The Correct Use Of The Bond System
Denji knew most of the Root ninjas carried themselves like the living dead, so he paid no mind to their attitude.
He gave a simple nod. "You handle it. I'll do it."
Though he had the advantage of a cheat-like system, Denji had once been an ordinary person, someone who'd never so much as killed a chicken—let alone another human being. Now, despite his growing strength, his mindset remained a potential liability. He understood that on a battlefield, raw power wasn't everything. Even a Genin could take down a Jōnin, or perhaps even a Kage, with a single well-placed kunai.
He knew this was a hurdle he needed to overcome, and he didn't fault the old man's plan. Still, Shimura set a condition. "I'll say this upfront: I'll only kill those who deserve it. If I decide they shouldn't die, I won't carry it out."
The masked ninja known as "Owl" replied coldly. "At the Root, ninjas are tools. All mission targets are expendable. But Master Denji, your situation is different. You have the final say."
Their team left the Root base and headed northwest, traveling swiftly out of the village. In no time, they arrived at an ordinary-looking settlement roughly a hundred kilometers away. As one of the most powerful nations, the Land of Fire rarely faced external invasion, and life in the countryside appeared peaceful on the surface. Yet it didn't take much effort to find darkness lurking beneath.
Even in this seemingly tranquil society, rooted in feudal aristocracy, corruption thrived behind closed doors. Bandits, petty thugs, and morally bankrupt individuals were a common blight in many villages.
Along the way, Owl briefed Denji on the target. The mission was straightforward: a corrupt landowner had amassed wealth through predatory lending practices. His methods had forced dozens of families to splinter and lose their livelihoods. Though he'd hired two rogue ninjas for protection, they were average at best—merely standard Chūnin-level fighters. To Root, such a man was nothing more than a useful source of cash. This would be a simple mission for Denji, meant to sharpen his skills.
From a high perch on a sturdy tree overlooking a spacious courtyard, Owl's voice carried through the stillness. "Master Denji, the target is ready. You may proceed."
...
Crash!
The wooden door shattered into splinters, sending a wave of stunned silence through the room. Thugs who had been lounging around, drinking and gambling, turned toward the commotion, their eyes wide with confusion.
As the dust began to settle, a small figure stepped into the room, a blade nearly as long as his entire frame balanced at his side.
"Hello," the boy greeted, his tone light and unnervingly cheerful. "My name is Denji, and I'm here to send you all on your way." He smiled, the kind of innocent grin only a child could muster. "But before you go, may I ask your names? I'd like to know who I'm giving this, uh… free hospice care to."
A hush fell over the room, only to be broken by uproarious laughter. One of the bigger men—broad-shouldered, his face marked with old scars—stepped forward, his deep chuckles echoing against the walls. "What kind of joke is this?" he sneered, doubling over as if the idea was too ridiculous to bear. "A little brat playing ninja, eh? Listen, kid. I'm standing right here. Go ahead, give it your best shot!"
Denji cocked his head, undeterred. "What's your name?"
The big man puffed out his chest, smirking. "The name's Uesugi Taro—"
Shkkt!
Before the man could finish, Denji's blade descended in a clean arc. For a fleeting moment, there was only a thin red line drawn across Taro's forehead. Then, as the blood began to seep, his body collapsed with a heavy thud. His torso split cleanly in two, spilling his insides across the floor in a grotesque display.
Denji grimaced slightly, the sight turning his stomach. "Yikes." He rubbed at his nose, trying to push past the wave of nausea. He'd always thought the emotional toll of killing would be worse, but this—this visceral aftermath—was harder to stomach. The gore painted the room in vivid color, making it clear he'd have a hard time eating anything remotely resembling innards for a while.
[Host has established a "life-and-death friendship" bond with Uesugi Taro. The third-stage reward has been issued: 0.1 standard Genin chakra units and a slight increase in physical fitness.]
Denji smirked. "Guess I was right." A flash of pride crossed his face. It wasn't the act itself that triggered the bond—it was the intensity of the moment. Few emotions were as raw, as charged, as that instant when life and death balanced on a knife's edge.
He couldn't help but chuckle at the system's term: "life-and-death friendship." What a fitting name. He lived, they died—balance restored. It was oddly fair in its own twisted way.
Suddenly, the room erupted into chaos. The rest of the thugs, now snarling with rage, grabbed weapons and charged at him. Though fear of ninjas lingered in the back of their minds, they were emboldened by sheer numbers and muscle memory from years of street brawls. Among them stood two rogue ninja, their dull headbands and ragged clothes revealing them as mediocre Chūnin at best. The death of their leader had been too quick, too clean—surely, they thought, it was a fluke.
They were wrong.
Denji raised his blade, stepping forward with calm precision. No fancy techniques, no drawn-out speeches. One of the charging men swung a rusty sword, aiming directly at Denji's neck. With a sharp clash, the blade shattered on impact. Denji's counterattack came swiftly, a single downward cut slicing cleanly through the man's legs.
Outside the room, Owl stood motionless, listening as the desperate screams inside faded away. His demeanor was as calm as ever.
The only thing that struck him as odd was Denji's peculiar habit.
Before taking anyone's life, Denji would ask for their name. Without it, he wouldn't grant them a clean death, opting instead for drawn-out torture.
...
Three minutes later, Denji emerged from the room. His clothes and hands were spotless, as though the grisly scene inside had never happened. The once-deafening cries had gone silent.
"Master Denji, are you alright?" Owl asked quietly.
Denji shook his head slightly. "It wasn't as bad as I'd imagined. Still, I need more practice to become fully accustomed to this."
Owl gave a slight nod. "Lord Danzo has prepared plenty of resources for you. If you're ready to continue, we can head to the next location immediately."
"Let's move on," Denji replied without hesitation, sheathing his long sword. He took a deep breath. "No sense in wasting time."
He was eager to finish sooner, to return home where life was comfortable and peaceful. As much as the root base offered a bed and shelter, it was nothing compared to the comfort of his own house.
"Hold on," Owl instructed. "We need to recover the assets first."
The subordinates behind Owl sprang into action. Root agents were just as skilled at confiscating valuables as they were at assassination.
In less than ten minutes, they had scoured the mansion for anything of worth—cash, gold, jewelry, deeds, and even passbooks. The collected loot was piled high.
Denji casually sifted through the bills and documents, noting with mild amusement just how wealthy their latest victim had been.
"Pretty loaded…" he muttered as he leafed through a stack of papers. The local landlord had amassed over 20 million ryo in savings. Adding in the property deeds and fields, the total value easily exceeded 30 million.
Hmm?
A particular note caught Denji's eye. He paused, reading it carefully.
[IOU: I, Princess Tsunade, borrowed 8 million due to a shortage of gambling funds and promise to repay by January 1, Year 54 of the Konoha Calendar. If repayment is delayed, monthly interest will increase by 1%.]
A strange smile crept across his face.
"Tsunade's IOU, huh?" he murmured, folding it neatly and tucking it away. The stack of cash was sealed into a storage scroll before he addressed Owl and his team.
"These belong to me. You can handle the rest however you like."
Owl said nothing, silently acknowledging Denji's decision. Although Owl was nominally the leader of their squad, Denji's authority within the Root came second only to Danzo's. There was no point in arguing—Owl's only task was to report events accurately.
...
Over the next month, Denji's life became a cycle of travel and killing. He moved west through the Land of Fire, then north, and finally back to the capital, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
His targets ranged from common street thugs to organized bandits, and even a few corrupt nobles within the Land of Fire.
As his blade claimed more lives, Denji himself underwent a subtle transformation. It wasn't his physical strength or chakra reserves that grew—it was his mindset.
While he still held firm to his principle of sparing the innocent, when it came to his enemies, he didn't hesitate. He didn't care about their status, their age, or their pleas. Once they were deemed a target, mercy was off the table.
After dispatching a shady real estate developer who had built a shoddy base for Danzo's operations, Owl concluded the training.
"Master Denji's character has been assessed," Owl announced.
"Next, you will study poisons and traps under the captain of the first team."
"Is it over?" Denji's face lit up with a smile. To look at him, one would never guess he'd taken hundreds of lives in the past month.
"Say, Owl," Denji said, casually wiping his hands with a cloth.
"We've known each other for a while now, but I still don't know your real name."
The masked Root captain replied in an emotionless tone, "Root operatives have no need for names—only code names."
Denji narrowed his eyes. "That's an order, Owl. I want to know your real name."
After a long silence, Owl finally answered, his voice tinged with resignation. "It's Asahi."