A/N: Slightly long chapter of 2700 words. A bit of info dump but necessary for your understanding of the shinobi world...or my version of the shinobi world as I see it.
Don't forget to drop a vote once you're done.
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The Lotus Store was bustling as always, its reputation growing steadily under Hina's leadership.
Customers moved in and out while discussing the latest goods. The store had become a reliable supplier for many, whether civilians, merchants, or shinobi looking for quality essentials.
A lone boy, dressed in a simple gray haori, stepped through the entrance, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
To the common eye, he was just another unassuming figure barely worth a second glance.
But beneath the Transformation Jutsu, Murakami walked toward the staircase leading to the top floor of the store where Hina's office was located.
Without acknowledging anyone, he slipped through the back entrance, passing through the storage area and making his way toward the office.
As he stepped inside, he was immediately met with the sight of Hina, comfortably seated at the desk, her eyes scanning over a scroll with the ease of someone who had long mastered the art of management.
She didn't even look up when she sensed his presence. Instead, a teasing smirk curled her lips as she spoke.
"Welcome back, young master."
Murakami didn't even acknowledge her words, nor did his expression change. Striding over to the chair opposite her and sinking into it with a long sigh as his transformation dispelled.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Hina quirked an eyebrow. "Rough day?"
"The damn Academy has upped its pressure on us again." His voice was laced with irritation. "They're pushing us harder than ever; combat training, endurance drills, tactical assessments. It's like they expect us to drop dead before we even get a forehead protector."
Hina chuckled softly, setting her brush aside. "That's exactly what they're doing."
Murakami shot her a deadpan look. "I don't need you agreeing with them."
"Oh? The prodigy of the orphanage is struggling? I never thought I'd see the day."
Murakami shot her a dry look. "Very funny."
She laughed at his expression before shaking her head. "Well, what did you expect? With how the war is escalating, they're not going to coddle anyone. They need more soldiers, and they need them trained fast."
At the mention of the war, Murakami's irritation faded slightly, and he sat up straighter. "What's the latest? Anything big?"
Hina's expression turned serious as she nodded. "Actually, yes. Something major actually happened."
She reached for a scroll and slid it across the desk toward him. Murakami picked it up and began scanning the contents, his eyes narrowing the further he read.
"…The Second Tsuchikage, Mū, and the Second Mizukage, Gengetsu, both died?" He muttered, a frown settling on his face.
Hina nodded. "Yes. Reports say they killed each other. This means both Iwagakure and Kirigakure have lost their leaders. With their deaths, the war is about to hit a turning point."
Murakami exhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
'So… this is when they both died, huh?'
He had read about the First Shinobi War in his past life, but the details were vague. Not much was known about this period.
Now, seeing it unfold before his eyes, he began to understand the gravity of the situation.
This was the most pressing period of the war. A time when major shifts in power would decide the future of the Great Nations. And it just so happened to align with the moment he was about to graduate.
Talk about timing.
'Well, not like there's anything I can do about it.'
Shaking off the thought, he rolled up the scroll and placed it back on the table. "Well, I don't have time to dwell on it. I'll be sent to the battlefield soon enough, so I might as well make the most of my time here."
Hina smirked. "Now there's the Murakami I know. Always thinking ahead."
He ignored her remark and shifted the conversation. "How's business?"
At this, Hina straightened, her teasing demeanor replaced by that of a professional. "Strong as ever. We've expanded our supplier network, so we're bringing in higher-quality goods at lower costs. Profits are up across all three locations. The East Market District store remains the busiest, the Northern District branch has secured steady wealthy clients, and the West Market District store is gaining traction among lesser clans."
Murakami nodded approvingly. He had long entrusted Hina with the CEO position, and she had more than proven her worth.
"Any issues?" He asked.
Hina shook her head. "Nothing major. Just the usual haggling and occasional attempts at intimidation from rival merchants, but nothing we can't handle. Oh, and I made sure to reinforce our contracts with suppliers; no one's undercutting us anytime soon."
Murakami smirked. "Good. Keep it that way. If there is a case of intimidation again, do let me know. I'll handle it."
Hina tilted her head slightly but nodded regardless.
Satisfied with her report, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "I need a favor."
Hina arched an eyebrow. "Oh? This should be interesting."
"Do we have any contacts in blacksmithing or leatherworking?"
"Blacksmiths and leather workers? That's an unusual request. What exactly do you need?"
He didn't answer immediately, letting the silence stretch as he carefully considered his next words.
With the war reaching its most dangerous phase and his graduation imminent, he couldn't afford to be caught unprepared.
Money and influence had given him security in business, but neither would protect him on the battlefield…
…Unless he used them wisely.
He needed gear; weapons, armor, and tactical equipment. Something custom-made to give him an edge. All things money could make possible.
"I want high-quality work done," he finally said. "Weapons, reinforced leather armor, and everything else that could guarantee my survival."
Hina tapped her fingers against the desk, deep in thought. "I have connections with a few metalworkers, but if you're looking for true quality, you'll need access to shinobi-exclusive blacksmiths. And they don't do business with just anyone."
Murakami anticipated that and nodded. "What about leatherworkers?"
Hina's expression shifted slightly. "A few. Mostly those who craft for nobles and merchants, but nothing military-grade. If you're looking for battle-ready leatherwork, I'll have to pull some strings."
"Then do it." His tone left no room for negotiation.
She sighed, shaking her head with an amused smirk. "You never ask for anything simple, do you?"
Despite her teasing, he could see the glint of interest in her eyes.
"I'll see what I can do."
Murakami stood up, transformed into his disguise as he prepared to leave. "Good. Let me know when you have something."
As he reached the door, Hina's voice stopped him.
"Murakami."
He glanced back at her.
Her teasing demeanor was gone, replaced with genuine concern. "Be careful. I know you're planning ahead, but war is unpredictable. Even the strongest get swallowed by it."
For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, he gave her a small, confident smirk. "I never take risks without a plan."
And with that, he stepped out of the office, disappearing into the bustling Lotus Store once more.
…
…
Murakami walked through the streets of Konoha with a steady but unhurried pace.
The Transformation Jutsu was still active, allowing him to remain just another face in the sea of villagers, civilians and shonobi that filled the evening roads.
The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the village, bathing the streets in a warm, golden glow.
It was a beautiful sight, one that starkly contrasted with the reality of war looming over them.
As he walked, his mind drifted back to the conversation he'd just had with Hina.
Mū and Gengetsu were dead.
Their deaths marked a turning point in the war, one that would likely accelerate the conflict to its bloodiest stage.
The Great Nations were constantly shifting in power, but a vacuum at the top meant chaos. It wouldn't be long before the other major villages made their moves to secure their dominance.
And Konoha would not be spared.
Murakami clenched his fists.
The moment he realised the timeline he was in, he knew that war would come, not just one, or two, but three.
He had read about it and watched it in the anime, even played out countless scenarios in his head.
But knowing something was coming and standing at its precipice were two vastly different things.
Back in the 21st century, he had lived in an era of peace, where wars were fought by distant nations, where battles were statistics in a news report.
He had never known the stench of blood on the battlefield, the fear of losing comrades, the weight of killing another person with his own hands.
Now, though, that was his reality.
And it forced a question he hadn't dared to ask himself before.
Had he prepared enough?
He had spent years laying the groundwork, studying chakra theory, refining his combat skills, expanding his businesses, securing wealth and influence and ensured he had every advantage possible.
But war was unpredictable.
No amount of training could prepare someone for the chaos of the battlefield, for the moment when they were forced to decide between hesitation and survival.
Especially during the war that didn't really have a winner but ended due to the large number of deaths accrued by all involved nations.
For a brief moment, doubt crept in.
What if it wasn't enough? What if all his plans, all his precautions, failed in the face of true war?
Murakami exhaled deeply through his nose and slowed his steps.
Then, he collected his thoughts and let the doubt die.
Because he knew deep down that he had done everything within his power to prepare.
He hadn't wasted a single moment since awakening in this world.
From the moment he could understand chakra, he had studied it.
From the moment he could shape his own future, he had seized it.
His wealth, his strength, his combat readiness…everything was a result of his efforts.
He didn't have any cheats, wishes, system or bloodline. Nothing. Just sheer effort.
And he would be damned if he let that go to waste.
Regaining his confidence, Murakami pressed forward, making his way through the quieter parts of Konoha.
His apartment wasn't located in the shinobi district at the north, nor was it in the bustling merchant areas.
Instead, it rested on the eastern outskirts, where the streets were less crowded and solitude was easier to come by.
This area has not been developed due to the relatively young age of the village.
A simple two-story building, modest in size but carefully chosen.
It stood between the residential sector and the forested outskirts, providing the perfect balance between accessibility and privacy.
The structure itself was built in a traditional Konoha style; wooden panels, curved tiled roofs, and a small veranda at the front. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a well-kept home of a moderately successful individual.
But its true value lay in what surrounded it.
Behind the apartment stretched an open training ground, bordered by tall trees that provided natural cover.
The space was large enough for him to practice his techniques without prying eyes.
It wasn't an official training ground like those used by shinobi, but that was precisely why he had chosen it.
No one questioned why a civilian boy might want space to exercise since the records show that it was bought in the Lotus Stores' name.
Murakami stepped onto the porch, sliding the door open and stepping inside.
The interior of the apartment reflected his approach to life; efficient, practical, and organized.
The front room was sparsely decorated, with only a few essentials.
A low table sat in the center, accompanied by neatly arranged cushions.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and scrolls spanning far more than shinobi arts; commerce and military doctrine sat beside philosophy, medicine, psychology, foreign martial systems, and records from the warring clan period before villages ever existed.
The collection wasn't random.
Murakami had never believed that living in the shinobi world meant surrendering his mind to muscle and hand seals.
Strength mattered, yes, but strength without understanding was just another way to die early, or worse still, be used as a tool.
Jutsu could be learned, chakra could be trained, and bodies could be pushed to their limits.
Any fool with enough talent or desperation could spam techniques until something broke, usually themselves and then blame the world for it.
Knowledge, on the other hand, compounded.
Information won wars long before blades ever crossed.
Understanding people, the flow of resources, terrain, psychology, and power structures, those were the things that decided who lived and who became a footnote in a mission report.
That was why his shelves held more than combat manuals.
This world's philosophy taught him how people have come to justify their choices.
History showed him how different clans and villages rose and collapsed under the weight of their own decisions.
Medical texts explained the body's limits and the price chakra demanded whenever those limits were pushed.
Strategy and logistics revealed that no amount of strength mattered once the flow of supplies dried up in a battlefield or mission.
Even the foreign martial texts served a purpose. Different systems meant different assumptions, different weaknesses, different ways of moving and thinking.
In a world obsessed with lineage techniques and inherited styles, anything unfamiliar was an advantage.
A shinobi who only knew how to fight was a weapon.
A shinobi who understood the world was the one deciding where that weapon was aimed.
Murakami had no intention of becoming a muscle-brained idiot swinging jutsu at problems until chakra ran dry.
If he was going to survive, no, thrive, then he would do it with preparation, foresight, and a mind sharp enough to make brute force unnecessary whenever possible.
Power was temporary.
Knowledge endured.
Truth be told, if he had the knowledge and perspective he had now a few years ago, he wouldn't have chosen the shinobi path at all.
But that choice was an illusion.
In this world, knowledge was regulated as tightly as weapons. Knowledge on Ninjutsu, Fuinjutsu, Iryojutsu, intelligence methods, almost all of it sat behind village walls, academy curricula, and classified registries.
Without enrollment, without a record, there was no legal way to touch the things that actually mattered. Civilian education ended where usefulness to the village began.
The shinobi system wasn't just about training fighters. It was a framework of control. Registration, rank, mission logs, and loyalty contracts ensured that anyone with chakra was accounted for.
Even clan children who never stepped foot in the Academy but lived in the village were still registered once they came of age.
They were cataloged, evaluated, and bound to the village whether they liked it or not.
Power without oversight was something the village simply didn't allow.
Especially not one created by Tobirama Senju.
For Murakami, attending the Academy and becoming a shinobi wasn't a calling. It was paperwork.
A necessary entry in a growing portfolio, access credentials and legitimacy.
He didn't need to be a shinobi to learn how to fight, think, or survive.
But without the Academy, he would never gain lawful access to restricted texts, sealed techniques, mission networks, or the kind of information that shaped nations.
So he stayed. Not to chase glory or die for a headband, but to gather what he needed.
Once that was done, whether he remained a shinobi or became something else entirely would be his decision.
And this time, it would be a real one. Not one forced by circumstances.
He moved past the main living space and into his study.
The study was the most personal space in the entire apartment.
It was where he planned, strategized and turned his ideas into reality. A large wooden desk occupied the center, cluttered with scrolls, notes, and carefully drawn blueprints.
One set of drawings immediately caught his eye.
Laid out across the desk were sketches of the attire he planned to have crafted.
The attire was practical yet elegant, designed for both protection and maneuverability.
This was no ordinary shinobi outfit.
He ran his fingers along the edges of the parchment, tracing the outlines of his future.
This was what he had been working toward. He couldn't approach the war like an ordinary shinobi would.
He was wealthy now so he intended to use his wealth to secure his safety on the battlefield.
As for the cost…Heh.