I stepped out of the Lotus Store, the compact storage scroll snugly tucked into the sleeve of my haori. The streets of Konoha bustled with their usual energy—vendors calling out prices, shinobi moving with purpose, civilians chattering about mundane matters.
It was the same as always, yet I knew that beyond this peaceful facade, the world was anything but stable.
It was a weird feeling knowing that men and women were out there dying while we lived carefreely.
Still, no point in worrying about things I couldn't change yet. Right now, I had a more immediate concern.
I didn't have a place to practice my ninjutsu. Hina would handle that eventually, but until then, I needed to focus on something that didn't require open space or excessive movement. That left me with two options: Taijutsu and Genjutsu.
Taijutsu was tempting, but I still needed training dummies for proper conditioning. Unless I wanted to start kicking trees like some cheap knockoff of a Lee clone, that would have to wait.
Genjutsu, on the other hand? Now that…I could start immediately. And I already had some volunteers in mind.
The orphanage was bordered by a stretch of forest—one that I'd used for light training before. But I'd always stuck close. This time, I planned to go deeper, find some wildlife, and see how well I could mess with their minds.
And if it worked? Well, I'd have taken my first step into the psychological warfare department.
…
Slipping through the orphanage's side entrance, I made my way toward the back, ensuring that no one was paying attention. As much as I wanted to start testing my new skills, explaining to Hoshino-san why I was heading into the woods alone again wasn't high on my list of priorities.
Once I reached the tree line, I let out a breath and stepped inside, the cool shade of the dense canopy swallowing me. The further I walked, the quieter the village became, until all I could hear was the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
Perfect.
I moved carefully, scanning the area for any small animals.
The first step in mastering Genjutsu was understanding how it affected the target's mind. And what better way to do that than with creatures that relied purely on instincts?
After a few minutes, I spotted my first test subject—a small brown hare nibbling on some grass. It was completely unaware of my presence.
Alright, let's start simple.
I weaved a one-handed seal and focused my chakra, directing it toward the hare's mind.
Demonic Illusion: False Surroundings.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the rabbit suddenly twitched, its ears perking up. It stopped eating and began sniffing the air warily, looking around as if something had changed.
And to it, something had changed.
What it was seeing wasn't the real forest anymore. I had altered its perception, shifting its surroundings just enough to make it feel unfamiliar. Maybe the trees seemed closer together.
Maybe the path it had come from had disappeared. The hare was trapped in an illusion where the world had subtly shifted.
I walked up to it and waved my hand in front of it but it showed no reaction whatsoever, instead, It froze for a few seconds before suddenly darting off in the opposite direction, clearly spooked.
I smirked. Not bad.
But that was just a minor distortion. Time for something stronger.
I continued walking until I found another target—this time, a squirrel perched on a branch, happily munching on a nut.
I formed the seal again, this time infusing more chakra into the technique.
Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing.
The squirrel suddenly went rigid, its small body trembling. Its eyes widened in sheer terror, the nut slipping from its paws and falling to the ground.
It wasn't just scared. It was petrified.
I didn't know what it was seeing. That was the nature of Hell Viewing—it took whatever the target feared most and made them witness it. Maybe it saw a predator about to pounce. Maybe it saw a forest fire consuming the trees.
Whatever it was, the squirrel screeched, bolted from the branch, and scrambled up higher, moving erratically as if trying to escape something only it could see.
I exhaled, feeling a slight drain on my chakra reserves.
Unlike ninjutsu, Genjutsu didn't consume as much raw chakra, but it still required fine control to influence a target's mind. The stronger the illusion, the more it took out of me.
Alright, one more.
I pressed on until I found a fox, its orange fur blending into the underbrush as it carefully stalked a small bird.
Let's see how it handled this.
I formed the seal and focused.
Paralysis Illusion.
Immediately, the fox went stiff, its body locking in place mid-step. Its eyes darted around frantically, but its muscles wouldn't obey.
I waited a few seconds before releasing the technique. The moment I did, the fox bolted as if hell itself was on its tail, disappearing into the underbrush.
I let out a soft chuckle and leaned against a tree, rubbing my temples.
That last one had taken more out of me than I expected.
It wasn't exhaustion, exactly. More like a dull mental fatigue—like I'd spent an entire day trying to solve puzzles with no breaks in between.
So that's the toll of Genjutsu, I mused. It wasn't just chakra; it was also a strain on my focus. The more I influenced another mind, the more precision it required, and the faster my energy drained.
And this was just a bunch of animals, beings that relied majorly on instinct rather than intelligence.
In comparison to a human…
It made sense. Unlike Ninjutsu, where I could just throw raw chakra into an attack, Genjutsu required finesse. Too much power, and the illusion would break. Too little, and the target wouldn't even notice.
I exhaled and straightened up.
Not bad for my first field test.
I had confirmed three things:
1. Genjutsu worked on animals, meaning I could practice without needing human targets.
2. The stronger the illusion, the more focus it drained, meaning I had to pace myself.
3. I needed to improve my chakra control if I wanted to use Genjutsu efficiently in combat.
I nodded to myself, satisfied.
I had a long way to go before I could use these techniques against actual opponents, but for now, it was enough to know that I could.
And once I got my own place?
Well, then the real training would begin.
With a smirk, I turned back toward the orphanage, already thinking about what to work on next.
More Chakra control.
As I made my way back to the orphanage, I kept my mind busy, running through what I had learned. The Genjutsu trials had been a success—more or less.
But the biggest takeaway was that my chakra control still needed work. The drain from those illusions was more than I liked, which meant inefficiency. Wasted chakra. And in a real fight, inefficiency could get me killed.
Alright, so how do I fix that?
The standard control exercises were simple:
Leaf Sticking (Level 1): Basic concentration. A good start but too elementary. Already done.
Tree Walking (Level 2): A step up, requiring refined control to maintain constant output. Done.
Water Walking (Level 3): Tricky due to the constant readjustments needed for balance, but also done.
Chakra Thread (Level 4): The next logical step, as it required extreme precision to maintain a fine, controlled stream of chakra.
But that's not enough.
I needed something more challenging. Something that would refine my control down to the smallest detail while also pushing my limits.
I frowned, deep in thought as I approached the orphanage's entrance.
Chakra Threads were already advanced, requiring me to create an extremely thin line of chakra and keep it stable. Puppet users did this naturally, but I wasn't about to start carrying around a corpse on strings.
No—I needed a variation.
Something that forced me to maintain multiple streams of precise chakra output simultaneously.
And then it hit me.
Chakra Web.
Instead of a single thread, I would form multiple fine chakra strands and connect them to different objects at the same time, forcing myself to balance the output across all of them.
One thread was manageable. Two was a challenge. But five? Ten?
That was real control training.
I paused at the door of the orphanage, already feeling my fingers twitch in anticipation.
This was going to be interesting.
…
That night, while the rest of the orphanage settled into their usual routines, I slipped outside to my usual training spot behind the building. The forest wasn't far, but I wasn't planning on going too deep tonight.
I sat cross-legged on the ground, took a deep breath, and extended my hand.
Step One: Form the first thread.
I focused, channeling a thin stream of chakra from my fingertip to a nearby rock. The glowing blue strand extended, connecting me to the stone like an invisible wire.
Easy.
Step Two: Add a second thread.
I repeated the process, sending another thin line toward a different rock a few feet away. The moment the second thread formed, I felt the difficulty spike.
Maintaining one was simple. Two? That required balance. The chakra had to be distributed evenly, or one thread would flicker and collapse.
Step Three: Push it further.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I extended a third thread, this time toward a small twig. It was smaller, lighter, requiring me to reduce the chakra output to match its size. Too much, and the twig would snap from the force.
Three threads. Active, stable.
Four.
My breath hitched as the fourth strand extended, my mind splitting between each one, constantly adjusting the chakra flow. It was like balancing plates on sticks—one wrong movement and the whole thing would fall apart.
Five.
A sharp sting ran through my temples.
I gritted my teeth, fighting against the instinct to cut the flow. My reserves weren't the issue—it was the mental strain.
At 10, I already had enough Chakra to put most Genin out there to shame…Keyword: Most.
Chakra control wasn't just about raw power; it was about how well you could divide your attention while keeping the output smooth.
Five threads. Wavering, but holding.
I held the formation for ten seconds.
Fifteen.
By twenty, I felt the first signs of a headache creeping in.
And then—
Snap.
All five threads shattered at once, my control slipping in an instant. I gasped, pressing a hand to my forehead as exhaustion hit me like a wave.
Damn…
It wasn't just my chakra that was drained—it was my focus. Keeping multiple threads active at once was like stretching my mind in five different directions at the same time.
It was the perfect exercise.
Because if I could master this? Then keeping my chakra flow steady in combat—whether for Genjutsu, Taijutsu, or Ninjutsu—would be effortless.
One had to understand that this exercise was Jonin level exercise for chakra control.
Leaf sticking was for academy level
Tree walking was for Genin level.
Water walking was for Chunin level.
And finally, Chakra thread was Jonin level.
And here I was performing Chakra web exercise.
Isn't this already Kage level chakra exercise?
I exhaled, shaking the fatigue from my limbs.
Tomorrow, I'd push for six threads.
And the day after that?
More.
And once I reached ten threads, I'd move on to seeing how long I can hold it for.
I exhaled sharply, shaking the fatigue from my limbs as I leaned back against the tree behind me. My fingers twitched slightly, still feeling the phantom strain from the five chakra threads I had managed to hold. It was exhausting. But necessary.
Because unlike the Hyūga or the Uchiha, I wasn't born with a built-in shortcut to power.
No Byakugan to grant me near-perfect chakra control and 360-degree vision. No Sharingan to make copying techniques a casual afternoon activity. No clan techniques passed down through generations, refined and optimized.
All I had was me.
And in a world where people could spit fire, summon lightning, and bend reality itself, raw talent wasn't enough. I needed technique. Control.
The Uchiha could throw out fireballs the size of buildings, but they barely thought about how much chakra they wasted in the process. The Hyūga had an innate gift for chakra precision, able to strike tenketsu points with ridiculous accuracy. But me? If I wanted to match—or surpass—them, I had to train for it.
Which meant mastering control.
The better my control, the less chakra I wasted. The less chakra I wasted, the longer I could fight. The longer I could fight, the more dangerous I became.
That was the difference between the strong and the weak.
Not bloodlines.
Not birthright.
Discipline.
I cracked my neck and sat forward again, eyes narrowing as I extended my hand once more. The threads had snapped, but that was fine. I'd do it again.
And again.
And again—until I got it right.
Ah shoot. Gotta replenish my chakra.