Sorcerers were such bullshit.
I lay under the evening sky, watching fireworks burst across the horizon in every color of the rainbow. The brilliant explosions streaked overhead, scattering light like shooting stars. The tile of the roof beneath me pressed into my back through the thin fabric of my hospital gown, but I barely noticed. My aching body was forgotten, lost in the brilliance of the sky.
The warmth of the body next to mine only made the experience more beautiful.
I turned my head and met the spinning red glow of a Sharingan—Kuro's Sharingan. "Girlfriend" felt like too small a word, but it was the only one I had, so that's what I'm going with. Kuro. My girlfriend.
"You like it?" she asked softly, as if her voice alone might shatter me. I appreciated her gentleness, though I wasn't nearly as fragile as she thought.
"I love it," I replied, smiling. The honesty echoed through our shared mindscape, and I was rewarded with a tidal wave of affection in return.
Kuro snuggled closer, and I let myself enjoy the illusion a little longer. The tiled rooftop we lay on reflected the beauty of ancient Japanese architecture, and the cool night air of Konoha was a perfect counter to Kuro's warmth against my side. Above us, the sky bloomed endlessly with fireworks.
It was perfect.
It also wasn't real.
Not the tiles. Not the chill in the air. Not even the warmth of Kuro beside me.
"I'd like to wake up now," I said.
The world froze. Then it dissolved into light, which unraveled into darkness—and that darkness peeled away as I opened my eyes in a hospital bed. The scent of antiseptic replaced the smell of autumn air, and the comforting warmth of an evening breeze was replaced with the harsh midday sun of Konoha summer.
Kuro sat beside me, still holding my hand. I caught the fading glow in her eyes as her Sharingan slowly spun down.
Sorcerers were bullshit.
I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it.
I thought the Sharingan was nonsense when Kakashi first explained it to me. The ability to instantly copy jutsu, mimic martial techniques, and remember everything perfectly already sounded insane. But that wasn't even the kicker.
No, the kicker was genjutsu.
Specifically: casting genjutsu with nothing more than eye contact—instantly.
Let me say that again with emphasis: Kuro can cast any genjutsu she knows, instantly, just by making eye contact. And it costs her less chakra.
That's what messes with me. The instant part. In a fight, time is everything. Every moment you spend preparing a jutsu is a moment your opponent could use to kill you. Time is precious. Time is lethal.
And it's not just about fighting.
Hand signs are useful—essentially programmable sequences for automating chakra control. But the truth is, no jutsu needs hand signs. With perfect chakra control, enough mastery of nature and shape transformation, and enough talent, you could skip them entirely. Theoretically, anyone could cast jutsu with pure thought.
But in reality? That level of skill is reserved for immortals, prodigies, or outright gods.
Or… you know. Sorcerers.
All this to say: hand signs are shortcuts—some longer than others. If you have enough of them, you can do anything.
At one point, I theorized I could recreate the Shadow Clone jutsu from scratch… if I was willing to chain together over a thousand hand signs. That theory led me somewhere better.
In the week I've been stuck in this hospital, I made a new jutsu—specifically, a genjutsu. My own creation. A magnum opus of chakra programming and mind numbing boredom.
I call it The Physics Engine.
I encoded everything I know about how the world works. Physics. Chakra theory. Even basic chemistry. Everything Sarutobi-sensei would let me learn about chakra from the Sarutobi library and what I remembered from my past life's knowledge of modern science. A generational jutsu. My first S-rank—in effect, if not in classification.
Why not S-rank officially?
Because it's one thousand, three hundred and ninety-six hand signs long.
The first time we tried it, Kuro had to enter a genjutsu-induced trance for three hours just to cast it without losing focus.
Now?
She can do it instantly. With less chakra.
Because Sharingan.
Fuckin' sorcerers.
Why must I pay for the cowardice of my forebears. It's just beastiality! Put on your big boy pants and fuck that pig! Your descendant might need the ability to store chakra as fat! Or whatever a magic pig would give.
Sigh.
Still—jokes aside—I'm happy for her. Kuro got a serious upgrade.
Not having to focus on the realism of her genjutsu frees her up to make her illusions much more dynamic and hard to escape. Physics Engine removed all the minor flaws and uncanny valley effects that make it easier to separate genjutsu from reality, taking her illusions up to a whole other level and she would only get better.
But I haven't given up.
That jutsu is mine. No one casts it better than me—not even my girlfriend—my wizardly pride would not allow it. I'm going to trim that monster down until I can cast it without needing a Silmarillion's worth of seals.
The door to my room banged open with the force of a minor explosion, revealing—at least from my angle—a precarious stack of boxes supported by a pair of orange-clad legs.
"Ohayooo!" Naruko's bubbly voice rang out as she stumbled in, somehow managing to balance her burden while navigating toward my bedside table.
"Who's hungry?!" she announced brightly, already opening one of the packages and placing it on my lap before I could answer. The savory smell of Ichiraku's hit me like a kunai to the gut—in the best way.
Hinata slipped quietly into the room behind her, the door clicking shut as she threw soft apologies over her shoulder to someone out of sight—probably the poor nurses and patients startled by Naruko's dramatic entrance.
But I was too busy stuffing my face to comment. Turns out, when your chakra's been running on fumes and you finally burn through that initial weakness, you get hungry. Ravenous, really.
Still, I reached out one hand and ruffled Naruko's hair in thanks, even as my mouth was too full to say it aloud.
"Pace yourself, Izuku-kun," Hinata chided gently as she settled in a chair beside me, her voice soft but firm.
"Don't worry, Ta-chan," Kuro cut in, hopping onto the armrest with her usual grin. "The doctor said he's recovered enough to eat his fill now."
"Still…" Hinata said, watching me inhale noodles with all the grace of a starving wolf. Her chakra had that tight stiffness to it—a sign of discomfort, but not real disgust. More like a conditioned response to bad manners. Noble upbringing and all that. She wasn't actually offended, just felt like she should be.
I slowed down anyway and mumbled an apology through a mouthful of noodles.
One upside to being stuck in a bed for days: I had plenty of time to meditate. My chakra sensing had improved dramatically. I could now pick up on subtle emotional textures in the people around me, the quiet ripples of feeling under the surface of their presence. It might've just been familiarity, though—I hadn't been without one of these three girls since waking up here.
Hinata and Naruko still had to attend the Academy during the day, but Kuro had taken leave from school to stay by my side. Her father seemed delighted by the arrangement when he visited—odd at first but some information cleared up that bit of unusual behaviour.
The cat was out of the bag now—most people in the know had figured out that I was the Third Hokage's new student. A student who had also been hospitalized following an assassination attempt.
From what I could gather through overheard conversations and gossiping ninja, people believed it was the work of a foreign agent. That wasn't a crazy assumption. No foreign power wanted another Sannin rising up in Konoha.
But I wasn't convinced. I didn't even know the name of the man who attacked me, but something in my gut told me this wasn't politics.
My thoughts were interrupted by a dip in the mattress. Naruko had slipped under the sheets beside me and leaned against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She still went to school, but she spent more time with me than anyone—especially at night. She slept here.
Hinata's chakra twitched, jealousy dancing on the edge. Whether she was envious of Naruko or me was up for debate. She and Kuro had to return home each evening—appearances and decorum and all that. Naruko, being a nameless orphan, had no such restrictions.
Sometimes, being overlooked by society has its perks.
Not that there weren't rumors. I hadn't heard any, but this was a ninja village. I'd be shocked if there weren't whispers about the "demon girl" cozying up to the Third's newest student.
People sucked, sometimes.
I opened my mouth to ask about their day at school when a loud pop filled the room, accompanied by a burst of chakra smoke.
When the cloud cleared, standing there—calm as ever—was Lord Enma, the Monkey King himself. He looked the same as always: regal, muscular, radiating unshakable confidence. Except… he was holding something.
A small monkey sat cradled in his arms. Snow-white fur, aqua-marine eyes, dressed in a black-and-blue gi adorned with flame-red patterns, a scroll strapped to his back. He was adorable—and terrified. His chakra practically trembled, though there was a glimmer of excitement woven through the fear.
"A hospital room, huh?" Lord Enma muttered as he looked around. "So that's why Hiruzen's been on a rampage. He always burns hotter when he's got kids to teach."
Then his gaze landed on me. "Who put you in here, kid?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but he waved a hand.
"Actually, never mind. I'm busy." He casually tossed the baby monkey at me.
I yelped and scrambled to catch him. The little guy squeaked in panic as I held him close to my chest. Up close, I recognized his species instantly—from a nature documentary in my past life.
A Japanese macaque.
"Boy, this is your human," Lord Enma said firmly, eyes boring into the little monkey's soul. The macaque nodded quickly, trembling in my arms.
Then those blazing golden eyes turned to me.
"Boy, this is your monkey."
I nodded just as fast. All thoughts of challenging the Monkey King for my ki-wood temporarily fleeing me.
"Don't fuck it up," he said—to both of us, I think—and vanished in a puff of smoke.
The room was silent for a beat.
"…Hello," said the soft, hesitant voice of the monkey in my lap.
He sounded painfully young.
…I guess I have a monkey?
XXXXXXXXX
"Why the rush, sensei? I had some serious research to get into. Identical issues, if you know what I mean."
Hiruzen let himself feel the fondness that came naturally when speaking to his favourite student—well, his second favorite now. Some might balk at the idea of having favorites among what were essentially his children, and not long ago, Hiruzen might have agreed. But recent events had stripped him of any appetite for self-deception.
He settled into his chair, observing how the light played across Jiraiya's ashen hair as the man launched into a colorful rant about the identical twins his summons had so rudely interrupted him from. Despite everything, he truly was Hiruzen's favorite among his students, aside from young Izuku.
From the outside, most would assume Orochimaru had held that title. But no. Orochimaru had always lacked a certain... warmth. Everything had to be so serious with her. No time to smell the roses, no room for whimsy, no heart. Not that she was incapable of affection—her bond with Jiraiya was proof of that—but she had discarded it like a useless tool, an unnecessary hindrance.
Tsunade wasn't quite as cold, but she was, in Hiruzen's view, weak. It pained him to think of her that way, yet truth was rarely kind. He had suffered just as much loss, if not more, and yet here he remained. Tsunade claimed the system was broken, but the deeper truth was harder to admit: all that she loved had perished for this village, and she could not bear to look upon it again. She chose wine and gambling as her escape.
Jiraiya was a different story. Beneath his careless exterior, he was more complicated. Unlike his teammates, he hadn't suffered much early loss—as an orphan, he'd had little to lose to begin with. The death of Minato, his son in all but blood, should have broken him. And in some ways, it had.
But he was still here.
Hiruzen had no doubt he always would be. Even if it hurt. Even if he didn't think he deserved to be.
Now, if only he could be convinced to treat Naruko-chan with the same quiet devotion.
"I need Tsunade," Hiruzen said, his tone brooking no argument.
"This about the new kohai? He'll be fine," Jiraiya replied with his usual lackadaisical shrug, the attitude of a man who knew far more than he let on—as well he should, being Konoha's spymaster.
"And in the meantime, he misses months of training—during a crucial time in a shinobi's development. Get her for me, Jiraiya."
"She isn't exactly easy to find," Jiraiya said, the smile dimming from his face as he realized his sensei was serious.
"I know you know where she is. Get her."
"It's not that simple," Jiraiya muttered, his eyes avoiding Hiruzen's.
Oh, but it was. All his students had their flaws. Tsunade's and Orochimaru's were visible at a glance. Jiraiya's took longer to see. His perversion, while real, was also a smokescreen—a distraction from his deeper failing.
In matters outside life and death, Jiraiya was a coward.
It likely stemmed from self-esteem issues Hiruzen had failed to address in time. Another regret. Another failing. If he had been a better teacher, Jiraiya might be sitting in this chair instead. And without the burden of the Hat, Minato might still be alive today.
But there was no use in dwelling. Only in doing better moving forward.
"Inform her that if I have to come get her, she will not enjoy the following humiliations."
"Yes, sensei," Jiraiya answered, the reluctance in his voice unmistakable. But Hiruzen also heard the fear beneath it. No matter how old he got, Jiraiya would always be that mischievous boy who once cast a random jutsu he'd seen from afar and tried to peek at the Senju princess. Self-destructively curious and unrepentantly perverse.
A boy after his own heart.
Said heart softened at his student's turmoil.
"Good," Hiruzen said with a grin, easing the tension in the air. "Now, you were saying something about twins?"
He needed the distraction. The fury still simmering in his chest from the attempt on his youngest student's life had yet to fade.
He wondered how much progress his clones had made correcting that old mistake.
XXXXXXXXX
The tunnels beneath the Land of Rice were dark, dank, and filled with horror and tragedy. They had to be. The well-off and kind-hearted didn't flock to the Snake Sannin. No, the legions of Orochimaru were made up of the broken and the damned—those who lived by blood and death and were fated to die by the same.
They just didn't expect the end to come so soon.
Tanasa was one such soul. A lowly peasant once, a fieldhand in the rice paddies, until a passing noble took a liking to his wife. The man beat Tanasa within an inch of his life before dragging her away.
She went willingly, eager to escape a life of toil.
Tanasa swore revenge.
He joined a bandit crew, learned what he could of chakra and combat, and carved his way up the ranks in blood. Then the Snake Sannin came, and everything changed. Tanasa and many others flocked to her banner for shelter, for power, for vengeance.
For Tanasa, she delivered.
The feel of that noble bastard's blood beneath his fingernails as he took the woman who had once been his wife—one final time before ending her—was a memory that warmed his nights.
For that, he swore undying loyalty to the Mistress. No matter what terrors he endured, he would never betray her.
It began with a sound. Soft, steady. Wood striking flesh.
Tanasa was on guard duty when he heard it. At first, he thought it was just one of the more depraved among them indulging some whim—there were more than a few of those in the tunnels, all vying for the Mistress's favor.
But the sound continued. Rhythmic. Unchanging.
There were no cries. No groans. No gasps of pain or pleasure.
Just the low thwack of wood against flesh, again and again.
Uneasy now, Tanasa left his post to investigate. He found nothing.
Except… someone was supposed to be stationed there.
But there was no one.
Not even a trace.
He pressed deeper into the tunnels. A maze of shadow and stone. The sound returned as he neared the next guard station.
Again—empty.
Something was wrong.
He started to run. Sprinting from checkpoint to checkpoint, each one silent, each one vacant—save for the echo of that same dreadful sound.
He ran until he reached the meeting hall—a place where, even in this hellish place, people occasionally gathered.
At first, his heart lifted.
Everyone was here.
Some sat at the tables. Others stood. Familiar faces. Familiar shapes.
Then he noticed something.
No one moved.
He stepped closer to a young woman—brown-haired, gaunt, a fellow ex-bandit. Her clothes were threadbare. Her eyes stared blankly ahead.
"Hey," he muttered. "What's going o—"
He touched her shoulder.
Her head lolled back at an impossible angle. There was a sickening pop-pop-pop as her pulverized vertebrae shifted under the strain—her neck crushed to near powder.
Tanasa stumbled back in horror.
And then he felt it—cool, heavy metal resting against his shoulder.
A large, golden-capped staff.
"You're already dead," said a voice behind him—grizzled, hoarse, thick with age and phlegm. The voice of a lifelong smoker. The voice of a man who had seen too much.
"Answer truthfully, and your end may be swift—like the others. Lie, and I will learn what I want regardless. The only difference will be how much pain you endure along the way."
The staff tapped his cheek gently.
There was no bravado in the voice. No threat.
Just certainty.
Tanasa knew killers. He had was one.
This man was worse.
He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his bladder in check. His legs shook. He had never been so afraid.
Still… he wasn't a traitor.
"Fuck you," he whispered, voice trembling.
"...So be it."
Tanasa fought with everything he had.
But in the end, he talked.
They all talked.
Sarutobi Hiruzen always got his answers.
Sarutobi Hiruzen chuckled with a grandfatherly smile as Jiraya finished a particularly risque story about a miller's daughter and her lonely mother.
Truly spending time with loved ones was balm to the soul, he felt happier already.
He would be even happier when past matters were put to rest. He couldn't wait for his shadow clones to report back.