The mission to investigate Hatake Sakumo and his followers ultimately fell onto the shoulders of the newly promoted Tokubetsu jōnin, Fox.
Yako's heart itched with anticipation. He wanted nothing more than to dive straight into learning Water Release: Severing Wave, but for the sake of the mission, he had no choice but to trail Hatake Sakumo from a distance.
Sakumo walked slowly through the streets of Konoha, his steps heavy.
He was about to assume the role of deputy commander, and the weight of it pressed down on him.
Gathering the courage to voice his demands before the Hokage—an even greater pressure.
Of course, Sakumo knew that one of the Hokage's greatest levers of power was the recommendation system for ninja ranks.
But many of his comrades had been trapped within that system, unable to advance despite their skill, forced to grind away their lives in missions.
Who held the right to recommend? The Hokage decided that.
It wasn't as if just any ninja could walk into the Hokage's office and suggest someone for Tokubetsu jōnin.
The Hokage also decided the final result.
From the step between genin and chūnin onward, the recommendation system shaped the destiny of every ninja.
Eligibility for the Chūnin Exams came only from a squad captain's recommendation.
And the exams did not necessarily crown the strongest genin.
The Hokage himself would assess the candidates' overall abilities and decide who advanced.
First place didn't guarantee a promotion. Those ranked lower might still be raised up—if the higher-ups deemed them "special."
In the original tale, Shikamaru forfeited in the third round yet became a chūnin. Had the exams not been interrupted, even if Sasuke had taken first, he might not have been promoted at all.
This was Konoha's own version of a double-slit experiment: a ninja's promotion hinged on whether the Hokage and his advisors observed him—like the wave-particle duality of light, determined by the presence of an observer.
Through this system of recommendations, the Hokage kept a firm grip on advancement.
If it ever shifted to an audit system, the entire hierarchy of Konoha would change.
Genin would qualify for the Chūnin Exams based on mission counts.Chūnin promotion would depend on ranking.Tokubetsu jōnin and full jōnin advancement would hinge solely on mission records.Even the granting of ninjutsu would follow performance.
Fairness—true fairness—would finally take root in Konoha.
Sakumo, who valued his comrades above all, had seen clearly what the civilians around him needed most.
Fairness. Fairness. And fairness again.
But who wanted fairness—besides civilians?
Three generations of my clan's accumulation—why should we lose to your ten years of hard training?
Hidden among the treetops, Yako observed Sakumo out of the corner of his eye.
The village was filled with ANBU, lurking in alleys and woods.Jōnin who noticed them said nothing, chalking it up to the Hokage's information network, or missions they weren't privy to.
'About five years left until Hatake Sakumo's death…' Yako pondered his own path.Would he always be the ANBU's hidden dagger?
He stared at Sakumo's back, eyes flickering.
In the original tale, wasn't he someone trustworthy?
Soon, Sakumo returned home. A caretaker emerged carrying a baby, handed the child to him, and left.
That baby… had to be Kakashi.
Not long after, three people entered Sakumo's home.Yako memorized their faces carefully, intending to match them later with the village's shinobi registry.
That night, more than twenty people came, one after another, to visit Sakumo.Not only had he proposed the audit system—he was gathering allies. No wonder Sarutobi Hiruzen disliked him.
Criticizing the regime, forming cliques… only his strength kept him alive. Otherwise, he'd have long since found the road to his own death.
Men like him, in history plays, never survived more than two episodes.
You're too pure. I can't help you like this. I'll need to plan carefully.
***
Back in ANBU headquarters, Yako compared the shinobi registry, identified over twenty names, and delivered them to Yellow Dog Captain.
"Well done, Fox."
The captain was a workaholic, laboring deep into the night. He immediately ordered his assistant to gather intelligence on the visitors.
Seeing how late it had grown, Yako decided to postpone studying the Severing Wave until tomorrow. For now, he headed to the Tsurugetsu Tavern.
Kyoi had long since grown used to Yako's sudden disappearances and equally sudden returns. Her chamber in the rear courtyard was always open to him.
After their frenzy, Yako lay refreshed while Kyoi collapsed, limp on the bed.
"Miqū, go hang the 'closed' sign out front. I won't be able to get up tomorrow," she murmured weakly.
Yako gave her a playful smack on the hip. "Kyoi, even if you weren't a ninja, you can't let your body slack off for my sake."
She shot him a look, silently aggrieved. He dared to say her body wasn't good enough—when really it was Miqū who had grown far too strong, too fast. She had no idea what he had gone through to rise this quickly.
The next day, he came to a small lake on the northern edge of the Forest of Death.
Unrolling a scroll, Yako began studying Water Release: Severing Wave.
Mastering ninjutsu was such a hassle. It meant trial, error, and practice. It's much easier with the System—ding, and the technique was his.
The Severing Wave required five seals. The first drew water into the mouth with chakra. The next three compressed the water under pressure. The last unleashed it, spitting forth a high-speed jet.
When mastered, that jet could slice through trunks or even mountains.
Yako formed the first seal. Water swelled in his mouth. Too much—his cheeks ballooned like a toad's.
Second, third, fourth seals. Pressure rose inside his mouth.
The force nearly split his cheeks. He spat the water out in a hurry.
It shot forward and stripped bark from a tree. First attempt—failure.
Rubbing his aching jaw, Yako suddenly recalled a principle from his past life:
The incompressibility of liquids.
No matter the pressure, liquid volume hardly changed.
Meaning—don't pack too much water in the mouth, or the cheeks would burst under strain. The trick was to continuously create water, continuously pressurize it with chakra, and continuously release it.
He glanced again at Hiruzen's scroll. It offered no insights—only the five seals and chakra pathways. So barebones.
Gathering a smaller amount of water, Yako sealed more slowly, focusing on the chakra's flow. At the third seal, he noticed the water begin to spin.
Last time, he'd had too much water to notice. But now… the rotation created pressure.
So it wasn't the cheeks providing the force—it was the spin.
This… this is a centrifugal pump!
Such pumps generated pressure through spinning blades. And sure enough, when the pressure peaked, the water burst out in a razor stream, drilling straight through a tree.
Not bad. I'm getting the hang of it.
The key to the Severing Wave was simple: stronger pressure, stronger jet.
After repeated practice, he managed to slice cleanly through a five meters thick tree. But this still wasn't enough. He wanted this jutsu to be one of his trump cards. The current power didn't cut it.
He trained deep into the night, returning to the tavern only when exhausted. Kyoi, breasts heaving in opposite rhythms, stirred faint gusts of air as she shifted.
Wind?
Inspiration struck. During the jutsu, a vortex formed inside his mouth—but the pressure wasn't enough.
What if he created two vortices? One clockwise, one counterclockwise, like a gear pump. Not only would they provide pressure through rotation, they would also squeeze the water caught between them, amplifying the force.
Overcome with excitement, Yako kissed Kyoi deeply. "I love you. Thank you for the inspiration!"
He yanked on his pants and bolted for the northern lake once more. Kyoi tried to catch him, but he was too fast.
"What inspiration? What did I even say…?"