Still sucked, though.
I already knew Iruka had his suspicions. After the Kiba incident, trying to hide anything from him, or any of the teachers, really, was a fool’s errand. But finding out that all my careful efforts to downplay my abilities only made me more noticeable?
That hurt. Not gonna lie.
Looking back, I have to wonder if I suffered a head injury at some point. Did I really expect Iruka, a loyal Konoha chunin, not to report anything suspicious to the Hokage? God, I’m a dumbass.
So here I am again, sitting on the roof of my house, watching the lights of Konoha blink out one by one like dying fireflies. Wondering if ANBU were already en route to haul me off for a friendly chat at T&I.
Iruka insisted that wouldn’t happen when he came by after I had dinner with my parents. Some part of me believed him. He was a good man who genuinely cared for his students. Honest, too, for a ninja.
He didn’t waste time with preamble when he confronted me, either. Just had me stay behind after class, looked me dead in the eye and asked, “Why do you keep holding yourself back when sparring?”
I wasn’t surprised by the question. Only that he finally said it out loud, after pretending that everything was fine for so long. I’d gotten complacent during those three quiet months. Fooled myself into thinking I had time to come up with a plan. But the walls had been closing in from the start. I just hadn’t noticed.
His next question, though. That one short-circuited my brain.
“What are you afraid of, Kenta?”
So… he knew that, too.
I’d hoped, naively, that I’d at least managed to keep that part hidden. But I guess my defenses were made of wet paper the entire time. Still, instinct made me try one last time.
“Why do you think I’m afraid, sensei?”
Iruka’s expression turned into a mix of fondness and exasperation.
“Because fear is the only thing that explains why someone like you would go out of their way to hide what they can do.”
His voice was gentle, but every word hit like a hammer and he wasn’t done.
“You’ve done everything short of sabotaging your own education to camouflage your true abilities. Not many chunin know as much about chakra theory as you seem to. And instead of capitalizing on it, you chose to uplift your fellow civilians. Yet, you take every opportunity to downplay your contributions or deflect attention when given praise.”
Iruka’s voice never carried a hint of accusation while he spoke, but I felt like a cornered rabbit anyway.
“I’m not the only one who’s noticed, either,” he continued with a wry smile. “The other teachers caught on after the flash cards. Even some of your classmates can see your deliberate underperformance. That’s partly why I’ve decided to talk to you now. You’re doing yourself and everyone else a disservice by refusing to truly participate.”
And that’s when I knew the jig was up, and I realised how badly I’d misjudged everything. I never gave a convincing reason for sandbagging, and the people I thought I was fooling? They were already in the know.
“Does…does the Hokage know?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Iruka pursed his lips and frowned before saying, “I brought your case to his attention a week after your first victory against Kiba.”
So, the village has known since the start. Just one revelation followed another in rapid fire.
I underestimated them. All of them. These weren’t background characters in a story anymore. They were real people. What did I actually know about them?
Had all those years of fear and paranoia narrowed my vision so much that I couldn’t see anything else? How much had I missed while obsessively trying to survive?
I didn’t even notice I was shaking until Iruka placed a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw real concern in his eyes. Not suspicion or judgment.
Sincerity.
And I felt shame.
Iruka was one of the few people in the original material you could honestly call kind. Even in fanfiction, he’s almost always portrayed as a decent, compassionate man. And yet, I treated him like a threat. Like he was some all-seeing, all-knowing Eye of Sauron I needed to avoid at all costs.
And still…
“I’m sorry, sensei. But I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.”
Iruka frowned, confused more than annoyed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t talk about it here.” I met his gaze, willing him to understand what I couldn’t say out loud.
It didn’t take long. His eyes widened just slightly, the pieces clicking into place.
“What do you need?”
“A place where no eyes or ears can reach from the outside.”
There weren’t many places in the village that fit that description. He knew it. So did I.
Iruka gave a solemn nod. “I’ll make the arrangements. Tomorrow, if possible.”
As it turns out, it was possible. My stomach twisted at the thought.
There was no master plan here. I’d been deluding myself. I’d never had a chance of keeping my secrets hidden – not from people trained to uncover them. I had no real experience, because we hadn’t been taught those things, yet.
I wasn’t a spy.
Just a scared kid trying to pretend he had control over a game where the rulebook was written in gibberish.
Some of my secrets had already slipped through my fingers. Others would follow.
But despite how bleak everything looked, I still had one option left. One last chance to flip the board before I was crushed beneath it.
I couldn’t play it safe anymore.
If I wanted to survive with my mind, my freedom, and maybe even my life intact, then I’d have to go all in.
Take the risk.
Refuge in audacity.
----
As Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen was used to unusual developments.
War councils that ran until dawn, summons from the daimyo at absurd hours, reports of blood?red moons or collapsing summoning contracts, the job shaped a man into expecting his next cup of tea to be interrupted by one crisis or another. Yet even with a lifetime of such seasoning, the old shinobi felt a prick of genuine curiosity when Iruka walked into his office well before sunrise with a white?knuckled boy glued to his side.
Hiruzen registered details the way a hawk marks movement in the tall grass: the faint tremor in Kenta’s fingertips, the sheen of sweat that dulled the boy’s hairline despite the morning chill, the deliberate slowness with which he drew breath, as though each inhale was measured for poisons. The child’s brown eyes, too large for his still?soft face, flicked everywhere at once before pinning themselves to a neutral spot on the carpet.
That’s a hunted gaze, the Hokage thought.
Even so, beneath the fear lay a tensile thread of resolve, pulled taut rather than frayed. A delicate, dangerous balance. A single misstep, from Kenta or from himself, could turn fear into flight, or worse, into a cornered strike.
“Lord Hokage,” Iruka said, bowing deeply.
He steadied his hand on Kenta’s shoulder but did not push him. The boy would have to step forward of his own accord.
“Yes, yes. Please, both of you, come in.”
Hiruzen’s voice was warmth folded over steel. A generation of students had heard comfort there and a generation of enemies had heard their doom. He gestured to the two chairs set opposite his desk.
Kenta hesitated one heartbeat, then crossed the floor like a man walking a bridge made of paper. He perched on the chair’s edge, spine straight and stiff.
Recalling all of the recorded observations regarding the boy, he was expecting nerves and deference. Perhaps a sullen surprise at how his efforts at obfuscation ultimately proved ineffective.
He hadn’t anticipated a pre-adolescent seemingly bracing for war.
Formal greetings dispensed, Hiruzen offered tea. Kenta’s fingers shook as he accepted the cup, but he did not spill a drop. Another point in his favor. He felt fear, yet maintained control. Very interesting.
With the tea served, Hiruzen leaned back into his chair and brought his full attention on his early morning visitors.
“Well, you wanted this meeting. Is there something you wish to discuss?”
“Lord Hokage,” Kenta began, voice raw, “before I say anything of substance, I need your assurance that this conversation will remain unobserved by anyone.”
“Even by my ANBU?” the Hokage asked, though he already anticipated the answer.
Kenta swallowed. “Especially by your ANBU, sir. And by your senior advisors.” A pause. “I–I realise this is an… impertinent demand.”
Iruka’s brow furrowed, but he held his tongue.
Inside, the Hokage weighed the possibilities. He could refuse, assert authority, and watch the boy fracture. He could grant the request, gamble on what secrets a terrified child had thought worth such precautions. The Will of Fire whispered that power used without trust was ash waiting to scatter.
Very slowly, Hiruzen set down his pipe.
“You have the benefit of my patience, Kenta,” he said. “And my curiosity. What method of assurance do you require?”
“Something,” the boy said, “that seals sight and sound both. Permanently woven, not merely temporary, at least for as long as we speak. If such a thing is possible.”
“It is,” Hiruzen replied.
The Hokage’s palm met the inlaid kanji panel on his desk; scarlet script blossomed across walls and floor like petals chasing the sun. A soft chime reverberated, then silence. Thick, weighty, a hush that swallowed the world beyond the wooden door.
Kenta’s shoulders sagged, though only slightly. He had gambled and won the first coin of trust.
The boy clasped his hands in his lap, a child’s gesture at odds with the steel of his resolve. Hiruzen’s heart, battle?scarred as it was, twinged.
“I… appreciate this, Lord Hokage,” Kenta said. “Truly. I’ve spent months afraid that I’d be dragged from my bed in the night. Thrown in a dark cell. A-abducted.” The word came out a whisper, thick with unspent tears. “I don’t want that.”
Iruka flinched. Hiruzen watched the teacher’s hand twitch in helpless sympathy.
“And why,” the Hokage asked gently, “would anyone wish to… abduct you?”
“Because I discovered something,” Kenta replied. “Something dangerous. Not a weapon, exactly, but a means that I’m almost certain hasn’t been found, yet. If the wrong hands shape it, the Elemental Nations might drown in blood. In the right hands, we might lift ourselves into an era our grandparents never dared hope for.”
“Bold words,” Hiruzen said. “But you will forgive an old man if he remains cautious.”
Kenta nodded once. “That’s why I came. I’m willing to prove my worth. To give you and only you a chance to evaluate the results firsthand. But first, I must know my conditions are acceptable.”
“State them,” Hiruzen said.
Kenta inhaled, gathering courage like a diver filling lungs before the plunge.
“First, everything I share remains between us. If you must record, do so in your own hand and keep it under your seal alone.”
A flicker of professional alarm crossed Iruka’s face. Hiruzen schooled his into placid neutrality.
“Go on.”
“Second, only I decide who learns from me. I will choose each student personally, and I retain the right to refuse anyone.” Kenta’s fingers whitened around the tea cup. “I-I understand how audacious that sounds.”
“It sounds like you value caution,” Hiruzen said. “Continue.”
“Third, you must test the results yourself. Through observation or, if you wish, direct participation. You alone judge whether what I have has any value.”
Hiruzen let the words settle. Three requests, all about control and trust. None about profit or position. A good sign or a clever ruse. He looked into Kenta’s eyes and saw not the calculation of the overly ambitious. They were filled, instead, with dread suppressed by an iron will.
“Very well,” the Hokage said at last. “These terms are severe. But perhaps severity is warranted. I will consider them, but only after I understand the stakes.”
Kenta set his cup aside. Both hands now free, he placed them palms down on his knees. When he spoke, it was of a most unexpected subject.
“The Uchiha massacre happened in one night,” he began softly. “Every single member dead. Man, woman, and child. Shinobi and civilian both.” His voice quivered but did not break. “Yet there were no alarms triggered in neighbouring districts. Public records indicated no large?scale explosion tags detonated, and there were no evacuations, either.”
Hiruzen’s lungs constricted. Scenes he would rather consign to fire returned: blood pooling in pristine corridors, the sickly sweet scent of decay under midnight frost.
“A clan that had as many active shinobi as the Uchiha could not have been attacked without someone setting off a racket loud enough to shake the village awake,” Kenta continued. “I know what ninja can do, Lord Hokage. Such a battle would have spilled into the rest of Konoha if it happened organically,” the boy’s eyes narrowed, as if recalling a memory. “Except this wasn’t the case. The Uchiha was Konoha’s police force, as well. Yet, every single one was eliminated without raising a fuss. Then the scene was locked down tighter than a vault.” He looked up, eyes wet yet steady. “That level of suppression requires more than one man with a blade, Lord Hokage.”
There was no accusation in Kenta’s tone. He merely stated a fact. A researcher’s findings. Still, guilt pricked him like a senbon thrown from the shadows.
“Your point?” Hiruzen asked, voice gentle.
“My point is this: If a secret that large can be hushed inside Konoha, anything can. Including me.” His throat bobbed. “And people do terrible things to pry open promises they don’t understand.”
Kenta pressed on. “Consider Uzumaki Naruto,” he said. Iruka sucked in a breath, but Kenta plunged forward. “His burden is classified. Yet villagers glare at him wherever he goes and children are warned away as if the boy carries a plague.”
Iruka’s voice cracked. “Kenta–”
“It’s the truth,” the boy said, voice harsh with pain. “As far as I have been able to find out, there was no announcement about his status, not from you or anyone else. Yet, somehow, everyone knows.” He turned to Hiruzen. “My attempts at secrecy were paper-thin, but Naruto’s circumstances might as well be protected by smoke and wishes. If even a highly?classified secret like that bleeds out, what hope do I have if word spreads about me before safeguards are put in place?”
The Hokage bowed his head for a moment.
“None of this should have reached your ears,” he murmured.
Kenta laughed, a brittle sound. “Yet it did. And if I noticed, others will. Others with zero compunctions about dragging a knife through my throat.”
Silence swelled, thick and cloying. Hiruzen felt the weight of decades pressing between his shoulder blades. Here sat a trembling boy, bright enough to map holes in official history, brave enough, or desperate enough, to demand terms from the seat of power.
The Will of Fire was the stubborn conviction that the future could be shepherded, not shackled. But to entrust a dangerous discovery to a nine?year?old? That was a wager even the most reckless daimyo might balk at.
Still…the old man recalled the first time he saw Minato bring the Rasengan into being, blue glow lighting up a field. He has already seen what someone of Kenta’s potential can do if given the chance.
Even so, he had to ask. Had to be sure. A gamble like this required a prize worth staking the safety of the village.
“You offer no specifics on this discovery?”
Kenta’s clenched jaws and furrowed brows betrayed intense concentration. Not out of frustration, it would seem. Rather, as a byproduct of a mind going over options, choosing and discarding as it went.
Finally huffing a breath of resignation, the deceptively unremarkable boy then proceeded to drop an exploding tag of massive proportions.
“It can potentially revive the First Hokage’s Mokuton.”
Hiruzen felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop by a fraction before he could stop himself. An extraordinary lapse in control for an old soldier and politician like him.
This meeting’s surprises seemed endless.
Iruka was not faring any better. He gaped at the boy in open astonishment. Whatever they discussed that necessitated this meeting, this topic was apparently not brought up.
“That is an astonishing claim,” the Hokage said after collecting himself. “One that needs elaboration.”
Closing his eyes, Kenta took his time to respond, undoubtedly out of a desire to avoid causing any misunderstandings.
“What I’ve uncovered appears to challenge the very foundations of chakra theory as we currently understand it. I’ve combed through countless scrolls, academic texts, history books, anything I could get my hands on, and I’m confident this knowledge hasn’t been documented before. Somehow, despite how fundamental it is, it’s gone unnoticed or unrecognised until now. Based on the tests I’ve run so far, this phenomenon has the potential to affect every known aspect of chakra: jutsu formulation, physical enhancements, kekkei genkai, elemental affinities, even the way chakra interacts with the body and the environment. This could redefine everything.”
This time, the silence stretched on for nearly a full minute, heavy, thoughtful, and tense. By all rights, such claims should have sounded completely absurd, the sort of grandstanding nonsense expected from a child with an overactive imagination. And yet, Hiruzen couldn’t bring himself to dismiss them so easily.
He thought back to the development that had sparked this entire situation, in the first place: Kenta’s sudden and suspicious spike in combat proficiency, which the boy had consistently downplayed, and now revealed to have been done out of fear.
Was this groundbreaking discovery the source of that leap in ability? Had he been concealing this the entire time, not out of arrogance, but self-preservation? If so, then how much of what Kenta had just said was truly exaggerated? And more troubling still, how much of it wasn’t?
Hiruzen found himself sighing while contemplating the implications of this conundrum.
“And how would this ‘potentially’ revive the the bloodline abilities of Lord Hashirama?” he finally asked, stressing the keyword that both parties mutually agreed on.
“By essentially making chakra more potent,” was the immediate answer.
Taking a moment to weigh the implications, the Hokage found himself unable to dismiss the boy’s claim outright. As far as established doctrine went, many traits related to chakra were believed to be innate and fixed from birth. A shinobi could be born with greater chakra reserves, or develop them gradually through rigorous training, experience, and age. But chakra potency?
Hiruzen sifted through decades of accumulated knowledge in his mind, an internal library of scrolls, field reports, and academic papers. He carefully avoided reacting to the memory of Orochimaru’s contributions among them, knowing better than to let old wounds cloud his judgment.
And yet, despite all that accumulated knowledge, he could not recall a single study, no matter how fringe, that definitively explored or proved the idea of altering chakra’s intrinsic potency.
There had always been speculation, of course. Theories on chakra density, behaviour under stress, interactions with nature energy, and obscure clan-specific manifestations. But they were all just that: speculative frameworks, lacking empirical validation.
And now, here sat a boy, not even a teenager, calmly asserting that he’d discovered what generations of researchers, war veterans, and prodigies had failed to see. A child claiming ownership of an answer that had evaded even those who had dedicated their entire lives to understanding chakra.
That alone was enough to give Hiruzen pause.
“How did you come across this discovery?” Hiruzen asked at last, altering his approach in the hopes of drawing out more detail from this most unexpected source.
“By complete accident,” Kenta replied, utterly unbothered by the shift in questioning.
The Hokage raised an eyebrow at the casual answer, scepticism clearly etched across his features. In response, Kenta sighed and continued, as if anticipating the doubt.
“I was trying to increase my chakra reserves. You’ve seen my academy records. There should be a note in there about how pitifully low they were.”
That much was true. The records confirmed his statement. Still, Hiruzen found himself paying less attention to the numbers and more to the faint tremor of frustration creeping into the boy’s voice. There was a rawness there, something deeply personal.
Kenta’s circumstances, while unfortunate, were far from unique.
Many children from civilian backgrounds entered the academy with subpar chakra reserves. In contrast, those born into clans with long, distinguished bloodlines often enjoyed a natural head start. Larger reserves, stronger elemental affinities, even hereditary techniques. It was an unfairness baked into the very structure of their society.
In rebelling against his own limitations, Kenta mirrored the quiet desperation of countless others who had come before him, but few had ever voiced it so directly.
“Nothing I tried worked,” he muttered bitterly. “Not enough to actually make a difference.”
At that point, Iruka spoke up, tone gentle but firm. “Kenta, chakra capacity naturally increases as you age. You only needed time. Your body would have caught up eventually. There was no need to push yourself so hard.”
Kenta snapped.
“You weren’t the one getting your ass handed to you every fucking day by kids who won the damn genetic lottery!”
The outburst shattered the calm he had maintained throughout the conversation. His voice rose with each word, no longer tempered by restraint.
“You saw what I did to Kiba, didn’t you? I’ve always had it in me to do that. To all of them! But I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t train hard enough, not because I was lazy, but because I didn’t win the birthright draw! That’s the only reason they were able to humiliate me. Day after day. Year after year.”
His hands were clenched into fists now, his breath coming fast and uneven.
“Do you have any idea what that feels like? Watching kids who barely put in the effort pull ahead of you anyway? Always faster. Always stronger. Not because they earned it, but because they were born with it!”
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His voice cracked, but he pushed through, teeth grit in barely restrained anger.
“Even Shikamaru, fucking Shikamaru, could run circles around me, and that’s only if he could be bothered to show up and take it seriously. So yeah, maybe I didn’t want to wait around hoping puberty would magically fix everything. Maybe I wanted to level the playing field now.”
By the time the final words left him, Kenta was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the weight of years of buried resentment finally finding a voice. His composure, so carefully constructed until now, had cracked wide open. And in that moment, Hiruzen understood.
This was about the kind of pain that came from being told, implicitly and systemically, that no matter how hard you tried, you would always be lesser.
Unfortunately, this was neither the time nor the place to address this sensitive issue.
“So, you only stumbled upon this discovery after exhausting all other viable options?” Hiruzen asked, gently guiding the conversation back on track.
Kenta took a steadying breath, visibly working to rein in his earlier outburst. He gave a single, terse nod.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It just… occurred to me. And since nothing else had worked, I figured I had nothing to lose. So I went for it.”
Iruka looked visibly alarmed. His eyes widened with disbelief as he leaned forward, tone rising.
“Kenta, that was reckless! You can’t go around experimenting with untested methods! Not at your age, and especially not when it involves your chakra system! Do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”
“I know!” Kenta shot back, frustration bubbling again. “I know it was stupid. But I was out of options, and it worked! What else was I supposed to do?”
Iruka didn’t budge. “It was still dangerous!”
Kenta’s voice sharpened. “Then tell me what I should have done!”
“Come to me! Come to us! You have teachers, mentors, people who care about your progress. You could’ve asked for help. That’s why we’re here!”
The conversation teetered on the edge of another explosion, emotions flaring too hot, too fast. Before it could unravel any further, Hiruzen raised his voice.
“That’s enough. Both of you.”
The words struck like a stone into a pond, stilling the rising waves. Iruka backed off immediately, jaw tight with concern. Kenta’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining from him as he lowered his gaze.
Hiruzen let the silence settle, then turned his attention fully to Kenta, his expression unreadable but his voice layered with the undeniable authority of his station.
“What’s done is done. There’s no sense arguing over a choice already made. But let me be perfectly clear.” His tone sharpened slightly as he fixed the boy with a steady, uncompromising stare. “You are never to conduct a high-risk experiment like that on your own again. Is that understood?”
Kenta swallowed hard and nodded quickly, the earlier fire in his voice gone, replaced by a sobering awareness of the gravity in the Hokage’s words.
Satisfied, Hiruzen leaned back, his fingers steepled as he returned to silent consideration. He mentally catalogued everything that had been said in the last hour.
Kenta had not only made an unprecedented discovery, but had done so under the pressure of social disparity and personal inadequacy. The methodology may have been reckless, but the results couldn’t be ignored.
What the boy was proposing, what he had already achieved, could very well alter the village’s understanding of chakra manipulation. The benefits, if real, were staggering. But the risks? Equally so.
It was a gamble. One that demanded a leap of trust.
And yet… the potential payoff was too valuable to dismiss.
He drew one long breath, as if filling lungs with wisdom plucked from ghosts.
“I accept your three conditions,” he said.
Iruka snapped his gaze to the Hokage, shock plain. Kenta froze, disbelief flickering on his young features.
“With a few conditions of my own,” Hiruzen continued. “First, I will keep your secret, but I alone decide if future circumstances force disclosure for the village’s survival. Second, you will choose whom to teach, but I require at least one initial student so I may observe.” He looked to Iruka. “A man you already trust.”
Iruka’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“You,” Hiruzen confirmed. “You who saw potential rather than a threat. And finally, you wish me to judge results personally? I accept. But I will also assign a medical team of my choosing to monitor side effects, and we will take appropriate steps to ensure absolute secrecy.”
Kenta sat very still. Tears trembled at his lashes, not fallen. Hope perched on the rim of his survival instinct like an uncertain bird.
“Do you find these terms satisfactory?” Hiruzen asked.
Kenta nodded, once, twice, then again, faster. He scrubbed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, Lord Hokage.”
“Then we have an agreement.”
Hiruzen folded his hands.
“You will also, effective immediately, cease underperforming in taijutsu. The academy records will adjust gradually. No sudden leaps startling curious watchers. But you will learn to fight honestly, lest your own discovery outrun your body.”
The boy’s lips twitched. “That’s fair.”
Iruka exhaled so hard his shoulders sagged. Relief diffused through the air like bitter herbs steeping into sweetness.
“And now,” Hiruzen said, “we seal this pact with action. Tomorrow evening you will demonstrate this… new path, shall we say, in a controlled session. Iruka will be present as student and myself as an observer. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The old man rose. Age creaked through his knees, but the spark in his gaze belied creak or ache. He dispelled the privacy seal. Sounds seeped in, paper shuffling in the outer offices and distant laughter of early patrol shift changes.
Hiruzen came around the desk, placed a gentle hand upon Kenta’s trembling shoulder. The boy did not flinch, though a shiver raced through him.
“You are not alone in this,” the Hokage said softly. “Konoha protects her own. Let us prove that to each other.”
Kenta’s reply was a whisper. “I will hold you to that, sir.”
Long after Iruka guided Kenta from the office, Hiruzen remained standing at the window, pipe unlit, fingers tapping against the stem. Sunrise had fully broken. Roofs flashed molten gold.
Was this wisdom or weakness, giving a child such autonomy?
Dan–
His mind skipped away from the name. The shadow that always lurked at the edge of policy would not hear of this. Not yet. Perhaps never, if Hiruzen could help it.
He exhaled a humourless chuckle. “Hashirama,” he muttered to the carved faces on the mountain, “you always did trust children to change the world.”
And tomorrow, Hiruzen would watch his gamble begin.
----
I didn’t sleep that night. Not because of nightmares, though I’ve had those often enough, but because my thoughts wouldn’t stop running. Even after walking out of the Hokage’s office alive, I couldn’t settle.
The Hokage had agreed. More than that, he’d listened. And somehow, I had walked away with everything I asked for. That should’ve felt like a victory. But all I could feel was the pit still sitting in my stomach, cold and heavy.
Just yesterday, it felt like everything was falling apart. I got a stay of execution, but there’s no telling how long that would last.
I have no illusion about the permanence of the granted reprieve. Right now, I was standing on the edge of a cliff. One of my own making, no less.
Going to the Hokage was a case of choosing the best of a bad lot. Any other option would have left me vulnerable to any of the numerous dangers that exist in this world. So, regardless of my initial plans of keeping the only advantage I had over potential enemies, that path is forever closed to me.
This grim reality setting in is the cause of my current onset of insomnia. Questions, doubts, and fears just keep swirling inside my head. Chief among them is undoubtedly my biggest gamble.
Bringing back the Mokuton? Anyone else making that claim would have either been laughed out of the Hokage tower or locked in a jail cell.
That’s why I took the approach that I did. Revealing some of what I knew about the Uchiha massacre and Naruto’s furry problem, while couched in more believable terms, was a huge risk. A risk that could have easily backfired, but one I needed to take.
Not only did it provide a plausible (and very real) reason for my fear, but it also forced the Hokage to take me more seriously.
Can I actually deliver? Funnily enough, I actually think I can. And it was all thanks to my relentless pursuit of meticulous record-keeping.
See, after a mind-numbing series of tests, I discovered that my ease of using elemental jutsu isn’t all that common. My initial misunderstanding was due to a lack of context that would have been available to me by either learning under a Jonin or becoming a chunin.
Also, I saw five-year-old Uchihas flinging fireballs in the anime snippets that I sporadically saw while doomscrolling. So, excuse me if that skewed my perspective.
The point is, if I hadn’t discovered cultivation, it would’ve taken me years of training to use any element outside my primary affinity, thanks to both my civilian origins and my initially limited chakra reserves. While my low capacity is still a major hurdle, cultivation has given me enough control and density to perform elemental jutsu with a fair degree of proficiency.
So what does this have to do with Mokuton? It all comes down to math:
(Chakra Density + Chakra Capacity + Chakra Control via Cultivation) × (Suiton Affinity + Doton Affinity) = Mokuton Potential
Or
(D + C + Ctrl) × (W + E) = M
Where:
- D = Chakra Density
- C = Chakra Capacity
- Ctrl = Chakra Control (boosted by Cultivation)
- W = Water affinity
- E = Earth affinity
- M = Mokuton (Wood Release) output or potential
Now, does this guarantee that practicing cultivation can actually lead to someone using Mokuton? Absolutely not. However, I’m banking on the possibility that it might not matter in a few years.
After all, whoever I end up teaching has a lot to gain. Exponential chakra efficiency that’s only limited by effort and time? Elemental jutsu training reduced to weeks or months instead of decades? Not to mention the chakra enhancement that’s essentially a watered-down version of Senju Tsunade’s signature achievement.
If used correctly, applications stemming from my version of cultivation could be limitless in number.
But there’s the rub.
What if I was wrong?
What if this thing I found, this method that saved me, cracked someone else open from the inside out?
What if it isn’t actually as valuable as I hope it would be?
What then?
I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. The room was quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps outside. No dripping faucet. Just the sound of my breath and the faint buzz of chakra threading through my system like an old friend refusing to leave my company.
I got up, turned on my desk lamp and sat down at my work station. From a hidden compartment recessed inside the wall, I retrieved a notebook that held everything. Everything real, at least. Not my classwork or copied ninjutsu scrolls, but the true work.
What did I actually know about cultivation?
From my old world’s fictional stories, it was always dramatic: inner worlds, golden cores, enlightenment under waterfalls, lots of nonsense about ginseng this or pills that. But I had no fancy realms inside me, no spiritual beast whispering cosmic truths. All I had was chakra and an idea. Cycle it, compress it, then push it back through my network, tighter and more refined than before. Rinse and repeat.
That’s all I had done. Over and over.
What I lacked in insight, I made up for in obsession.
I flipped back a few pages to where I had tracked my own progress. Based not on assumptions or theory, but on what I could test, measure, and repeat:
Self-Cycle Metrics (Month 3)
- Baseline chakra recovery: increased by approximately 12%. Measured through repeated chakra depletion drills followed by rest intervals; recovery time between sessions has shortened, allowing for quicker repetition of basic exercises.
- Control: minimal change (already high before cultivation); practiced surface walking using only toes, then fingers, gradually reducing contact area to test control. Still maintaining precision and adhesion.
- Fatigue threshold: expanded by about 20%; recorded through controlled workouts: 100 pushups, 100 sit-ups, kata drills, and three sets of bodyweight circuits. Measured time to full exhaustion and compared week-over-week.
- Internal cycling speed: now able to complete a full-body cycle in under 40 seconds, down from nearly 90 seconds during early trials.
- Compression tolerance: currently maintaining 13 layered compressions. Early compressions took around five hours total. Now, new layers require up to twenty hours, broken up over several sessions as chakra volume expands.
One thing was clear, it didn’t work like in the stories. I wasn’t gaining higher understanding or following a Dao…
…Could I follow a Dao here? Is it possible? As far as I understood it, a Dao was a path that chi practitioners dedicated their lives to. Unfortunately, the concept had become so diluted in the numerous iteration of the xianxia genre that it’s true significance had always escaped me. I certainly wasn’t going to learn about it here.
Future project, maybe?
But, I’m veering way off course, now. Where was I?
Ah, right.
What I was doing felt more like folding layers, over and over again. Every time my chakra reserves expanded, I compressed them again. Folded them tighter. Smoothed the edges. Pressed everything inward until it felt denser, more responsive. Getting to this point, though, was taking progressively more time than before.
The more my chakra capacity grew, the longer it took to actually compress the energy into another layer. It was like the reverse of a lobster’s molting issue where the more they do it, the harder it gets. Eventually, it becomes impossible to molt, at all.
And that made me wonder: what happens when someone with massive reserves tries this? Would they feel resistance sooner? Would the sheer scale of their chakra make compression more difficult or even impossible?
I didn’t know. But I’d find out, eventually.
I turned to a new page and titled it: Teaching Considerations.
What could I safely pass on? What did I really understand? Not much. But I knew what I’d done. I could teach that.
- Breathing synchronisation with chakra flow.
- Focus on internal mapping: where chakra moved, where it caught.
- Compression cue: tighten without clogging.
- Timing: don’t rush the pulse.
I tapped my pencil against the page.
Iruka didn’t need to understand everything. He just needed to try it.
I scribbled out a training schedule. Light first session, maybe two to three hours. I’ll have to keep low expectations. What else?
Record any sensation and emotional reaction through every stage of the lesson. You never know what could be relevant down the line. The Hokage would be present, so I couldn’t afford panic or overreach on the subject’s part.
Not that I thought Iruka would panic.
He was calm, measured, steady in a way I could never be. And he cared, really cared. That alone made him dangerous in the best possible way.
Still, part of me wished I was teaching a stranger. It would be easier, less terrifying, to risk someone I didn’t know.
But this was the path I’ve chosen and I’ll have to live with it.
----
The training room was quiet, cloaked in the same kind of silence that fell over a battlefield moments before combat. Not tense, exactly, just still. Waiting. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and old ink, like the library after a storm. It was larger than Iruka expected, tucked deep beneath the Hokage Tower in a reinforced sublevel that hadn’t been used in years.
At least, not for anything official.
There were seals etched into the walls, faintly glowing with chakra suppression and sound insulation. Enough to contain a disaster, or at least muffle one. In the far corner stood the Third Hokage himself, arms folded within his robes, his gaze calm and unreadable.
Iruka swallowed as he stepped forward into the centre of the room, Kenta at his side.
The boy looked different today. Not physically, but in the way he carried himself. Focused. Steady. Whatever nervousness he’d shown outside the Hokage’s office was gone, buried under layers of discipline and a kind of weary determination that didn’t belong on someone so young.
Kenta exhaled slowly, then turned to face him. “You ready, Sensei?”
Iruka nodded. “I trust you.”
That earned a faint smile. “Alright. Sit cross-legged with your hands over your knees and palms up.”
Iruka followed the instructions without hesitation. The floor was cool under him. He folded his legs, settled his breathing, and waited.
Kenta knelt opposite him in a similar position, a notebook and pencil in hand.
“I’m going to walk you through the start. Don’t force anything. If you feel something’s wrong, you stop. Immediately.”
“Understood.”
“Good. First, breathe. Deep through the nose. Slow through the mouth. We’re not meditating, exactly, but you need to focus inward. Not on thoughts. On movement. On sensation. It might be better if you closed your eyes for this too.”
Iruka obeyed. The breaths came slowly. Deliberately. He let his awareness settle into his chest, then his stomach, then further, into the faint current of chakra that pulsed beneath it all.
“Feel your chakra,” Kenta said softly. “Let it move the way it wants to. Don’t push it yet.”
Iruka reached. It wasn’t hard. He was a trained shinobi, after all.
“Now start cycling it. Gently. Don’t force the pace. Just loop it through your system, up your spine, across your shoulders, down your arms, into your hands. Then reverse.”
He followed. It was like tracing a kata through his own body. The path was familiar, but slower. More deliberate.
“Have you started?” Kenta asked.
The question confused Iruka for a moment until he remembered that the boy wasn’t a sensor-nin. He wouldn’t be able to actually track Iruka’s progress.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Please provide descriptions of what you’re feeling as we go along. I’m hoping we can use the data to improve future lessons.”
The teacher-turned-student nodded.
“Good,” Kenta murmured. “Now, start compressing your chakra without stopping the cycle.”
Iruka frowned, but didn’t open his eyes. “How?”
“Think of your chakra like water flowing through a series of pipes,” Kenta instructed, voice calm but firm. “Now imagine pressing in on that water from all directions with nothing but your will. You’re guiding the flow, squeezing it evenly as it moves. Keep cycling it while you do. Don’t let the motion stop, even as you compress.”
He visualised it. Drew his chakra inward as it cycled. Held it a little tighter at each pass. Less spread, more tension.
The sensation shifted and he felt an almost gentle pressure. Like trying to squeeze water.
Iruka dutifully described as much.
“There,” Kenta said quietly. “That’s the start.”
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Iruka kept breathing, kept cycling and compressing, and it was exhausting. Not physically, though. The whole thing simply required a degree of single-minded focus he rarely bothered with, a fine-tuned mental grip that left his head buzzing. Sweat beaded at his temples. His back ached from holding the posture.
Kenta didn’t speak unless needed. When he did, it was only to nudge: “Hold it longer,” or “Let it loosen a bit,” or “Try another pass before you exhale.”
Another hour passed.
By the third hour, Iruka began to feel it. Something changed.
It was small, small enough that it would have escaped his notice if he wasn’t fully focusing inward. If he wasn’t told what to look for. His chakra felt different.
Denser.
He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes.
Kenta was watching him closely. “Well?”
Iruka hesitated, then nodded. “Something shifted. Not much. But it’s there.”
Kenta let out a breath of relief. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
Lord Hiruzen stepped forward at last. His presence had been quiet, almost ghostly.
“Remarkable,” he said softly. “To see such results with no foreign chakra techniques, bloodline considerations, or complex seal matrices involved. I have never in my life seen such a thing.”
Kenta nodded. “That’s all I had.”
The Hokage looked between them. “How long have you been doing this?”
Kenta shrugged. “For a little over three months now, going on four. The process didn’t really change all that much. I just made adjustments as needed.”
Iruka shook out his arms. His muscles were sore from stillness. “How did you know what adjustments to make?”
“Mostly going with what felt right. I started measuring and recording my progress right at the beginning too, so I wasn’t completely groping in the dark.”
Lord Hiruzen stroked his beard. “It flies in the face of everything our Academy teaches about chakra use. Yet here it is.”
Kenta said nothing.
Iruka glanced at him, then added, “This might change everything.”
The Hokage didn’t answer right away. He studied Kenta again, closely this time.
Then he said, quietly, “I wonder how we missed it. All these years. Our scholars, the many brilliant minds that Konoha has produced since its founding. I find it hard to believe that none of them had even conceived of such a thing.”
Kenta frowned. “Maybe they were looking in the wrong direction? From what I’ve been able to gather, ninja tend to focus on the flashier aspects of chakra. Bigger jutsu, more dangerous weapons, faster ways to kill the enemy. This isn’t that. This is just work. Slow and ugly and boring.”
Lord Hokage chuckled. “As most worthwhile things are.”
Iruka stood fully. “What now?”
“Now?” Konoha’s leader raised a bemused eyebrow before turning to the youngest in the room. “That would depend on what our resident expert plans to do next.”
“I want to keep going,” Kenta said without preamble. “With more trials but slowly. Iruka-sensei first, for a few more sessions. Then, we’ll see.”
Hiruzen nodded. “I’ll give you the room when you need it. But no written records. Nothing that can be stolen or copied.”
“Agreed.”
“And if I wish to participate in the next session?”
Kenta blinked. “You’d really try it?”
“I’ve lived long enough to know that learning never stops. And if you’re right…”
He let the sentence hang.
Kenta gave a small nod. “I’ll guide you. If you want.”
Hiruzen offered a warm smile. “Good. Then we proceed. Carefully.”
Iruka looked down at his hands. The chakra felt different in them. He couldn’t explain it, but it responded faster. Truer.
Not much right now.
But it was the seed from which would sprout something of earth-shaking proportions.
----
Hiruzen Sarutobi remained behind after Kenta and Iruka had left. The quiet returned, blanketing the training chamber in that same stillness it had before the session began.
He took a slow walk around the perimeter, fingers trailing lightly across the old sealwork etched into the stone. Chakra suppression, sound insulation, physical reinforcement, and all the little things needed for delicate workings that required absolute privacy. The design hadn’t changed since the war. Back then, this room had hosted interrogation sessions and dangerous jutsu trials. Now, it held the memory of something far more dangerous:
Hope.
Hiruzen exhaled smoke from his pipe and stood still at the center.
He’d seen powerful things before. Jutsu that levelled forests, sealing techniques that froze demons mid-roar. But there was something insidious about this. Something that worked not by force, but by accumulation.
Discipline. Repetition. A grain of rice at a time, until it outweighed a mountain.
That was the true danger of Kenta’s discovery: accessibility. It required only time and the right mindset.
He tapped ash into a long-cold brazier and thought back.
Why hadn’t any of the sages discovered this? Or the monks at Fire Temple? Or the archives of Uzushio before they fell? Even among the most devoted ascetics, chakra was used as a tool, not reshaped as a living discipline.
The likeliest answer, in the end, was the simplest.
Because no one had thought to treat chakra as a resource to cultivate. At least, not in the same way that Kenta does. They enhanced it with quantity and quality, in mind. Directed it for this end or that. But to compress and cycle it for hours upon hours, perhaps even days, weeks, or years?
Only Kenta.
A boy who has been living in fear of discovery for the past few months.
He’d seen it in Kenta’s eyes today. That flickering terror, held in check, but ultimately weaponised. The boy carried too much awareness for someone so young. He was playing a game with stakes he didn’t trust anyone else to understand.
And yet he had chosen to share it. Out of seeing no other options, perhaps, but the fact remains.
That alone warranted attention.
“Three months,” Hiruzen muttered, “to surpass his peers. Many of them heirs from Konoha’s most prestigious clans.”
What would a year look like?
Two?
He tapped his fingers against the head of his pipe. Tomorrow, he would test it himself, just as Kenta described.
He wanted to know. To feel it.
Because if this worked, if it scaled, then the shinobi world was about to change. Not through conquest or peace treaties as had been done before, and which often proved fragile. No, it will be a quiet, unseen progress that will wash away the earth from beneath the world’s foundations.
And the only person who truly understood its pace was still a student.
He left the chamber then, with slow, deliberate steps.
Outside, the village lights twinkled like stars scattered at his feet.
-----
Walking back home after my first time teaching cultivation to someone else, my mind was buzzing. By every reasonable metric, it was a resounding success. It proved to the Hokage and Iruka that I wasn’t blowing hot air. More importantly, the session yielded some fantastic data.
The most valuable, at least, to me, was the confirmation of a theory that I really hoped would pan out. Anyone with more chakra than civilians would have a harder time cultivating. Oh sure, the payout would be enormous if they achieve a breakthrough.
But this would depend entirely on their patience, discipline, and dedication.
I’ve been able to compress my chakra thirteen times in the span of three months. And that was by cultivating for several hours in the morning after I wake up and in the evening before I go to sleep.
Each layer made using chakra for anything easier and I’m nowhere near my limit.
When I resigned myself to the possibility of sharing my secrets, I was worried that I’d be losing my one advantage over everyone else. Today’s session confirms that this wasn’t the case, at all. Iruka will likely continue cultivating once he got the hang of it. The Hokage, likewise. But neither of them is going to get as much out of it as I would.
After all, they have responsibilities that will take up their time. Neither would be able to allocate the number of hours required to successfully form layers with their chakra for a while.
Maybe I’m wrong about that, just like how I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. But I don’t think so. This time, I’m using hard data to form this conclusion, not assumptions. The Hokage cultivating faster than me would be like the sun revolving around the earth. He simply has too much chakra.
At least, that’s my theory. Tomorrow, I would learn more.
And so what if I have to teach other kids to do what I do? How many will actually have what it takes to get anywhere with cultivation? Iruka spent three hours just to feel a slight shift in his chakra and I was observing him the whole time.
He didn’t find it easy, at all. His chakra capacity isn’t even that large.
There’s also the fact that I’ll be choosing who will be recieving these lessons in the future. Me, no one else. Right at the top of the criteria for receiving this privilege would be a certain degree of loyalty towards yours truly. I’ll make damn sure of that.
Now, all I have to worry about is Danzo and his band of killer sociopaths. Having the Hokage’s attention puts me closer to the war hawk’s sphere of influence, but it also shields me from secret abductions.
Of course, he could always leak my existence to Orochimaru or the other hidden villages. But there’s only so much I can prepare for without driving myself insane. Right now, I have no choice but to trust in Hiruzen’s discretion.
With that said, I think it’s time to enact some of the plans I’ve had to delay due to my need for anonymity. Once I’m done, I’ll be one of the most dangerous motherfuckers in the Elemental Nations.
For the first time since finding myself in this world, I’m actually excited for the future.
Uchiha Sasuke doesn’t usually contemplate. Not in the way civilians waste their time overanalyzing friendships, feelings, or the meaning of life. No, he’s got three goals: get stronger, restore the clan, and absolutely obliterate his bastard of a brother. That’s it. Simple. Efficient. Clean.
So naturally, he’s furious that some walking civilian migraine named Shiozaki Kenta has taken up permanent residence in his brain like a squatters' rights parasite.
Used to be, the guy was just background noise. One more bookworm loser destined to be cannon fodder. Nerdy. Weak. Probably cried during group exercises. Then—somehow—he kicked the Inuzuka mutt’s ass. And no, not the actual dog, the boy. Sasuke watched Kiba flail through the air like a freshly punted sack of rice and had to admit—even he didn’t see it coming. And he always sees it coming. That’s kind of his whole thing.
Then the freak went full ninja Houdini and started pretending to suck again.
Didn’t win another match. Didn’t so much as land a hit. Just shuffled around like a wet leaf in the wind and took beatings with the grace of a concussed turtle. But Sasuke saw it. The half-second hesitations. The kicks that “missed” by a conveniently narrow margin. The subtle missteps that even a blind Hyūga could tell were fake.
And it pissed him off.
Watching it was like getting stabbed in the pride. With a spoon. Slowly. Over three months.
Worst part? The dumbass thinks he’s being subtle. Like he’s fooling anyone. Like Sasuke—Sasuke—of all people, wouldn’t notice a power-suppressing civilian troll right under his nose. It’s excruciating. It’s maddening. It’s like watching someone try to hide a bonfire behind a wet paper fan.
Then came today.
Taijutsu class. Sasuke wasn’t even paying attention, because he had better things to do (like mentally sparring with Itachi for the fifty-third time this morning). And then suddenly—bam—Kenta’s squaring off against the Akimichi clan’s junior linebacker and decides to start actually trying again.
Not completely. He’s still sandbagging. Sasuke could see it in the way he pulled a punch, or slipped slightly just before impact. But it wasn’t the usual level of pretending-to-suck. It was more like… pretending-to-almost-suck. A performance upgrade. New patch notes, or something.
Sasuke glanced over at Iruka-sensei, expecting a baffled face. Instead, the chuunin looked about as surprised as someone watching a dog take a shit where it always does. That narrowed Sasuke’s eyes.
Something was going on.
Something fishy.
And he was going to figure out what.
Right after—
“You’re going down, teme!”
—Right after dealing with this orange-suited loudmouth—
“Don’t you dare ignore me, bastard!”
—and his ongoing mission to cause public embarrassment wherever he goes.
Too late. The class was looking now. Sasuke exhaled through his nose and wondered, not for the first time, if anyone would really miss Naruto if he just “accidentally” vanished into a training ground crater.
Fuck my life.