17 Hokage's Office

The halls of the Hokage's Tower were quiet, save for the soft creak of Yuki's sandals against the polished wooden floor. He moved with calm purpose, arms tucked behind his back, his chakra blade sheathed at his side. The air was different here—thicker, older. It carried the weight of generations.

He arrived at the wide double doors leading to the Hokage's office. Two ANBU nodded and stepped aside. One of them opened the door.

Yuki stepped through.

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat at his desk, the morning sun casting lines of shadow through the slatted windows behind him. Scrolls were stacked in neat rows, and a fresh cup of tea steamed beside him. The old man looked up.

"Yuki Kazanari," he said with quiet interest. "Punctual. Good. Come in."

Yuki bowed respectfully. "Hokage-sama."

"Close the door. We'll speak privately."

Yuki obeyed, the soft click of the latch sealing them in. Hiruzen studied the boy for a few moments, then gestured to the center of the room, where a practice mat had been laid out.

"You said you would prove yourself. That was your condition."

Yuki nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Then begin. Show me what you've learned."

Without hesitation, Yuki stepped onto the mat. He reached into his pouch and withdrew a sealing tag of his own design—its formula far more complex than the average academy scroll. He knelt, pressing it to the ground.

"This is a basic motion seal. Its function is to activate a trap formation when crossed. But I've modified it with a chakra sensitivity node—it only triggers when a target above a specific chakra threshold passes through."

He made a single hand sign, and the tag shimmered faintly. Then he tossed a kunai toward it.

Nothing.

He followed it up by surging forward, his chakra intentionally flaring.

The seal pulsed and detonated in a controlled burst of smoke and binding cords, stopping inches from him.

Yuki turned, dusting his hands off. "Conditional detonation. Using a three-layer matrix."

Hiruzen raised a hand. "I've seen enough of the sealwork—for now. Show me your movement technique."

Yuki took a breath. The real test.

He closed his eyes and focused.

Body Flicker.

The standard version was quick, a burst of speed. But the advanced version—the one Yuki had worked on for over a year—was near-instant. Not teleportation, but it came close.

He moved.

And vanished.

Not just gone from sight, but from perception entirely. There was no step, no breeze, no sound. One moment he stood on the mat. The next, he was crouched behind the Hokage's chair.

Hiruzen didn't even turn. "Again."

Yuki blurred, reappearing at the windowsill. Then again, beside the scroll shelves. Then back to the mat, a single hair out of place from exertion.

He exhaled slowly.

Hiruzen finally turned, his expression unreadable.

He said nothing for a moment, then finally stood and walked around the desk. He joined Yuki at the center of the room.

"You've exceeded my expectations," the Hokage said at last. "Your fuinjutsu is meticulous, your chakra control is exceptional, and your adaptation of advanced Body Flicker is… refined."

Yuki stood tall. "Does that mean—"

"Yes," Hiruzen interrupted, a faint smile curling beneath his beard. "You've earned it."

He turned to a locked cabinet and removed a scroll with a unique red wax seal—the kanji for "flight" etched into it.

He held it out.

Yuki stepped forward, hands trembling slightly as he took it.

"This scroll contains the first phase of the Flying Thunder God technique. You'll find the theory, the markings, and the initial formulae. But do not expect instant mastery. This is not a jutsu of brute force or blind speed."

"I understand."

"No, you don't—not yet. But you will."

Hiruzen met his gaze directly.

"You are to return to me once a week. We'll review your progress together. No shortcuts, no substitutions. You are not allowed to attempt a full jump until I approve it. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good."

Yuki bowed once more, scroll tucked beneath his arm.

As he turned to leave, Hiruzen spoke again, quieter this time.

"You remind me of someone I used to know."

Yuki paused, uncertainty flickering in his mind—should he ask who? But the moment slipped away before he could speak. The Hokage had already returned to his desk, unfurling a fresh set of reports with a practiced ease.

Silently, Yuki bowed and took his leave, the scroll clutched tightly in his hands.

That night, despite having complete knowledge of the jutsu thanks to his system, Yuki deliberately practiced the first phase by himself. There was a strange sense of freedom in relying on his own hands and mind rather than the system's instant recall. Actually learning it — feeling it take root inside him — was surprisingly empowering.

Weeks slipped by like water through a cracked jar. Every evening, Yuki returned to the scroll, pouring himself into the rigorous practice of the technique. Though the system had granted him perfect knowledge from the start, it was this deliberate, physical repetition that made the jutsu his own. Each muscle memorized the motions, each breath synced with the flow of chakra, until it no longer felt like borrowing power — it was a part of him.

The Hokage watched these sessions with growing intrigue. What initially had seemed like a prodigy's effortless shortcut transformed before his eyes into true mastery earned through relentless discipline. Yuki's progress was nothing short of astonishing. It was as if the jutsu had awakened something dormant within him, something far beyond what any ordinary shinobi could hope to achieve.

At their weekly meetings, the Hokage would test Yuki with new challenges — subtle variations of the technique, unpredictable scenarios meant to push him beyond mere repetition. Yuki met each test with calm precision, adapting and refining. The old man's brows would furrow in both surprise and approval.

Finally, the day came when the Hokage nodded with a rare, solemn gravity. "It is time," he said, "to unleash the full technique. But be warned — this path is not without danger."

Yuki felt no hesitation. Years of preparation and countless hours of solitary practice had led to this moment. He stood tall, heart steady, ready to etch his name into the annals of the village.

As the first streaks of dawn crept over the horizon, Yuki Kazanari unleashed the full technique — the true birth of a legend.