It's no wonder Akira was furious. The so-called "Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique" he just witnessed was nothing short of a mockery of real ninjutsu. As someone intimately familiar with the technique—a classic Uchiha fire-style jutsu requiring six precise hand seals—he knew it inside and out. But this guy? He didn't perform a single hand seal. Instead, he opened a sake bottle, took a hearty swig, pulled out a piece of paper, lit it on fire, and then spat the sake over it to produce a fireball.
This wasn't ninjutsu. It was street theater. A disgrace. A magic trick performed at a second-rate festival. Even calling it a magic trick might be giving it too much credit.
Just earlier, Akira had watched someone use steel wires to mimic the Shadow Imitation Technique and another using mirrors to fake Shadow Clones. Those were laughable, but at least they demonstrated some rudimentary sleight of hand. This sake-spitting clown act, though? It was insulting.
In his previous life, Akira had watched anime that portrayed wandering ninja families with some credibility. They might have been rough around the edges, but they had real jutsu, real chakra, and some semblance of strength. He had hoped that, in the real world, such families would carry at least Genin-level capabilities. But what he saw before him? A band of circus performers.
Many of them didn't even have a speck of chakra. They weren't failed ninjas. They weren't even ninjas to begin with. No wonder the Five Great Ninja Villages never bothered to absorb them—they weren't being ignored; they were being spared.
Akira wanted to scream, "Get out of my sight! Go find a cooler place to embarrass yourselves!"
Disheartened, he shifted his focus to rogue ninjas—former members of established villages who had gone rogue for one reason or another. Surely they would have more to offer.
The first group claimed to be fugitives from Takigakure. They presented themselves as experts in the Transformation Technique. Akira felt a flicker of hope. Even if the Transformation Technique was basic, it at least required chakra control. But what followed crushed that hope.
With great ceremony, the two began painting their faces, applying makeup from jars and bottles. That was their "Transformation Technique."
Akira's face twitched. Disobeying orders? More like being expelled for incompetence. He waved them off.
Next came a man from Bird Ninja Village in the Land of Birds. Akira had never even heard of the place. The man said he was being hunted for stealing the village's "secret technique," which he now offered to Akira in exchange for protection.
Akira unrolled the scroll and found a single word: "Clone Technique."
His jaw clenched. That technique was public domain in Konoha. Even curious civilians could borrow scrolls about it from the library. How could this be a "village secret"?
He was about to reject the man outright but paused. A closer inspection revealed the man actually had chakra. Not much, but enough to rival a Genin. Even the makeup artists from earlier had trace amounts. They didn't know ninjutsu, but they had chakra.
That's when Akira realized: he had been viewing everything through the lens of the Five Great Villages. In places like Konoha, basic ninjutsu was accessible. Anything below B-rank could be studied freely within the village walls. Sunagakure and the others were likely the same.
But small countries were different. In many minor villages, ninjutsu was hoarded within families, passed down like heirlooms. Civilians and orphaned children had no chance. The result? A whole generation of fighters who trained like samurai and mimicked ninjutsu without understanding chakra.
Akira sighed. He had expected too much. The true talents had already been claimed by the major villages. What remained were the outcasts, the unpolished stones.
But among this rubble, a few gems gleamed.
Hijikata was one such gem. He claimed to use Mud Release—a combination of Water and Earth Release. Akira was intrigued. Could this be a Kekkei Genkai?
Upon demonstration, it became clear that Hijikata didn't possess the ability to fuse the elemental natures fully. He merely mixed them. Still, it was unique. Akira had been researching cursed seals lately, particularly the ones on Arui's shoulders. Seeing Hijikata's special constitution, he smiled darkly. Perhaps a new Kekkei Genkai could be synthesized here.
Then came Shima, Hijikata's companion. They weren't blood relatives but had met by chance and traveled together. Shima's ability allowed him to harden his skin to an indestructible level, though he became immobile in that state.
Akira speculated it was a chakra control issue. With training, he could likely direct the hardening more selectively, avoiding the joints and regaining mobility. Another promising recruit.
Two talents, back-to-back. Akira's disappointment began to lift.
And then came the real surprise.
A group of people dressed in similarly styled clothing stepped forward. It was clear they belonged to the same clan. But it wasn't their coordinated attire that captured Akira's attention—it was their choice of weaponry: musical instruments.
They began to play, and as they did, a wave of chakra-infused sound rolled out. Akira watched, eyes narrowing, as the ground trembled subtly and his hearing wavered.
This was it.
Not mere performers. Not charlatans. Real ninjas. With real jutsu.
A smile finally crept across Akira's face. Among the noise and nonsense, here was a melody of true potential.
This clan called themselves the Rhythm Clan. Each of the ninjas bore the kanji for "Rhythm" in their names: Death Rhythm, Living Rhythm, Meaningful Rhythm, Meaningless Rhythm, and others in the same strange cadence. It was poetic, if not slightly ominous.
Akira had a near-photographic memory, and the moment he heard the name Death Rhythm, it clicked.
Wasn't that the name of a notorious bandit leader who once terrorized the Land of Rice Fields near the end of the first part of the Naruto series?
He remembered now: after Orochimaru established the original Hidden Sound Village, many of the Rhythm Clan's shinobi were absorbed into its ranks. The ones left behind lost their purpose and drifted into banditry. Death Rhythm had been one of the most infamous.
But that didn't add up.
The Death Rhythm Akira remembered was still active more than ten years after Orochimaru's Hidden Sound was founded. He didn't look that old back then. This Death Rhythm standing in front of him now? Clearly over forty. He must be an older generation—a senior, perhaps even the uncle of the one Akira remembered.
He squinted. Yeah. Definitely not the same man.
Then the Rhythm Clan began to perform.
One by one, they demonstrated their sound-based ninjutsu.
"Sound of Oblivion" was first—a haunting flute melody that could disrupt brain activity and temporarily erase select memories. Used on oneself or an enemy, it was like a surgical tool for the mind.
Next was "Sound of Protection," which summoned a dome of resonating sound waves to form a defensive barrier. To Akira's surprise, it also allowed the user to hover in mid-air, the resonance counteracting gravity in elegant pulses. It reminded him of his own Golden Bell Shield, but this was more art than armor.
Then came "Sound of Reversal."
Akira watched carefully. The melody caused chakra inside the body to accelerate, stimulating meridians and flooding the user with new energy. It was like the Eight Inner Gates, but subtler—more sustainable. Not brute force, but harmonized flow.
Finally, "Sound of Explosion" took the stage. A precise sequence of notes vibrated the very air until it combusted, erupting in controlled detonations. Akira was reminded of Scorpion's Resonance Wave technique—something he hadn't cracked yet. But this?
This was a breakthrough.
Each technique had a purpose: utility, defense, augmentation, offense. A complete system. It was the first time Akira had seen a sound-based fighting style that rivaled his own Sound Release.
But there was a key difference.
The Rhythm Clan didn't manipulate sound directly.
They relied entirely on instruments to focus and channel their chakra. The stronger the instrument, the more chakra it could hold, and the greater the effect of the technique. It was limiting, yes, but also elegant. Like a swordsmith honing his blade not for war, but for expression.
Akira was impressed, but he saw the flaw: dependency.
Instruments could break. Could be stolen. Could fail.
He, on the other hand, needed none of that. His body was the instrument. His chakra the tuning fork. With their techniques as a reference point, he could refine his Sound Release further—unshackled by material limits.
It was almost like destiny.
He had created the Hidden Sound Village. He had pioneered Sound Release. And now, a clan steeped in musical ninjutsu appeared at his doorstep, seeking shelter.
As the Rhythm Clan gathered, Akira noticed something else.
There were dozens of them. Not all were fighters. Families had come—children, elders, civilians. It was as if they meant to move their entire clan into the Hidden Sound Village.
He raised an eyebrow and turned to Death Rhythm.
"You're the clan head, right? I see many here who aren't shinobi. Are you hoping to relocate your whole clan into the village?"
Death Rhythm bowed deeply. "Yes, Lord Sound Shadow. We've wandered the land for years, isolated by our abilities. Wherever we went, people looked at us with suspicion, fear, or disdain. All we've ever wanted was a place to belong."
He paused, glancing at the people behind him.
"Our ancestors have lived in the Land of Rice Fields for generations. We didn't want to leave, but there was no ninja village to call home. When we heard that you had founded the Hidden Sound Village, we dared to hope."
He hesitated, then added, "And when we heard you use Sound Release... we believed you might even be one of us."
Akira was surprised.
Death Rhythm explained: their clan's ninjutsu originated from a singular ancestor—a prodigy who could manipulate sound without instruments. That gift was never inherited again, so they built their techniques around tools.
Akira understood now.
They thought he was a lost descendant.
He didn't confirm or deny it. He just smiled.
Orochimaru had only ever seen the Hidden Sound as a laboratory. Tools. Subjects. Experiments. He would never have accepted non-shinobi into the fold.
But Akira wasn't Orochimaru.
He wanted a future. A legacy. A village that could endure. For that, people mattered—not just warriors, but families.
He smiled warmly at Death Rhythm. "Of course the Hidden Sound Village will take you in. Welcome to your new home."
"Thank you, Lord Sound Shadow!" Death Rhythm bowed deeply. The others followed, tears welling in their eyes.
Among the crowd, Akira saw a woman holding a red-haired infant.
He stepped closer. "What's her name?"
The mother wiped her tears and replied, "Tayuya. She just turned one."
Akira's eyes widened. That name.
He knew her. One of Orochimaru's Sound Five in the original timeline. Fierce, cunning, talented. A Jonin-level kunoichi with the Cursed Seal activated.
He crouched slightly and looked at the baby.
"When she's older," he said gently, "I'll train her myself."
The mother broke into tears. "Thank you, Lord Sound Shadow!"
News of Akira's acceptance of the Rhythm Clan spread like wildfire. For over a month, wandering ninjas and rogue clans had been flocking to the village. Some had chakra. Some didn't. Some were samurai who could swing a sword, but knew nothing of ninjutsu.
Still, they came. Seeking shelter. Seeking belonging.
Akira personally interviewed them all. Just like the Hokage did in Konoha, he believed a leader must see potential with his own eyes.
It took almost two months.
When the dust settled, he had accepted one thousand shinobi candidates. Among them were Chunin-level fighters, former rogue ninjas, and mercenaries with scattered training. A few even had strength rivaling the Kage-level elites.
But most were raw. Untrained. Lacking finesse or foundation.
Still, they were better than nothing.
Along with them came several small ninja families—not as cohesive as the Rhythm Clan, but each carrying inherited techniques and traditions. Valuable assets for the village's diversity.
In the end, Akira had secured:
18 Chunin
Over 900 Genin (or close equivalents)
A complete, loyal clan with unique sound-based ninjutsu
He knew it would take time.
But with his guidance, training, and leadership, these recruits could become the backbone of the Hidden Sound Village.
He looked out from the tower at the growing village below.
"So many songs yet to be written," he murmured, the wind carrying his voice like a whisper of promise.