…
Sound is a curious thing.
At its simplest, it was vibration travelling through a medium. Air moved, pressure changed, and those changes reached the ear, where they were converted into signals the brain could interpret.
A footstep.
A whisper.
The rustle of clothing.
The crack of a branch.
The human voice.
But sound wasn't limited to hearing.
Strong vibrations could be felt through the skin and bones. Rhythm could influence breathing and movement. A sudden noise could make the body react before the mind had time to understand what it had heard.
That was what interested me.
Sound could reach people before reason did.
It was one of the reasons humans had used it for thousands of years.
Monks chanted to steady the mind.
Lullabies calmed children.
War drums stirred courage and aggression.
Funeral bells marked grief and silence.
Different sounds could produce different reactions, even when the listener wasn't consciously thinking about them.
Pitch. Tone. Rhythm. Frequency. Echo. Silence.
These made sounds worth studying when I began experimenting with chakra.
That was where things became interesting.
Genjutsu wasn't limited to making someone see something that wasn't there. At its core, it was the manipulation of perception through chakra.
I had a few sound based Genjutsu in my arsenal but the Song of Darkness technique took the price.
It was a B-rank genjutsu that gradually dulls an opponent's senses the longer they listen to my voice.
If chakra could be carried through sound, then the voice itself could become a medium for Genjutsu.
A carefully controlled tone could encourage hesitation.
A rhythm could disturb concentration.
A familiar sound could stir an emotional response.
The possibilities were far greater than I'd initially expected.
I spent hours testing different sounds and recording their effects with simple chakra-echo seals. The seals could preserve a brief imprint of sound and replay it later, allowing me to compare the results of different tones, rhythms, and chakra fluctuations.
It was primitive, but useful.
The more I studied, the more I realized that sound didn't need to be loud to be dangerous.
Sometimes, the quietest sound was the one that reached the deepest.
And if I could learn to combine sound, chakra, and Genjutsu properly...
I might not need to attack someone's body at all.
…
My office inside the Institute wasn't grand, but it had presence.
The room was spacious, clean, and deliberately simple. Dark wood covered the floor, while sound-dampening paper lined the reinforced walls.
One side opened toward the training courtyard through sliding panels, letting strips of late-morning sunlight fall across the tatami.
A solid desk stood at the center, with shelves of scrolls and ledgers behind it. A small tea set rested nearby, poured earlier as a gesture of hospitality.
Just inside the doorway lay a thick rug woven with chakra thread.
I sat behind the desk, posture straight but relaxed, while Hoshino-san stood beside me with her arms loosely folded. In her hands was the list Isamu had compiled.
Hoshino-san leaned slightly toward me. "First on the list. Makabe Daisuke. Thirty-two. Former chūnin. He is a kenjutsu specialist. Isamu says he's polite, but guarded. He hasn't been active since the war."
I nodded, glancing toward the door as a presence approached. A moment later, it slid open to reveal a middle aged man.
The man paused briefly before entering. It wasn't hesitation but caution.
As he stepped inside, his foot hit the tatami slightly and the seals I'd drawn around the room activated almost imperceptibly.
They weren't meant to trap anyone, they just altered the way my voice travelled through the room
I'd modified the principles behind the Song of Darkness technique, removing the parts that interfered with the target's senses and replacing them with something much subtler.
The result was simple. People became a little more comfortable, a little less guarded, and if everything worked properly, a little more willing to speak honestly.
I smiled. "Welcome. Please, come in."
The man stepped inside and bowed. "Thank you for having me."
"Have a seat."
He sat across from me with the practiced posture of someone who had spent years training under strict instructors.
I looked down at the list in front of me. "Makabe Daisuke?"
"Yes."
His voice was calm. I didn't need the file to tell me he'd been a shinobi for a long time.
"You taught kenjutsu before the war?" I asked. I was curious if a kenjutsu specialist had any teaching experience.
"I did."
Hmm. Past tense. There must be a story there. "And you haven't taught since?"
His expression changed slightly. "No."
I let the silence sit for a moment. There was definitely a story there.
The seals continued their quiet work carrying my voice in a way that encouraged relaxation without forcing it.
"I'll be honest about what we're looking for," I said finally. "This isn't a shinobi academy."
Makabe listened.
"The children will have physical training. Some may eventually learn chakra control and combat techniques. But that's only one part of the Institute." I paused. "Some of them will want to become shinobi. Others won't."
He nodded slowly.
"If you teach here, I don't want you teaching them to kill."
His eyes lifted slightly.
"I want you to teach them discipline and danger awareness. How to defend themselves when necessary. And, just as importantly, when not to fight."
Makabe was quiet for a few seconds. "I can do that."
A simple answer that betrayed no emotion.
I studied him for a while. "Why did you stop teaching?"
His eyes lowered, and for the first time, his composure slipped. "My student died."
I didn't interrupt.
His fingers tightened slightly against his knee. "Kenta. He was fifteen and I'd been with him for a few years."
The room went quiet. "He followed me on patrol. And due to an oversight, I didn't notice an explosion tag until he stepped on it."
He stopped.
I waited in silence..
"I buried him myself."
That was enough. I released the seals. There was no reason to dig any deeper.
Makabe stared at the floor for several seconds before speaking again. "I haven't taught since then."
His voice was quieter now.
"But if these children are going to learn how to survive, I can teach them that."
He looked at me.
"I won't train them to kill. But I'll make sure they know how to protect themselves."
I leaned back slightly. That was the answer I wanted. There was no polished speech or an attempt to tell me what I wanted to hear.
Just a man who had lost someone and still wanted to make sure another child didn't suffer the same fate.
Hoshino-san made a small note on the clipboard.
I nodded. "Thank you, Makabe-san. We'll contact you within the week."
He stood up and bowed, this time, there was less formality in it.
After he left, I let out a quiet breath.
The modified Song of Darkness had worked, not by forcing anyone to tell the truth as that would have been far too crude.
It simply made the room feel safe enough for people to lower the walls they normally kept around themselves.
And that was all I needed. I wasn't looking for obedience, I was looking for people whose values fit what I was building.
Makabe Daisuke seemed to fit.
****
A/N: I wrote this scene to give you a better feel for how Murakami's Sound-based Genjutsu works.
Back in the Dead End chapters, he used it to momentarily freeze a Jōnin through sound frequency. Now, with his understanding refined and seals acting as amplifiers, the technique has evolved beyond simply dulling the senses. His voice can also subtly draw out emotional responses, even from guarded targets.
Words already carry emotional weight. Tell a grieving person, "You should have been there," and you might trigger guilt, regret, anger, or grief. But the words themselves aren't the only factor. Tone, pitch, rhythm, and delivery can make the same sentence comforting, accusatory, or devastating.
That is the principle Murakami is exploiting.
He isn't simply putting thoughts into someone's head. He's using Sound, Chakra, and Genjutsu to amplify emotions that are already there.
Hopefully, that makes the mechanics clearer.