Dawn on the third day found Kenji standing in front of Guy's cabin, every muscle still aching with the memory of his encounter with the ANBU. The man in green appeared like a ray of sunshine personified.
"KAITO! Your youth has ripened as punctually as the cherry blossom! THE SPIRIT THAT ARRIVES WITH THE FIRST LIGHT IS FULL OF PROMISE!"
Kenji struggled to keep his composure despite the volume of his words. "Guy-sensei. I'm ready." For whatever it takes to survive.
The training was… a revelation. Not of power, but of pure intensity. It wasn't complex katas or secret techniques. It was the basics, taken to the extreme of human absurdity.
One hundred push-ups. Then two hundred. Sprints around the clearing with weights strapped to his ankles. Balancing exercises on swaying poles. Guy watched him with his perpetual smile, but his eyes were infallible scanners, correcting his posture with millimeter-precise adjustments, demanding perfect repetitions.
"YOUTH DOESN'T KNOW HALF-MEASURES, KAITO! EVERY DROP OF SWEAT IS A TEAR OF EFFORT WATERING THE TREE OF YOUR FUTURE POWER!"
At midday, Kenji lay on the ground, panting, feeling like his lungs were about to melt. It was then that he noticed the absence.
"Sensei," he managed to say between gasps. "Where's... Rock Lee? I thought he always trained here."
Guy's face lit up even more, if that was possible. "MY MOST PRECIOUS AND YOUNGEST STUDENT, LEE, IS OFF ON A YOUTH MISSION WITH HIS TEAM! HIS FIRE BURNS ON ANOTHER BATTLEFIELD, BUT HIS SPIRIT ACCOMPANIES YOUR EVERY EFFORT!"
Ah. A mission. Kenji nodded, storing the information away. Lee's absence explained why Guy had time for a new project like him. It was a relief. Rock Lee, with his pure taijutsu and his Sharingan useless against him, was a different kind of danger. He could see through any pretense of weakness.
The weeks turned into a brutal new rhythm. Academy in the morning, training with Guy in the afternoon, furtive chakra and Sharingan practice at night. His body, already hardened by years of clandestine self-discipline, began to transform. It wasn't Lee's bulky musculature, but a sinewy physique, like steel cables beneath his skin. His stamina skyrocketed. And, most importantly, his taijutsu acquired a solid, efficient foundation, free from the streetwise vices of his original yakuza style.
Guy, though always enthusiastic, sometimes looked at him with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "YOUR PROGRESS IS ACCEPTABLE, KAITO! BUT IT SEEMS YOUR BODY... REMEMBERS MOVEMENTS YOUR MIND FORGETS. INTERESTING!" Kenji just smiled with feigned modesty and sweated even more.
One afternoon, after a particularly exhausting evasion session (where Guy played at "chasing Youth" and Kenji felt like a train was chasing him), he was walking back to the shopping district, concentrating on an internal chakra control exercise to relieve muscle fatigue.
WHAM!
A solid, orange impact slammed into his shoulder, making him stagger.
"Oops, sorry! I was running late for…! Hey, Kaito!"
Naruto. He was flushed, a little dirty, but his blue eyes flashed with electric excitement.
"It's okay, Naruto," Kenji said, rubbing his shoulder. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"On a mission! A real one, outside the village!" Naruto jumped up and down, unable to contain his energy. "To the Land of Waves! We're going to protect an old builder, or something. Nothing too complicated, but it's out there, you know? Out there!"
Land of Waves. Builder. "Simple" mission. Alarms in Kenji's mind went off at full volume. He knew exactly what that meant: Zabuza Momochi. The Demon of the Mist. Naruto's first encounter with a Kage-level monster. A mission that nearly got them all killed.
He looked at Naruto, that cheeky, brilliant idiot who owed him a favor for a cat. Part of him, the yakuza part that saw people as pawns or obstacles, told him to let him go. What did he care?
But another part, the one that had witnessed the ANBU's brutal efficiency and was calculating the future, saw an investment. A grateful Jinchūriki could be an invaluable asset. And, deep down, a strange echo of something like…concern? For that kid who had invited him for ramen without having any money.
He lowered his voice, moving a little closer. "Listen, Naruto. 'Out' doesn't mean 'vacation.' The Land of Waves is mist and water. It's hunters' territory. If something goes wrong…" He paused, choosing his words with the care of someone planting a seed. "…remember the cat. Sometimes, the goal isn't to confront the predator head-on. Sometimes it's to make yourself invisible, wait, and attack only when you're certain of a lethal blow. Don't rush into every fight like a bull. Think. Survive."
Naruto blinked, the excitement on his face giving way to a hint of unusual concentration. "Like... like an ambush?"
"Like a ninja," Kenji corrected gently. "Get back in one piece. The ramen debt is still outstanding."
Naruto smiled, a little more serious this time. "I will! Thanks, Kaito!" And he took off running again, a little less like a whirlwind and a little more like someone with valuable advice swirling in his head.
Kenji watched him go. That encounter reminded him of something painful: time.
As he walked, he saw another sight. In a plaza, Konohamaru, the Hokage's grandson, with his two friends, were bullying Naruto, who now reluctantly stopped to talk to them. The age gap was abysmal. Konohamaru, maybe 8 or 9 years old. Naruto, almost 13. And him, Kenji, caught in the middle at almost 11.
Two years younger than Naruto. One year older than Konohamaru. The equation was clear and ruthless.
Prodigies like Kakashi graduated at age five. It was a case of wartime genius and monstrous brilliance, unattainable. But the standard age for a genin was 12 or 13.
His original plan—to infiltrate, learn in silence, live a quiet, anonymous life with hidden abilities—was unraveling. The ANBU had caught his scent. Guy was training him (and would eventually notice inconsistencies). And the world wasn't waiting. High-ranking missions (like Naruto's) were happening. The dangers were escalating.
If he didn't graduate soon, if he didn't achieve genin status and the relative freedom of movement that came with it, he'd be trapped. An older student, suspicious. A ghost without a legal identity, unable to accept missions (no matter how low) to fund his life and training.
He needed to be a genin. This year. Before turning twelve. Without drawing too much attention, but demonstrating credible improvement.
A plan began to form in his mind, cold and pragmatic. It was no longer just about surviving or learning. It was about advancing. About climbing the ladder from within.
He left Konohamaru and Naruto behind. His destiny lay elsewhere. At the Academy. In the upcoming exams.
He would have to "discover" his "talent" just in time. Show sudden progress, but attributable to hard work and "special training with Guy-sensei." Improve just enough in taijutsu and stamina, and reveal an "acceptable" chakra control that had been hidden by "nervousness." He had to be believable.
He looked at his hands, now calloused from real training. They were no longer just the hands of a phantom thief. They were the hands of someone about to take a decisive step toward the controlled light of the shinobi world.