And so, with my latest failure still fresh in my mind, I packed up my things and made my way out of the library and back to the orphanage.
As much as I wanted to continue experimenting, hunger took priority.
Upon arriving at the orphanage, I noticed that the place felt different now, not in a dramatic way, but in the little details that actually made all the difference.
Lighter. Yeah, that's the word.
Tonight's Dinner, for example.
It had always been okay enough, no one was starving, but the meals weren't exactly nourishing either.
Roughly a year ago, the meals had been lackluster, but now, things were different..
I glanced around the hall. The orphans, kids younger than me, some barely old enough to remember their parents, ate with an enthusiasm I have grown used to seeing.
"Look who's finally decided to join us." Just as I was appreciating the moment, a voice rang out from across the hall.
I didn't even need to look. Aiko always had that smug tone that sounded like she was three seconds away from scolding me.
"You were gone all day again," she said as I slid into the chair across from her. "What was it this time? The library? The market? Or did you finally join a secret clan and decided not to tell us?"
"Library," I said, grabbing a bowl. "And I'd tell you if I did. After charging admission."
"Ha! You'd probably write a whole contract for it too," she said, snickering into her rice.
Across the table, Daichi gave a grunt between mouthfuls. "Don't bother, Aiko. If Murakami ever joins a clan, he'll make them file taxes first for having him."
The table broke into laughter. Even I couldn't help a small smile.
"I'm not saying you're wrong," I said, picking up my chopsticks. "But I'd at least make sure they could afford them."
Daichi shook his head, grinning. "You are unbelievable."
"Efficient," I corrected and dug into my food. "One has to know his worth in this huge market called life."
The food was warm, miso broth, steamed rice, bits of pork, and sautéed greens from our farm. The pork was rare; probably from a trade Hina managed with a butcher in the East Market.
She had a way of getting deals.
No one said no to Hina. She had that passion for getting what she wants. I'm glad my little suggestions weren't going to waste.
"This is way better than last week," I said after the first few bites.
Aiko nodded. "Daichi added garlic this time."
Daichi puffed his chest slightly. "Secret recipe."
"You mean after Hoshino-san told you to stop undercooking the rice," Aiko shot back.
"Details," he muttered, cheeks puffing.
I nearly choked on my food while trying to hold in my laugh. "You two are hopeless."
Daichi was the second person to show an interest in kitchen work after me, and we've always been doing it together, but upon entering the Academy, I rarely came back early, so while I helped in the morning, Daichi helped in the evening.
"Hopeless but fed," Aiko said, tapping her bowl.
"Barely," Daichi said. "We've still got to wake up early tomorrow to pull weeds. The carrots are growing wild again."
I groaned. "Why do I feel like I'm being punished for being responsible?"
Aiko tilted her head. "Because you are. You volunteered to help with the farm, remember?"
"…I hate past me." I sighed sadly but continued with my food. It was inevitable and since there was nothing I could do about it, I just had to do what I could.
By now, the younger kids were talking over each other, bragging about who caught the fattest beetle in the garden or who tripped in the mud while trying to water the tomatoes.
There was laughter now, not that there wasn't before, but this time, conversations weren't just about who stole whose blanket or how bad the food was.
The other caretakers even looked healthier too, not as overworked or tired.
The sound of their laughter filled the hall, bouncing off the old wooden beams.
I leaned back slightly, bowl half-finished, just watching.
It wasn't perfect, the walls still creaked, the bowls were mismatched, and sometimes the rice ran out before seconds, but compared to what it used to be, this was luxury.
A year ago, silence used to fill this room. Now, it was life.
It wasn't perfect, but it was better.
"Murakami," Hoshino-san's voice cut through the chatter as she passed by with a gentle smile, refilling bowls. "You came back late again."
"I was studying, not slacking," I said immediately.
"I didn't say you were slacking," she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "But you need to rest too. You're still a child."
I gave a half-smile. "I'll stop when it's time to do so."
She sighed softly, that quiet kind of sigh that meant she'd given up arguing, and ruffled my hair like she used to when I was younger. "Just don't forget to eat before you start saving the world, alright?"
"Yes, ma'am."
As I ate, my thoughts began to wander, because of course, I couldn't just enjoy the meal like a normal kid.
Fūinjutsu.
It has been taking up more and more of my mental space lately. At first, it was just a curiosity, something that felt oddly right in a way other shinobi arts didn't.
But the deeper I looked, the more I realized…
It was just like programming.
That wasn't news though. I'd already made the connection when I termed it Chakra Circuitry, but the more I studied seals, the clearer it became.
A seal was basically a script written in ink. It followed rules, executed commands, and if something was written incorrectly? It failed. Or worse, it did something completely unintended.
A storage seal?
→ Input an object, apply chakra, store it away.
A locking seal?
→ Only unlocks when the correct chakra signature is detected.
Even suppression seals worked on if-then conditions, limiting chakra flow unless a specific condition was met.
It was all logic-based.
At its core, it was a command.
Task: Store object. Process;→ Apply chakra → Seal activates → Object disappears.
Task: Retrieve object. Process; → Apply chakra again → Object reappears.
That explained why my storage seal worked but wouldn't release anything. I had successfully written a store function, but I had forgotten to program the retrieve function.
Hmm. Noted.
But something still bugged me.
Academy seals were… rigid.
They followed exact formulas with little room for change. The instructors made it seem like altering a seal in any way would guarantee failure.
But if that were true…
How had people ever invented new ones?
I tapped my chopsticks against my bowl, frowning slightly.
I had a theory. Perhaps all the low level seal were the lowest version of stronger seals. And the only reason I feel this way is because I know there are stronger grades of seals.
If that was the case, then there had to be a way to optimize them.
If fūinjutsu was chakra-based code, then like any code, it could be streamlined.
Take a storage seal, for example. It took three separate kanji to store an item. But if I adjusted the pattern, maybe I could condense the same function into two.
Or better yet…
What if I could make modular seals?
Instead of drawing a completely new formula for every different effect, what if I created base templates that could be modified as needed?
(A/N: This might be difficult for some to understand so I'll drop an explanation after the chapter.)
A slow, excited grin spread across my face.
Yeah.
I had a theory.
And I was going to test it, but for now, I should finish my plate of food.
After dinner, I helped Daichi and Aiko clear the tables while the younger ones ran off to wash their bowls.
"You know," Daichi said as he stacked plates, "for someone who reads all day, you work like you're being paid."
"I am," I said. "In dinner."
How could they understand that every physical action helps train the body in one way.
Aiko snorted. "You're impossible."
"And you're being loud," I said, giving her a look.
That earned me a playful flick of water to the face.
Luckily, I was the more mature person and ignored her.
As I stepped outside a few minutes later, the air had cooled, and the smell of wet soil drifted from the farm behind. Fireflies blinked lazily between the rows of vegetables.
For a moment, I just stood there, the quiet hum of laughter still faint behind me, the sound of life settling into something steady.
For all my plans, my seals, my ambitions, my unending calculations, this little place reminded me why it all mattered.
Because even if the rest of the world fell apart, I wanted this to survive.
The laughter, the warmth, the simple meal that actually filled a stomach.
That was reason enough to keep building.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
The Concept of Modular Seals
In the world of Fūinjutsu, we know nothing. Absolutely nothing since the anime Naruto didn't go in depth about it like it did with chakra, ninjutsu, and other things that were relevant to the story. So everything I write is my own comprehension of the art.
Now, I believe that every seal is traditionally crafted as a unique formula, a specialized design written for one specific purpose.
If you wanted a storage seal, a barrier seal, or an explosive tag, you'd have to draw each from scratch, recalculating every interaction of chakra and script.
Of course there are differences like the ones that appear on thin air when a few hand signs are done. We'll get to those slowly.
Now, Murakami's breakthrough lies in standardization which is the creation of modular seals.
*What Are Modular Seals?
Modular seals are like LEGO pieces for Fūinjutsu.
Instead of drawing an entire new formula every time, Murakami creates base components (modules) that can be reused and combined in different ways to produce new effects.
Each module performs a basic function. For example:
Containment Module – Holds chakra, matter, or energy.
Trigger Module – Activates the seal when certain conditions are met (contact, time, chakra input, etc.).
Elemental Module – Imbues the seal with elemental nature (Fire, Wind, Water, etc.).
Amplifier Module – Enhances output or strengthens an existing function.
By combining these modules, Murakami can craft complex seals without starting from zero each time.
*Examples
Storage Seal = Containment + Trigger
Explosive Tag = Containment + Trigger + Amplifier
Flame Barrier = Containment + Trigger + Element(Fire)