Cruel, but that's just how it was. In Naruto, both Yūhi Kurenai and the Kurama Clan were genjutsu prodigies — and neither of them ever got a moment to shine, completely eclipsed by the dazzle of the Uchiha Sharingan. If even the Hidden Leaf was like this, the genjutsu at the other ninja villages was even more of a joke.
Those low-tier illusions, though — the Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique, Five-Senses Manipulation, the Sly Mind Affect Technique — Maya wouldn't have minded picking a few of those up. But for days now, the Black Shop hadn't refreshed a single one into stock. She could burn a Silver Designated Refresh Card on it, except she couldn't bear to. Every 50,000 Influence Points spent earned her exactly one Silver Designated Refresh Card, and those didn't grow on trees.
Counting on the System's gacha to patch the hole in her genjutsu was pure fantasy. So could she just draw a Sharingan instead? As the System's creator, Maya knew for a fact the pool had them — not just the One-Tomoe or Two-Tomoe versions, but the full Mangekyō Sharingan too. The problem was the bloodline. The physical constitution.
Graft a Sharingan onto a body without Uchiha blood and you got Hatake Kakashi — refer to him for the consequences. Unless Maya could get her hands on something like Hashirama Cells, or push her own constitution up to First Hokage levels, the Sharingan and its cousins would have to stay on the shelf.
Then a stray thought struck her — Master Stick's warning. Lately they couldn't keep training on the roof of the Chrysler Building. According to what Stick had overheard, Maya's little crew had gotten far too cocky, holding hotpot on some stranger's rooftop every single day. The lingering smell of smoke and cooking had tipped off building security, and now the guards were making a few sweeps up top every night.
So — buy a building under Stick's name? I fleeced Tony out of tens of millions; spending it in the open would be way too conspicuous, and Stick is, whatever else, the boss of some underworld outfit. If he sets it up, it shouldn't be a problem, right?
Thinking it over, Maya drew a paper bag out of her Storage Scroll and took a look. Sure enough — the $20 million in U.S. Treasury Bonds Tony had handed her.
"What? Buy a building under my name? No." Stick shot it down flat.
Five-thirty in the afternoon, on a stone bench in the little roadside park off Tenth Avenue, Maya sat side by side with Stick.
"Why not? It's not your money," Maya said.
"Because I don't have any legal identity in America either," Stick sighed.
Maya's face froze. Pfft. I've watched you flit around, jet all over the place, living the good life without a care in the world, never once sweating a cop — and you're telling me you're undocumented?
"Master, might I ask what country you hold citizenship in? I've seen you come and go through U.S. customs without so much as a hiccup," Maya asked, genuinely curious.
Stick stroked the whiskers on his chin, thought for a moment, and said, "This old man was born in the thirty-fifth year of the Qianlong Emperor's reign, in Niujia Village, Shaoxing."
Stick couldn't see the giant what-the-hell written across Maya's face, so he pressed on. "At present I serve the Chaste, over in Japan — they handle all my paperwork. I personally can't hold legal property in America; if the need arises, the organization arranges it. Put it this way: my current documents are good for this one trip to the States. Next time, they'll scrub my file and start fresh. Understand now?"
Maya nodded, enlightened. "Master — it seems you're going out of your way to keep us clear of the Chaste. Why? Aren't you one of its big shots?"
Stick answered, wistful. "I am. I don't want you two noticed by the Chaste too early. The organization's founding purpose was sound enough — its methods can just be a little extreme. I hadn't even planned to tell you it existed. Only — well. You've formally taken me as your master now, so sooner or later you'll brush up against the Chaste. Better to lay it out early, give you time to prepare."
"So what is this founding purpose of yours?"
"You're sure you want to know? Getting tangled up too soon can lead places you won't like. I'd rather have this talk after you come of age." Stick's expression turned grave.
"I speak only for myself, not for Matt. And yes, I'm sure. The weak get shaped by others; the strong shape others. Mentally and in raw ability, I consider myself one of the strong."
As she said it, Maya quietly condensed a pale-blue Rasengan in her palm. This wasn't some brain-fart impulse to go join a cult. As she'd said — even now, at thirteen, she was no weakling. She'd taken Stick's measure over these past days: in close-quarters killing, Maya gave herself a fifty-percent shot at mutual annihilation; at range, she had n different ways to put her own master in the ground. Shadow Clones, Explosive Tags, ninjutsu, the Chakra Scalpel, Super Perception — chained together, the combination was genuinely terrifying, well beyond what a mortal frame like Stick's could match.
Stick had no idea his ungrateful little disciple had already worked out n different ways to off her own teacher. He sensed the energy pooling in her palm, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Fine. You're already a member of the Chaste. I'll buy you five years of breathing room to grow."
At that, his ear gave a twitch. He listened, found nothing, and went on. "In the inner world of this Earth, the strongest organization is naturally the Sanctum Sanctorum. But K'un-Lun, where I hail from, is plenty strong too. You know Chinese, don't you — ever read any wuxia?"
The question blindsided Maya. The topic swerved so fast she couldn't keep up.
After a long moment, she ventured, "Does Jin Yong count? That old Mr. Jin from Hong Kong — you've heard of him?"
"Little Cha? Of course I know him! Kamar-Taj and S.H.I.E.L.D. — those are your Shaolin and Wudang. My K'un-Lun, we're the Mount Hua Sect — except we're not one of the Five Mountains, we're one of the Seven Capital Cities of Heaven! And your master here is Yue Buqun of Mount Hua — er, no, Linghu Chong. Old age, memory's slipping!" Stick lamented.
Maya didn't even have the energy to fire back. You, with that orange-peel old mug — Linghu Chong? And how does K'un-Lun pass for the Mount Hua Sect by any stretch? Next to the Sorcerer Supreme's people, you lot are a Five Tigers Breaking Gate Saber at best. Five Mountain Sword Sects, my foot — always dressing yourselves up as something grand. Shameless.
"Wow, I had no idea you were such a big deal, Master! So if you're the Linghu Chong of K'un-Lun, then you must have learned K'un-Lun's Nine Swords of Dugu, right?" Maya gushed, all wide-eyed worship.
Stick waved a hand, smug and lofty. "The Nine Swords of Dugu — those are made up. But K'un-Lun's Zixia Divine Art — the Purple Cloud Divine Skill — now that one, this old man did learn!"
Holy shit— there's really a Zixia Divine Art? You old crank, you sure you didn't fry your brain snorting something on a street corner?
Maya offered an awkward little walk-back. "Master, don't get worked up, I was only joking. The Zixia Divine Art's made up too — I may be an American white girl, but I do know my Chinese culture."
That didn't sit well with Stick. "I most certainly did not make it up. And what's more, K'un-Lun doesn't just have the Zixia Divine Art — the Nine Swords of Dugu are real as well. I simply never mastered all of them."
This is getting more ridiculous by the second. A minute ago the Nine Swords of Dugu were fiction — now they're real? Front to back, that wasn't even three minutes. You really think a white kid's that easy to con?
Maya set her small face into a scowl and said, hot with indignation, "Master, if you're going to spin a tall tale, at least get your logic straight first. You're contradicting yourself sentence to sentence. I am not an idiot!"
Stick heaved a long sigh, his tone deflating into disappointment. "I took you for a clever girl — you know Chinese, after all. Never dreamed you'd turn out this hopeless to teach. How do you not even understand a metaphor?"