Chapter 64: Volume 2, Chapter 15: Ki conclusions, Noblesse oblige & Monstrous inquiries.
What is senjutsu chakra?
It was a mixture of chakra and nature energy.
What was nature energy?
Using the guidebooks as a reference, I had found it was synonymous with Ki, which was said to flow from the astral plane — the runoff of the corpses of dead and decomposing gods. After feeling it firsthand, I was inclined to agree, but that felt like letting how good it felt cloud my judgment.
After some internal reasoning, I settled on a simpler conclusion: it was the energy that underpinned existence itself.
I had felt it when I first sensed nature energy. It was in everything — in all forms of matter and all forms of energy.
Which was a bit of a subversion of its name. You would think nature energy would only be found in nature — and you would be right — but most people didn't think of all reality when they used the word nature.
Now the question was: if it was in everything, why did sages have to absorb what was present in nature and mix it with their chakra to create senjutsu? Why not simply use the natural energy already contained within their own bodies?
The answer — as I had come to find — was that locating it was very, very hard. That, and probably ignorance that such a method even existed.
Faced with these questions, I turned to the wisdom of DnD. May it never forsake me.
This led me to the monks and their practices, and how they achieved Ki in the guidebooks: the Five Disciplines.
So far, I had passed the Discipline of Breath and the Discipline of Pain. I could now sense my ki and the ki of the world — though being able to sense it and being able to use it were two very different things.
The Discipline of Breath let me feel the world's ki.
The Discipline of Pain let me sense my own.
But to manipulate it, the next step was the Discipline of Silence: thirty days of absolute silence meant to still one's thoughts.
The issue was that I could already still my thoughts. An opened Anja chakra and countless hours mastering my mindscape ensured that.
So I moved on.
The Discipline of Motion.
The Discipline of Motion"A mind that moves too fast cannot feel what stands still."
Training: Repeat a single kata one thousand times a day for one hundred days. Every movement precise — no more, no less.
Purpose: Align the body perfectly with instinct and intent.
The obvious solution was clones, right?
Wrong.
The problem, as it presented itself, was that these disciplines were meant to be practiced while seeking control of natural energy — my own internal ki. And while everything possessed natural energy, there was one exception: chakra constructs.
Clones, being chakra constructs, shared this deficiency.
So I had to do it myself.
That would have to wait until we returned to the village, but I still wanted to attempt accessing my ki before then.
Feeling my ki made me aware of how utterly wasteful senjutsu must be. Natural energy had to be absorbed, then expended. But from what I could feel, ki — unlike senjutsu — could not be spent.
It was part of you in a way chakra was not.
You could not spend ki any more than you could spend muscle or bone.
You could exert it, though.
I would probably need to complete the disciplines to exert it on reality — but could I exert it on myself? Specifically, on my chakra?
What would that do compared to senjutsu?
I gathered myself and stilled my thoughts completely. Then I reached for the sensation that had lingered since completing the Discipline of Pain — the faint something at the end of every nerve, flowing from every atom in my body.
A shiver ran up my spine, nearly breaking my concentration as my senses exploded outward, spreading for miles in every direction.
Then I reached for that strange metaphysical component of myself — my ki — and exerted it over my own chakra.
The change was instant.
It resembled the breakthrough I once experienced when I learned sealless nature transformation. My chakra didn't change; my awareness of it did. The ease with which I bent it to my will changed — or rather, the need for effort vanished.
It simply responded.
I raised my hand gently. I didn't need to open my eyes to know a fireball had appeared there, burning bright with power. I hadn't used the mental seals I trained myself to rely on. I had simply willed my chakra to act.
And it acted.
"…Izuku?" Naruko's groggy voice broke my concentration. The effect fizzled instantly, and I lost control of my ki.
I blinked, suddenly far less in tune with my body. For an instant, overwhelming body dysphoria washed over me before fading.
"Yeah?" I asked once I shook off the feeling of being a stranger in my own skin.
"What are you doing?" she asked, sitting up in bed, Kuro fast asleep beside her.
"I'm meditating. Why?"
It was very early, the usual time for my daily meditation.
"Whatever you're doing is driving Kurama crazy." What?
"Really? Did he say why?" I asked, eager and bewildered.
"Uh, no. But he wants to talk to you." she said followed by a jaw cracking yawn.
I scrambled to my feet to enact the mind-meld jutsu when a knock interrupted us.
With a disgruntled sigh, I opened the door to see exactly what I expected: a servant bowed at the waist, inviting me to speak with the Daimyo.
I did my best not to scream in frustration.
My conversation with Kurama would have to wait.
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I met the Daimyo on a balcony.
The morning air was crisp and cold, cool enough to bite the inside of my nose when I breathed in. The sky was pale, washed thin with early light, the sun not yet strong enough to warm the wood beneath my hands.
Somewhere below, a bamboo shishi-odoshi knocked against stone in steady intervals — hollow, deliberate. Birds were already awake. Sparrows hopped along the eaves, chattering sharply.
Wind moved through the garden, carrying the smell of damp earth, wet moss, and pine. There was a faint trace of smoke from morning fires being lit in the capital beyond the estate. From farther off came the muted sounds of daily life beginning: a cart wheel rolling over stone, a wooden gate sliding open, distant voices kept low out of habit.
The railing was cold beneath my palm. The tatami behind me still held the night's chill. The air felt clean, stripped down, as if the day had not yet decided what it would become.
The Daimyo waited there in the quiet, as steady and composed as the morning itself, his chakra just as unmoving.
"Hanama-san, please sit," he said, gesturing to a cushion on the floor beside him.
"Daimyo-sama," I greeted as I complied, taking the offered seat and joining him in looking out over the garden and partaking in its natural beauty.
"You spoke to my granddaughter," he began, exactly where I would have expected. "What is your opinion of her?"
To lie or not to lie.
I turned slightly and met his eyes — dark brown eyes belonging to a man who had ruled the largest nation on the continent for most of his adult life, a man who had kept masters of deception and shinobi in line.
I did not have much hope of fooling such a man. Honesty it was then — or at least, not outright deception.
"We had an interesting conversation, Daimyo-sama. There was an intensity to her," I replied.
He hummed in consideration.
"Intensity. Yes, that is one manner of description. Fire burns in her heart," he said with a fond chuckle. "Did she offer you riches for Taizen's head?" he continued, not losing his smile.
"Not in those words." I blinked in surprise, though perhaps I shouldn't have. A competent ruler — and parent — would be very aware of their grandchildren's… dispositions.
"Did you agree?" he asked, his gaze tracking a colorful sparrow as it cut across the sky.
"No," I answered.
"Why?"
"It may be hard to believe, Daimyo-sama, but I don't care much for political power."
"I assumed as much. You remind me too much of Hiruzen," he said with a wistful smile. After a moment, that smile faded. "But your political acumen cannot be denied. What remains is how you will use that acumen."
His eyes bored into me, filled with expectation and assumptions.
I considered telling him my reputation was greatly exaggerated. He seemed sincere, even from what little I could sense through his chakra. He believed in the myth of Maiten-sama. So my sensei had not informed him of my actual political ability.
I didn't know whether to curse or thank him for that. It said much about where his loyalties truly lay, but it also forced me to decide whether to perpetuate the misunderstanding.
I thought about what Kuro would want me to do and almost swore aloud.
The lie was too useful. Misdirection was always useful. Shinobi 101.
"To protect my home and my loved ones, who are in Konoha, in the Land of Fire," I said, lying by omission and not correcting his assumptions.
He watched me closely.
I suddenly felt like a protozoa under a microscope.
My examination dragged on for what felt like minutes before he finally spoke.
"A noble goal," he concluded.
"I would think it more of a selfish one," I said with some relief.
"Selfishness and nobility are not exclusive — an understanding all leaders of moral standing must come to accept. As you must understand now that there are those who answer to you."
The sudden wisdom blindsided me. My sensei did that all the time. I was beginning to think it was simply an old man trait.
"How would you regard your stay in the capital?" he asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
My stay in the capital?
I reviewed my memories and found lies, performances, more lies — and one very traumatic, very close brush with… not death, but something that felt far worse.
How would I describe all of this?
"Surprising," I said after a moment.
"Hah!" The Daimyo barked a laugh. "Warriors, always so cavalier about death."
"I wouldn't call myself a warrior, Daimyo-sama."
"A warrior-scholar is still a warrior, Hanama-san," he replied. His smile faded as he reined in his mirth.
"But you are more than a warrior or a scholar, aren't you? You are now a leader — not simply of those who admire you, but by the mandate of heaven through my own order."
His tone grew solemn.
"The world needs leaders. It is in man's nature to follow — just as it is to lead. But one is far more dangerous than the other. A bad follower is rarely more than his own downfall. A bad leader? That is a disaster. So it is the duty of every man capable of good leadership to lead."
For a brief instant, it felt like I was looking at that pillar again — but with my physical eyes. As though I were witnessing the eternity of the Daimyo made flesh.
That pressure weighed down on me.
"From what I have seen of you, you are one of those gifted," he continued. "This means you have a duty. If my understanding of you is correct, you will not enjoy this duty — at least not the power or the minutiae of it."
His gaze cut through me, as though he could see into my very soul, and suddenly I wasn't sure I had fooled him at all.
"That is irrelevant. You will do your duty regardless."
The order carried the authority of a thousand-year dynasty.
"Hai, Daimyo-sama," I acquiesced, even as my mind raced.
Duty.
That was not something I considered often. I was not a dutiful person. I was not much for doing what I was supposed to. I made up for it by being unfailingly loyal to the people in my life, but obligations to an abstract concept — or obligations created by my own ability — had never crossed my mind.
The Daimyo watched me for another moment, then nodded in satisfaction.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Hanama-san. My best wishes on your trip home."
I accepted the dismissal and left more hastily than I probably should have.
As with most of my meetings with old men, I left with much to consider.
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The sitting Hokage leaving the capital was a big deal.
Just like our departure from the village, there was much fanfare. Officials, servants, nobles, and ministers filled the crowd gathered to send us off. It felt excessive.
When the village gathered, they were sending off their commander-in-chief—the effective dictator of their nation-state. In the capital, my sensei should technically have been one powerful man among many. Yet the way they gathered made it clear he wasn't simply another powerful man. There was something about the title of Hokage that commanded respect almost equal to the Daimyo himself.
I assumed it was a remnant of the man who first bore it.
I couldn't imagine any place in the world that would not have treated Hashirama-sama as sovereign of his own nation, even if he were butt naked and destitute.
"Farewell, Hokage-dono," the Daimyo said from the head of the procession. The address—normally reserved for fellow Daimyo—confirmed my suspicion. He stood surrounded by family and court, including his heir, with whom I had never interacted. Still, the middle-aged man watched me as closely as the other officials, each wearing their own mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and calculation.
I appeared to be a point of contention.
"Farewell to you as well, Daimyo-sama," my sensei replied, offering a light bow—subservient in form, if not in spirit.
As the exchange continued, a faint shift brushed against my senses. I turned toward it and met Katane's intense stare. Among ordinary people her muted chakra blended into the background, but once I focused on her, the turbulence beneath it became obvious. I couldn't name the emotion—only its intensity. Her attention flicked repeatedly between me and Kuro at my side.
Kuro returned the look with a placid smile that concealed predatory amusement within her chakra.
They exchanged silent stares—what I imagined was the female equivalent of peacocking—until Katane finally turned away to follow her departing grandfather.
The Daimyo departed soon after, much of the court trailing behind him as he ascended the palace steps. A smaller group remained.
All samurai.
At their head stood a man roughly my sensei's age. His chakra felt rigid, disciplined, impartial—yet threaded through it was unmistakable annoyance. I wasn't sure what had provoked it.
"Hiruzen," he grunted as he approached.
"Yorimoto," my sensei replied, eyebrow lifting slightly.
Silence stretched between them.
"The armour," Yorimoto said at last, the word sounding dragged from him as he gestured toward Tano behind me.
"What of it?" my sensei asked, his smile widening just enough to be dangerous.
Yorimoto's glare sharpened. My sensei calmly produced his pipe instead. A vein pulsed along the old samurai's neck.
"How much?" Yorimoto sneered, the words tasting like ash. Doing business with mercenaries clearly pained him.
"Why are you asking me?" my sensei replied with exaggerated innocence.
For a moment, I genuinely wondered whether the old samurai might draw his blade. This was masterful trolling. I still had much to learn.
"Hanama-san," Yorimoto said, turning to me with surprising respect. Then again, I wasn't mercenary scum—technically speaking. "How would I go about purchasing your services?"
"What I made for Tano is a prototype. I don't yet know if I will be selling it."
"The Nation of Fire stands to benefit greatly from it," he said.
You mean the samurai—and therefore you, I thought. Still, my sensei had been right. Stronger samurai meant a stronger Land of Fire. A stronger Land of Fire meant a safer Konoha.
"I will continue working on it, but it will be some time before it becomes mass-producible."
"Mass-producible," he repeated. "And custom work?"
"I could likely manage that sooner. It would be expensive."
He gestured toward Tano.
"You gave him a set without charge. Would you extend that privilege to others in your service?"
"Yes."
"There are many second sons with nothing to inherit and nothing to their names but a blade and honour," he said. The samurai behind him straightened, and only then did I notice how young they were—four boys who could not have been older than fourteen.
Ah. There it was.
"I would need to evaluate them myself."
"These young men intend to see Konoha. Would the journey suffice as assessment?"
He presented them forward. Most looked ready to sweat through their armour. One looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.
Even he shifted uneasily beneath my gaze.
"There would be no room in the carriage," I said.
"They can walk."
I considered it. If none impressed me, I could send them back. Perhaps with money if guilt demanded it.
"Alright then."
They bowed immediately, relief obvious despite their discipline.
Goal achieved, Yorimoto turned on his heel and walked away without another glance or a word to my sensei.
The old monkey only looked more amused.
"With that, we should be taking our leave," my sensei said, and we obeyed, loading ourselves into the fuinjutsu-propelled carriage that had brought us to the capital.
Ebisu was already seated inside as we climbed in, outwardly composed as usual but reeking of female perfume.
"Closet perv," Naruko greeted cheerfully.
This time, I could not gainsay her. Her instincts, as always, appeared accurate. All evidence suggested the prim and proper Ebisu was, in fact, quite the pervert. I would have liked to claim surprise, but I had long hypothesized that a ninja's power was proportional to their dysfunction. I had assumed Ebisu an exception.
I was wrong.
Ebisu ignored her and silently handed a scroll toward my sensei, who waved it off.
"You may hand it to Jiraiya once we return," my sensei said with a serene smile instead of accepting it.
Ebisu visibly stiffened at both the words and their implications, then slowly returned the scroll to his pocket.
Silence followed, broken only by the creak of axles and the steady crunch of carriage wheels over packed dirt. Naruko shattered the quiet moments later.
"Jeez! Alright, I'll tell him, stop nagging!" she suddenly exclaimed, then turned toward me.
"He still wants to talk?" I asked eagerly, remembering Kuruma's reaction to my meditation that morning.
"The Nine-Tails wishes to speak with you?" my sensei cut in. "Why?" His tone sharpened immediately.
I blinked, realizing this was probably information I should have shared earlier. Well—no time like the present.
"I've made some progress in my theories of intrinsic natural energy, and Naruko said he reacted strangely to it."
"I see. We will discuss this progress later. For now, let us speak to him." My sensei's chakra shifted, signaling the beginning of the mind-meld jutsu.
"Uh, he only wants to speak to Izuku," Naruko interrupted.
My sensei paused, eyebrows lifting as a contemplative frown settled over his face.
"If you don't think it's safe—" I began, but he raised a hand, cutting me off.
"No. Trust must be earned. The Nine-Tails has suffered at our hands, and Naruko's approach may have softened his heart, but relations cannot improve without risk." He nodded once, resolute. "Be perfectly aware of your connection and withdraw instantly if necessary."
"Hai, Sensei." I nodded.
Beside me, Kuro's chakra spiked with quiet worry. I squeezed her hand gently in reassurance. She returned the gesture without protest, trusting me enough not to interfere. I was grateful for that trust.
I turned to Naruko. She flashed a bright smile, gave me a thumbs-up, and cast the mind-meld jutsu.
The carriage vanished.
In its place stretched the sprawling meadows and endless blue oceans of Naruko's soul. At the center of the island meadow, surrounded by towering red pillars, lay the reason for this excursion.
The Nine-Tails.
"Sup, Kuruma," Naruko greeted casually, strolling past the bars to well within swiping distance. I followed close behind.
"What were you doing?" Kuruma asked, ignoring her entirely.
"Why? Have you seen it before?" I asked, curious.
Naruko pouted at being ignored and retaliated by climbing his massive frame. The enormous fox didn't react; he seemed long accustomed to serving as playground equipment.
"That is not an answer," he said flatly, continuing to ignore his jailer scaling his body.
"Where would you have seen it before?" I countered, wondering what prompted the question.
Whoever he had seen must have been a sage—someone attempting to master natural energy… to master Ki. Which meant I wasn't the first to conceive of this understanding.
How exciting.
But which sage?
I looked up at Kuruma, memories surfacing—swirling eyes, a shaggy white mane.
Not just any sage.
The sage.
"Your father?" I breathed.
The fox growled, clearly annoyed, pushing himself upright. Naruko, halfway up his back, slid down his fur into the nest of his tails.
"Weeeee!" she cheered.
I, meanwhile, received the far less pleasant end of his attention—glowing red eyes and bared fangs inches from my face.
"What. Were. You. Doing?" he demanded, hot breath washing over me.
"Training with nature energy!" I shouted, mostly to get him out of my personal space.
"Do not lie to me! I have witnessed sages before. That was not senjutsu!"
"It is! Sort of—I'm not really sure," I began confidently before faltering.
Kuruma pulled back, confusion replacing anger as he studied me.
"How can you not be sure?"
"I'm still learning."
"Then where did you learn it?"
"Nowhere. I just came up with it." I shrugged.
"You… came up with it," he repeated flatly.
"I throw things at the wall and see what sticks," I said, throwing up my hands in exasperation. Whether at myself or the fox, I wasn't sure.
Silence followed, broken only by distant grunts as Naruko wrestled with his swirling tails.
"You are mad," he said at last.
"Hey, I resemble that remark," I replied in mock offense.
He fell into thoughtful silence.
"You will teach me," he declared.
Even Naruko gasped in surprise.
"Seriously?" I asked.
"I will not repeat myself."
"Fine. But you'll teach me too."
"What could you possibly learn from me?" he asked disdainfully.
"You're pretty old. I'm sure you can figure something out."
"Hey! I want to learn too!" Naruko shouted, sprinting around his massive bulk toward his front.
"Sure," I agreed easily.
She rewarded me with a bear hug before turning to Kuruma with shining expectation.
"No."
Naruko's lip trembled. She widened her blue eyes and stared up at him.
He stared back, unmoved—until tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"…Anything to keep you from pestering me," the fox grunted, looking away as if he hadn't just been defeated by puppy-dog eyes.
"Yes!" Naruko cheered, running forward and wrapping her arms around his snout in a hug.
He growled—but didn't shake her off.
Cute.
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A/N: Izuku grows closer to his conception of Ki and master of Nature energy!
The Daimyo has expectations of young izuku! If he has to do his duty, you better believe he's making everybody else do theirs!
We depart from the capital after a rollercoaster of a time with five new party members! Four on probation and one our own personal magic knight—Tano!
The fox wants to learn something and in doing so, tells us Izuku is encroaching onto the territory of legendary sages! What power is our young protagonist encroaching upon?!
STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT NEXT TIME, ON FOR THE LOVE OF KUNGFU!
P.S. Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed it please comment and like, if not please comment why. Again, thank you for reading! Have a nice whatever-time-it-is, wherever you are!