Since his "awakening," Aburame Tetsumaru had worked incredibly hard—at playing.
Konoha didn't have formal nurseries or kindergartens. The Aburame clan's "Nest House" was essentially a glorified cafeteria; they didn't have the manpower to organize a curriculum for toddlers. Once Tetsumaru was fed, no one bothered him. With no formal way to study, he was left to his own devices.
No matter how much his three-year-old biology tried to regale him with "childishness," he still had the soul of a forty-year-old. Games like Hide-and-Seek, Tag, or "Ninja War" lost their charm within days. They were just... boring.
Soon, he became obsessed with insects. In the Aburame clan, bug enthusiasts were everywhere, so he didn't stand out. One should never underestimate the hobby of insect-keeping; people in his old world had bankrupted themselves over prize-winning crickets.
His current focus was the Sugar Ants. He spent his time testing various theories from his past life to figure out how they produced sugar. He quickly uncovered their secret: Aphids.
These ants from the Land of Grass were the "ranchers" of the insect world. They herded aphids. The worker ants would carry aphids to plants with the richest sap, gather aphid eggs to hatch them in the nest, and drive away predators like ladybugs. They even drummed their antennae on the aphids' backs to help them "digest." All of this was for one thing: honeydew.
The ants didn't produce the sugar; they were just the logistics team. The honeydew was the sap secreted—or rather, excreted—from the aphids' back ends.
It sounds gross, but think about it: yogurt is the waste product of lactic acid bacteria; honey is a fermented mix of bee spit, nectar, and pollen; and there's always the obscenely expensive Kopi Luwak coffee made from civet droppings. In the world of delicacies, origins are best left unexamined.
It had taken Tetsumaru over six months to find the answer. He had seen the ants carrying aphids and eggs before, but he'd assumed they were just hunting. It wasn't until his statistical records showed that the aphid population was growing in a fixed ratio to the ants that he realized his mistake.
With the mystery solved, the next challenge was clear, but Tetsumaru was certain these two symbiotic species had the potential to make him a fortune. The final hurdle: How to breed the specialized "Storehouse" ants?
If the honeydew remained dispersed among regular ants, harvesting it would be a logistical nightmare. He needed the "Honey Pot" variant—ants with abdomens five hundred times the normal size—to make the venture profitable.
Recalling Animal Planet episodes, his logic was sound: animals only store massive amounts of fat or food when life gets difficult. Evolution favors storage in harsh, seasonal environments. In short, animals reserve energy to survive famine; otherwise, they'd just spend it on breeding.
I'll simulate winter using ice to lower the temperature and see if I can trigger a storage response, he planned.
Tetsumaru checked the kitchen. The fish head and rice were done. He put out the fire, letting the residual heat of the embers keep the meal warm. He pulled some pickled melons from a ceramic jar, washed and sliced them, and tossed them with fresh greens and a drop of oil to cut through the richness of the fish.
By the time the table was set, his parents returned home.
"Oh my! Tetsumaru, the food smells wonderful. How is my little boy so talented?"
Tetsumaru, not wanting to be teased by his "young" mother, struck first. "Go wash your hands and eat. If it gets cold, it'll taste fishy. Hurry up!"
Wielding his spatula like a weapon, he herded his parents toward the sink to escape his fate of being smothered with cuddles.
Currently, mission work in Konoha was a case of "too many monks and too little congee." Competition was fierce. His father, Wafu, had secured a long-term security contract and was working himself to the bone to keep it. His mother, Aiko, was trying to capitalize on the village's push for more medical ninjas, hoping to earn a promotion to Medical Chunin by training students.
Without realizing it, the household chores had fallen to Tetsumaru. He didn't mind. Both his parents were "kitchen-disabled"—their cooking was edible, but that was about all you could say for it. To save his own palate, Tetsumaru took over the stove.
After dinner, Wafu did the dishes, Aiko did the laundry, and Tetsumaru retreated to his room to sulk—because he had been cuddled anyway. For a young shinobi couple, nothing relieved stress like "petting" their own child. As anyone who has a kid knows, a toddler is way more effective at stress relief than a cat or a dog.
The next morning, Tetsumaru headed to the Nest House to join the other four-year-olds. They were led away by a clan Chunin.
In the Aburame clan, boys began learning Chakra Refinement at four. Those who succeeded would move on to the clan's secret Kikaichu arts. If a child couldn't master it by five, they were "filtered out." The clan's resources were prioritized for "Jonin Seeds" who could maintain the clan's status.
Every clan that had survived the Warring States period operated on this ruthless efficiency. Before the Second Hokage established the Ninja Academy, it was understood that clan children had different constitutions than civilians. The optimal age for civilians to start was six, which set the Academy entrance age. For clan kids, the Academy was a "second chance"—a safety net for those who weren't prodigies but still had potential.
In a courtyard within the clan's restricted grounds, Elder Shiki addressed seventeen young Aburame.
"The human body has 130 trillion cells. Healthy cells contain immense energy," the elder began, his white beard fluttering as he gestured with his only remaining hand. "The human will possesses a mysterious power. Through training, we extract Spiritual Energy. When we mix Physical Energy from our cells with our Spiritual Energy, we create Chakra."
Elder Shiki sat cross-legged on a mat. "Form the Tiger Seal. Begin refining your chakra. Remember: the first time requires a calm mind, patience, and persistence. Do not give up."
Tetsumaru formed the seal and closed his eyes. Within three breaths, a faint wisp of chakra flickered into existence. He immediately stopped, careful not to let the elder notice.
He wasn't a one-in-a-million genius who could refine chakra in seconds; he had simply been practicing in secret for months. This was thanks to his second "cheat" ability: Insight.
"Insight" wasn't a visual power like the Byakugan, but a hyper-acute form of perception. When Tetsumaru concentrated, he could sense microscopic vibrations. Within a small radius, he could "see" everything—the flow of matter, the movement of energy, the very pulse of chakra.
This ability had grown over the past year. Its range was a measly 40 centimeters, but its precision was terrifying; he could distinguish between a fungal cell and a plant cell.
Tetsumaru had no idea where "Insight" came from. He followed the rule that "free is often the most expensive," which made him wary of "Systems" or "Gramps-in-a-ring" tropes. He used the power cautiously, recording data and testing its limits while keeping his head down.
Adults—or rather, mature members of society—don't trust free gifts, but they don't throw them away either. Even if it were a deal with the devil, he'd use it to get ahead. As the saying goes: Walk as if on thin ice, but act with the boldness of a lion.
Through "Insight," he had observed himself and his mother. As a veteran ninja, Aiko refined chakra constantly. By watching her, Tetsumaru had reverse-engineered the process, discovering more efficient pathways and subtle tricks.
He told no one. Like his knowledge of the future, it was impossible to explain.
He had also discovered that chakra refinement was a double-edged sword. It was taxing on the cells; push too hard, and the cells would wither or die. However, once the chakra was refined and allowed to circulate before dissipating, it acted like a high-grade fertilizer for the body, accelerating physical development.
Through trial and error, he found that two sessions a day—one right before bed—maximized his growth. The results were clear: by his fourth birthday, he was taller than all the five-year-olds in the clan. The downside? He was hungrier, more impulsive, and more irritable. His "King of the Kids" antics were at least partially fueled by this hormonal surge.
Tetsumaru waited patiently for his peers. As evening approached and a boy named Aburame Shishin succeeded, Tetsumaru "faked" his own success just a moment later, claiming the second-place spot.
He needed the reputation of a genius, but a "controlled" genius.
A year ago, Aburame Masao hadn't been an orphan. But after his grandfather died, he became one, and within twenty days, he vanished. Tetsumaru had overheard Aunt Sachiko complaining about the Village Constabulary (the Uchiha Police) being useless and neglecting "unimportant" orphans.
Tetsumaru knew better. Root had already been established. Danzo had a "tradition" of kidnapping clan children with high potential and training them into emotionless tools. An orphan with no one to look for them was the perfect target.
Tetsumaru had parents, which made him safer, but his "mountain" wasn't very high. His father was a branch member and a plain Chunin; his mother was a civilian-born Medical Genin. They were a solid middle-class family, but they had no political power and average strength. In this era, that was no guarantee of safety. If anything happened to them, he would be vulnerable.
This sense of crisis drove him. He needed a reputation—a "Genius" tag that would make the clan elders value and protect him. But he couldn't be too monstrous, or he'd attract the wrong kind of attention from the shadows. So, he carefully "struggled" to barely beat out the main-branch kids, solidifying his status as the "King of the Kids."
The next day, seven more boys, led by Aburame Fujikado, succeeded. The remaining eight stayed in the courtyard to keep trying, while Tetsumaru, Shishin, Fujikado, and six others were led into the clan's ancestral hall.
The hall was divided into three sections: a central shrine to the ancestors, a library of scrolls on the left, and an armory on the right. They passed through the hall into a dense, restricted forest. In the center of a clearing stood a man-sized stone tower. A constant shashasha sound—the rustling of a million wings—echoed from within.
"This stone tower is the foundation of the Aburame: the Kikaichu Hive," Elder Shiki said, stroking his beard with pride. "Kikaichu feed on chakra and carry a distinct personal signature. It is nearly impossible for one person to control another's insects."
"To pass them on, a master must either spend years 'washing' the chakra signature away, or use the Hive. The Hive produces eggs that, after seven days, hatch into 'neutral' insects. Only these can be inherited."
The Elder's tone grew solemn. "But remember this: the restricted grounds are not our cornerstone, nor is the Hive the key to our legacy. For the Aburame, the Hive-User is the core. The incubation jutsu placed upon the Hive is the secret. Everything else is secondary."
"In the Warring States period, we weren't the only insect-using clan. But others chose to rely on 'Summoning Insects'—powerful, singular beasts bred in specific environments. Those insects were fiercer and stronger than Kikaichu. They were nightmares on the battlefield."
He summoned a swarm of his own Kikaichu, which circled him like a dark cloud. "But those clans hit a ceiling. If their insects didn't evolve, the ninja couldn't advance. And the stronger the insect, the harder it is to evolve. More importantly, those insects required specific habitats to survive. Once their 'sacred grounds' were breached, those clans perished."
"The Aburame clan placed our foundation in people. We produce more Jonin, and our legacy is stable. That is why we are the ones who survived."
"Now, step forward in order and receive your Kikaichu."
Under the Elder's guidance, the nine children lured the insects, feeding them chakra to leave their personal mark. Finally, the insects were guided to the Neiguan point on the inner wrist. They bit through the skin and began to "nest" inside the children's bodies.
The process was agonizing. Their arms went numb, losing all motor control, yet the sensations of itching, stinging, and crawling became hyper-vivid. There is a primal, instinctive horror in feeling something burrowing under your skin.
Tetsumaru gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his face. Fujikado was a mess of snot and tears, and Shishin next to him was wailing at the top of his lungs.
Once the Kikaichu settled to rest, the children slowly regained control of their limbs. The Elder ushered them out.
"Go home and refine your chakra. Nesting takes at least three days. The Kikaichu must be well-fed to finish on time. If they go hungry, they will never stop burrowing."
Tetsumaru noticed Elder Shiki glancing at him several times during the speech. Good. The "First Place" gamble was paying off; the Elder had remembered his name.
At the gate, the parents were waiting. Shishin and Fujikado ran sobbing into their mothers' arms. Tetsumaru walked silently to his father, who immediately hit him with a "Triple Threat": a head-rub, a neck-squeeze, and a bear hug.
After a full day of intense focus, Tetsumaru was too drained to resist. He let his father carry him home on his back.
After dinner, he regained a bit of energy. He checked his ant colony and set up the ice to lower the temperature. To his delight, the ants began scuttling about in a panic. Finally, he set up a vacuum tube for air collection and lay down to rest.
In the middle of the night, the Kikaichu woke up.
He scrambled to sit up, refining chakra to feed the hungry swarm. Once fed, the insects became even more active. Before long, his arms lost all feeling again, hanging at his sides like limp noodles.
With no one around to see, Tetsumaru finally let out a low, miserable groan.
Outside his door, his mother and father took turns checking on him, listening to his soft cries for a moment before quietly slipping away.
When the Kikaichu were tired, they rested; when they woke, they continued digging. Tetsumaru pushed himself to keep the chakra flowing.
Five times they cycled through this. By the time the sky turned gray, Tetsumaru had survived his first, and longest, night as a true Aburame.