The biting wind whipped snowflakes like razor blades across Uchiha Makoto's face, but he didn't give a damn—his mind was locked on the subtle shifts ripping through his body.
Wild lightning surged inside him, hammering every cell, every muscle fiber, every bone like a forge on steroids. The pain? Unimaginable—like a million red-hot needles drilling into your marrow, or getting tossed into a thundercloud for an endless beatdown.
Each breath tore like fire, nerves screaming with a mix of burn and numbness. But Makoto clenched his jaw, veins popping on his forehead, not letting out a peep.
This self-destructive grind, with its bone-deep agony, was exactly what he'd signed up for. And damn, it was paying off quick.
He could feel it: cells buzzing with life, muscles denser and tougher, bones packing more punch, even his reflexes kicking up a notch. The gains were slow but real, and he was hooked like crack.
"Whew." Makoto exhaled long and hard, his breath freezing into ice crystals mid-air. "Finally getting used to this hellfire."
Looking back, the start was brutal—every second screaming to quit the Lightning Release tempering. But powering through? Just a bump in the road now.
He dialed back the lightning buzzing around him, soaking in the raw power humming inside. That's the magic of Lightning Chakra Mode—not just a combat boost, but a full-body upgrade from the inside out.
He was still a kid; if he kept this up till adulthood, his physique would be god-tier. The thought got his blood pumping.
Crunch.
Makoto snapped a frozen branch underfoot, pushing on through the blizzard. He'd picked the backwoods routes on purpose—no prying eyes while he trained. These days, he'd wrecked enough scenery with stray bolts, nearly triggered a few avalanches.
But control was coming together now.
The storming energy stayed locked down inside; from the outside, he was just a black-haired teen trekking through snow, heading toward civilization. Only a sharp ninja would pick up the faint lightning chakra in the air or the sparks flickering in his footprints.
As he went, the storm eased up a bit. Makoto glanced up—distant snow-capped peaks fading in and out. But Water Country weather was a fickle bitch; sure enough, fifteen minutes later, winds howled back, visibility tanking in a whiteout.
His steps stayed steady, prints deep but quick to vanish under fresh powder. Blue sparks danced on his skin again, tamer than before—days of grind had sharpened his grip on the lightning.
Pain lingered, but it was manageable, even flipping to a weird high. Every cell partied in the storm, celebrating the makeover.
This was his first solo run in the ninja world—freedom laced with danger, stirring some primal shit in his veins.
His mind wandered to those Naruto fanfics he'd binge on back in his old life on that novel site.
"Robbing Kardoh..." Makoto mused, smirking. That powerless tycoon, richer than God? Straight-up the "must-eat" list topper in the Naruto verse. Piles of cash, guarded by scrub ronin and mid-tier ninjas—no Zabuza on payroll yet.
Low risk, high reward jackpot.
Kardoh's whereabouts were sketchy, though—might not even be in Wave Country. Makoto figured he'd swing by, test his luck. If the dude was there, snatch and grab. If not, let him stack more paper, then hit him later.
Either way, that fortune was his. No way he'd pass on getting filthy rich.
Lost in thought, he cleared an ice-blanketed forest, spotting a rundown town's outline ahead.
Closer to town, he reined in the lightning tighter, but the nonstop high-octane tempering left his head foggy. The bolts weren't just forging his body—they were zapping his nerves too.
Vision blurred now and then, ears ringing, brain swimming in haze. But it wasn't all bad; that tingly ache meant he was leveling up fast.
Makoto sucked in a lungful of freezing air, forcing focus.
He crossed an iced-over bridge, river below solid as concrete. Perpetual snow here turned everything to permafrost. Between the constant Lightning Release grind and his [Hentai Makoto] physique, thin clothes felt like summer—hell, he was kinda toasty.
That's when he spotted it: a huddled figure by the bridge pier.
A scrawny kid, wrapped in rags, shivering like a leaf. Face red from cold, dirt-smeared but kinda pretty underneath. Those eyes—big, bright, like a spooked deer's, staring at the ground, too timid for passersby.
Makoto paused, something nagging at him. Familiar vibe...
But his fried brain couldn't place it. The kid's face just reminded him of Sasuke back in the Leaf.
"Wonder what Sasuke's up to right now..." Makoto's lips quirked up. "Kinda miss that tsundere little bro."
"At this point, thanks to my meddling, he's probably out pissing in the mud with Naruto or glued to Itachi's hip."
Thinking of his Uchiha pillar of heaven cracked him up, lightening the mood.
"Gotta mess with him more when I get back," he decided inwardly.
Sasuke thoughts led to the Third Hokage—Sarutobi Hiruzen—since the name came from the old man's dad. Always cracked him up. Makoto glanced Leaf-ward, eyes gleaming with hype. He'd be back soon; hope the village could handle his chaos.
Snapping back, his gaze hit the kid again.
Old-world morals plus the Sasuke warm-fuzzies had him in a good mood. He'd toss the kid some grub—his [Player Inventory] was stacked anyway.
Kid looked older than Makoto's body age, but all the supplements, Cloud Village drugs, and [Hentai Makoto] perks made him built like a tank for his years.
With a thought, he pulled out a big bag of steaming-hot eats.
[Player Inventory]'s time-stop kept shit fresh forever, so he hoarded like a squirrel.
"Hey," Makoto squatted down, handing over the bag. "Eat up."
The kid flinched at the shadow, looking up—lashes frosted with ice—timid eyes on Makoto, then the food. Hesitated, then took it gingerly.
"Th... thanks," a whisper, like a scared critter.
Makoto waved it off, stood, and kept walking. He wasn't some bleeding-heart hero. Ninja world's brutal—tragedies everywhere, orphans thicker than stray dogs.
He was just a player, doing this on a whim 'cause he felt good. No strings.
But not far out, soft footsteps trailed him.
Makoto arched a brow, didn't turn. Ninja world's full of traps—even kids could shank you. If this one tried some shit, he'd end it quick. He wasn't the forgive-and-forget type; his morals flexed like rubber.
Ducked into a shady alley—and surprise, motherfucker.
A gang of teens jumped out, blocking him. Leader waved a kunai, snarling, "Punk, hand over your valuables! And strip that coat too!"
Makoto's eyes narrowed, blue lightning coiling inside, ready to wreck these clowns.
Then—bam—plot twist.
The trailing kid didn't even seal; alley floor just erupted in ice spikes, nailing the leader's pants to the ground, pinning him spot-on.