Reckless Flight
"Pfft—!"
With a swift kick, Shirō sent the unprepared Okita sprawling face-first into the dirt.
"Ah—! Shirō-ge, what was that for? I was just about to succeed!" Okita grumbled as he clambered back to his feet, brushing soil from his cheeks.
"Succeed?" Shirō arched his brow, folding his arms. "You really don't know the immensity of heaven and earth. At your current level, you think you can develop a Ninjutsu? Tell me—can you even use the Gale Palm I taught you in under one second?"
"That doesn't matter. I know what I'm doing—and I can succeed. I've got confidence!"
"Confidence?" Shirō's voice was sharp, but he forced himself to take a breath. "Alright then—tell me your idea. How far have you really gotten?"
He already knew Okita's situation well. After all, he himself had gone through the same phase: reckless, idealistic, brimming with half-baked ideas. If he simply crushed Okita's enthusiasm, it would backfire. Better to let him explain and then carefully dismantle his logic, point by point.
In truth, Ninjutsu development wasn't something any Genin could just stumble into. If it were, every tiny village would have risen to power long ago. Even among the great nations, specialists like Orochimaru or Konoha's own Forbidden Jutsu researchers were rare.
Still, Shirō had one advantage. Thanks to the peculiar nature of Projection Magic, he possessed theoretical knowledge of countless Jutsu. He couldn't instantly perform them—understanding the principles and actually shaping chakra were two different things—but he had enough grasp of their frameworks to guide someone else.
Okita, eager for recognition, straightened up. "Shirō-ge, I want to develop a flying Ninjutsu! It'd be so convenient!"
'Minus one already,' Shirō thought. Outwardly he nodded. "Go on."
Flying wasn't an original idea—any shinobi who'd ever faced an aerial threat knew the advantage of the skies. Iwagakure had the Super Light-Weight Rock Technique, and even in Konoha there were accounts of shinobi manipulating Wind or Lightning Release to hover briefly. But true sustained flight remained extremely rare. The fact that it hadn't become common spoke volumes.
"I chose Wind Release," Okita continued earnestly. "Since the Gale Palm boosts speed, I figured Wind Release would be easier to use for flight!"
Shirō resisted the urge to pinch his brow. 'Another point down.'
Yes, Wind Release could increase speed. But using it for flight was another matter. The wind was formless, unstable. To truly sustain flight, one had to maintain a fixed chakra structure, continuously shaping currents of air around the body. Even Jonin-level shinobi struggled with that. Without Sage Mode-level chakra control or a Kekkei Genkai like Magnet Release, the technique was doomed.
Still, Shirō only said: "You just claimed you were about to succeed. Fine—show me. I'll stop you if it gets dangerous."
Okita blinked, surprised. He had braced himself for harsh criticism, but instead he was being given a chance. "Just wait and see, Shirō-ge!"
He stepped back, inhaling deeply. Shirō noticed the determination in his eyes. Though Okita called him "ge," like an older brother, in his heart he clearly saw him as a teacher. That trust weighed on Shirō—he couldn't simply crush the boy's spirit.
Okita began weaving hand signs. There weren't many—five in total. If practiced, they could be executed in under two seconds. But when he reached the final sign—the Dragon seal—his hands froze, trembling.
'Just as I thought,' Shirō sighed inwardly.
He had once seen similar attempts recorded in the Konoha library archives. Generations of shinobi had tried to craft flight Jutsu through Wind manipulation, only to fail. Unless one had chakra control on par with Tsunade's precision or access to unique techniques like Onoki's Rock techniques, it was impossible.
Still, Shirō stayed silent, letting Okita continue.
Okita pressed his palms out, forcing chakra into the air. Shirō's eyes narrowed as he noticed something unusual. Instead of circling wind around his body, Okita pushed it outward behind him. Twin streams of air coiled together, spiraling into tornado-like trails.
Gradually, the streams fanned wider—shaping themselves into the crude outline of wings. With a grunt, Okita's feet left the ground. He rose shakily, only stopping once he hovered about two meters in the air.
His chest heaved, sweat beading on his forehead. But despite his instability, the boy's eyes gleamed with triumph.
"How is it, Shirō-ge?"
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