Masahiko returned to his guest quarters, but Mito's face still hovered before his eyes. The expression in her gaze had been so eloquent it needed no words: Only a complete simpleton would believe your tall tales.
Just a few minutes ago, faced with his grandniece's icy skepticism, Masahiko hadn't come up with anything better than a ridiculous excuse about her Great-Uncle being an unrecognized genius. Judging by the ironic arch of the girl's eyebrow, however, she wasn't convinced.
"Honestly, it would have been weirder if she had believed that nonsense," Masahiko muttered barely audibly as he closed the door behind him.
"Alright, to hell with these worries. Right now, the most important thing is sleep."
The surprise the System had sprung on him had unceremoniously robbed Masahiko of proper rest for two whole days. The moment his head hit the pillow and his heavy eyelids slid shut, he plunged into a deep, dreamless oblivion. When consciousness finally returned to him and he pried his eyes open, a bright, sunny day was shining outside his window.
"Oh, I'm starving... Why didn't anyone bother to wake me for lunch? It seems I slept through breakfast too. Heavens! I didn't eat a crumb last night either. Or yesterday's lunch..." Masahiko realized with growing horror that not a morsel of food had entered his stomach for over twenty-four hours.
Leaving his room and questioning a few passing Senju members, he learned to his great astonishment that the custom here was to eat only twice a day.
"Ah, of course, it's the Warring States Period. Three full meals are considered an unaffordable luxury available only to the few. It seems the Uzumaki clan's habit of eating three times a day was formed solely under my subtle influence back when I was young..." he grumbled under his breath, trying to silence the rumbling in his belly.
With nothing else to do, Masahiko set out to find Tobirama. Asking a few more shinobi, he discovered that the man was at the Fourth Training Ground.
In the harsh Warring States Era, practically any large, self-respecting clan divided its training zones into four distinct sectors. The first ground, the most extensive and protected, was for Jōnin and high-ranking masters. There, they practiced large-scale or particularly destructive techniques capable of leveling a small grove until exhaustion. The second zone was for those a step below: Chūnin-level ninja who had already tasted real combat. The third ground was reserved for Genin who had yet to truly inhale the gunpowder smoke of war. Their age usually didn't exceed twelve, as those older had typically long since begun repaying their debt to the clan on the front lines. Even Hashirama, as the eldest son of the Clan Head, was no exception and had entered his first bloody skirmish at the age of eight.
The Fourth Training Ground, however, was a special place. It was designated for very young children who had not yet reached Genin rank. They were the living future of the clan, its hope and continuation, and thus were guarded with extreme care. The Second Elder of the Senju spent almost all his time here, personally ensuring the safety and discipline of the little ones.
The Fourth Training Ground? Tobirama must have decided to dedicate some time to mentoring the youth. I might as well see how things are run here. Speaking of training children... I recall the Uchiha clan suffered a real catastrophe a few years ago, Masahiko mused as he walked leisurely along the path.
He remembered how the Hyūga clan, relying on the all-seeing eye of their Byakugan, had set up a perfect ambush. On that day, the Uchiha lost nearly half of their rising generation. Rumor had it that Madara's younger brothers lost their lives in that very massacre.
It's a pity I wasn't there at the time. Perhaps my intervention would have been another turning point in the history of this world titled "The Death of Uchiha Madara's Brothers." Though the Hyūga, I must admit, are desperate folks. With that act, they condemned themselves to eternal proximity with a mortal enemy in the form of grief-maddened Uchiha.
In those years, the Uchiha, driven by fury, pursued their offenders with such ferocity that the Hyūga, despite the proximity of their Senju allies, were forced to go into deep defense and practically lock themselves inside their settlement. For the last couple of years, not a word had been heard of their exploits on the battlefield.
The Warring States... A continuous cycle of hatred and blood. Until the first stone of Konoha is laid, another good twenty years will likely pass...
Lost in gloomy thoughts, Masahiko didn't notice his feet carrying him to the edge of the Fourth Training Ground.
Tobirama was currently demonstrating the basics of shuriken throwing to the children. Noticing the approaching figure of their guest, he interrupted the lesson with a short gesture.
"Children, look here. This is Lord Masahiko Uzumaki. He possesses an art of throwing projectiles far more skilled than mine. Let us all ask him to show us a small master class," Tobirama announced loudly, turning dozens of curious eyes toward Masahiko.
"I think that might be somewhat inappropriate..." Masahiko tried to decline politely, not wishing to attract undue attention.
"Not at all. One who has reached the peaks of mastery is obligated to share their experience. Please, do us the honor," Tobirama insisted with a polite but firm smile.
"It seems your Second Elder's face has darkened with barely suppressed anger..." Masahiko whispered sotto voce, nodding toward the gloomy old man watching the scene nearby.
The Second Elder merely ground his teeth silently. Were there no honored guest present, he would surely have found a way to teach Tobirama a lesson in manners and subordination.
Seeing that Tobirama had no intention of backing down and the children were waiting for a miracle, Masahiko decided to take the initiative.
"Very well, I will demonstrate a special technique that requires extreme concentration."
He stepped up to the targets and, focusing, performed the famous trick that would one day bring fame to Itachi Uchiha. Thrown one after another, the shuriken collided in mid-air with a sharp, ringing clang, altering each other's trajectories and simultaneously embedding themselves into the dead centers of targets hidden behind obstacles. In response, dozens of enthusiastic, awe-filled children's eyes stared back at him.
Masahiko was about to freeze in a heroic pose to cement his triumph, but at that critical moment, the silence of the training ground was unceremoniously broken by a loud, prolonged growl from his stomach. The moment was hopelessly ruined.
I guess the role of a majestic hero isn't for me... Masahiko tilted his head toward the sky at a forty-five-degree angle with a melancholic air, pretending to study the passing clouds.
"Um, Grandfather, you haven't eaten since you arrived, have you? Allow me to escort you to the dining hall immediately," Tobirama rushed to defuse the awkward situation.
"Go, Tobirama, go. I can handle things here myself and keep order," the Second Elder interjected hastily, fearing the guest might teach the youth some other flashy but—in his view—dubious nonsense.
"Let us go. After the meal, I would very much like to ask your advice regarding a complex technique I am currently contemplating," Tobirama said, leading Masahiko toward the mess hall.
"I'm alive! Finally, I feel human again!" Masahiko exclaimed as the last morsel of food vanished into his stomach. "You know, Tobirama, your guest hadn't eaten for nearly two days."
"I noticed..." Tobirama replied, looking at the towering mountain of empty plates with a slight shade of shock. That amount of food would have been enough to feed four grown men to satiety.
"Well then, now that hunger is dealt with, let's get down to business. If you're burning with desire to learn my Shuriken Replacement Technique, I'm ready to show you the basics. Whether you manage to master it or not depends entirely on your diligence," Masahiko said.
"No, Grandfather, I meant something slightly different. I want to develop a fundamental space-time technique. My idea is to place a special mark on a kunai or any surface and instantly transport myself to it through space itself," Tobirama explained his concept.
"The Flying Thunder God Technique?" Masahiko muttered barely audibly under his breath.
"Flying Thunder God? What a magnificent, resonant name! It fits perfectly!" seized Tobirama, who possessed exceptionally sharp hearing.
Masahiko chuckled inwardly. Well, the copyright for the name was now officially his.
"Your idea pursues the same goal as my replacement technique, but my jutsu has a significant flaw—too long of a cooldown time. In this regard, your Flying Thunder God will have a colossal advantage—the absence of such time constraints," Masahiko said judiciously.
"Cooldown time?" Tobirama asked, frowning at the unfamiliar term.
"I mean the forced interval between uses. I have to wait about half a minute before I can apply the technique again. It is a fundamental limitation of the method itself, and here I am, alas, powerless," Masahiko quickly spun a story, choosing understandable words. "But I can give you some sound advice on the direction of your research..."
Of course, Masahiko himself had not a drop of talent for spatial manipulation, but he remembered the plot of future events in detail. Ideas about placing seal-marks directly on enemies' bodies, transporting material objects or even entire squads of allies along with oneself—he unleashed this entire stream of knowledge upon Tobirama. The Senju listened with his mouth practically hanging open in amazement, feverishly memorizing every word.
"Thank you so much, Grandfather! You've given me incredible food for thought! I must immediately ponder everything I've heard and begin calculations. Let us continue our conversation tomorrow!" Soon, Tobirama interrupted Masahiko's flow of eloquence and, brimming with inspiration, rushed off to conduct his dangerous experiments.
Left to his own devices, Masahiko decided to take a stroll. He checked in on Mito—after all, he would need something substantive to tell the Uzumaki Clan Head when he returned home.
After that, he headed to the First Training Ground. Finding a quiet corner hidden from prying eyes, Masahiko began the grueling practice of his new technique: Wind Release: Rasenshuriken.
Over the next few days, his life fell into a measured rhythm and flowed according to the same script: abundant food, sound sleep, endless discussions about the working principles of the Flying Thunder God with an enthusiastic Tobirama, solitary polishing of the Rasenshuriken, and short visits to Mito.
A week later, Masahiko gazed with deep satisfaction at a tiny, furiously spinning shuriken woven from the purest wind chakra hovering right above his palm. He understood perfectly: he only needed to increase the flow of energy to recreate the very destructive technique that Naruto would later make famous. True, he also remembered that this move caused irreparable damage to the user's arm cells, meaning it couldn't be used without dire necessity. Let this trump card wait quietly up his sleeve for its hour.
Now that his primary goal was achieved, Masahiko had even more free time for idle walks and observation.
Another week flew by unnoticed. Masahiko decided his visit had dragged on and it was time to say goodbye to the hospitable Senju clan to return to his homeland and his kinsmen.
And at the very moment he made the final decision to depart, a line of shimmering characters habitually floated before his eyes:
[You have witnessed and directly participated in a significant event of the Naruto World: The Development and Official Naming of the Flying Thunder God Technique. Reward: 5 Witness Points.]
"Wait, I get a reward for that too?!" was the only thought the stunned Masahiko could muster.