The Chunin Exams were announced on a Tuesday.
Yamamoto learned about them approximately three seconds after the announcement, when Naruto burst into his training ground at full speed, crashed into a tree, recovered, and immediately started shouting.
"CHUNIN EXAMS! WE'RE ENTERING THE CHUNIN EXAMS! KAKASHI-SENSEI NOMINATED US AND WE'RE GONNA BE CHUNIN AND THEN I'LL BE ONE STEP CLOSER TO HOKAGE!"
"Congratulations," Yamamoto said, not pausing his sword forms.
"Aren't you excited?! This is huge!"
"I'm already a chunin."
Naruto's enthusiasm deflated slightly. "Wait, really? When did that happen?"
"Three years ago. Field promotion after a mission."
"That's... actually, that makes sense. You're way too strong to be a genin." Naruto perked back up. "But you can still come watch, right? Cheer us on? Maybe intimidate our opponents by just standing there looking scary?"
"I'll consider it."
"AWESOME!"
Naruto ran off to spread the news to everyone else he knew, leaving a Naruto-shaped dent in the tree he had collided with.
Yamamoto continued his training.
The Chunin Exams, Enbukenja mused. I remember you mentioning something about those. From your previous life.
"The invasion. Orochimaru's attack on the village. The Third Hokage's death."
Are you going to intervene?
Yamamoto considered the question.
In his previous life—his Derek life—he had watched the Chunin Exams arc with the detached interest of someone observing fiction. The fights had been entertaining. The invasion had been dramatic. The Third's death had been sad but ultimately just another plot point.
But this wasn't fiction anymore.
These were real people. Real lives. Real consequences.
"Yes," he said. "I'm going to intervene."
Good. I was hoping you'd say that.
The days leading up to the exams were busy.
Teams from across the Elemental Nations poured into Konoha—Sand, Sound, Grass, Waterfall, and a dozen smaller villages sending their best young ninja to compete. The streets were crowded. The training grounds were packed. The tension was palpable.
Yamamoto observed it all with growing concern.
He could sense them. The infiltrators. The spies. The ninja who weren't what they appeared to be.
Most concerning was the team from Sound—three genin with an intensity that didn't match their supposed rank. They moved like predators, watched like hunters, and their chakra signatures had a wrongness to them that set his instincts on edge.
And then there was the red-haired boy from Sand.
Gaara of the Desert.
Jinchuuriki of the One-Tail.
Yamamoto recognized him from the anime—the sociopathic weapon who killed without mercy, driven by a demon sealed within him and a childhood of abuse and isolation.
Currently, Gaara was standing in the middle of the street, staring at Yamamoto with eyes that held no sanity whatsoever.
"You," Gaara said. "Your existence is... loud."
"So I've been told."
"Mother wants to know what you are."
"I'm a chunin of Konoha. Here to observe the exams."
"No." Gaara tilted his head, his expression never changing. "You're something else. Something that burns. Mother is... afraid of you."
That was interesting.
The One-Tail—Shukaku, if Yamamoto remembered correctly—was afraid of him.
"Your mother should be afraid," Yamamoto said calmly. "I have fire that doesn't stop burning. Ever. Tell her that if she causes trouble during the exams, she'll find out exactly what that means."
Gaara stared at him for a long moment.
Then, impossibly, he smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
"Mother says you're lying. She says nothing can burn her. She says she wants to test you."
"Then she's welcome to try. But she'll regret it."
Sand swirled around Gaara's feet, agitated and hungry.
"We'll see," he said, and walked away.
Yamamoto watched him go.
That one is dangerous, Enbukenja observed.
"Very."
But not as dangerous as he thinks he is.
"No. Not even close."
The first exam was written.
Yamamoto wasn't participating, obviously, but he had been assigned as a proctor—the Hokage's way of keeping him "usefully occupied" during the exams. He stood at the back of the examination room, arms crossed, radiating an aura of vague menace that made even the most confident genin nervous.
Ibiki Morino, the actual head proctor, seemed to appreciate his presence.
"You're making them sweat before I even start the psychological warfare," he observed. "I like that."
"I'm just standing here."
"Exactly. And they're terrified."
The exam proceeded as expected. Cheating disguised as intelligence gathering. Psychological pressure designed to weed out the weak-willed. The final question that tested courage rather than knowledge.
Naruto, predictably, refused to give up and accidentally inspired half the room to stay as well.
"Your friend is interesting," Ibiki said as the second exam was announced.
"He's an idiot. But the best kind of idiot."
"The kind that changes things."
"Yes."
The Forest of Death.
Yamamoto had requested—and received—permission to patrol the forest during the second exam. Officially, he was there to prevent deaths among the genin. Unofficially, he was hunting.
He could feel Orochimaru's presence somewhere in the forest.
The Sannin wasn't hiding, not exactly. He was suppressing his chakra to avoid detection by normal sensors. But Yamamoto's perception had grown beyond normal parameters. He could sense the wrongness, the corruption, the weight of power that didn't belong to any genin.
He found Team Seven first.
They were in trouble.
Sasuke and Sakura were frozen, paralyzed by killing intent so powerful that it had literally stopped them from moving. Naruto was unconscious, slumped against a tree with a seal visible on his stomach.
And standing before them, wearing the face of a Grass ninja but radiating the power of something far worse, was Orochimaru.
"Well, well," the Sannin said, his tongue extending in a way that should have been physically impossible. "What do we have here? Sasuke-kun, you have such beautiful eyes. I simply must—"
"You simply must nothing."
Orochimaru turned.
Yamamoto stepped out of the shadows, Kagutsuchi drawn but not yet activated.
"Ah," the Sannin said, his expression shifting from predatory to intrigued. "The anomaly. I've heard such interesting things about you."
"You're going to leave now."
"Am I? And why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll kill you."
Orochimaru laughed—a high, unpleasant sound that echoed through the trees.
"Such confidence! I appreciate confidence in the young. But I'm afraid you've overestimated your abilities. I am Orochimaru of the Sannin. I have killed more ninja than you've met. I have mastered jutsu that would shatter your mind to comprehend. You are a child playing with fire—quite literally, from what I've heard—and children should not threaten their betters."
"Reduce all creation to ash, Enbukenja."
The transformation happened.
Flames erupted around Yamamoto as his Shikai activated—blade elongating, armor manifesting, the burning cape trailing behind him like a promise of destruction.
Orochimaru's expression flickered.
Just for a moment.
Just enough to show that he wasn't entirely confident anymore.
"Impressive," he admitted. "I can see why they call you an anomaly. That spiritual pressure is quite remarkable for someone your age."
"Leave. Now. Last warning."
"Or what? You'll burn me?" The Sannin spread his arms mockingly. "I've survived worse than fire, child. I've transcended human limitations. I am—"
"Third Form: Solar Flare."
The concentrated beam of heat hit Orochimaru before he finished speaking.
Or rather, it hit where Orochimaru had been standing. The Sannin dodged—barely—shedding his false skin in a technique that was disturbing on multiple levels.
"Fast," Orochimaru said, emerging from his own mouth like a snake shedding its skin. "Faster than I expected. Perhaps I should take you seriously after all."
"You should have taken me seriously from the beginning."
"My mistake. Allow me to correct it."
Orochimaru attacked.
The battle was intense.
Orochimaru was everything his reputation suggested—fast, clever, endlessly adaptable. He attacked with snakes and swords and jutsu that Yamamoto had never seen before. He dodged and weaved and struck from angles that shouldn't have been possible.
He was, without question, the strongest opponent Yamamoto had ever faced.
And he was losing.
Not quickly. Not decisively. But losing nonetheless.
Every attack Yamamoto landed burned. Every flame that touched Orochimaru's false bodies left damage that didn't heal. Every Shikai technique pushed the Sannin further back, made him more desperate, forced him to use more resources.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" Orochimaru snarled, shedding yet another destroyed body. "You're a CHILD! How can you—"
"Eighth Form: Consuming Dawn."
Fire spread across the forest floor, racing toward Orochimaru with hungry intent. The Sannin leaped into the trees, but the flames followed, climbing and spreading and consuming everything in their path.
"You'll destroy the entire forest!"
"I'll stop them once you're dead."
"You're INSANE!"
"Probably. But I'm also winning."
Orochimaru's face twisted with rage.
"Fine. You want to see true power? I'll SHOW you true power!"
His chakra surged—massive, overwhelming, the full might of a Sannin unleashed without restraint. The pressure was enough to crack the ground, to bend trees, to make the very air feel heavy.
It was impressive.
But Yamamoto had something more impressive.
"You want to see true power?" he echoed. "Very well."
He reached for his Bankai.
And then something unexpected happened.
The Susanoo activated at the same time.
Yamamoto had not planned this.
He had been reaching for his Bankai, intending to end the fight with overwhelming force. But his Sharingan—his Mangekyou—had apparently decided to contribute as well.
And the two powers... merged.
The Susanoo manifested around him, massive and skeletal and burning with blue chakra fire. But instead of the normal armored form, it was wreathed in his Bankai's flames. The white-hot crystallized fire of Enbukenja Taiyō merged with the ethereal chakra of his Susanoo, creating something that shouldn't have been possible.
Something that had never existed before.
A Susanoo made of divine flame.
It towered over the forest—a hundred feet tall, blazing with every color of fire simultaneously. In its hands, it held a blade that was Kagutsuchi and Enbukenja and Susanoo weapon all at once, burning so bright that it was painful to look at even for Sharingan users.
And at its heart, Yamamoto floated, wreathed in his Bankai armor, his eyes burning with power that transcended normal limits.
"Oh," he said, somewhat surprised. "This is new."
Orochimaru stared.
He stared for a very long time.
"What," he said finally, his voice completely flat, "the actual fuck is that."
"I'm not entirely sure. But I think it's time for you to leave."
The Sannin didn't argue.
He didn't threaten. He didn't posture. He didn't do any of the things that Orochimaru was famous for doing.
He simply turned and ran.
Full speed.
Not looking back.
Yamamoto considered pursuing, but decided against it. His body was already screaming from the strain of this combined form—he had maybe another thirty seconds before he collapsed from exhaustion.
Better to let the snake go and recover.
For now.
He dismissed the technique, and the flaming Susanoo dissolved around him, the Bankai and Shikai fading together.
He dropped to his knees, gasping.
"Yamamoto-san!"
Sakura was suddenly beside him, having apparently recovered from the killing intent paralysis at some point during the fight.
"Are you okay?! That was—I've never seen—what WAS that?!"
"New technique," Yamamoto managed. "Didn't mean to. Just... happened."
"Just HAPPENED?! You created a giant burning chakra warrior that scared off a SANNIN and it just HAPPENED?!"
"...Yes?"
Sakura stared at him.
Then she did something unexpected.
She hugged him.
"You saved us," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "You saved all of us. I don't care how you did it. Thank you."
Yamamoto, who had no idea how to respond to physical affection, awkwardly patted her head.
"You're welcome?"
The aftermath of the Orochimaru encounter was chaotic.
Team Seven was extracted from the forest for medical evaluation. Yamamoto was summoned to the Hokage's office for a "discussion" about his new technique. The other teams continued their exam, mostly unaware that a Sannin had just been driven out of the forest by a teenager.
"A combined Bankai-Susanoo form," the Hokage said slowly, staring at Yamamoto across his desk. "I don't even know where to begin."
"Neither do I."
"You didn't plan this?"
"No. I was reaching for Bankai to end the fight, and my Sharingan activated at the same time. They... merged."
"Things don't just merge. Especially not two completely separate power systems that shouldn't even be compatible."
Yamamoto shrugged. "They did anyway."
The Hokage was quiet for a long moment.
"Can you do it again?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I'd need to practice."
"Practice." The Hokage's eye twitched. "You want to practice the technique that made Orochimaru—OROCHIMARU—run away in terror."
"How else will I learn to control it?"
"By NOT DOING IT NEAR CIVILIZATION!"
"That's fair."
Word spread, as it always did.
By the end of the day, everyone knew that something had happened in the Forest of Death. Something involving the Uchiha survivor, a Sannin, and a technique that had lit up the forest like a second sun.
The reactions varied.
Naruto, upon waking up and learning what had happened, demanded to know how he could learn to do "the giant fire thing."
Sasuke, upon learning that he had been paralyzed by killing intent while Yamamoto handled everything, went even more broodingly determined than usual.
Sakura, upon recovering from her hug-induced embarrassment, began following Yamamoto around with renewed intensity.
And the foreign genin...
They were terrified.
Temari of the Sand first saw Yamamoto during the preliminary rounds.
She was sitting in the stands, waiting for her match, when she noticed him standing at the edge of the arena. He wasn't participating—obviously, since he was already a chunin—but he was observing with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.
Then she learned who he was.
"That's him," Kankuro whispered, leaning close. "The one who fought Orochimaru."
"The Sannin? That kid?"
"He's not a kid. Well, he is, but he's also..." Kankuro shuddered. "You heard the reports. A hundred-foot chakra construct made of fire. Flames that scared off one of the three legendary ninja. He's a monster."
Temari looked at Yamamoto again.
He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a slightly tired teenager with dark hair and red eyes. Handsome, in an intense sort of way. The kind of person you might see on the street and not think twice about.
But then he glanced in her direction, and she felt it.
The weight. The pressure. The sheer overwhelming presence of someone who had transcended normal human limitations.
Their eyes met.
Temari felt her heart skip a beat.
Oh no, she thought. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
She was a practical person. A warrior. She didn't have time for crushes, especially not on impossibly powerful ninja from other villages who could probably destroy her with a thought.
But her heart wasn't listening to practical considerations.
Her heart was very interested in the fire boy with the pretty eyes.
"Temari?" Kankuro was looking at her strangely. "You okay? You look flushed."
"I'm fine. Shut up."
"You're staring at—"
"I said shut UP, Kankuro."
She forced herself to look away.
It didn't help.
She could still feel his presence. Still sense him at the edge of her awareness, like a bonfire at the corner of her vision.
This was going to be a problem.
Ino Yamanaka's crush developed during the preliminary matches.
She had been watching the fights with her team, mentally cataloging the abilities of potential opponents, when the conversation turned to the Uchiha survivor.
"They're saying he's stronger than most jounin," Shikamaru said lazily. "Troublesome. If he were competing, he'd probably win without trying."
"He's not that impressive," Ino scoffed. "Sasuke-kun is the real prodigy."
"Ino, Sasuke got paralyzed by killing intent while this guy fought a Sannin. They're not in the same league."
"Sasuke-kun was just—"
"Hey, isn't that him?"
Choji pointed, and Ino turned to look.
Yamamoto had moved from his previous position to speak with one of the proctors. She could see him clearly now—the sharp features, the dark eyes, the way he carried himself with complete confidence.
He was, she realized with growing horror, extremely attractive.
More attractive than Sasuke.
No, she told herself firmly. Sasuke-kun is the best. Sasuke-kun is the one I'm going to marry. This fire guy is just—
Yamamoto glanced toward the stands.
Their eyes met.
Ino felt her entire worldview shift.
"Oh," she said quietly. "Oh no."
"What?" Shikamaru asked.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just realized something."
"What did you realize?"
That Sasuke-kun has competition, she thought but didn't say.
Instead, she just stared at Yamamoto with the dawning horror of someone whose entire romantic framework had just been demolished.
Sakura noticed.
Of course Sakura noticed.
"What are you looking at, Ino-pig?!"
"Nothing!"
"You were looking at Yamamoto-san!"
"I was NOT!"
"You WERE! I saw you!"
"So what if I was?! He's not YOUR boyfriend!"
"He's not YOURS either!"
"LADIES, PLEASE," Shikamaru interrupted. "This is troublesome enough without you two screaming at each other."
They both glared at him, momentarily united in annoyance.
Then they went back to glaring at each other.
Yamamoto, completely unaware of the drama his existence was causing, continued his conversation with the proctor.
The preliminary rounds concluded with the expected results.
Naruto advanced. Sasuke advanced. Sakura was eliminated but took it with surprising grace. The various foreign teams had their expected victories and losses.
And Gaara...
Gaara brutally crushed his opponent without mercy, confirming Yamamoto's assessment of him as extremely dangerous.
"You were right," Gaara said afterward, finding Yamamoto in the stands. "About Mother being afraid."
"Did she learn her lesson?"
"She learned that you're a threat. She's... quieter now. Less demanding." Gaara tilted his head. "I don't know if that's better or worse."
"Quieter is probably better. For everyone."
"Mm." Gaara stared at him with those empty eyes. "I've decided not to fight you during the exams."
"Wise choice."
"Not because I'm afraid. Mother is afraid. I am not. But Mother controls my sand, and my sand is my power. If she won't fight you, I can't fight you."
"That sounds frustrating."
"It is." A pause. "But perhaps it's for the best. You're interesting, Uchiha Yamamoto. I would hate to kill something interesting."
He walked away.
Yamamoto watched him go.
That one is damaged, Enbukenja observed.
"Very."
But not beyond repair. There's something human left in him. Something that responds to strength.
"Naruto will probably befriend him eventually. That seems to be his specialty."
Probably. But you've already started the process. You've given the demon a reason to fear. That's given the boy room to think.
"Unintentionally."
Does it matter?
Yamamoto supposed it didn't.
The month between the preliminary and final rounds was busy.
Yamamoto spent most of it training—specifically, trying to recreate the combined Bankai-Susanoo form in a controlled manner. It was difficult. The two techniques operated on completely different principles, and forcing them to merge required a level of concentration that gave him migraines.
But he was making progress.
On the third day, he managed a partial merger—Susanoo bones wreathed in Shikai flames.
On the tenth day, he achieved the full skeletal form with Bankai enhancement.
On the twentieth day, he maintained the complete armored version for a full minute before collapsing from exhaustion.
You're pushing too hard, Enbukenja warned.
"The invasion is coming. I need to be ready."
The invasion is coming whether you're at full power or not. Exhausting yourself before the battle helps no one.
"I'll rest when it's over."
You always say that.
"And I always mean it."
Liar.
The final rounds arrived.
The stadium was packed—civilians and ninja alike gathering to watch the next generation prove themselves. The Kazekage sat beside the Hokage in the viewing box, his presence a reminder of the alliance between their villages.
Yamamoto knew the Kazekage was Orochimaru in disguise.
He had known since the moment the "Kazekage" arrived. The chakra signature was wrong—suppressed but not eliminated. The movements were slightly off, the body language not quite matching the person it was supposed to be.
Orochimaru had come back.
Either he hadn't learned his lesson, or he was too committed to his plan to abandon it now.
What are you going to do? Enbukenja asked.
"Wait. Let him make his move. Then respond."
That's risky.
"It's necessary. If I attack now, I might be wrong. The political fallout would be catastrophic."
You're not wrong.
"I know. But I need him to prove it first."
The matches proceeded.
Naruto fought Neji in a battle that demonstrated exactly why the unpredictable ninja was so dangerous. Despite the Hyuuga's technical superiority, Naruto's sheer determination—and his secret clone technique—won the day.
Sasuke arrived late (fashionably late, some might say) and fought Gaara in a match that was interrupted before it could conclude.
Because the invasion began.
Feathers fell from the sky.
Genjutsu, designed to put the civilian population to sleep. Sound and Sand ninja emerged from hiding, attacking the unprepared Konoha forces. The "Kazekage" grabbed the Hokage and retreated to the rooftop, where a barrier went up around them.
Chaos erupted.
And Yamamoto moved.
He didn't bother with subtlety.
"REDUCE ALL CREATION TO ASH, ENBUKENJA!"
His Shikai activated as he launched himself toward the nearest concentration of enemy ninja—a group of Sound chunin who had been attacking civilians.
"Fifth Form: Hellfire Wave."
A wall of flames swept across the plaza, carefully controlled to avoid friendlies while incinerating everything hostile. The Sound ninja screamed as the fire consumed them.
"Seventh Form: Solar Prominence."
A serpent of flame erupted from his blade, striking down a Sand jounin who had been about to kill a Konoha genin.
"Ninth Form: Solar Wind."
A blast of heat and force scattered a group of enemies attempting to organize.
He was everywhere at once—or so it seemed. Moving so fast that even experienced ninja could barely track him. Striking with precision that left no survivors among the enemy and no casualties among allies.
It was, by any objective measure, a one-man army.
And it was only Shikai.
Temari saw him fighting.
She should have been focused on her own mission—retreating with her team, supporting the invasion, doing what she was supposed to do. But she couldn't look away.
Yamamoto was beautiful.
Terrible and magnificent and utterly, devastatingly beautiful.
He moved through the battlefield like a force of nature, leaving trails of fire and fallen enemies in his wake. His blade sang with each strike, his flames danced with each technique, his entire being radiated power that made her heart ache.
This is wrong, she told herself. He's the enemy. He's destroying our forces. I should hate him.
But she didn't hate him.
She couldn't.
"Temari! What are you doing?!" Kankuro grabbed her arm, trying to pull her toward their extraction point. "We need to go!"
"I know. I just..."
She took one last look at the fire-wreathed warrior carving through their invasion.
Then she ran.
But she didn't forget.
Ino saw him too.
She was huddled with her team in a secure location—they were only genin, ordered to stay safe rather than fight—but she could see the battle through the window.
She could see Yamamoto.
"He's amazing," she breathed.
"He's terrifying," Shikamaru corrected. "That's a terrifying level of power for one person to have."
"But he's using it to protect people. Look—he's saving civilians. He's keeping the enemy away from the shelters."
"That's what terrifies me. One person shouldn't be able to do that. It's unbalanced. What happens when someone that powerful decides to stop being a protector?"
Ino didn't answer.
She was too busy watching Yamamoto fight.
Too busy falling deeper into something she didn't want to name.
On the rooftop, the Third Hokage was losing.
Orochimaru had summoned the First and Second Hokage—reanimated through forbidden jutsu, forced to fight against their will. Even with the Third's legendary skill, he couldn't handle three Kage-level opponents simultaneously.
He was going to die.
He had accepted it.
And then the barrier shattered.
Yamamoto had tried to respect the plan.
He really had.
But watching the Third Hokage—the old man who had tolerated his ridiculous power growth, who had given him space to train, who had genuinely cared about the village and its people—get beaten by a snake and two zombies...
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't stand by and watch.
"BANKAI."
The word echoed across the village.
And then the second word—the one he had never spoken before, not consciously, not with full intent.
"SUSANOO."
The powers merged.
If his previous combined form had been impressive, this was apocalyptic.
The Burning Susanoo manifested around him—two hundred feet tall, blazing with the light of a newborn star. Its armor was fire made solid, its weapon was a blade that burned with the heat of solar cores, its eyes were twin points of Amaterasu that promised absolute destruction.
It rose above the village like a god of flame, visible for miles in every direction.
And it descended on the rooftop where Orochimaru was trying to kill the Hokage.
Orochimaru looked up.
He saw the Burning Susanoo approaching.
He said a word that would have gotten him in trouble if any children were nearby.
And then he ran.
Again.
For the second time in a month, the great Orochimaru of the Sannin fled from a teenager.
The reanimated Hokages, no longer controlled by their summoner, crumbled to dust.
The Sound Four—Orochimaru's barrier team—tried to escape but were caught in the peripheral flames of the Susanoo's approach. They survived, barely, but were in no condition to continue fighting.
And the invasion, without its mastermind, collapsed.
Yamamoto landed beside the Third Hokage, dismissing his combined form before it could drain him completely.
"Lord Hokage. Are you alright?"
The old man stared at him.
"I was about to die," he said slowly. "I had made peace with it. I was going to use the Reaper Death Seal to take Orochimaru with me."
"That won't be necessary."
"Apparently not." The Hokage was quiet for a moment. "That technique. The one you just used."
"The Burning Susanoo. I've been practicing."
"Practicing." The Hokage's voice was flat. "You've been practicing a technique that rivals the power of a Tailed Beast."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"About a month."
"A month."
"I'm a quick learner."
The Hokage sat down heavily on the scorched rooftop.
"I need to retire," he said. "I really, truly, absolutely need to retire."
"You keep saying that."
"And I keep not doing it because there's no one qualified to replace me. But after today..." He looked at Yamamoto with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion and consideration. "After today, I'm going to start seriously looking for a successor."
"That seems wise."
"Don't patronize me. I'm too old and too tired for patronization."
"Yes, Lord Hokage."
The invasion was over.
The casualties, while significant, were far fewer than they would have been without Yamamoto's intervention. The enemy forces were either dead, captured, or fleeing. The village was damaged but intact.
And everyone was talking about the Burning Susanoo.
"THAT WAS THE COOLEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN!" Naruto shouted when he finally caught up with Yamamoto. "THE GIANT FIRE WARRIOR! THE WAY YOU JUST—AND THEN—AND THE FLAMES—SO COOL!"
"Thank you."
"Can you teach me to do that?!"
"No."
"Why not?!"
"Because it requires a Sharingan, a Bankai-capable sword, and approximately fifteen years of obsessive training."
"I can be obsessive!"
"You really can't."
Naruto pouted but didn't argue.
Sasuke arrived next, looking more serious than usual.
"That technique," he said. "The combined form. How did you develop it?"
"Accident, initially. Deliberate practice afterward."
"Can any Uchiha learn it?"
"No. It requires specific circumstances that I don't fully understand and probably can't replicate."
Sasuke's expression flickered with disappointment, then settled into determination.
"Then I'll find my own path. My own power."
"Good. That's the right attitude."
Sakura found him in the hospital, where he was being treated for chakra exhaustion.
"You saved the village," she said softly.
"I helped."
"You did more than help. Everyone's talking about it. The Burning Susanoo. The fire that stopped the invasion." She sat down beside his bed. "You're a hero."
"I'm a ninja who did his job."
"That's the same thing, sometimes."
She reached out and took his hand.
Yamamoto didn't know how to react.
"I know you don't... feel the same way about me," Sakura continued. "I know I'm probably just annoying to you. But I wanted you to know that I admire you. Not just because you're strong—although you are, impossibly so—but because you use that strength to protect people. That's... that's what a real ninja should be."
"...Thank you, Sakura."
"You're welcome." She squeezed his hand, then let go. "I'm going to get stronger too. Strong enough to stand beside you instead of behind you."
"That's a good goal."
"I know." She smiled—a real smile, not the nervous giggling she usually did around Sasuke. "Watch me achieve it."
She left.
Yamamoto stared at the ceiling.
That was almost sweet, Enbukenja observed.
"Shut up."
You're blushing.
"I am NOT."
You are. I can feel it. We're spiritually connected, remember?
Yamamoto groaned and pulled the hospital blanket over his head.
Tenten visited that evening.
"I heard what happened," she said, sitting in the chair beside his bed. "The combined form. The Burning Susanoo." Her eyes were shining. "I need complete documentation. Every detail. The chakra flow patterns, the spiritual pressure readings, the structural composition of the flames—"
"I'm in the hospital."
"I know! That's why I brought my recording equipment!" She pulled out a terrifying array of sensors and measurement devices. "The residual energy should still be traceable in your chakra pathways. If I can get readings now, while the effects are fresh—"
"Tenten."
"Yes?"
"I'm tired."
She stopped.
"Oh." Her enthusiasm deflated slightly. "Right. You just fought off an invasion. You probably need rest."
"Probably."
"I'll come back tomorrow?"
"That would be fine."
She stood up, gathering her equipment.
Then she paused.
"Yamamoto-san?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're okay."
"...Thank you, Tenten."
She left, and Yamamoto finally allowed himself to relax.
The next morning, he had two unexpected visitors.
Temari and Ino arrived at almost the same time, spotted each other in the hospital hallway, and immediately engaged in a silent battle of glares.
"What are you doing here?" Ino demanded. "You're from Sand! Your village just attacked us!"
"The invasion is over. We're cooperating with the investigation." Temari's voice was stiff. "I'm here on official business."
"What kind of official business involves visiting Yamamoto-san?"
"That's classified."
"Classified my—"
"Ladies," Yamamoto interrupted, having heard the argument through the door. "If you're going to fight, please do it somewhere I can't hear."
They both rushed into his room.
"Yamamoto-san!" Ino exclaimed. "I just wanted to check on you! After the invasion, I was worried—"
"I came to deliver a message from my village," Temari interrupted. "Our leadership wants to formally apologize for—"
"You can't just interrupt me!"
"I was here first!"
"You were NOT!"
Yamamoto stared at them.
Then he stared at the ceiling.
Your harem is growing, Enbukenja observed with amusement.
"It's not a harem."
You have four girls competing for your attention. What else would you call it?
"A disaster."
Same thing, sometimes.
In the days that followed, Yamamoto learned several things.
First, he was being promoted. To jounin. Immediately. Without discussion.
"You've demonstrated capabilities far beyond chunin level," the Hokage said during the promotion ceremony. "Frankly, 'jounin' doesn't really capture it either, but we don't have a higher rank to give you."
Second, he was being assigned as a special asset—available for S-rank missions and emergency response, but with freedom to continue his training.
"Just please," the Hokage added, "try not to create any new techniques within village limits. My sensors are still recovering."
Third, and most annoyingly, his romantic situation was getting worse.
Sakura continued her training with renewed determination, finding excuses to be near him whenever possible.
Tenten continued her research with obsessive focus, asking questions that ranged from technical to deeply personal.
Ino had apparently decided that if Sakura could have a crush on him, she could have an even BIGGER crush, and was now following him around with aggressive enthusiasm.
And Temari—who had returned to Sand after the invasion—had sent a letter.
A very formal letter expressing Sand's gratitude for his restraint during the invasion and their hope for future cooperation.
And a very informal postscript asking if he would be attending any diplomatic functions in the near future.
You could just pick one, Enbukenja suggested.
"That would require understanding romance, which I don't."
Fair point. But this situation isn't going to resolve itself.
"I'll deal with it after I master the Burning Susanoo."
You always say that.
"And I always mean it."
Liar.
Yamamoto returned to training.
The Burning Susanoo needed refinement. His regular techniques needed polishing. His body needed conditioning to handle the strain of his combined form.
There was always more work to be done.
Always more power to achieve.
Always more grinding to complete.
But now, at least, he wasn't doing it alone.
Naruto still visited, demanding to learn impossible techniques and providing chaotic company.
Sasuke still came for meditation sessions, brooding slightly less as his own power grew.
Team Fifteen still gathered weekly, reminding him that he had responsibilities beyond personal strength.
And his ever-growing collection of admirers continued to hover, providing a background noise of romantic tension that he steadfastly ignored.
You're happy, Enbukenja observed one evening.
"I'm training."
Yes. But you're also happy. You didn't used to be happy.
Yamamoto considered this.
He thought about his first life—the mundane existence of Derek from Ohio, the gas station sushi, the unremarkable death.
He thought about his early years in this world—the screaming, the panic, the desperate grinding born of pure terror.
He thought about where he was now—surrounded by people who cared about him, wielding power that shouldn't exist, facing a future that was entirely within his control.
"Maybe," he admitted. "Maybe I am happy."
Good. You deserve it.
"Since when do you care about my emotional wellbeing?"
Since always. We're partners, remember? Your growth is my growth. Your happiness is my happiness.
"That's... surprisingly touching."
Don't get used to it. I'm still going to mock you for being oblivious to romantic attention.
"Of course you are."
Yamamoto smiled—a real smile, not the approximation he usually managed—and returned to his training.
The grind never stopped.
But maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to be the only thing in his life anymore.
End of Chapter 6