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("Back to a time before the Academy")
Note: This takes place before Nawaki enrolled in the Shinobi Academy—meaning he had already crossed paths with Jiraiya and formed a peculiar bond of friendship.
At only six years old, Senju Nawaki was already shaping his destiny. There were no childish games, no aimless running around. His days revolved around relentless training, driven by a singular goal: to master the legacy of his sister, Tsunade.
After all, he was Nawaki—a genius, even among a clan of shinobi. Compared to others his age, he stood in a category of his own. Tsunade? Despite her Senju name and the massive chakra reserves she had inherited, she couldn't match his innate talent. Chakra control? Yes, she had it. But that rare spark of brilliance—the fire only true prodigies possess—was missing. Nawaki had it in abundance.
Orphaned at a very young age, Nawaki hadn't let that defeat him. Every spare moment was an opportunity to dive deeper, absorbing the knowledge and techniques left behind by his parents. Scrolls, scribbled notes—nothing escaped his eyes. Everything was potential power.
His routine was simple but rigorous: wake up at dawn, head to a secluded forest far from the village's curious eyes, and dive into repetition. Not just learning—but relearning—all the techniques Tsunade would eventually create. Superhuman strength, chakra scalpel, Creation Rebirth, Strength of a Hundred Seal, summoning slugs—everything was being coded into his mind like lines of programming.
"Again..." he murmured softly, adjusting the chakra flow in his small hands.
POF! A captured rabbit twitched beneath his palm. With surgical precision, he activated the chakra scalpel, cutting through muscles and ligaments, eyes keenly observing each reaction, adjusting his chakra, refining the process. Mistakes were not allowed.
If Tsunade saw how he had mastered in mere months what took her years, she would probably choke on her pride. The knowledge she had acquired through sweat and persistence came to Nawaki almost effortlessly.
"Simple," he whispered, activating Creation Rebirth on another animal he had captured, watching the tissue regenerate and life return to the creature.
Elemental ninjutsu? Tsunade always struggled with that. Her focus was practical—chakra-enhanced punches, Senju-style taijutsu. Simple, effective... but limited.
Nawaki? He rejected limitations. What others saw as the ceiling, he saw as the floor. Every training session was a leap forward. Every mistake, a catalyst for evolution. And he knew—this was only the beginning. Mastering these techniques paved the way for something far greater—complete dominion over his own body and, eventually, over life and death itself.
The sky turned orange, bathing the forest in golden twilight. Another day of intense training was ending, and Nawaki, feeling closer to completing Tsunade's template, knew it was time to plan his next step.
Minato Namikaze.
Unborn, but a name already carved into his fate. The next template to conquer. Speed. Mastery of space-time. It would all be his. The Flying Thunder God Technique wasn't just a jutsu—it was a philosophy. Controlling time, erasing distance. Supremacy.
He closed his eyes, sensing his chakra shift, as if his body was already preparing to house that new power. But before diving into Minato's model, a spark of inspiration hit him.
"Hmmm..." Nawaki gave a mischievous smile. "It'd be perfect to gift Tsunade something... unexpected."
The Form Transformation Jutsu—a technique without hand seals, relying purely on absolute chakra control—manipulating density, rotation, and shape. On paper, simple. In practice, complex. But for Tsunade, with her refined chakra control, it would be a treasure.
He imagined the moment—the gleam in her eyes when she learned to mold chakra that way. And then the final blow.
"I named this technique Rasengan," he'd say, in that measured tone of his, "thinking of you... and the Uzumaki clan of our grandmother."
He couldn't hold back a chuckle just imagining it. Just picturing Tsunade's reaction—blushing cheeks, maybe a flicker of doubt—was almost too good. His words would be bait, hook, and sinker.
The name Rasengan—"Spiraling Sphere"—embodied the essence of the Uzumaki clan—the spiral, symbolizing the eternal dance between love and hate, a never-ending cycle. A poisoned gift. Tsunade would never quite be sure whether to feel gratitude or suspicion. The jutsu itself reflected the Uzumaki philosophy: life's cycle, in constant transformation, the centripetal and centrifugal forces of all human emotion.
But why so much focus on Tsunade?
The answer was clear: political influence.
"Yes..." he whispered, eyes glowing. "This time, I'll be Hokage. And Tsunade will bear my child."
With her at his side, legitimizing his path, the weight of the Senju name would open doors that might otherwise remain sealed. Nawaki wasn't just a battlefield strategist—he was a master architect of futures. He knew that, in time, forging the right alliances would pave his way.
He allowed himself a moment to imagine the political impact of such a union. The ever-cautious village elders wouldn't dare oppose the symbolic power of a Hokage from outside the main clans, united by Senju blood. His legitimacy would be undeniable.
"The game has only just begun..." he murmured, turning his gaze to the sky as the approaching night unveiled stars like distant promises.
And with that, his thoughts returned to Minato's template. The next step. The next power to conquer. The Rasengan was just the opening move of a much larger plan.
Settling under a tree, feeling the cool breeze of the incoming night, Nawaki began to meditate on the technique. The concept of the spiraling sphere was elegant, formidable, yet direct. The perfect marriage of strength and control.
"A technique with no hand seals, based only on chakra manipulation..." he murmured with closed eyes, feeling the chakra spiral in his palms. "Yes, something worthy of Tsunade."
He imagined the chakra spinning, condensing into a devastating force without the need for external tools. A compact whirlwind—pure, capable of piercing and obliterating. A reflection of the Uzumaki clan—but also a constant reminder of what he was capable of creating.
"And this is only the beginning..." he whispered.
As twilight swallowed the forest, Nawaki—despite being so young—was already a predator in waiting, calculating and moving the pieces of his great plan with surgical precision.
The future belonged to him. And he knew it.