Late Nights & Theory Crafting
Three Years Old
I don't sleep anymore.
Not in the traditional sense, anyway. My body lies still, breathing steadily under the sheets, but my mind remains awake. Quietly aware. Aware of the weight of my body, the air moving through my lungs, and, most importantly, aware of the soft hum of my chakra flowing through me like an unbroken current.
I used to wonder if it was a side effect of all those meditation sessions and chakra exercises I started so young, but it doesn't matter now. What matters is that I understand it—my chakra. More each night. More with every breath. And the more I understand it, the more I know how to wield it.
Not just to cough up a fireball or summon a shadow clone, like the others would—no, chakra is much deeper than that. It's life itself, flowing between the mind, body, and soul.
Why limit it to being a weapon when it can be something far more? These people… these shinobi… they see only the surface of the sea. I want to dive deeper, all the way down.
But that's not how this world works, is it? No, for them, chakra is a tool of war. A weapon in a game of survival. Every child drilled into obedience, every genius honed into a blade. Barbarians, the lot of them. I suppose, in some ways, I'm lucky to be born a Yamanaka, where patience and discipline are taught before destruction.
At least, that's what my clan believes—train the mind before the body, and perhaps you won't lose yourself in the madness of power.
I suppose it's a fine philosophy… for them.
My ears catch muffled voices downstairs, faint but distinct. My father, I assume, but I'm curious. My chakra flickers as I channel it to my inner ear, sharpening my hearing until the words come into focus. I'm still seated in my Mind Palace, sipping a cup of jasmine tea under the shade of a jacaranda tree, my legs swinging off the edge of a wooden bench.
I can hear everything inside and outside the palace. It's one of the beauties of this mental space, being in two places at once. Listening, observing.
"…ogi again? There are other games," a familiar voice drawls "How about Go for a change?"
"Shogi refines strategic thinking," another counters. "Go lacks the precision and tactics. It's too broad, more philosophy than practice."
Shikaku-san, of course. I should've guessed. Dad, Shikaku, and Choza were at it again. I can hear Choza's laugh, always light-hearted, chiming in next. They sound rowdy tonight. It's not often I hear Dad this animated anymore. Veteran ninjas can become so… restrained. But every time his old team gets together, they loosen up, let their guard down, even if just for a night.
I let their conversation fade into the background and conjured my notebook again, the one in my Mind Palace. It's where I've been designing my build. Not a physical build, of course, but a mental map of how I'll shape myself—my future—through training. Ninja life, in many ways, reminds me of DnD or RPGs I used to play. Every decision mattered, every specialization, every ability honed for a specific purpose. And me? I was a mage.
A real mage, standing behind the frontline, weaving intricate jutsu with perfect control. But also well-rounded enough to get up close and personal if required... So maybe a DnD Wizard with the School of Enchantment or School of Illusion Subclass? I could also be a Storm Sorcery Sorcerer? And a Summoner, creating minions to fight for me? Yeah, a mixture of those, maybe…
Shinobi life offered many paths, sure. I've seen enough of them to know. You could become an Elementalist, mastering the raw power of elemental release. Or an assassin, swift and silent, your blade a whisper in the night. But for me, it's the mind. Always the mind. Control. Precision. Maximum efficiency, minimum effort.
I flipped through the mental pages. I've categorized my future into five pillars: Genjutsu, Yamanaka clan techniques, Ninjutsu, Medical Jutsu, and Fūinjutsu. Each played a role, and each fed into the next. That's how I'll grow. That's how I'll achieve the control I need to stay above the rest.
My Limit Breaker ability gave me the advantage—unlimited potential and unrestricted growth. In theory, there's no ceiling I couldn't shatter, no skill I couldn't master. But I'm not delusional. Mastery takes time, and I have to prioritize.
Yamanaka techniques are first. They always will be. We're natural-born manipulators of the mind. It's what we do, and it aligns perfectly with my focus on Yin chakra. Still, the clan's techniques have glaring weaknesses. Why should I need to leave my body vulnerable every time I perform a Mind Transfer?
The idea of surrendering control of my own body while controlling someone else's is… laughable. It's a flaw that no one in our clan seems eager to address. But I will. I'll improve the jutsu. Remove its weaknesses. Make it something worthy of fear. Respect.
I tap the end of my pencil thoughtfully. Why can't Yamanaka techniques directly manipulate the brain? Stimulate the adrenal gland to flood someone's system with fear, like the Quincy did to Rukia in Bleach? Why not affect the thalamus to control a person's sensory perception, the way Aizen could. The possibilities were endless. We could break minds, shatter wills, without even lifting a kunai.
That's what I'll do.
Next on my list is Genjutsu. It's too often dismissed as a lesser art, but it's deadly in the right hands. I mean, look at Itachi. He became a nightmare with simple illusions. If he could do that with his abilities, imagine what I could achieve with Limit Breaker and the Mage Class at my disposal. Genjutsu is all about subtlety, about making your opponent doubt reality itself. I can work with that.
Ninjutsu is third because while the Yamanaka are specialists in mind techniques, I'd be foolish to ignore the raw power that comes with elemental mastery. I'll become Tobirama 2.0. Jutsu creation and enhancement—it's all within my reach. I've heard the whispers from my parents—my reserves are already larger than average and slowly growing each day, thanks to Limit Breaker—and with enough training, my chakra volume will be astronomical.
But that's not all. Medical jutsu will round out my sill set, because the human body is fragil, and knowing how to manipulate it is the key to survival. I was the best neurosurgeon in American before. Now, I'll be the best medical-nin in Konoha. Medical techniques in taijutsu, like Tsunade's Body Pathway Derangement, will give me an edge in close combat. Imagine turning someone's nerves against them, disrupting their body's signal. It's elegant. Efficient. Deadly.
Finally, Fūinjutsu. The art of sealing—of binding gods, even. If that doesn't scream potential, then nothing does.
I smiled to myself, sipping my tea. Yes, I can see it all so clearly now. The road ahead isn't short, but it's there, stretching out before me, and I'll walk to it until I've made my mark. I'll change this world, starting with the Yamanaka name.
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The night dragged on with the dull rumble of conversation from downstairs.
Nothing interesting ever came out of these gatherings. No strategic revelations or forbidden techniques being whispered across the dinner table. Veteran ninja or not, they were still careful about what they said. The walls in Konoha weren't that thick, and everyone had a trick or two for eavesdropping.
I had long since tuned them out. That was until I heard my name.
"How's Satoshi-kun" Shikaku's voice, measured and curious, pierced through the mundane chatter.
I paused, my attention shifting from my MP to real life. It wasn't often that I became the topic of conversation, and when I did, it usually meant someone had noticed something. Something I didn't necessarily want noticed.
"Good, good. Healthy. Smart, too," Dad replied, his tone relaxed but carrying that underlying weariness he always had after these long days.
I could practically see Shikaku's brow quirk in amusement, even without enhancing my hearing further.
"Is he really as smart as your wife says?" Choza asked, his voice taking on that familiar teasing edge. "Aiko told my Chiharu all about it, but she wasn't convinced there wasn't a bit of exaggeration."
There was a pause, a beat longer than normal before Dad responded. "Yeah, he is. It's… It's scary sometimes how quickly he picks things up. Honestly, there are moments when I think he dumbs himself down just so Aiko and I don't feel uncomfortable."
I stifled the reflex to roll my eyes. He wasn't wrong. It wasn't exactly a challenge to appear more… normal. People seemed to appreciate that. It put them at ease when you didn't tower tower above them.
"But," he continued, "he doesn't stick with anything for very long."
Ah, there it was. The half-compliment.
Choza let out a low whistle, "So, he's one of those kids then."
Another pause. I could image Dad running a hand through his hair, considering the weight of his next words. "Yeah… I think so. He's a natural-born genius… like Minato Namikaze… and Sakumo's son.
My breath caught, just for a second. Minato? Kakashi? That was… unexpected. It wasn't that I didn't know I'd eventually be labeled a genius. That much was inevitable, But to be compared to them already? The future Fourth Hokage and the Copy Ninja? I hadn't anticipated being spoken of in the same breath as those soon-to-be legends so soon.
"And Orochimaru," Shikaku added casually.
Dad's sharp intake of breath was almost audible. "Don't even joke about that."
Choza chuckled. "It's the genius thing. They're all a little scary in their own way, aren't they?"
The conversation drifted after that, back to mundane things: Shogi, war stories, and who was winning at what game. I let their words fade into background noise again, retreating into the quiet depth of my MP. But something lingered: Minato… Kakashi… Orochimaru.
Genius.
Labels had more power here than they ever did in my old life. Back there, in the world I came from, being labeled a genius meant you were smart. People would be impressed, sure, but it wasn't a defining characteristic. Here, though? It was different.
In Konoha, the label genius was a declaration, a prophecy. It came with expectations—overwhelming expectations. People in this world didn't just see a genius as someone who excelled in one field. No. To them, a genius was someone who was better at everything. Stronger, faster, smarter. A prodigy in all things.
I imagined Minato being pressured not just to be the best strategist or the fastest on the battlefield, but also to master calligraphy, tea ceremony, shurikenjutsu, kenjutsu, everything. It was absurd, really, to think that brilliance in one area should translate to brilliance in all others. And yet, that's what this world demanded.
I was reminded of Naruto. How they treated him like a demon because of the label they slapped on him. This village was quick to categorize you, and once they did, you became that label—defined by it, restricted by it. Genius. Demon. Hero. Monster. It was the way of things here.
Well, at least they have me pegged right.
Not that I cared. They could label me all they wanted, pile on their expectations. It didn't matter. I wasn't doing this for them, or for some title. I didn't crave anyone's approval—parents, teachers, Hokage, none of it. The only thing I cared about was the goal I'd set for myself. Sage-Rank ninja. The rest? It would all fall into place naturally.
Still, being called a genius had its perks. If people thought you were something extraordinary, they hesitated to challenge you. The stronger your reputation, the more people left you alone. That was power in itself—more than any jutsu.
In the quiet of my MP, I smiled. I could picture it clearly, standing on a hill with the village below, the shinobi of Konoha singing my praises. My chakra ebbed and flowed through me like a living thing, like a blue river I could feel in every part of me. That kind of power… it was a nice thought. But thoughts are cheap.
I opened my eyes in the stillness of the night. Time to get back to work. There was still so much to understand about chakra. And the only way forward was through.
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