The Moon.
A Ceelestial prison forged by the Sage of Six Paths to contain the Ten-Tails. That wasn't just fūinjutsu; it was divine mathematics, a seal so perfect it rewrote the balance of the world.
Compared to that, everything else, the storage tags, the suppression seals, even the Jinchūriki formulae, felt like children scribbling equations on the ground.
If I were to classify it, I wouldn't even bother calling it S-rank.
The Moon was beyond rank.
It was the very definition of absolute containment—the apex of fūinjutsu, and the reason I couldn't help but begin to see every tag, mark, and seal as one step closer to understanding that impossible art.
But then a question suddenly struck me.
Why was Fuinjutsu so restricted?
Considering the time from when chakea was introduced to this point, centuries should have gone by, and while other applications of chakra were thriving, Fuinjutsu wasn't.
Only the Uzumaki clan is spearheading that branch of chakra application among the tens if not hundreds of clans on this planet.
But then, the Uzumaki clan was connected to Konoha so why did the academy only teach the basics?
Was it because it was too dangerous? Too complicated? Or was it simply because most people didn't care enough to study it?
I didn't have the answers yet, but if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was this: I wasn't going to ignore Fuinjutsu just because others did.
Even if the academy only taught the simplest forms, I'd make sure I understood them better than anyone else.
And when the time came to learn more?
I'd be ready.
Afterall, Luck is the moment hard work and opportunity met and I just decided tk start building up mine
…
…
The term was finally over.
Sitting in my usual spot in the library, I stretched my legs out, narrowly avoiding knocking over a precarious stack of scrolls.
My fingers were still sore from training, ink stains covered half my left hand, and I was pretty sure my stomach was going to start a rebellion soon if I didn't find food.
But I wasn't moving.
Not yet.
I leaned back against the wooden bookshelf, letting my head rest against its cool surface as I went over everything I had learned this term.
Taijutsu? Solid. I was faster, stronger, and my dodging had improved, mostly because I was tired of getting my ribs tenderized in sparring.
I still wasn't a natural at it, but at least I could hold my own against the average third-year.
The Three Basic Jutsu? Not bad.
My Clone Technique still needed work, not because I couldn't do it, but because I kept trying to make it too real.
The standard academy clone was just an illusion made of chakra and light, but my control had long surpassed that level.
I wanted density, presence, something that could affect physical matter, not just flicker.
And I am definitely not talking about the Shadow Clone(Kage Bunshin)
My Transformation Technique? Flawless.
I could hold a disguise for hours without a single chakra leak, fooling even a trained chunin if they weren't paying close attention.
I know this because I've gone into a pub filled with a few shinobi and none noticed my transformation.
As for my Substitution Jutsu, I didn't just switch with random logs anymore, I could time it mid-movement, redirecting my position in the middle of a dodge.
Most people thought of Kawarimi no Jutsu as a simple trick; poof, smoke, log appears, and you're safe. But when I started breaking it down, it was anything but simple.
The Substitution Technique wasn't true teleportation. It was a localized exchange, a displacement field created through chakra.
You infused a nearby object, like a log or rock, with a trace of your chakra and formed an anchor link.
When the jutsu triggered, that link reversed polarity for an instant, swapping your relative positions in space.
The puff of smoke everyone saw? That was just the byproduct of the chakra pulse disturbing the air.
At my level of control, I didn't need to wait for an enemy to hit me before activating it. I could anticipate the angle of an attack and substitute mid-motion, redirecting my body before contact was even made.
It made me wonder why the Academy even stopped teaching it past the basics.
To me, this was the foundation of every high-speed displacement technique, the ancestor of the Body Flicker and the precursor to the Flying Thunder God.
And when you think of the genius who came about this technique, it all just clicks into place.
On one hand, I would love to have him teach me for a day and on the other hand, I can't afford to even have him notice my existence.
Sigh… What a hard path I had chosen for myself.
But the real star of my term?
Fūinjutsu.
A subject that barely anyone in class cared about beyond sealing kunai into scrolls.
But the more I read about it, the more it hooked me.
One could say it was because of my mature and advanced mind that I could manage this.
I mean, it's like telling a group of children to sit down and solve mathematical equations when they could be out getting all physical and loud.
9 out of 10 children choose to get physical.
Why am I saying all this?
The thing is, Fuinjutsu was precise and methodical. It wasn't just about throwing around chakra and hoping for the best like with ninjutsu.
Every stroke mattered. Every symbol changed the way chakra flowed, like some kind of shinobi coding language.
And yet, hardly anyone took it seriously. The more I thought of that, the more baffled I became.
I mean, the academy taught only the bare minimum on basic storage seals, simple suppression tags, and rudimentary locking mechanisms.
Nothing advanced.
Nothing experimental.
Just enough to ensure that we knew how to use pre-made seals properly.
And that was a shame. Because the more I read, the more I realized that Fūinjutsu wasn't just useful. It was powerful.
Which was exactly why I had spent the past few weeks trying (and failing) to make a storage seal from scratch.
It was one thing to activate an already made seal and it was another to design the seal.
I exhaled slowly, staring down at my latest attempt.
The paper in front of me was covered in smeared ink, a half-dried storage seal staring back at me like it knew how pathetic my attempts had been.
The circular pattern was off—again. The kanji for "Contain" was slightly crooked, and the lines that should have been smooth and deliberate were jagged, like a child's first attempt at calligraphy.
This was my fourth try today.
The first attempt? The ink bled too much.
The second? I miswrote a kanji and nearly burned my desk.
The third? The kunai half disappeared, which was honestly more terrifying than if it had failed outright.
Now, here I was, brush in hand, ready for another go.
I dipped the brush into the ink, rolling my shoulders to loosen up. "Alright, Murakami-kun, focus. Steady hands. You got this."
The library was silent except for the soft scratching of brush against paper.
This time, I took my time, mindful of every stroke. The circle came out smoother, the kanji neater. My hand barely shook as I completed the final symbol.
I stared at it.
It looked right.
Which meant absolutely nothing, considering my last one had looked fine too.
I carefully placed a kunai in the center of the seal, pressing my fingers against the ink. A slow breath. Then—chakra, controlled and measured fed into the seal.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the ink shuddered. The kanji flickered. And then—
The kunai vanished.
My heart leapt. I stared at the empty space where the weapon had been, then down at the seal, where a faint, glowing mark remained.
It worked.
I grinned, my fingers twitching with excitement as I pressed the seal again to retrieve the kunai.
Nothing happened.
I blinked. "Wait—"
Still nothing.
I pressed harder. More chakra. I even tapped it like some old vending machine.
The seal refused to release.
"...Huh."
Well. That was a problem.
I stared at the stubborn ink like it had personally betrayed me. Okay, so maybe it half worked. I could store things, but I couldn't get them back. Minor setback. I could fix it. Probably.
Maybe.
Nah. Definitely.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. Clearly, I was missing something.
The book had mentioned that storage seals acted like small dimensional pockets—self-contained spaces that preserved objects inside.
But seals needed proper activation mechanisms. Most had release triggers, like a pulse of chakra or a specific hand sign.
Which meant… mine didn't have one.
I grabbed my brush again, this time making a note in the margins. Remember: Output without retrieval = dumb.
I leaned back, staring at the failed seal with a mix of frustration and amusement. So close, but not quite there.
Still, this was progress.
I didn't know why the academy treated Fūinjutsu like an afterthought, but I was starting to think that was a mistake. There was potential here, more than just storage or suppression. If I could learn to modify these seals, who knew what I could come up with?
The thought sent a spark of excitement through me.
Maybe, just maybe, I was onto something.
For now, though?
I was onto dinner. My stomach growled, reminding me that sealing away kunai didn't help much when I couldn't even seal away my hunger.
Priorities.