C137

As Haruto returned to his apartment, the evening sky was already darkening, but it wasn't too late for a workout. The day hadn't exhausted him nearly enough for his liking, and he thrived on pushing his body to the limit. After all, his plans required more than just strength and speed—they demanded a level of conditioning that surpassed what most shinobi ever aimed for.

Without wasting time, he changed into his workout gear and headed back out into the crisp night air. For the next hour, he pushed himself to the edge, conditioning his muscles and focusing on endurance. He alternated between intense cardio and strength training, moving with purpose, every motion deliberate, every breath in sync with his body's rhythm. His form was immaculate—each kick, punch, and movement executed with the precision of someone who had spent years mastering their body.

By the time he finished, his muscles burned in that familiar, satisfying way. Sweat soaked through his clothes, but Haruto felt alive. The workout had brought clarity and focus, and as always, it felt like a release. After returning to his apartment, he ate a large dinner to refuel, careful to balance his protein intake with the right amount of carbs—years of training had taught him how to optimize his diet for recovery.

But even as he ate, something tugged at the back of his mind.

That strange chakra signature.

Last night, just as he'd been unlocking his new chakra sensitivity, he'd noticed a presence—a faint chakra signature lingering in the building across the street. At first, he hadn't thought much of it, but then it was there again this morning. And now, after a quick check with his enhanced sensory abilities, it was still there, in the exact same spot.

Haruto frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration as he closed his eyes and extended his senses outward. The chakra signature wasn't particularly unique, but there was an odd consistency to it. Every shinobi's chakra had a certain "amount," a certain flow and feel to it. A Jonin's chakra would be larger and more refined than a Chunin's, but most people couldn't see the minute differences—chakra often appeared as a vague, blurry "blob" to those without precise sensory abilities.

But Haruto was different.

His photographic memory, cognitive abilities, and the advantage of his "Two Minds" allowed him to see things most would miss. It wasn't just the quantity of chakra that set someone apart; there were tiny fluctuations in the flow, minor variations that indicated experience, power, and intent. This chakra signature wasn't just some random bystander—it had been in the exact same spot last night and this morning, staring out the window, directly toward his apartment.

Three times.

That was more than enough to make Haruto suspicious. In the world of shinobi, there were no coincidences.

He stood by the window, peering through the blinds with narrowed eyes. The building across the street was nondescript—just another dull, unassuming structure in the village. There were a dozen reasons someone could be watching him, but none of them felt right. It wasn't just some passerby or curious villager; whoever this was had intentionally focused their attention on him.

Haruto leaned back, his thoughts racing. If this were anyone else, they might have dismissed it as paranoia, but Haruto knew better. He had been a fighter in his past life, and he had learned to trust his instincts. Now, in this world of shinobi, those instincts had only grown sharper.

Who is it? he wondered. And why are they watching me?

The possibilities ran through his mind. Was it an ANBU operative? Someone from the Hokage's office keeping tabs on him? Or worse, was it someone from Root? Danzo always had his eyes on potential recruits, especially ones that showed promise. Haruto had heard the rumors—children being "recruited" into Root without a choice, trained in secret, their lives dictated by the shadows.

But Haruto wasn't ready to jump to conclusions. He needed more information before making any moves. Acting too soon or being careless could alert whoever was watching him.

He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair. There wasn't much he could do tonight. Whoever was watching him was smart enough to keep their distance, and Haruto didn't have enough intel to make a definitive move. All he knew was that he was being watched, and that wasn't something he could ignore.

"Three times," he muttered to himself, glancing back out the window. "That's no coincidence."

But until he could gather more information, there was little he could do. Whoever it was, they were careful, deliberate. Haruto wasn't going to let them know he had noticed—not yet, at least. He had to play this smart.

Before heading to bed, Haruto released the shadow clone he had left to study fūinjutsu. The memories flooded back into him, and he sat for a moment, absorbing everything the clone had learned. There was a lot to unpack—complex seals, intricate formulas—but Haruto could feel himself making progress. Fūinjutsu was slow work, but with each new memory, he understood more.

He didn't have time to go over all the details tonight, though. That would come later.

For now, he needed to rest. But before he did, Haruto created a new shadow clone, assigning it a different task. This time, he focused on something more critical—genjutsu defense. He had been wanting to improve his resistance to genjutsu, and he figured his clone could work through some techniques while he slept. He gave the clone a simple instruction: experiment with defenses and strategies against genjutsu, and let him know the findings in the morning.

The clone nodded and got to work as Haruto climbed into bed.

As he lay down, his mind drifted back to the chakra signature. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. But he knew better than to act on half-formed ideas. Whoever it was, they were smart, but he was smarter.

For now, he'd wait, gather more information, and plan his next move.

And as sleep finally began to claim him, Haruto reminded himself of one thing: in the world of shinobi, being watched was never a coincidence.