Chapter 83: Six Months Have Passed
Time has flown by, leaving subtle traces in the corners of Souta's memory.
It has been six months since Souta first opened his eyes in the world of Naruto—or more precisely, in the world of shinobi filled with danger and endless mystery.
At first, everything felt foreign. The hot, dusty air of Sunagakure dried Souta's throat, and the sound of footsteps in the corners of the village made his heart race.
But now, after months of living in this world, Souta has begun to understand the rhythm that flows around him.
Souta works as a cleaner in the Puppet Arts Performance Theater—a place filled with wood dust, the faint aroma of evaporating paint, and the rustling of silk fabric hanging on stage.
There, Souta often spends his days sweeping the floor littered with wood shavings and mopping it until it shines, while secretly practicing something far more important: chakra threads.
In the silence of the dimly lit backstage, where the shadows of the spotlight never reach, Souta would weave the chakra thread he had successfully created, stretching a full meter.
Souta's hands trembled as he felt the subtle energy flowing between his fingers. There was a deep sense of satisfaction as the thread formed, as if this foreign world was beginning to give him a little signal that he could survive.
In addition, Souta began experimenting with simple wooden puppets. Using discarded wood pieces that were no longer useful to the theater workers, Souta would carve rough yet hopeful shapes.
The small puppet, only fifteen centimeters tall, had uneven lines and a still-rough surface, but for Souta, it was a reflection of his struggles.
Every night, after returning from the theater, Souta would sit in his quiet apartment room, trying to use the chakra threads to move the puppet.
The fine threads Souta created seemed to come alive at his fingertips, but the puppet remained still, like a lifeless statue refusing to move.
Disappointment often gnawed at Souta's heart. Sometimes, he felt his fingers were unable to control the wild chakra threads. At times, he wondered if the technique he was learning was wrong, or if the puppet was too simple to come to life with the chakra threads he created.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but the puppet remained silent. Each time failure struck, Souta bit his lip until it hurt, pausing to think.
However, Souta did not give up. He knew that today's failures were merely the foundation for tomorrow's success.
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...
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A year has passed since Souta's arrival in this world. Now, with more steady steps and longer breaths, Souta begins to feel that he is no longer a foreign guest, but a part of this world.
The village of Sunagakure, with its blazing deserts and scorching winds that constantly erode, is not an easy place. But Souta perseveres, adapting to the harshness of life here.
Every scorching ray of sunlight that burns Souta's skin, every cold night that pierces his bones, is a reminder that life is not about being weak or strong, but about survival.
Souta has learned a lot, especially about Kugutsu no Jutsu—the puppet art technique that has become his path to gaining power. Learning this is no easy task.
Souta had to steal—uh, quietly learn—the techniques from experienced puppet masters. Behind the theater curtains, Souta observed their hand movements, memorizing the patterns of their fingers, trying to imitate them as best as he could.
Now, after months of practice, Souta is able to create ten chakra threads, each one and a half meters long, flowing from the tips of each of his fingers.
These threads are not just nearly transparent strings; they are incredibly flexible, like small snakes dancing in the air according to Souta's will.
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Chapter 84: The First Year at the Ninja Academy is Over
A sense of wonder slowly grew within Souta. He imagined his chakra threads like a spider's web, not only ensnaring enemies but also protecting himself—thin yet sturdy, flexible but deadly.
Memories of Souta's childhood surfaced. A teenager in a tight red-blue costume, leaping from building to building with agility. Spiderman. The hero of his childhood dreams. As Souta tried to move his chakra threads, that figure often appeared in his mind, whispering encouragement from deep within. As if saying, "Come on, you can do it."
That day, Souta tried something new. He stared at a small spoon on the table. He held his breath. Souta then sharpened his concentration.
Slowly but surely, chakra threads extended from the tips of Souta's fingers, nearly invisible, creeping gently through the air before finally hooking the wooden spoon beside the plate.
A second later, the spoon moved—jerking, lifting, then gliding toward Souta's palm. A small success, yes, but for Souta, it felt like moving a mountain.
The next challenge was to make a lightweight object float. A piece of wood—fragile and worthless—became a test of focus endurance. Souta furrowed his brow, sweat dripping from his temples, as the chakra threads danced in the air.
In a matter of seconds, the wood floated, spinning slowly as if dancing in silence. But gravity eventually won. The wood fell back to the ground.
Excitement and frustration wrestled in his chest—like two small creatures clawing at each other inside. Souta knew the road ahead was still long. But this was the first step.
Outside of training, Souta's life was also slowly changing. His relationship with Pakura, the young girl with green hair living in the next room, grew warmer day by day.
They lived on the second floor of a simple apartment made entirely of solid sand. The walls were a brownish-yellow, reflecting sunlight and greedily absorbing heat.
During the day, the place felt unbearably hot, like being in an oven. But the night brought a gentle silence, with desert winds softly seeping through the gaps in the windows.
Two months ago, Pakura invited Souta for dinner. The meal was simple—a bowl of hot soup and some side dishes made from whatever was available. But the warmth of the invitation was more than enough to make Souta feel appreciated.
They sat side by side on the floor, exchanging small stories—about the weather, work, and the harshness of a world that forced people to either survive or break.
Their friendship was like a small shade from the scorching heat of life. Pakura might speak briefly, sometimes her tone even sounded cold, but the look in her eyes clearly held warmth that couldn't be hidden. The gaze of someone who quietly cares.
Now, Souta was busy with a new experiment. He began to realize how flexible his chakra threads were.
This made Souta imagine swinging through the air like Spiderman—gliding freely from one rooftop to another, challenging the sky.
But reality slapped that imagination back. Souta's chakra threads were still not strong enough to support his weight. Yes, still not strong enough.
Instead, Souta developed a long-range combat technique. He started training to pull wooden kunai and shuriken using chakra threads, then throwing those wooden weapons back at the target like a precisely directed whip.
Souta's movements were still rough, sometimes failing, sometimes too slow. But gradually, he began to find a pattern. Yes, a rhythm.
With each practice, each failure, each small cut on his fingers and wrists, Souta learned something. About patience. About determination. About how this world does not make room for those who stop.
And Souta knew… this was just the beginning. In the harsh shinobi world, only those who are brave and keep practicing will be able to survive—and rise.
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