At ten years old, I was no prodigy, but I had outgrown the limitations of an ordinary civilian. Compared to the Genin I had observed before, my physical abilities weren't far behind—at least when it came to speed and endurance.
My strength was still lacking due to my age, but precise chakra control allowed me to compensate somewhat.
A fresh Genin had just enough skill to function in a squad under a more experienced leader.
Their taijutsu was adequate, their ninjutsu basic, and their tactical thinking rudimentary at best. Most of them were still children, after all—shinobi in name but not in true experience.
Physically, I was still a child as well.
My body simply couldn't match the brute force of an adult-trained shinobi. But skill-wise? I had the advantage of knowledge, careful planning, and most importantly—Fūinjutsu.
I wasn't foolish enough to think I could fight and win against an experienced Chūnin yet. But against a standard Genin? I had confidence. If it was a straightforward physical brawl, I might lose. But shinobi rarely fought that way. With proper preparation and strategy, I could win.
I had also become a sensory ninja.
It happened suddenly—one moment, I was meditating, refining my chakra control, and the next, the world opened up around me. It was like a shift in awareness, a subtle but undeniable expansion of my perception.
Now, I could sense chakra within a 15-meter radius. It wasn't much by shinobi standards—most trained sensors could detect at least a hundred meters or more—but for me, it was a game-changer.
Being able to detect movement, gauge chakra levels, and avoid surprises added another layer of security to my operations.
And If Fūinjutsu had official rankings like ninjutsu, I would place my skills at C-rank at best. Maybe B-rank in some applications.
D-rank seals were simple: weak explosive tags, storage seals, and basic barriers. C-rank seals were more intricate—multi-layered security seals, long-term preservation techniques, and small-scale suppressive seals.
B-rank seals required deeper understanding and creativity. This included complex storage arrays, advanced chakra suppression techniques, and defensive seals that could activate under specific conditions.
I had managed a few of these successfully, but they were still rough around the edges.
A-rank and above? That was a different realm entirely.
True sealing masters—people like the Uzumaki Clan or Tobirama Senju—created seals capable of altering battlefields, sealing away powerful entities, and even influencing life and death.
I hadn't even seen an S-rank seal before, but I knew they existed, if nothing else, the used to seal a tailed beast was already up there.
I wasn't at that level yet. But one day, I would be.
And regarding my future influence, as it grew, the risk of government intervention increased. I was expanding in silence, operating from the shadows, but eventually, I would hit a threshold where remaining unnoticed would no longer be possible.
The Hokage's administration wouldn't tolerate a powerful unknown figure operating independently within the village. If I wasn't careful, they would either try to control me or eliminate me.
There were a few ways this could play out:
1. Forced Integration: They might attempt to bring me into the fold—either as a shinobi, an ally, or a controlled asset. The moment they saw value in my abilities, they would want to leverage them.
2. Regulation & Taxation: The village could enforce laws that made private enterprises like mine difficult to maintain. Special licenses, inspections, increased taxes—slow and methodical strangulation through bureaucracy.
3. Requisition & Seizure: If the war worsened, the administration might seize assets "for the good of the village." If my operations became too valuable, they could justify taking control of them outright.
As for my countermeasures…I couldn't fight the government directly—that would be suicide. But I could prepare.
1. Diversification: I wasn't placing all my resources in one place. If Evergreen Lotus Pavilion was seized, I had smaller, independent businesses running under different names. Even if they took one, they wouldn't get everything.
2. Legitimacy: The stronger my legal standing, the harder it would be to justify taking my assets. I made sure my businesses paid taxes, hired local workers, and contributed to the economy. A business that benefited the village was harder to destroy without consequences.
3. Political Maneuvering: If I ever reached the point where confrontation was inevitable, I would align myself with figures in power—individuals who could either protect my interests or at least provide warnings before action was taken against me.
4. Escape Routes: If things truly turned against me, I needed a way out. I wasn't ready to defect, nor did I want to. But if I was left with no other choice, I wouldn't hesitate to leave. I had been securing land outside the village—small, unnoticed places where I could retreat if necessary.
It was a good thing I arrived during this point in time. Konoha wasn't crowded or rather, populated yet and that meant there was a lot of land for the taking.
Mind you though…despite all these precautions, despite all the planning and maneuvering, I wasn't doing this simply for survival.
I wanted power. Not for revenge, not for destruction, but for control—control over my own fate.
This world was cruel.
The war had proven that.
The moment the strongest Shinobi of the Era kicked the bucket, disagreements began.
And that taught an important lesson.
Power wasn't just about fighting or strength—it was about influence, knowledge, and preparation.
The shinobi villages were built on power structures that ensured only the strongest could dictate their own path. If I remained weak, I would always be at the mercy of those stronger than me.
That was unacceptable.
But I also didn't want to become a mindless pursuer of power for its own sake. I had seen what that led to—people like Danzo, like Orochimaru.
Power had to serve a purpose, or else it would consume me.
My goal was simple: Freedom.
To be able to live on my own terms, to have a foundation so strong that no one could threaten or control me and those I want to protect.
Evergreen Lotus Pavilion was the first step.
My business was a shield—economic power that could rival political power. Fūinjutsu was my weapon—something few truly understood, yet capable of leveling the playing field against even the strongest shinobi.
And my mind… my mind was the foundation of it all.
I wasn't naive. I knew there were limits to how much I could control. The world was unpredictable, and war had a way of forcing even the best plans into chaos.
But as long as I kept moving forward—kept growing—then one day, when the time came, I wouldn't just survive.
I would thrive.
That is a fundamental law of the Universe.
…
While my business was thriving, I didn't slack off in my ninjutsu, taijutsu and Bo-jutsu.
Bo-jutsu was simple, efficient, and deadly in the right hands.
Unlike swords or kunai, which required significant upkeep, a staff could be fashioned from almost anything—wood, metal, even reinforced bamboo.
It also had a unique advantage in that it wasn't immediately seen as a lethal weapon, making it useful in places where open combat wasn't an option.
My progress so far has been steady but unrefined.
I had been practicing alone, mostly going through basic swings and strikes. It wasn't much, but repetition and muscle memory had already given me a basic feel for the weapon.
The problem was that without proper instruction, I was just imitating movements. I could handle the bo staff, but I wasn't truly using it.
That's why I went to Arata-sensei.
The man was a reliable instructor, even if he wasn't the most conventional one. He was sharp, experienced, and practical—qualities I respected. If there was anyone who could guide me in the right direction, it was him.
When I brought up my interest in Bojutsu, he raised an eyebrow, setting aside his cup of tea as he regarded me with mild curiosity.
"You want a training manual?" he repeated. "You're actually serious about this?"
"Yes," I confirmed. "I've been practicing on my own, but I don't have proper guidance. I figured a manual would give me a structured approach."
Arata exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. "You're a strange kid, you know that? Most people your age are focused on flashy jutsu or shuriken throwing, and here you are wanting to learn how to use a wooden stick."
"A versatile wooden stick," I corrected.
That earned a short chuckle. "Alright, alright. I'll see what I can do."
True to his word, he returned the next day with a scroll in hand. It wasn't anything grand, just a standard beginner's manual from the jutsu repository in the village library.
"This is about as much as I can get for you," he said, handing it over. "Anything more advanced than this is restricted to actual shinobi. And you—" he gave me a pointed look "—are not a shinobi. Not yet."
I took the scroll and nodded. "I understand."
"Good. Then hurry up and graduate," he added dryly. "That's the only way you'll get access to the real stuff. Techniques, jutsu, weapon styles—you'll need an official rank to retrieve them from the archives."
I stored that information away for later.
I had no immediate plans to join the ranks of shinobi, but at some point, it would be inevitable. If I wanted access to village resources, I would have to play within their system.
For now, though, I had a new goal.
And that was to set a good foundation.
The scroll was straightforward. It outlined the fundamental principles, basic stances, and beginner katas of Bojutsu.
The first principle was reach and control.
The bo staff was a weapon of range. Unlike a sword, which relied on cutting power, a staff's strength came from speed, angles, and impact. By maintaining proper distance, a user could strike without being struck.
The second principle was fluidity. Unlike a sword, which required precise, singular strikes, a bo staff thrived on motion. It was meant to be spun, redirected, and transitioned between attacks seamlessly.
Momentum was key—each movement should flow into the next, allowing for continuous offense and defense.
The third principle was adaptability. A staff could be used for striking, blocking, parrying, and even sweeping an opponent's legs. In the hands of a skilled user, it became an extension of the body—an ever-changing force that could adapt to any situation.
I absorbed the information carefully, then moved on to the practical portion.
Stances and Katas
The first stance was Chūdan-no-kamae, the middle stance.
This was the default position, with the bo staff held diagonally in front of me, one hand near the bottom and the other gripping the middle. It was a balanced stance, allowing for quick transitions between attack and defense.
The second stance was Jōdan-no-kamae, the high stance.
The staff was raised above my head, primed for powerful downward strikes. It was an aggressive stance, meant for overwhelming force.
The third was Gedan-no-kamae, the low stance.
The staff was angled downward, closer to the ground. It was useful for sweeping attacks and deceptive thrusts.
From there, the scroll introduced katas—pre-arranged sequences of movements designed to drill fundamental techniques into muscle memory.
The first kata was simple:
1. Step forward into Chūdan-no-kamae.
2. Deliver a downward strike.
3. Transition into a sweeping strike from the side.
4. Reset to the neutral stance.
I practiced this repeatedly, slowly at first, ensuring each movement was controlled and deliberate.
My progress was decent, but I could feel the gaps in my technique.
My transitions were slightly stiff, my grip on the staff still unsure at times. Speed would come with practice, but I needed to engrain these movements until they became second nature.
Over the next week, I dedicated time each day to refining my Bojutsu.
At first, I focused purely on form—making sure my stances were solid, my grips were correct, and my swings had proper weight behind them.
By the third day, I could perform the first kata fluidly. My movements were still a bit slow, but they were precise.
By the fifth day, I started incorporating footwork.
The scroll emphasized that Bojutsu wasn't just about hand movements, positioning was just as important. I practiced sidesteps, pivots, and quick retreats, making sure I wasn't just attacking in a straight line.
By the seventh day, I had moved beyond the basics.
My control over the staff had improved significantly, and I started experimenting with faster swings and defensive maneuvers. I wasn't at an expert level by any means, but I was no longer just swinging the bo—I was wielding it.
Despite my progress, I was still at the beginner level. The scroll contained additional katas and more advanced techniques, but I knew I would need actual sparring experience to refine my skills further.
Arata-sensei was right—I needed to graduate eventually.
Not just for access to the library, but for training partners. Practicing alone could only take me so far.
Still, for now, this was enough.
I had gained another tool, another skill that brought me closer to my goal.
And in this world where strength dictated fate, every advantage counted.