If the Academy were a factory designed to produce standard-issue soldiers, Tobirama Senju's personal mentorship was a forge designed to hammer raw iron into a masterwork blade.
Nanami Kento's schedule had evolved from "busy" to "inhumane."
His new routine was a masterclass in time management, enforced by the most demanding boss in the elemental nations.
05:00 AM: Wake up. Physical conditioning (including Prayer).
08:00 AM: Academy (Clone). Real Nanami heads to the Senju Compound.
08:30 AM: R&D Shift. Reviewing Tobirama's backlog of theoretical jutsu.
12:00 PM: Lunch (usually eaten while walking).
01:00 PM: Combat Rotation (The Hokage Guard).
04:00 PM: Fuinjutsu with Mito.
07:00 PM: Personal Training / Hiraishin refinement.
10:00 PM: Sleep (Optional, often skipped in favor of meditation).
The "R&D Shift" was perhaps the most surreal part of his day. Tobirama Senju was a genius, but he was also a Hokage. The administrative burden of running Konoha—negotiating treaties, managing budgets, suppressing Uchiha dissent—left him with zero time to polish his inventions.
So, he outsourced the innovation to a six-year-old.
Nanami sat in a private study within the Hokage's residence, surrounded by towers of scrolls. Some were water-damaged, some were scorched, and some radiated ominous chakra.
Water Release: Severing Wave.Infinite Darkness Genjutsu.Soul-Anchor Theory (Edo Tensei Draft 4).
Nanami picked up a scroll labeled Chakra Flow: Sword Enhancement.
"Inefficient," Nanami muttered, uncapping his pen. "The flow ratio is too high on the hilt. It wastes energy before reaching the blade edge. If I constrict the conduit here..."
He scribbled corrections in the margins. He felt like an editor fixing the typos in the bible. He wasn't rewriting the core logic—Tobirama's logic was flawless—but he was streamlining the execution. He was turning prototypes into products.
But theory was only half the curriculum. The other half was pain.
Every afternoon, Tobirama sent one of his elite guards—his subordinates, his students—to "test" Nanami.
Monday: Hiruzen Sarutobi.
Hiruzen was twenty years old, in his physical prime, and annoyingly cheerful. He fought like a monkey—fluid, unpredictable, and acrobatic.
Training Ground 3. Muddy terrain.
"Come on, Kento-kun!" Hiruzen called out, hanging upside down from a tree branch by his ankles. "You're moving well, but your reach is your enemy!"
Nanami stood in the mud, panting. His technique was perfect. Thanks to the Netero template, he knew exactly where Hiruzen was going to be. He knew the angle of the kick, the torque of the spin.
But knowing and reaching were different things.
Hiruzen dropped. He rolled into a sweeping kick.
Nanami saw it. He moved to counter with a precise elbow strike to the knee joint. It was a move that would have crippled a man of equal size.
But Hiruzen's leg was longer. His muscle mass was denser.
The kick connected with Nanami's guard before Nanami's elbow could reach Hiruzen's knee.
Thud.
Nanami slid back three meters, his boots carving trenches in the mud. He hadn't made a mistake. He had simply been out-sized.
"Your form is impeccable," Hiruzen praised, landing lightly. "You fight like a master trapped in a child's body. But you can't bridge the gap with skill alone yet. You need to use your small stature. Go lower. Make me overextend."
"I am aware of the physics," Nanami gritted out, shaking the mud from his hands. "It is... frustrating."
Tuesday: Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane.
These sessions were miserable. Not because they were overly difficult physically, but because they were tedious.
Homura and Koharu fought by the book. Perfectly standard Academy style, elevated to Jonin levels of precision. No flair. No creativity. Just relentless, by-the-numbers assault.
Nanami danced around them. His "Prayer" movement allowed him to slip punches by millimeters. He frustrated them, making them miss, making them waste energy.
He caught Koharu with a palm strike to the solar plexus. It was a perfect hit.
She stumbled but didn't fall. Her core strength absorbed the blow. She grabbed his wrist and threw him.
"Technique: 10/10," Homura critiqued, adjusting his glasses. "Force generation: 4/10. Eat more protein."
"I am trying," Nanami muttered from the ground.
Wednesday: Danzo Shimura.
Danzo didn't speak. He didn't smile. He fought to hurt.
Training Ground 3. Windy day.
Danzo used Wind Release to enhance his strikes. His punches felt like cutting blades.
Nanami didn't back down. He matched Danzo's aggression with cold precision. When Danzo aimed a chop at his neck, Nanami ducked and drove a fist into Danzo's armpit.
It hit the nerve cluster. Danzo's arm twitched.
But Danzo ignored the pain. He used his other arm to backhand Nanami.
CRACK.
Nanami flew into a tree. His block had held, but the sheer kinetic energy transfer was too much for his lighter frame to ground.
Danzo released him and stepped back.
"You possess the killing instinct," Danzo said, his voice dry and raspy. "You saw the nerve cluster and struck without hesitation. Good. But your bones are still soft. Until they harden, do not trade blows. Evasion is your only armor."
"Understood," Nanami wheezed, checking his ribs.
Thursday: Kagami Uchiha.
This was the day Nanami dreaded and anticipated the most.
Kagami was fast. Sharingan fast.
"Ready, Kento-kun?" Kagami asked, his three-tomoe eyes spinning lazily.
"As I'll ever be."
The fight was a blur. Nanami moved with the uncanny anticipation of the Netero style. He didn't telegraph his moves physically. His shoulders didn't dip before a punch; his eyes didn't track the target before the strike.
Kagami's eyes widened. He moves without preparatory tension. It's hard to read.
Nanami threw a punch. Kagami dodged it by a hair's breadth.
Nanami followed up with a leg sweep. Kagami hopped over it.
They exchanged blows for ten minutes. Nanami was actually keeping up, his efficiency countering Kagami's predictive vision.
But eventually, stamina won out. Nanami slowed down by a fraction of a second. Kagami didn't.
Kagami caught Nanami's fist in his palm.
"You're broadcasting your intent," Kagami explained gently, releasing him. "Not with your body—your muscles are silent. But your chakra."
"My chakra?"
"Before you strike, your chakra spikes in the limb," Kagami pointed out. "You need to flatten the curve. Keep your chakra flow constant, even when exerting force. Surprise the eyes by making the energy spike happen after impact, not before."
"Delayed output," Nanami nodded, absorbing the lesson. "Like a shaped charge."
"Exactly. Mask the signal."
Friday: Torifu Akimichi.
Nanami spent Fridays trying to move an immovable object. Torifu was a tank. Nanami would land perfect combinations—kidney, liver, knee—but Torifu would just absorb the impact with his fat reserves and smile.
"Eat more!" Torifu would advise after bouncing Nanami off his belly for the tenth time. "You're too skinny! Mass moves mass!"
But Sundays... Sundays were for the Boss.
The training ground was cleared. ANBU were posted at the perimeter.
Tobirama Senju stood in the center. He wore his armor.
"One hour," Tobirama announced. "No holding back. Use everything. Hiraishin. Rasengan. Shadow Clones."
"Yes, Lord Second."
Nanami dropped into his stance.
Zip.
Nanami triggered the Hiraishin. He teleported to a kunai he had planted behind Tobirama.
He thrust his palm forward. Rasengan.
The blue sphere screamed.
Tobirama didn't turn around. He didn't need to.
He performed a Hiraishin jump of his own.
Zip.
Nanami hit empty air.
Zip.
Tobirama appeared directly above Nanami, gravity aiding his descent. He had a Rasengan in his own hand.
Nanami's eyes widened. He learned it. In two months. And he optimized the rotation speed.
Nanami didn't have time to teleport. He threw his hands up.
Barrier Art: Kinetic Mirror.
A small, purple shield flared into existence between them—Nanami's modified barrier seal.
BOOM.
Tobirama's Rasengan slammed into the barrier. The shield cracked, groaned, but held for a split second—long enough for the "Mirror" property to reflect the force.
The backlash sent both of them flying backward.
Nanami skidded across the dirt, digging his heels in. Tobirama flipped in the air and landed gracefully.
"Good reaction," Tobirama praised, shaking his hand out. "The barrier deployment speed has improved. But you are still telegraphing the Hiraishin arrival. The air pressure changes before you appear."
"I am working on a vacuum-entry protocol," Nanami panted.
"Work faster."
Tobirama raised two fingers. Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet.
A massive dragon of water erupted from the nearby river, its jaws gaping.
Nanami performed the cross seal. Multi-Shadow Clone Jutsu.
Four Nanamis appeared. They scattered.
The dragon crashed down, obliterating two clones. The memories of drowning hit Nanami, but he shoved them aside.
"Formation C!"
The remaining two clones rushed Tobirama. They threw kunai—not at him, but around him.
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. He's setting up a perimeter.
The kunai landed in a circle.
"Barrier Art: Four Corner Lightning Bind!" the clones shouted.
Electricity crackled between the kunai, forming a cage.
Tobirama stood in the center of the lightning cage. He looked unimpressed.
"Standard tactics," Tobirama critiqued. He stomped his foot.
Earth Release: Earth Flow Divide.
The ground split. The kunai were upended, the circuit broken. The lightning vanished.
Tobirama blurred. He appeared in front of the real Nanami.
A knee to the gut.
Oof.
Nanami folded. Tobirama grabbed him by the back of the collar and threw him.
Nanami twisted in the air, throwing a Hiraishin kunai at a tree to arrest his momentum.
Zip.
He hung from the tree branch, breathing hard.
"You rely too much on the setup," Tobirama called out. "In war, you will not have time to plant kunai. You will not have time to draw seals. You must be immediate."
"Immediacy requires instinct," Nanami gasped. "I am still building the database."
"Build faster," Tobirama said grimly. "The world is not waiting for you to be ready."
Five more months passed.
The seasons changed. The cherry blossoms fell, replaced by the heavy green of summer, and then the crisp red of autumn.
Nanami Kento was now seven years old.
He had spent nearly a year in the crucible.
His body was unrecognizable from the soft civilian child he had been. He was taller, his movements possessing a predatory grace. The callouses on his knuckles were thick pads of armor.
He had hit 6,000 daily prayers.
His mastery of Hiraishin V2 was seamless.
His Rasengan was stable, instant, and lethal.
He had earned the begrudging respect of the Hokage Guard. Hiruzen treated him like a little brother. Kagami trusted him. Even Danzo had stopped trying to break his bones, settling for deep bruising instead.
But the atmosphere in the village was changing.
It started slowly. More ANBU patrols on the roofs. The mission desk at the Hokage Tower became frantic. Jonin were recalled from leave.
Tobirama stopped smiling entirely. His sessions with Nanami became less about theory and more about lethality.
How to sever an artery. How to poison a water supply. How to collapse a tunnel on a pursuing squad.
Nanami learned it all. He filed it away in his "War" folder.
One crisp autumn evening, Nanami was in the Hokage's office, organizing reports on the Kumogakure border skirmishes.
The door burst open.
A Chunin messenger stumbled in, covered in dust and blood. He collapsed to his knees.
Tobirama stood up instantly. "Report."
"Ambush..." the messenger gasped. "The Kinkaku Force... they crossed the border. They hit the forward outpost. No survivors. They declare... they declare the alliance void."
The room went cold.
Nanami stopped organizing the scrolls. He felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Tobirama walked around the desk. His face was a mask of stone.
"Summon the Council," Tobirama ordered. "Recall all active Jonin. Put the Academy on lockdown."
He looked at Nanami.
"Go home, Kento."
"Yes, Hokage-sama."
Nanami grabbed his bag and ran.
He ran through the streets of Konoha. The sun was setting, casting the village in blood-red light. People were going about their business, laughing, eating, unaware that the peace was over.
He reached the bakery.
"Kento?" his mother asked, seeing him. "What's wrong? You're early."
Nanami looked at his parents. He looked at the peaceful life they had built.
"The First Great Ninja War," Nanami whispered, "has just begun."
He went to his room. He didn't meditate. He didn't pray.
He sat on his bed and sharpened his kunai. Zip. Zip. Zip.
The sound of metal on whetstone was the only sound in the house.
Phase 2 is over, Nanami thought, testing the edge of the blade against his thumb. A drop of blood welled up.
Phase 3: Survival.