"Disciple?"
Nagato stared at Hyūga Akira in a daze.
How had things developed to this point?
He had only wanted to thank Akira by delivering the bento his mother made. Becoming a disciple had never crossed his mind.
Besides, Akira didn't look that old either. Wasn't it a bit early to start taking students?
Were ninja really this… precocious?
"That's right," Akira said calmly. "You have an enormous amount of power inside you, but you don't know how to use it. I can teach you."
There was a faint note of envy in his voice.
Most ninja had to learn chakra extraction, squeezing chakra bit by bit out of their own cells.
But there were rare prodigies whose bodies naturally generated chakra without any training.
Nagato was clearly one of them.
Despite having no formal ninja training, he already possessed chakra reserves comparable to a jōnin.
Akira couldn't help feeling jealous.
He didn't know why Nagato had so much chakra—but what the boy lacked wasn't power. It was guidance.
"Becoming a ninja…" Nagato murmured softly.
That had never been part of his life plan.
After a moment, he asked hesitantly, "Then… what exactly is a ninja?"
Everyone knew ninja existed. Most people in this world were aware of these superpowered individuals.
But what they actually did—few civilians truly understood.
All they knew was that ninja killed people. To them, ninja were nothing but murderers.
"A ninja, huh…"
Akira tapped his chopsticks lightly against the bowl, thinking.
"They're tools," he said slowly.
"Tools that constantly twist themselves."
In Akira's eyes, ninja as a class had already defined themselves as tools.
And those who wielded those tools were daimyō, nobles, and merchants.
These people fought endlessly for power and利益, using ninja as their weapons to seize and plunder from one another.
That was why conflicts kept expanding—why wars grew larger and more brutal.
Take the coming war, for example. It had nothing to do with ninja themselves.
They were just tools acting on behalf of their daimyō.
What the war decided wasn't the status of the Five Great Ninja Villages—it was the hierarchy of the Five Great Nations.
Ninja fought the battles.
Ninja died on the battlefield.
But the greatest profits went to nobles and daimyō who had nothing to do with the fighting.
And this wasn't a one-time thing.
Ninja possessed the power to decide a nation's fate—yet they willingly defined themselves as tools. Bound by noble politics, they were dragged into endless conflict and war.
The cruelest part?
These "tools" had minds of their own.
In such an environment, their psyches twisted again and again—eventually producing countless broken individuals.
Uchiha Madara.
Uchiha Obito.
Uchiha Itachi.
Uzumaki Nagato.
Whether their actions were right or wrong was another matter—but mentally? Every single one of them was deeply unstable.
Why were so many of them Uchiha anyway?
Truly deserving of the title the cursed clan.
Of course, there were many others like them. These few were just the most representative—the ones whose impact on the world was greatest.
"Tools…?" Nagato looked at Akira blankly.
He was still just a child. The deeper implications flew right over his head.
It was like explaining philosophy to a cow.
"Uh…" Akira scratched his head awkwardly.
"Forget that for now. Let me put it another way."
He looked at Nagato.
"Do you want the power to protect your family?"
Nagato didn't hesitate for long.
"…Yes."
"Eat up," Akira said, smiling faintly. "Then we're going out."
They arrived at a cave outside the city.
It was the same cave Akira had noticed when he went out with Kusen earlier—back then, neither of them had paid it much attention.
Now, Akira had chosen it as Nagato's training ground.
"Teacher," Nagato asked curiously, "why did we leave the city?"
"Because it's inconvenient there," Akira replied.
"If you're going to become a ninja, you're not doing it to show off. You need to hide your identity. This power should only be used to protect your family."
Nagato nodded seriously. That was exactly how he felt.
"From now on, all your training will be done here."
Akira began teaching Nagato.
He didn't have many ninjutsu himself, so he focused on the basics:
the Three Basic Techniques, taijutsu, and shuriken throwing.
Once Nagato mastered those, he'd already be a solid genin. As for further growth… Jiraiya would surely be more than willing.
The first day was just assessment—testing Nagato's physical condition and teaching him chakra extraction.
Nagato truly had an enormous amount of chakra, but it functioned like a finite reserve. Once exhausted, it took a long time to recover naturally.
Chakra extraction would let him replenish it much faster.
After a full day, Akira sent Nagato home and returned alone to the tower.
Life seemed to fall into an eerie calm.
Rogue ninja in the city kept their heads down, terrified of being noticed.
The Konoha border showed no movement.
Every day, Akira skimmed the reports, then went out to train Nagato.
There was still no word from Hanzo.
When Akira returned to the tower one evening after training Nagato, the entire building was silent.
He rubbed his temples.
"What is Hanzo even doing…?"
No news at all. The silence was making him restless.
If you're taking me, then say so.
If you're not, then say that too.
But after sending his report, there'd been nothing. Not even a fart.
Akira walked to the desk and poured himself some tea.
Green matcha rippled in the cup, then slowly settled.
He took a sip, savoring it.
Drinking hot tea on a rainy day was genuinely pleasant.
If there weren't poison in it, that is.
"Water Release: Water Shuriken!"
The instant the voice rang out, shuriken formed of water burst through the ceiling, shooting straight toward Akira's head.
"So you're going all in, huh?"
Akira flipped backward over the chair. The chair was instantly shredded by the water shuriken.
The watery projectiles didn't disperse—instead, they chased after him relentlessly.
Shhh—
A bronze battle blade appeared in his hand. In a flash, he slashed through the water shuriken, cutting them apart.
Water splashed everywhere.
Akira lifted his gaze toward the figures now standing in the office.
"Well," he said calmly,
"Looks like you've finally made up your minds to kill me?"
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