Hyūga Akira was in an exceptionally good mood.
He couldn't beat that Hanzo back in the Naruto world—no matter how frustrated he was, there was nowhere to vent it. The gap was real, and reality didn't care about resentment.
But this bald Hanzo?
Compared to the Hanzo of the shinobi world, this one was far, far weaker.
It was the perfect substitute.
A chance to settle grudges, repay anger, and unload everything that had nowhere else to go.
This Hanzo's body had reached the peak of human capability, sure—but without chakra or nen, he posed absolutely no threat to Akira.
Revenge with interest.
Hanzo himself showed no panic. On the contrary, he was unnervingly calm.
At this point, he finally understood why Akira refused to let him go.
I'm being scapegoated… because of my name.
"Actually," Hanzo said seriously, "my real name isn't Hanzo. It's just a codename."
A ninja would use anything to complete a mission. And outside of missions, using anything to survive was equally valid.
Hanzo could be a name—or just a title.
As long as he didn't say otherwise, no one would ever know.
More importantly, he really didn't want to die over something as stupid as a name. He could already feel the faint killing intent leaking from Akira.
"I can change my codename at any time," Hanzo added quickly.
If Akira wanted, he could even be called Little Hanzo.
Akira actually paused at that.
For a moment, he didn't know what to say.
With a helpless sigh, he asked, "As a ninja, what other skills do you have? I want to see them."
After all, they were both ninja. He was genuinely curious about the differences between ninja from the two worlds.
Hanzo secretly exhaled in relief. At the very least, that faint killing intent had faded—for now. Still, he didn't dare relax. No one was better at hiding killing intent than a ninja.
He answered honestly.
"Combat techniques, weapon usage, ninja tools. Smoke bombs, shuriken, wire, sleeve blades. Beyond that—interrogation, tracking, concealment of presence."
"That's basically it."
The various hidden ninja organizations all had roughly the same foundations. The difference lay in specialized tools unique to each group.
Hanzo had heard rumors of ninja even stronger than top-tier assassins—people who might possess abilities Akira wanted to see—but those were beyond his reach.
Akira frowned.
That was almost identical to what he'd learned in the ninja academy—minus ninjutsu.
"Since you're being honest," Akira said at last, "I won't kill you."
He'd lost interest.
This guy was only impressive among ordinary people. Killing him wouldn't drop anything worthwhile—maybe not even decent experience.
"But," Akira added, rolling his wrist, a malicious smile spreading across his face, "I do need you to properly demonstrate your combat techniques."
Hanzo felt a chill crawl up his spine.
He knew it wasn't going to end there.
Night fell.
Akira tossed the unconscious Hanzo aside. Judging by the swollen face and bruises, the man had suffered plenty.
Hanzo, in his haze, could only think one thing:
This isn't 'demonstrating techniques'—this is pure displaced anger.
Akira had been muttering the whole time while beating him down.
"Being cautious and hiding away all the time—serves you right!"
"Treating me like cheap labor—how does it feel now?!"
Unconscious Hanzo shed a silent tear.
Who was he supposed to complain to?
"Still," Akira said, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes, "there are differences in close combat between ninja of the two worlds."
This exam lasted a full week. Spending some time here didn't matter.
Taijutsu was crucial in real combat—this was true even in the Naruto world.
Most ninja had limited chakra reserves. After a few ninjutsu exchanges, chakra ran low, and combat inevitably turned close-range.
No matter the specialization, no ninja could afford to neglect taijutsu.
Yet while important, taijutsu rarely decided battles outright.
At this point in history, only Kumogakure truly emphasized physical combat. Konoha's focus on taijutsu only intensified after Might Dai's death.
Akira had never met Might Dai—only heard stories. Mostly because of the man's… unique behavior, which had become one of Konoha's legendary topics of conversation.
Naruto-world taijutsu focused on lethal strikes: chest, throat, head. Every move aimed to kill.
This world's ninja, however, went further.
Beyond vital points, they targeted structural weaknesses—joints, nerves, balance. Not just to kill, but to cripple, disable, or torture.
Without chakra involved, this world's ninja combat was undeniably more refined.
Akira absorbed everything, selecting the best parts to integrate into his own style.
He glanced at the experience Hanzo had provided.
[Experience +79]
Enough to bully academy students, maybe.
Then he checked his status panel.
His gaze settled on Brain Enzyme, still two levels from max.
Originally, he'd seen this skill as nothing more than a countermeasure against the pain of the Caged Bird Seal. But as it leveled up, he realized it was doing something far more profound.
It was developing his brain.
"I've got over two thousand experience points left," Akira murmured. "Let's see what happens when I max it out. Maybe I'll unlock something that speeds up learning."
[Brain Enzyme (Lv.8) → EXP 0/800]
[Brain Enzyme (Lv.9) → EXP 0/900]
[Brain Enzyme (Lv.10) — MAX LEVEL]
[Trait Selection Available]
Three traits appeared before him.
[Learning] – Temporarily learn any technique used by an opponent
[Comprehension] – Rapidly grasp and understand any skill
[Detachment] – Enter a state of emotionless, desireless transcendence
"Detachment? Hard pass."
Akira rejected the third option without hesitation. Emotionless enlightenment sounded like a trap.
That left Learning and Comprehension—and choosing between them wasn't easy.
"If I pick Learning…" Akira pondered, "…could I use the Byakugan like a bootleg Sharingan? Instant copy techniques on the spot?"
Not just taijutsu—but ninjutsu too.
That ability was terrifying. The Uchiha clan had collected countless jutsu with their Copy Wheel Eye.
If he chose this, he'd never have to worry about lacking techniques again.
Then there was Comprehension.
The ability to deeply understand anything—no less terrifying.
Learning copied the surface. He could refine it later with experience.
But comprehension meant understanding something at its core. Maybe he wouldn't even need experience to level skills afterward.
After all, Akira had two paths to growth.
Experience points were convenient—but prolonged practice and personal insight could also raise skill levels.
Others had to grind endlessly.
He didn't.
So this choice came down to one question:
Did he want more skills—
or better skills?
After a long moment of silence, Akira made his decision.
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