Hanekawa stared at the fruit knife in Tsunade's hand and froze. Please tell me she's not about to use me as a voodoo doll.

  "Relax," Tsunade said, as if reading his mind. "It won't hurt."

  He watched her position the blade against the back of his hand, then exhaled slowly and extended his arm. The knife bit into his skin—a sharp, clean line that made him grit his teeth. Blood welled up, thin and bright.

  Okay, that definitely hurt a little, he thought, watching the crimson line spread across his palm. But I guess that's the point.

  "See with your eyes and feel with your heart," Tsunade murmured.

  Green chakra bloomed from her palm, warm and alive. The air itself seemed to vibrate with vitality. Hanekawa watched, fascinated, as the wound on his hand began to close. New skin knitted together, the itching sensation almost unbearable.

  "How does it feel?" she asked.

  "Itchy," he admitted.

  "That's the cells multiplying faster." Tsunade squeezed his small hand gently. "Looks the same, but you've burned through a lot of cellular resources."

  Hanekawa nodded, filing the information away. He'd read about the Yin Seal in his previous life's medical texts—how Tsunade could store chakra for years, then release it all at once for the Hundred Healings Technique. The cost was brutal: accelerated aging, the price of playing god with your own body.

  "Medical ninjutsu has limits," Tsunade continued, her tone shifting serious. "The more you use it, the faster you age. Only someone like Hashirama Senju could break those rules—healing without seals, without consequence. Completely inhuman."

  Great. So I can either be a healer or not look like a prune by thirty. Fantastic choices.

  "Do you know the three rules of medical ninja?" Tsunade asked, changing subjects.

  "We learned them in school," Hanekawa said. "Never rush to the front. Never give up on a teammate unless they're confirmed dead. And protect yourself—survive to the end."

  "Exactly." Tsunade reached over and ruffled his hair. "No matter what happens, you have to live."

  That's either incredibly wise or incredibly ominous. Possibly both.

  "Let's go to the hospital," Tsunade announced, withdrawing her hand.

  Hanekawa blinked. "Why?"

  "Why?" She gave him a look that suggested he'd asked something ridiculous. "You want to practice on me instead?"

  "No, no—let's go to the hospital," he said quickly.

  The patients at Konoha Hospital practically fell over themselves when Tsunade walked in. Free medical training from the Legendary Sannin? They lined up like it was a festival. Hanekawa spent the entire day moving from bed to bed, learning to sense chakra pathways, to guide healing energy through damaged tissue, to feel the difference between a clean break and a compound fracture.

  By sunset, his chakra reserves were completely drained.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "That's enough for today," Tsunade said, glancing at the orange sky. She rubbed her fingers together absently—a gesture Hanekawa had learned to recognize. She's itching to gamble.

  "Can I go home?" he asked hopefully.

  "No." She picked him up without ceremony. "You need rest. We're going to the casino."

  Of course we are.

  He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of sake and expensive perfume, and tried to recover what little energy remained.

  ---

  The next morning, Hanekawa was up before dawn, running the streets of Konoha twice before heading to the Knowledge Bookstore. His legs felt like jelly, but the routine helped clear his head.

  Tsuchihashi practically vibrated with excitement when he walked in.

  "Number 9527! Excellent work!"

  Hanekawa understood immediately. Tsunade. The news had spread through the village like wildfire—the Legendary Sannin had taken on a student. And Tsuchihashi, being a competent spy, would have multiple intelligence channels.

  "Uncle Tsuchihashi," Hanekawa said, cutting to the point. "Is there a reward?"

  "Absolutely!" Tsuchihashi's grin widened. "Do you know you're the highest-ranking asset the Hidden Cloud has ever placed in Konoha?"

  That's... actually kind of sad for them, Hanekawa thought. What were the others doing? Selling secrets at the market?

  But he understood the reality. Other spies didn't have a system that let them learn jutsu in minutes. They couldn't infiltrate the upper echelons without triggering every sensor in the village. And genius-level shinobi didn't get sent as spies—except for people like Danzo, who were their own special category of nightmare.

  "I sent word to the Hidden Cloud yesterday," Tsuchihashi continued, composing himself. "You should have a response in two days. Come back then."

  "For the Hidden Cloud," Hanekawa said dutifully.

  "For the Hidden Cloud," Tsuchihashi echoed, patting his shoulder. "You've got a bright future ahead."

  Sure. Right up until they figure out I'm playing both sides.

  "Actually," Hanekawa said, clearing his throat, "about those royalties from Taimanin..."

  Tsuchihashi's expression shifted to something almost paternal. He produced a passbook and slid it across the counter.

  Hanekawa opened it.

  Twelve million ryō.

  Holy—

  His eyes widened. That was roughly one-third of what Asuma Sarutobi made in a year, and Asuma was a jonin from one of the most prestigious clans in the village. His pen name, Rai Kaen, had apparently struck a chord with readers.

  "The second volume releases this week," Tsuchihashi said. "Expect another substantial payment next month. Your friend has quite the talent."

  "I'll... ask about future projects," Hanekawa managed, still staring at the numbers.

  "Please do." Tsuchihashi smiled. "The Hidden Cloud appreciates all forms of intelligence gathering. Even the literary kind."

  ---

  Hanekawa walked out of the bookstore in a daze, the passbook burning in his pocket like a brand.

  Twelve million ryō. He could buy a house. Several houses. He could retire at age six and live comfortably for the rest of his life.

  This is insane, he thought, turning the corner toward the training grounds. I'm literally a child writing adult fiction under a fake name, and I'm making more money than most jonin.

  The absurdity of it almost made him laugh.

  Almost.

  Because underneath the humor was a cold, practical calculation: money was power. Money was leverage. Money was options.

  And in a village full of shinobi who could level mountains, options were the most valuable currency of all.

  He'd need to think carefully about what came next. The second volume would do well—he'd already outlined it, and the market clearly wanted more. But he couldn't let the royalties become too obvious. Tsuchihashi would report them to the Hidden Cloud. Tsunade would eventually notice his spending habits.

  One problem at a time, he decided. First, finish the medical ninjutsu training. Then figure out the money situation.

  The training grounds appeared ahead, and Hanekawa pushed the financial calculations to the back of his mind. For now, there was work to do.

  There was always work to do.