull.
"This one?"
He reached out and lifted it—immediately feeling the shocking weight.
"Gotta be twenty kilos, right?"
For its size it was absurdly heavy. No ordinary shinobi would use a weapon this heavy—it weighed about as much as full armor. But Genma was different; with the strength boost from Boil Release, he could swing this greatsword just fine.
No need to think twice—something this heavy would feel amazing to swing.
"It's not for sale… This was a 'sample' my master made when I was learning sword forging. Other than hardness and toughness it has no special qualities. It's not even a real weapon—just a teaching tool."
As he spoke, Shizukami tried to push Genma's hand down.
Genma's reaction was lightning fast—he grabbed the "teaching tool" with one hand and clamped the old man's wrist with the other.
The moment Shizukami said it wasn't for sale, Genma decided: this was the one.
The old man clearly didn't understand the contrarian psychology of modern youth. Genma was actually pretty mild.
Everyone knows: if you sell tea, idiots will fall in love with your teapot. If you sell furniture, idiots will want your plane, axe, and saw…
"You did say 'pick any two with no other restrictions,' correct?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then it's settled. I've chosen."
"…"
Whoever said Kanzuki Shizukami had a weird personality—Fuma Goro? Mental note: Fuma Goro gets a major demerit.
This was clearly a reasonable, kind-hearted old gentleman. Genma would not allow anyone to slander the man's reputation.
The trade was complete. Genma had nothing more to say. He left only a simple farewell, ignored the old man's protests, turned, and headed off the desolate little island.
"Wait! Slow down—I haven't even told you that sword's name yet!"
Those words only made Genma walk faster.
You're joking, right? They're my swords now—why would you get to name them?
In the blink of an eye he'd already named both of them himself.
One would be called Reed-Sword, the other Fish-Staff Sword.
Now… which one should be Reed-Sword, and which one Fish-Staff…?
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