A/N: Very Long Chapter. 3000 words. Enjoy your weekend.
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Murakami stepped out of the Lotus Store, the compact storage scroll securely tucked into the sleeve of his haori. The streets of Konoha bustled with their usual rhythm.
It looked peaceful.
But Murakami knew that beneath the calm surface, the world was strained and shifting.
Shinobi were dying beyond the borders while the village carried on as if insulated from reality. The contrast was jarring, almost surreal.
Still, dwelling on what he couldn't change wouldn't help him. He was glad that he could grow in peace due to the sacrifices of his senior colleagues, but he had a more immediate problem.
He didn't have a proper place to practice ninjutsu.
Hina would eventually secure a property that fit his criteria, but until then, he needed something he could work on discreetly.
Something that didn't require open space, elemental destruction, or risk attracting unnecessary attention.
That narrowed his options to two: taijutsu and genjutsu.
Taijutsu would have been ideal for conditioning, but without proper equipment and supplements he'd just end up abusing trees like some desperate academy dropout.
And without the right nutritional support or muscle-recovery formulas, all that effort would do was tear his body down faster than it could rebuild.
A pointless waste of time, energy, and calcium.
That wasn't his style, nor was it efficient.
As for Energy pills, they only recover stamina and mental energy, which in turn recovers chakra.
They were of no help in muscle recovery.
Genjutsu, however…he could start immediately.
It demanded precision, control, and awareness, all things he could practice without drawing eyes. And more importantly, he already had test subjects in mind.
The forest bordering the orphanage stretched far and quiet, a familiar terrain he'd only used for agility training up until now.
He had never gone too deep, not out of fear, but out of pragmatism. There was no need to go on deeper so he simply didn't.
Today, though?
Today he had a need and he intended to go farther.
This is because there were animals deeper inside.
Wildlife with instincts sharp enough to truly test his control.
If he could affect them, bend their perception and distort their senses, then he would be taking his first real step into psychological warfare.
A domain he fully intended to master.
With that thought, Murakami made his way there, his expression calm as he slipped into the shadows of the forest.
With every step deeper, the sound of rustling leaves and distant sound of wildlife filled his senses.
'Perfect.' He mused as he moved with deliberate care, senses scanning for any small animals within his range of perception.
The first step in mastering genjutsu was understanding how the mind reacted when its senses were rewritten.
And animals were perfect for that.
They didn't rationalize or analyze like humans do, they lived on pure instinct.
Their responses were simple, honest, and impossible to fake, making them ideal subjects for studying how perception broke under genjutsu.
Murakami had four D-rank genjutsu, four C-rank genjutsu and two B-rank genjutsu in his possession. A total of ten illusions, each with a different psychological angle.
D-Rank
(Finger Illusion technique) Distorts the opponent's depth perception for a few seconds.
(Forgetting Sound technique) A sound-based illusion that creates a brief lapse in memory, useful for evasion or deception.
(Thin Ice Shadow technique) Creates the illusion of multiple moving shadows, confusing an opponent's ability to track movement.
(Blinding Light technique) A simple Genjutsu that makes a target momentarily experience intense brightness, causing distraction.
C-rank
(Loss of Sorrow technique) A Genjutsu that numbs emotional responses, making an opponent temporarily lose their will to fight.
(Dark Apparition technique) A fear-based illusion that makes the opponent sense an ominous presence behind them.
(Midnight Negotiation technique) A psychological Genjutsu that distorts the passage of time, making a short moment feel much longer.
(Hairpin Maiden technique) A deceptive Genjutsu where the user appears momentarily fragile or weak, luring opponents into overextending.
B-rank
(Song of Darkness technique) – A Genjutsu that gradually dulls an opponent's senses the longer they listen to the user's voice.
(Shadow Weight technique) – Makes an opponent feel as if they are sinking into the ground, slowing movement.
Ten tools.
Ten ways to twist the mind.
The question was: where to start?
Murakami stepped over a fallen branch, his mind already sorting through priorities.
The B-ranks were immediately out of the question, not because he feared using them, but because animals weren't suitable targets for auditory or weighted illusions.
Their instincts wouldn't interpret those techniques correctly, and misapplication would tell him nothing.
The C-ranks? Useful, but too layered since they entailed emotional disruption and time distortion. These were hard to evaluate in creatures that couldn't articulate their feelings.
Which left…the foundations.
Simple illusions with clean effects, perfect for understanding responses.
His lips curved in faint satisfaction.
D-ranks first. If he couldn't flawlessly manipulate a rabbit's senses, he had no business diving into higher-tier techniques.
Unlike ninjutsu, Genjutsu didn't consume as much raw chakra, but it still required an exactness that forced the user to thread their chakra into the target's senses without overwhelming or alerting them.
The stronger or more complex the illusion, the harsher the mental strain.
Subtlety decided success, not power,
He exhaled slowly as he stepped around a fallen log and came to a halt beneath a thick canopy and rested a hand on the cool bark of a tree, considering his options.
Finger Illusion and Blinding Light would be good for observing animal reflexes, would the animal flee, freeze, or lash out?
Thin Ice Shadow would test how well their minds processed false movement.
And Forgetting Sound… he wasn't even sure how animals would react to a brief memory skip.
Panic? Confusion? Indifference?
The corners of his mouth twitched in mild amusement. 'Only one way to find out.'
He crouched and placed his hand over the dirt as he scanned his surroundings with heightened awareness.
His sensory range expanded and precisely picked up a faint scuffle in the brush not far ahead.
It was a rabbit.
It was a small and alert creature, one built entirely on instinct and a perfect test subject.
Murakami steadied his breathing, lowering his chakra output until it was nothing more than a thin thread flowing beneath his skin.
His footsteps made no sound as he approached the brush.
'Let's begin properly,' he thought, eyes sharpening, and just then, the rabbit's ears twitched.
It hadn't seen him yet but it felt something, an almost subconscious tension.
'Impressive.' He acknowledged the rodent and raised his hand, his other slipping into a brief, fluid sequence of hand seals.
A controlled pulse of chakra drifted outward as the final seal clicked into place, latching onto the rabbit's senses.
The rabbit jerked, its perception shifting just enough to make the world tilt in its vision.
But it didn't bolt. It froze.
Murakami studied the rabbit for a few seconds then nodded as he came to a conclusion. 'Instinct prioritizes caution over flight when depth perception is compromised. Interesting.'
He released the rabbit from the illusion, watching its body relax and slowly return to normal motion.
The rabbit looked at the leaf it was munching on in confusion, probably wondering if it came with hallucinogenic properties.
The next moment, as though coming to a conclusion, hopped away without a care in the world, its tiny mind already deciding that whatever just happened was the leaf's fault, not his.
Murakami couldn't be bothered with the rabbit's antics as he prepared to carry on with his experiments. He straightened, letting his senses expand.
Another presence flickered at the edge of his senses, this one was lighter and twitchier.
A squirrel, chattering faintly as it scrambled across a branch overhead.
Murakami smirked. More mobile targets mean better data.
Unlike the rabbit, this one wouldn't sit still. That made it the perfect candidate for the next test.
Murakami stepped lightly, placing himself directly beneath the creature's path without disturbing the underbrush.
He tilted his head up, watching as the squirrel paused, sniffed the air, then resumed its scampering.
Genjutsu had a particular effect on animals whose survival depended on constant vigilance.
Their senses fired rapidly, instinct firing faster than thought.
'Very Ideal.' He mused and lifted a hand, gathering a whisper-thin flow of chakra before performing the required hand seals.
[Thin Ice Shadow Technique.]
The illusion rippled through the air subtly, barely noticeable but instantly took hold.
Four shifting shadows danced around the squirrel, mimicking predators approaching from different angles.
The squirrel froze.
Its body stiffened, tail puffing up so dramatically Murakami almost snorted. Then—
It bolted.
Not in a straight line or toward safety.
It shot itself off the branch like a startled kunoichi doing acrobatics blindfolded, tumbling in an uncoordinated spiral before landing in the bushes with a squeak.
Murakami arched a brow.
"…That reaction was… dramatic."
He stepped toward the shaking bundle of fur, observing its trembling form with clinical interest.
"Looks like Illusions affecting movement tracking induce immediate panic in prey animals, and multiple shadow stimuli overload the brain. Good. Very good." Murakami nodded and made a brief note: Complex motion-based genjutsu triggers instinctive flight rather than evaluative caution.
The squirrel peeked out, saw him, squeaked, and promptly buried itself deeper into the leaves in terror.
Murakami exhaled through his nose. "…I wasn't even the one chasing you."
He bent down to pick up the trembling squirrel but it evaded him and bolted.
Murakami's eyes narrowed. "Good. This one is suitable to test the next illusion: the Blinding Light Technique."
Forming the hand seal, a faint ripple spread and instantly, the squirrel froze in its tracks, eyes widening as if a sudden flash had exploded before it.
It twitched, scampered back and forth in confusion, and clutched its head, unsure which way to flee. Its instinctive reactions were exactly what he had hoped for.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Even minor visual distortions can disrupt instinctive targeting and movement patterns. Perfect for opening a gap to attack or forcing retreat."
The squirrel eventually settled, shaking its head as if trying to dispel the phantom light.
Murakami observed carefully, noting how the intensity and duration of the illusion affected the creature differently than the previous depth-perception trick.
He straightened and scanned the forest for his next test subject. This time he needed something that relied more on hearing than sight.
His ears caught a faint flutter from a nearby tree, wings settling, soft and rhythmic.
A small bird, perched on a high branch with what looked like a seed in its beak.
Perfect.
He adjusted his stance, focusing chakra around his throat, not to speak, but to project sound as a vector.
Then making the required hand movements a soft note was released, barely audible.
Forgetting Sound Technique.
It was more of a vibration than noise.
It washed over the bird and the effect was almost immediately visible.
The bird froze as the seed fell, then it tilted its head.
Looked around with confused, jerky motions, and then began searching for the seed it had in its beak a heartbeat ago.
Murakami watched the futile, increasingly frustrated pecking and nodded slowly.
"A brief lapse in memory interrupts task continuity. Confusion first… then agitation."
The bird pecked the empty branch again, more aggressively this time.
"…And then anger, apparently."
Murakami rolled his shoulders and allowed his chakra to settle. Four D-ranks done. Four different reactions. Four clear data points.
He gazed deeper into the forest, eyes sharpening with anticipation.
Next were the C-ranks Genjutsus, but before then, he had to fully master the D-ranks and see the limit of their applications and effects.
His fingers flexed, and a faint smile curled at the edge of his lips.
Genjutsu was proving far more interesting than he expected.
…
Many trials later, Murakami let out a soft chuckle and leaned against a tree, rubbing his temples.
The constant casting of Genjutsus had taken more out of him than expected.
It wasn't physical exhaustion, more a dull, mental fatigue, the kind that settled into the skull after hours of solving puzzles without pause.
'So this is the toll of Genjutsu,' he thought.
It wasn't just chakra; it was mental energy. The more he influenced a mind, the more precise he had to be, and the faster his energy drained.
And these were only animals, creatures governed almost entirely by instinct.
Compared to humans who could resist and even dispel it… the strain would be far greater.
Unlike Ninjutsu and Taijutsu where raw power could overwhelm an opponent, Genjutsu demanded finesse.
Too much chakra, and the illusion shattered. Too little, and it went unnoticed.
He exhaled and straightened, a small smile pulling at his lips.
'Not bad for a first field test.' He concluded internally.
Three key takeaways had emerged from the trials:
The first was that, since Genjutsu worked on animals without endangering them, he could practice without endangering normal humans.
The second was that stronger illusions drained more focus, so he couldn't spam them continuously or overextend its reach.
The third was that his chakra control needed more refinement if he wanted to use Genjutsu efficiently in combat.
He wasn't an Uchiha who only needed to look at you to pull you into one and no opponent would stand by and watch you cast a genjutsu on them.
Satisfied, he nodded to himself.
There was still a long way to go before these techniques could be wielded against real opponents. But for now, he had proof of concept.
And once he secured his own training space? The real work would begin. He could also procure some small animals for practice.
Murakami turned and made his way toward the orphanage, already mapping out his next steps.
More chakra control, he decided.
As he walked, he ran through his current repertoire of control exercises.
Leaf Sticking (Level 1): Simple concentration exercise that helps kids become more aware of their chakra. Already mastered.
Tree Walking (Level 2): Required refined control to maintain constant chakra output while balancing on inclined surfaces.
Helps the user develop awareness of chakra flow and body coordination. Already mastered.
Water Walking (Level 3): Tricky due to continuously adjusting chakra distribution to maintain stability on a liquid surface.
It strengthens dynamic chakra control and adaptability. Already mastered.
Chakra Thread (Level 4): Demanded extreme precision to maintain a fine, controlled stream. Also complete.
It was a solid foundation, but not enough.
He needed something more challenging, something that forced control down to the smallest detail while pushing his limits.
Chakra Threads were already advanced, puppet users manipulated them naturally, but Murakami had no intention of hauling wooden figurines around.
No, he needed a variation that tested multiple points simultaneously.
Then the idea crystallized: Chakra Web.
Instead of a single strand, he could form multiple fine chakra threads, connecting them to different objects simultaneously.
Each strand would demand perfect balance in flow and tension.
One thread was manageable, two…that would pose a challenge.
Five, ten, a hundred… Murakami didn't know, but from the feat of the future Kage killer and puppet master, he knew that was true control.
Murakami paused as he came to the orphanage entrance, fingers twitching in excitement.
'This is going to be interesting.' Murakami muttered as he stepped inside.
…
That night, while the rest of the orphanage settled into their usual nightly routine, Murakami slipped outside to his meditation spot behind the building.
He sat cross-legged on the ground, drew in a slow breath, and extended his hand.
Step One: Form the first thread.
A thin stream of chakra flowed from his index finger to a nearby post a full meter. A faint blue strand connected him to the post like an invisible wire.
That was simple and effortless. He had long since been able to do it, but the next step was new and crucial.
Step Two: Add a second thread.
He repeated the process, sending a second thread from his middle finger toward the post. The moment the second thread snapped into place, the difficulty surged.
One thread required attention; two demanded balance. Chakra and focus had to be split evenly across both lines, or one would destabilize.
Step Three: Push further.
At this point, sweat began forming at his temple as he extended a third thread. The third thread forced him to reduce chakra output drastically.
Three threads. Stable.
Four.
His breath hitched as the fourth strand extended, his concentration splitting in four directions, each demanding unique adjustments in intensity and flow.
The sensation was like trying to balance spinning plates on uneven poles, one wobble and everything collapsed.
Five.
A sharp sting shot through his skull. Murakami clenched his jaw, refusing to cut the flow. His chakra reserves weren't the issue, his mind was.
Even with chakra levels that rivaled most Genin, for his current exercise control wasn't about quantity, it was about division, precision and multi-tasking.
Five threads trembled in the air, wavering but intact.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
By twenty seconds, a headache pulsed behind his eyes.
And then…Snap.
All five threads shattered at once and Murakami sucked in a breath, pressing fingers to his forehead as a wave of mental fatigue washed over him.
"Damn…" he cursed out
His chakra wasn't the problem, his focus was.
Maintaining multiple threads at once stretched his mind thin, pulling him in five different directions at the same time.
It was brutal…exactly what he needed.
One had to understand: this wasn't normal training.
Leaf sticking was academy level.
Tree walking was Genin level.
Water walking was Chūnin level.
Chakra Threads were Jōnin level.
And here he was, forging a Chakra Web.
At this point… wasn't this already Kage-level control work?
Murakami exhaled slowly. Tomorrow, he'd push for six threads.
The day after he would add one more.
And once he reached ten on one hand, he'd start timing how long he could maintain them.
He leaned back against his hand and stared into the night sky.
Unlike the Hyūga or Uchiha, he didn't have shortcuts.
No Byakugan for perfect precision.
No Sharingan for effortless technique replication.
No inherited jutsu refined by generations.
He had only himself and his efforts.
In a world where shinobi could spit fire, summon lightning storms and hurricanes or bend reality with seals, relying on talent wasn't enough.
The Uchiha wasted chakra like breathing, they didn't have to care.
The Hyūga were born with absurd precision.
And not to mention the other clans with their respective kekkei genkai, Murakami had none.
But he had discipline.
The better his control, the less chakra he wasted. The less he wasted, the longer he fought. And the longer he fought…
…the more dangerous he became.
He cracked his neck, leaning forward again as he extended his hand. Five threads was his limit and that was fine.
He would just recreate them.
Again.
And again.
And again, until perfection wasn't an achievement, but a habit.
His chakra flickered weakly.
"Tch… need to replenish," he muttered and sat in a lotus position, closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and began meditating.
Night training wasn't over, not by a long shot.