The first week at the Academy was a mix of observation, adaptation, and controlled exertion.
Back on earth, it was no secret that a very high percentile of teenagers always wished they could go back to their childhood days and adults back to their teenage years.
The reason being that: If I knew what I know now back then, life would've been more interesting.
In my case, I was living my childhood school days with the knowledge of my past life as well as the mind of an adult so I had no intention of standing out too much, but at the same time, I couldn't afford to blend in completely.
If I wanted to gain something from this experience, I needed to strike a balance, strong enough to command respect, but not so exceptional that I attracted unwanted attention.
And so, my days were structured clearly.
Mornings were reserved for academic lessons which included history, arithmetic, and chakra theory, while afternoons were spent on physical training which was just kids playing around in the name of sparring.
Well, that was the normal civilian and clanless kids.
And while we weren't introduced to weapons or ninjutsu yet, I made sure to make the most of what we did have and quickly established a routine.
Academics was mind-numbing but necessary
The first challenge was sitting through the morning lessons without letting my boredom show.
Arithmetic was straightforward. Counting, basic multiplication, and problem-solving exercises.
Imagine someone who could solve differential equations sitting through a class calculating the distance from point A to point C through point B.
Some kids struggled, while others, particularly those from clans, found it easier.
I had no trouble, though I quickly realized that excelling in this area wasn't particularly valuable in a school where fighting ability mattered most.
It was a new experience though so I didn't exactly dislike it since unlike on Earth, the shinobi academy structured the lessons to be practical in shinobi terms.
History was simple. We covered major events like the structure of the clans during the warring states period, the formation of the Hidden Villages and the importance of the Hokage.
The lectures were basic, meant to give children a general understanding rather than any deep insight.
Then came chakra theory.
This was the only subject that interested me.
Matsuda-sensei explained the fundamentals—how chakra was formed, how it flowed through the body, and how controlling it was essential for all shinobi techniques.
The exercise of the day was the leaf concentration test—a simple method where we had to keep a leaf stuck to our forehead using only chakra control.
It was easy for me. Too easy.
Some of my classmates struggled, either using too little chakra, causing the leaf to fall, or using too much, making it twitch uncontrollably.
I completed the exercise effortlessly, making sure not to be the first to succeed. Instead, I glanced around, waiting for a few others to get it before I subtly adjusted my timing.
Ren Hyūga, however, noticed me.
His white, pupil-less eyes locked onto mine for a second, and he gave a slight smirk.
A rival already? Hah. As if I cared.
But I made a mental note of him anyway.
It would be foolish of me to ignore someone who wants to use me as a reference material. This would help me be more aware of what I do.
The afternoons were spent on physical conditioning.
The Academy focused on building endurance and body coordination before we were allowed to move on to real combat training.
Our afternoons started with laps around the training field. While some of the other kids huffed and wheezed, I maintained a steady pace, careful not to look completely unfazed but never allowing myself to fall behind.
The exercises continued with agility drills which included hurdles, balance exercises, and reaction tests.
Again, simple.
My body was already stronger than most of my classmates' thanks to my personal training.
But I had to be careful.
I made sure to finish in the top group, but not at the very front. Let the competitive kids take that position.
Then came taijutsu and sparring.
Even though we were still young, the Academy made sure to drill the basics into us.
The first few days were nothing more than light exchanges, meant to teach control and form rather than full-on fighting.
I was paired against different classmates throughout the week. Some were too hesitant to attack, their movements were slow and uncertain. Others were too aggressive, throwing their weight into every attack without thinking.
Then there were the ones who knew what they were doing.
A few students had clear natural talent or early training. Some had sharp footwork, others had quick reflexes. There were even a few whose punches carried surprising force for their age like the chubby Akimichi kid.
I took note of them.
Not just their strengths, but their weaknesses.
The ones who telegraphed their movements.
The ones who lacked stamina.
The ones who relied too much on brute force.
I made sure my own sparring remained controlled. Solid, but nothing extraordinary. I made sure to perform the same moves several times before finally getting it right.
Just another student learning like the rest.
For now.
I made a mental note of my classmates' strengths and weaknesses. Knowing my competition was just as important as training myself.
I wasn't about to begin this early to ignore everyone around me since they all had the potential to kill me if the conditions were in their favour.
By the end of the first week, I had fully adjusted to the Academy's rhythm.
I knew who to watch, who to avoid, and who might be useful later. I had built a solid understanding of my peers without revealing too much about myself.
Now, all I had to do was keep this pace…
At least, until I was ready to take things to the next level
...
…
There is a saying that goes; Repetition builds wiring. Wiring builds habits. Habit becomes identity.
The days at the Academy started to blend into a routine: wake up, train, study, train some more, and return to the orphanage. It was predictable, efficient and, to some degree, comfortable.
But life wasn't just the Academy. The village had a rhythm of its own, and as I settled in, I found myself taking note of everything around me.
"Hey look, it's Murakami-kun, he looks edgy as always.'' one of the kids Renji and the other usually played with said as I walked by causing me to smirk.
''Are you asking for another beating, Hayato?" I asked the brown haired kid who crossed his arms arrogantly and sneered.
"You think I'm scared of you? You only got to win last time because I let down my guard." He said and smiled. "I learned this new technique from my dad just for you. Come if you dare."
I smiled and shook my head and continued on my way. Hayato was a competitive skill and while I like that, I wasn't about to be the kids whetston.
"Humph, do you see that guys? Murakami is scared." Hayato said to his three friends who began laughing.
Now, I could continue on my way well alright, but the thing with kids is that they need to be put in their place every once in a while.
Luckily, there were quite a few rocks on my path. I paused and bent down and picked them up and slowly turned to the group of four.
"I understand very well that you're a kid so I'll let you off with a slight punishment for running your mouth." Saying this, before he could respond I had already released the three pieces of stone I picked
One found its way to his right shoulder, the next to his stomach and the last to his jaw.
Before his friend could react, Hayato was already unconscious on the floor.
This was a small application of chakra control to shoot weapons without the opponent knowing what hit them. It was different from throwing kunai and shuriken.
To me, those were inefficient ways of attacking. I'd rather use metal pellets and needles to immobilise my opponent in a flash than use kunais and shruikens.
"Now." I began as the three other kids stood frozen in shock. "Why don't you take your good friend there away and warn him to control himself better next time he sees me."
There was no reply as the kids just kept staring between me and their fallen Comrade in confusion, fear and disbelief.
"Hmm?" I hummed quite loudly, shaking them out of their silence.
"Y-yes?" One of the kids yelped. "Wha-what did you say?'
"I don't like repeating myself. The next time I see you all and you're not on your best behavior, maybe you'll be forced to remember what I just said." I said and turned and continued on my way.
Putting the short interruption just now at the back of my mind, I began to wonder what kind of shinobi I'd be best suited for. Perhaps an assassination type? I surely won't be a heavy hitter.
Hmm. I guess we'll find out as all my abilities grow. I'll be sure to hit a snag in some and be more progressive in some
I continued on and found myself atop the Hokage rock and looking down at the village. This has become my favourite pass time hobby.
Observing the village from this place creates this indescribable feeling. From up here, the world looked…smaller.
The laughter of children chasing each other through the streets, the rhythmic hammering of blacksmiths shaping steel, the sizzle of food stalls lining the market—all of it blended into a hum that felt alive yet distant as the breeze carried the sound over.
The village was alive, and if you paid attention, you could see the pulse of its economy, who held power, who depended on whom, and, most importantly, where opportunity lay.
The shinobi world wasn't my end goal. The Academy was a stepping stone, a tool, but not the foundation of my future.
That future lay in something far more stable: Business.
But before I could establish anything, I needed to understand how Konoha's economy truly functioned.
So, while my classmates played, trained, and daydreamed about glory, I observed.
I listened.
And I learned.
The shinobi world was a small yet major part of this world.
Their presence was like the hidden undercurrent beneath calm waters; unseen to most civilians, but powerful enough to alter the flow of entire nations.
In truth, shinobi were few in number. For every one ninja, there were perhaps hundreds, even thousands of civilians—farmers who tilled the fields, artisans who shaped pottery and steel, merchants who carried goods between borders, and common folk who simply lived, worked, and died without ever touching chakra.
And yet… It was those few who shaped history.
In terms most would understand, Shinobi were the martial artists of this world, like they were in the Jianghu like those stories described them.
They are not governed by the same laws that bound ordinary men, they exist in a separate social stratum, both feared and relied upon.
Where civilians traded in coins and goods, shinobi traded in skill, secrecy, and power.
Their services were there to protect a daimyo's throne, assassinate a rival lord, or deliver messages across enemy territory in the dead of night.
They were tools of war, espionage, and influence—commodities of immense value in a world built on the fragile balance between power and politics.
And like all commodities, they could be bought.
That was the most fascinating part to me.
For all their discipline, ideals, and talk of honor, shinobi still moved where the money flowed.
The great villages wrapped themselves in banners of loyalty and ideology, but beneath it all, they operated as vast, militarized business enterprises.
Missions were contracts.
Loyalty was funded.
And the currency that kept everything spinning wasn't just chakra—it was capital.
A wealthy noble could hire a team of shinobi to settle a land dispute under the guise of "bandit suppression." A merchant could pay for protection to transport rare goods through dangerous routes.
Hell, even civilians could request aid—for a price.
The shinobi villages didn't exist just for national defense—they existed because someone paid for them to exist.
I came to realise all this the more I listened.
Shinobi went around the village and weren't exactly subtle with what they said within the village and when you listen well enough, you would hear everything there is to hear.
And that was the revelation that changed everything for me.
While my classmates fantasized about earning flak jackets and personal glory, I saw a much larger picture: shinobi were not the rulers of this world—they were the swords for hire that ensured rulers kept their crowns.
They were the enforcers of power, not the owners of it.
The true owners were the ones who understood how to move that power.
The nobles, the merchants, the financiers, the ones who could fund wars or rebuild economies—those were the people who determined how far a nation could rise or fall. A shinobi could destroy an army, but a merchant could feed one.
And between those two forces, I knew exactly which one I wanted to belong to.
So I watched the village differently.
Where others saw the Hokage Monument as a symbol of leadership, I saw it as a chessboard—the streets, the markets, the clans, the merchant guilds/groups—all moving pieces shaped by unseen hands.
Every shop's success told a story of supply and demand.
Every construction site hinted at investment and planning.
Every child's laughter in a new district whispered of economic growth.
From atop the Hokage Rock, I saw it all—the living network of trade and survival that bound the Leaf together.
And I knew then that to control that network… was to control Konoha itself, and not just Konoha, with perfect execution, I could control the entire world.
I would be with Unseen hand behind the unseen hand.
The Grandmaster lurking in the Shadows.
"Hmm. Now that…that is the dream."