"Body-building teacher? You want to practice taijutsu?"
Senju Toyohime stared at her son, disbelief etched into every elegant line of her face. She'd expected tantrums, demands for candy, even a phase where he tried to negotiate world peace with a lollipop. She had not expected this.
"Taijutsu is grueling, Genji. Listen to your mother—let's skip it!" She reached for his hand, her voice softening into the velvety tone reserved for soothing toddlers and diplomatic crises.
Genji shook his head, earnest as a monk defending his tea. "But I feel like taijutsu suits me!" He bounced once, twice, the picture of toddler conviction. "Every meal I eat turns into strength when I train. And I know I can surpass even Guy-sensei's legendary sweat!"
Toyohime blinked. "Guy-sensei is a mythos of leg warmers and questionable life choices, Genji."
"Still," Genji pressed on, oblivious to the existential crisis his mother was having over his life choices. "My body's a taijutsu forge!"
The Uchiha matriarch sighed, her heart melting despite herself. This kid was stubborn as a mule dressed in Uchiha pride. "I'll discuss it with your father. If he agrees, we'll find you a taijutsu teacher."
Genji's grin could've powered a small village. "Dad'll say yes. And I want to pick the teacher!"
"Deal," Toyohime conceded, already imagining the chaos of her son interviewing prospective tutors. "Now let's go home—I need to recover from this shock."
Uchiha Shin trailed behind them, watching Genji chatter away about shuriken accuracy and the importance of post-workout snacks. The kid was relentless, like a human hurricane wrapped in Senju DNA and Uchiha grit. Shin shook his head. The boy's future was either shinobi legend or a very expensive rock star.
At home, Genji's father, Uchiha Hanjo, was busy juggling spreadsheets and attempting to outwit an increasingly hostile business climate. The Uchiha Chamber of Commerce, usually a model of efficiency, had hit a snag—several snags, all involving stolen cargo, bandit raids, and a suspicious lack of reliable ninja escort.
"Sir! The shipment through Lightning Country was intercepted!" a flustered assistant burst into his office, cheeks flushed like he'd sprinted from the front lines.
Hanjo's head snapped up. "The guards?"
"Two injured, but stable. Medical team's with them now."
The Uchiha patriarch let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Injuries were bad; deaths were catastrophic. Especially since his ninja weren't affiliated with the village—an arrangement that saved paperwork but cost him sleepless nights.
"Send reinforcements. Double the detail next time," he ordered, already drafting a mental list of contingency plans. "And ensure the injured receive bonuses. Their families, too."
When the chaos settled, Hanjo noticed the sky had turned the color of bruised plums. "How's Genji?"
"Mrs. Uchiha brought him home early. He had a blast," the assistant replied, still polishing his report like it was a fragile heirloom.
Hanjo's stern expression softened. "I'll head home early. Tell my wife I'm bringing takeout."
"Sir."
At home, the dinner table was a symphony of chatter and clinking silverware. Genji recounted his day with the dramatic flair of a stage actor, complete with sound effects for his shuriken throws and a running commentary on the instructors' fashion choices.
"Dad! Did you know Shin-sensei's shoes are the wrong color for stealth ops?"
Hanjo chuckled. "I'll be sure to tell him you said that."
Toyohime shot Genji a playful warning. "Don't give your father gray hairs before his time."
The mood was light, almost cheerful, until a knock shattered the peace.
Hanjo returned from answering it, his usual composure replaced by a stormy frown.
"Dad? What's wrong?" Genji piped up between bites.
"It's the商会," Hanjo said, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like a lead cloak. "Another convoy was hit—this time in Earth Country. We lost two shinobi, though the cargo's intact."
The table fell silent.
Genji's fork paused midair. "So we're losing people but keeping goods? That's... inefficient."
Hanjo raised an eyebrow. "You're three. How do you know about logistics?"
"I read," Genji said simply. "A lot."
Toyohime hid a smile behind her hand. "Go on, genius."
"Well," Genji leaned forward, elbows on the table. "If the problem's finding reliable guards—why not recruit from our own clan?"
The room stilled.
Hanjo set his chopsticks down carefully. "Explain."
Genji launched into his pitch with the fervor of a prophet selling miracle elixirs. "We've got top-notch ninja in the Uchiha ranks! And since we're not hiring from other villages, no one gets suspicious. Plus, it's a win-win: we protect our assets, they get steady pay. Maybe even throw in some exclusive training perks?"
Toyohime exchanged a glance with Hanjo. The kid had a point—a very sharp, very shiny point.
Hanjo leaned back, the gears in his mind visibly turning. "You're certain this won't raise red flags?"
Genji grinned. "Uncle Itachi's already a walking paradox. What's one more?"
Toyohime snorted, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.
Hanjo's lips twitched. "You're either a genius or a menace, Genji."
"Both!" Genji declared.
The adults shared a look—a silent pact.
"Alright," Hanjo said finally. "We'll discuss it with the clan elders. But you," he pointed at Genji, "are forbidden from using 'paradox' in any future meetings."
Genji mock-saluted. "Yes, sir!"
Dessert that night was Genji's favorite—strawberry mochi with a side of "I told you so."