Konoha was not a city. It was a fortress disguised as a municipality.
Alberto observed it from a high ridge a day's travel away, using a cheap spyglass purchased with his rogue ninja bounty. The village was a basin of orderly chaos, dominated by the stern, carved faces of the Hokage on the cliffside. Walls and watchtowers were prominent, but so were parks, markets, and training grounds. The air above it shimmered faintly—a powerful barrier jutsu, the book had mentioned. Getting in without notice would be impossible. Getting in with notice was the challenge.
He couldn't just walk up as a missing-nin or a wandering mercenary. He needed a cover, a reason to be tolerated. His skillset pointed to one possibility: a contractor.
Not a ninja. A civilian specialist. The village would have them—seal masters, weapon-smiths, architects, and yes, agricultural or construction experts for non-sensitive projects. His display with the vines, if described, would mark him as a potential Earth/Wood Release user, which was rare but not unheard of. He needed to present himself as a tradesman, not a fighter.
He spent a final day in the wilderness training, but differently. He practiced fine control. Using the Gnome's Core, he had Trias help him not to erupt vines, but to weave them. He created a small, sturdy shelter with living walls. He repaired eroded soil on a hillside, coaxing grass to bind it. He practiced his Earth Release until he could raise a smooth, one-foot thick wall of packed dirt on command. It was utilitarian. It was constructive.
He also practiced suppressing his other elements. The Magma heat was forced deep down, cooled by the memory of the Sylph's Tear's chill. His Ice was relegated to keeping his water canteen cold. He became, outwardly, a man of earth and growing things.
Then, he approached the main gate at noon, when traffic was heaviest. Two chūnin guards, bored but vigilant, stopped him.
"Halt. State your business."
"Civilian contractor," Alberto said, keeping his posture relaxed, non-threatening. He handed over a forged merchant's pass he'd bought in the last town—a flimsy thing, but it had the right wax seals. "Specializing in land reclamation, erosion control, and rapid vegetative construction. I heard the village has ongoing projects and pays well for demonstrable skill."
One guard, a woman with sharp eyes, scanned him. "You've got no tools. No crew."
"My tools are here," Alberto said, tapping his temple. "And my crew is… discreet." He made a small hand sign—a simplified version of the Ram seal, meaningless in actual jutsu but looking official—and channeled a tiny thread of chakra into the ground. At the base of the guard booth, a perfect circle of clover sprouted, blossomed, and died in the span of ten seconds. It was a parlor trick, but it showed chakra control and an affinity.
The guards exchanged a look. Civilians with elemental affinities were uncommon, but valuable. They were also less threatening than a fully-trained shinobi.
"Wait here." The female guard disappeared into the gatehouse. She returned a few minutes later with a tired-looking chūnin in standard flak jacket. "This is Kotetsu. He'll take you to the Mission Assignment Desk for civilian auxiliary. You'll be assessed."
Kotetsu gave him a once-over. "Wood Release? Partial, maybe?"
"Something like that," Alberto said. "More about talking to the soil and the seeds than fighting with it."
"Huh. Follow me. Don't wander."
Konoha inside the walls was a sensory overload. The smell of ramen and ink, the sound of shuriken hitting targets, the sight of children with impossible spiky hair leaping across rooftops. Alberto kept his eyes forward, his engineer's mind cataloging infrastructure: water lines, sewer access, building materials. The village was a masterpiece of pragmatic design layered with hidden defensive measures.
The Mission Assignment desk for civilians was in a less bustling annex. A clerk, looking overworked, listened to Kotetsu's explanation.
"Land reclamation? Actually, we've got a priority C-rank… internal. The old Konoha Cemetery, section nine. Landslide from last season's storms damaged several plots and the retaining wall. The stone-masons are backed up. You any good with shoring up earth and repairing stone without… you know, desecrating the remains?"
It was perfect. Somber, non-combat, and visible only to a few. "I can reinforce the earth and bind the existing stone. It will be respectful."
"Good. Payment is 80,000 ryo upon inspection and approval by the groundskeeper. You have two days. Tools can be provided."
"I'll provide my own," Alberto said.
The cemetery was quiet, shaded by ancient trees. The damage was substantial—a whole section of hillside had slumped, tilting headstones and cracking the old mortarless wall. An elderly groundskeeper, missing an arm, watched him with sad eyes.
"Can you fix it, son? Really fix it? This is hallowed ground."
"I will," Alberto said. He waited until the old man left for his afternoon rounds. Then, he released Trias.
Sad earth, the Dugtrio murmured, sensing the disturbed ground. It has forgotten its shape.
"We're going to help it remember. Gently."
This was his true test. Not of power, but of precision and synergy. Using the Gnome's Core as a focus, Alberto knelt and pushed his chakra—his Earth-natured chakra—deep into the hillside. He didn't force. He requested. He visualized the strata, the compaction, the root systems. He asked the earth to settle, to compact, to find its angle of repose once more.
Trias, working in perfect, silent tandem, burrowed along the slide plane. Where Alberto's chakra encouraged stability, Trias's body physically shifted and compressed the soil, creating a new, stable matrix. It was like watching a master carpenter and his living tool work together.
For the wall, Alberto used his Wood Release. Not violent vines, but thin, hair-like rootlets. He directed them into every crack and fissure in the stacked stones. He had them grow, not explosively, but with slow, immense pressure, locking the stones together like a living, organic mortar. He then coaxed moss and lichen to grow over the new growth, camouflaging his work.
He worked for eight hours straight, his chakra draining and refilling from soldier pills, his connection to Trias and the Core a constant, flowing circuit. When he was done, the hillside was firm. The wall stood straight, looking centuries old. The only evidence was a fresh, healthy spread of moss.
The old groundskeeper inspected it, his one hand running over the seamless stone. He looked at Alberto, his eyes wet. "It's… it's better than it was. It's whole. How…?"
"A respect for foundations," Alberto said simply. He was paid without further question.
He now had significant capital. Over 130,000 ryo. It was time for the next purchase.
Back in a cheap rented room, he opened the Catalogue. He navigated past the flashy A-rank jutsu, past the forbidden scrolls, to the fundamental building blocks of Konoha's power.
He made two selections:
- Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique (Complete Scroll): 100,000 ryo
- Basic Fuinjutsu Theory & Array Recognition: 25,000 ryo
The fireball technique was iconic, a rite of passage for the Uchiha. For Alberto, it was a template. He needed to understand how this world formally mixed chakra and elemental energy to produce a controlled, long-range effect. The knowledge implanted in his mind: the precise chakra pathways, the necessary hand seals (Tiger → Boar → Ox → Hare → Dog), the conversion ratio of chakra to fire, the breath control.
The fuinjutsu theory was even more critical. Seals were this world's programming language, its system code. To truly understand its power grid, he needed to read the source. This grant didn't let him create seals, but it let him understand their structure and purpose—to see a storage seal and know its capacity, to see a barrier seal and sense its trigger.
The rest of his money went to supplies: high-quality chakra paper, specialized ink, and most importantly, a legitimate library pass for the Public Archives—a civilian-accessible wing of the Hokage's vast knowledge repository.
For the next week, Alberto lived a double life. By day, he was a quiet, studious contractor, taking small jobs fixing garden walls and reinforcing vegetable plots, always paid in cash or trade. By night, he was a scholar and a clandestine student.
In the deepest part of the training woods, far from prying eyes, he practiced the Great Fireball.
The first attempt was a disaster. He ran through the seals, molded his chakra, and exhaled. A pathetic puff of smoke and sparks coughed from his mouth, leaving him with a sore throat and a sense of profound failure. He was trying to force it with chakra alone, ignoring his own innate affinity.
He stopped. He held the Fire Stone in his hand. He focused not on the chakra, but on the essence of fire he'd carried since arriving on the Ship—the Magma in his blood. He let that heat rise, not as an uncontrolled surge, but as a fuel source. Then he layered the chakra technique over it, using the jutsu's structure as a nozzle and ignition system.
Seals: Tiger, Boar, Ox, Hare, Dog. Chakra surged. The Fire Stone flared. His own inner heat answered.
He took a deep breath and exhaled.
A roaring plume of orange-white fire, three meters in diameter, blasted from his mouth, incinerating a deadfall log thirty feet away. The heat was immense, the roar deafening. He'd done it. But the cost was huge—the Fire Stone dimmed noticeably, and his chakra was half gone.
It was a weapon of last resort. But it was a weapon.
His studies in the Public Archives were less dramatic but more enlightening. The fuinjutsu theory allowed him to decipher the basic security and storage seals on the library's own scrolls. He couldn't break them, but he could appreciate their elegance. He read dry treatises on chakra theory, cross-referencing them with his own notes. He found a dusty, forgotten manual on Chakra Strings, a delicate art used by puppeteers and medics. It was all about fine control, about projecting and shaping energy outside the body. It was exactly the bridge he needed between ninjutsu and his psychic telekinesis. He couldn't buy the ability, but he could study the principles.
He was in the archives one afternoon, engrossed in a scroll about elemental chakra conductivity in different materials, when he felt a presence. Not a sound. A shift in the air, a void in the ambient noise of the library.
He looked up slowly.
Leaning against a bookshelf, seemingly absorbed in a bright orange book titled Make-Out Paradise, was a man with shock of silver hair, a face mask, and a slanted Hitai-ate covering one eye. He radiated a lazy, unassuming energy that Alberto's military instincts and new fuinjutsu knowledge screamed was a facade. This was a predator. A very bored, very dangerous one.
Hatake Kakashi.
"Interesting reading material," Kakashi said, not looking up from his book. "Chakra-Geometric Interactions in Laminated Stone. Most contractors just worry about the right mix of sand and mortar."
Alberto kept his voice calm. "A strong foundation understands the materials. Not just how they stick, but how they conduct. Prevents energy buildup, avoids cracks."
"Mmm. Wise." Kakashi finally glanced at him, his visible eye a dark, unreadable slit. "Heard about the cemetery job. Old man Goro won't stop talking about you. Says you have a 'gentle touch with the earth.' Rare for someone who isn't from a clan."
"The earth speaks if you listen. It's not about force."
"Isn't it?" Kakashi closed his book with a snap. "Funny thing. The cemetery wall. The new mortar… it's not mortar at all, is it? It's alive. A very subtle, very controlled Wood Release technique. Also rare." He took a step closer, his casual demeanor now feeling like a tightening net. "Then there are the reports from the southern forest. A run-in with some unsavory types. They described… thorny vines. Explosive, uncontrolled growth. Not so gentle."
Alberto's blood ran cold. He'd been connected to the fight.
"I'm just a contractor," he repeated, his mind racing through escape plans, through denials.
"Of course," Kakashi said, his eye crinkling in a smile. "And I'm just a humble reader. But Konoha is a village of shinobi. We notice anomalies. A civilian with a unique, combat-applicable bloodline limit who appears out of nowhere and spends his nights in the deep woods practicing… something loud and fiery." He sniffed the air delicately. "You still smell of soot and burned chakra, by the way."
There was no point in denial. Alberto remained silent, meeting Kakashi's gaze.
"Relax," Kakashi sighed, his posture slumping back into laziness. "If I thought you were a threat, you wouldn't be having this conversation. You'd be having a different one with a team from Torture and Interrogation. I'm curious. You're disciplined. You're trying to learn our systems. You're not causing trouble. In fact, you fixed a problem. So… what are you?"
Alberto weighed his options. The truth was impossible. A half-truth, framed in a way a shinobi might understand…
"I am a wanderer," he said carefully. "I seek knowledge. Of elements. Of systems. My… abilities are innate, but untrained. I came here because Konoha's understanding of chakra is the most structured in the world. I work to pay for my studies. That's all."
Kakashi watched him for a long, silent moment. "A scholar of power. An interesting concept." He pulled a small scroll from his vest and tossed it onto Alberto's table. It was a standard D-rank mission scroll. "The Hokage's wife, Lady Biwako, wants her ornamental koi pond expanded and the water purified. It's a fussy job. Requires delicate Earth and Water work. The pay is terrible. But it comes with a perk: a temporary pass to the Annex Library, where the less-sensitive but more advanced chakra theory scrolls are kept. Consider it a… scholarship."
It was a test. And an opportunity. A controlled way to keep an eye on him while granting him a fraction of what he wanted.
Alberto picked up the scroll. "I'll see it's done flawlessly."
"I'm sure you will," Kakashi said, already turning to leave. He paused at the end of the aisle. "Oh, and contractor? The woods are watched. If you're going to practice, maybe try the Training Ground 44 perimeter. The sounds of large fireballs get lost among the other… noises there."
And with a faint shunshin puff of smoke, he was gone.
Alberto let out a shaky breath. He'd passed initial inspection, but he was now on the radar of Konoha's most famous jōnin. The margin for error had just vanished.
He looked at the mission scroll, then at the Catalogue in his bag. He had his fireball. He had basic seals knowledge. He had a path to more advanced theory.
But he also had a clock ticking. He needed to acquire what he could and leave before his welcome, or his luck, ran out. The family he wanted to build couldn't start here, under the watchful eye of a village that turned orphans into soldiers.
He needed to finish his business and find a world where he could be the one setting the rules. A world where he could lay the first stones of his own foundation, undisturbed.