I watched Daichi pause as he registered my question.
I leaned back in my chair, trying to act casual, though my thoughts had already turned to the Akimichi clan.
They were one of the major forces in Konoha's food industry. Their knowledge of nutrition and cooking was unmatched, and their food was more than something to satisfy hunger.
Through their use of chakra-enriched ingredients and careful preparation, their dishes could nourish and replenish the body in ways that almost felt spiritual.
It reminded me of the medicinal and spiritual foods described in Wuxia and Xianxia novels, the kind said to strengthen the body, heal injuries, or even extend one's lifespan.
Those stories had always sounded like fantasy but the Akimichi made them seem a little less fictional.
If I could bring that kind of nourishment into the institute, it would complement the children's physical training perfectly since building a strong body wasn't just about exercise, nutrition mattered just as much.
Originally, I'd wanted Daichi to form a partnership with the Akimichi because he too was a chef. Back then, I had only been thinking about getting better ingredients.
Now, the idea has grown into something much more useful.
"I've made some progress," Daichi said finally, pulling me back to the conversation. He moved to the table and sat down, folding his arms. "They're not completely on board yet. The younger members are more open to it, but the elders are still hesitant. They don't like the idea of sharing clan techniques, especially with an outsider."
I nodded. "That's fair. The Akimichi may look laid-back, but they're not careless. They don't make decisions without thinking them through."
"I'm still cooking for them whenever I get the chance," he continued. "Trying to show them I'm not after their techniques. I actually respect what they do. I think they've started to notice that."
"Good. Keep doing that." I leaned back slightly. "We don't need their recipes. We need to understand why they prepare food the way they do. If we understand the principles behind it, we can adapt them ourselves. You're the one who'll benefit most from that."
Daichi nodded slowly, considering my words. "I suppose that would be easier than trying to convince them to hand over everything they know."
"Much easier."
"If we can improve the quality of the meals at the institute, it'll make a difference. The children will be training regularly. They need proper food to support that."
Daichi nodded. "Fair enough."
I nodded. "And that brings me to something else."
"What now?" Aiko groaned.
"You have three months."
…
Three months passed in the blink of an eye.
I barely noticed them go.
My days had settled into a constant rotation of responsibilities. Mornings usually began with body-refinement training before I headed to the Lotus Store to deal with whatever needed my attention. Afternoons were often split between construction updates, lessons with Mito, and the daily poisoned meal prepared by Daichi and administered by Aiko. Evenings were rarely quiet either but those hours belonged to me.
I spent them studying Fūinjutsu and whatever other topic I considered useful, experimenting with new ideas, practicing techniques I was developing, or simply working on whatever happened to interest me that night.
Not every hour of my life needed to serve a business, a project, or someone else's expectations.
Sometimes, I just trained, sometimes, I read, and sometimes, I did absolutely nothing productive at all.
I was fifteen, after all.
And speaking of training, my own body-refinement training had progressed considerably during those three months.
The changes were becoming difficult to ignore.
My strength had increased first, followed by my endurance and recovery. Training that would have left me exhausted before could now be sustained for much longer. The speed at which my body seemed to recover from strain became faster.
Even my physical speed and coordination had improved, making my movements faster, smoother, and more precise than they had been before.
But the biggest difference was my strength.
The moment I refined my first thread, I could move under a full weight of a hundred kilograms without the same resistance.
The first thread had allowed me to exert roughly the equivalent of one hundred kilograms of force through my body.
That didn't mean the thread itself gave me another hundred kilograms of strength.
It simply allowed me to access more of what my body was already capable of producing.
That distinction became important as the refinement continued.
Each thread seemed to improve how much of my body's physical potential I could actually access and control.
So I needed a way to measure it.
To measure the changes properly, I built a simple strength-testing frame.
It was a sturdy wooden structure with several stone weights, each fitted with a seal that added twenty kilograms of effective weight. Five stones gave me a hundred kilograms. If I exceeded that, I simply added another.
It wasn't sophisticated, but it gave me a consistent measurement.
With each refined thread, my strength increased.
By the ninth, I could exert roughly ninety-nine percent of the hundred-kilogram limit I'd established for myself.
I had assumed that was as far as the refinement could take me until I refined the tenth thread.
I measured my strength at the testing frame again and the seal flashed 103 kg.
A few seconds later, the measuring seal shattered, followed by the wooden frame.
I stared at the broken pieces. "...Well."
Apparently, I'd been wrong.
I rebuilt the frame with a stronger measuring seal and simply added more weighted stones. This time, the limit was one thousand kilograms.
The measurements registered 112 kg.
So the tenth thread hadn't simply given me another one percent.
It had allowed me to break through a physical boundary I hadn't even known existed. I couldn't explain what had changed. Even with internal observation, I couldn't identify anything specific.
I could only feel that my body had become stronger, so I continued refining.
The eleventh thread, twelfth and more.
By the end of the third month, I had refined twenty-four threads. The strength gains continued, though they became less dramatic with each thread.
My work at the Lotus Store had also become more demanding.
The businesses had settled into a reliable rhythm. The stores were profitable enough to cover their operating costs, salaries, supplies, and the orphanage's needs, while still leaving me with enough capital to reinvest and expand.
More importantly, I was beginning to understand where the money was actually coming from.
Which goods moved quickly.
Which suppliers could be trusted.
Where prices fluctuated.
Which expenses were necessary and which ones were simply habits inherited from whoever had managed things before me.
I was beginning to understand the business rather than merely oversee it.
My progress in Fūinjutsu had been just as steady under Mito's guidance.
I could now reliably draw B-rank sealing formulas without assistance, and my understanding of more complicated formations had improved enough that I was no longer simply reproducing patterns I'd studied.
I was beginning to modify them.
Over those three months, I'd developed several new seals of my own, including improved storage seals, reinforcement seals, detection seals, and several smaller utility seals designed to consume less chakra while maintaining their effects.
I also went back through older formulas I'd already created and refined them wherever I found unnecessary complexity.
Some of those improvements produced unexpected results.
Even ordinary household seals became considerably more dangerous when I applied what I'd learned and the more I experimented, the clearer the pattern became.
Fūinjutsu wasn't neatly divided into harmless and dangerous techniques.
The difference often came down to what the formula was made to do, and how far someone was willing to push it.
I'd discovered that a simple heating seal could be pushed far beyond its intended purpose, raising the temperature of an enclosed room until it became dangerous to remain inside.
Lighting seals were even more interesting.
With enough modification, I could accumulate chakra and once fully charged, the stored energy could be forced through a much narrower path, producing a single concentrated beam of light.
The drawback was obvious. The formation could only withstand the overcharge once. After releasing it, the seal would burn itself out.
A cooling seal could be pushed in the opposite direction, lowering the temperature rapidly enough to freeze an enclosed space.
The difference often came down to the purpose written into the formula.
My biggest unfinished project, however, remained the communication system; The ChakraLink Network.
The basic principle now worked.
The sealed relay points could transmit short chakra signals between designated locations, allowing messages to travel without a courier.
It wasn't perfect considering that distance still weakened the signal, and adding more relay points made the formations increasingly difficult to manage.
I had spent hours refining the seals and finding ways to keep the signals from interfering with one another and it was working.
Short-range signals were now reliable and in use in the Lotus Store, but longer distances remained inconsistent.
That was something I could improve with time. Eventually, I wanted the network to carry actual sound.
By the end of these three months, I had accomplished far more than I'd expected.
I was mid-sip into my tea when Isamu arrived. I sensed him before the knock came.
"Come in." I said, placing the cup of tea down.
The door opened to reveal Isamu in a simple dark-blue kimono with several lotus designs stitched subtly along the rim.
He stepped in and bowed low. "The Training institute is ready, Murakami-sama."
I raised a brow. "Completely ready?"
"Completely. Furnished. Stocked. Cleaned. Even the calligraphy scroll you commissioned was framed and hung at the entrance. Would you like to inspect it?"
I didn't answer with words. Just threw on my coat and followed him out.
…
The late-morning sun cast long shadows across the street as we stood before the newly completed institute.
It was larger than I had imagined.
The main building combined traditional Fire Country architecture with a practical layout suited for a school.
As we stepped inside, a wide courtyard opened before the entrance, with gardens and shaded walkways connecting the different sections of the building.
Inside were classrooms for theoretical lessons like arithmetic, history herbal medicine and practical lessons such as crafts and household skills.
The institute wasn't meant to prepare children for one particular profession. It was meant to give them enough knowledge and ability to choose one for themselves.
There was a medical room, a kitchen and dining hall, and a library stocked with books and scrolls appropriate for different ages.
Physical training had its own section as well.
Behind the main building was a large training field with areas for physical activities.
Above the main entrance hung the scroll I'd commissioned from a blind monk of the Fire Temple.
"Learn Without Limits. Choose Without Fear."
I paused beneath it for a moment, admiring the calligraphy.
The characters were simple, yet there was no unnecessary ornamentation, but the words still seemed to possess weight.
I liked it.
More importantly, I thought the children would understand it.
I looked around the grounds quietly.
This wasn't a martial center neither was it a shinobi academy. It was a school.
A place where children could learn, develop useful skills, discover what they were good at, and eventually decide what kind of life they wanted.
I stood there for a while, hands in my sleeves, the wind brushing gently past me.
"Well?" Isamu standing beside me asked, his voice quiet but proud.
I turned to him, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "It's perfect."
He grinned softly and rubbed his nose. "Shall I begin compiling a list of potential instructors? We've already had people making inquiries into retired shinobi, former academy students, craftsmen, healers, and other civilians interested in teaching."
I looked back at the center again, I already had Daichi and Aiko. "Yeah," I said. "Start the list. We're going to need more than just the three of us."
That meant I'd have to vet every applicant personally and I couldn't afford to be careless.
Danzo had already made it clear that he was watching what I was building. I had no idea whether he'd actually interfere, but I wasn't foolish enough to assume he wouldn't.
The instructors would have access to the children, the classrooms, and everything the institute was meant to become.
If someone wanted to undermine my work from within, that would be the easiest place to start.
Fortunately, I had a way to test people without making them realize they were being tested.
My Genjutsu had already reached a level where most Jonin would likely fall into it without realizing what had happened. I hadn't had many opportunities to test that assumption properly.
The recruitment process might finally give me one.
So if Danzo decided to place someone among my instructors...
I'd know.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
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