Inside the Konoha branch of the Shinobi Bank.
The lobby was luxuriously decorated, the air fresh and pleasant. Even with the summer heat outside, the temperature inside stayed comfortably cool.
Kaito glanced at the walls on either side, where blocks of ice emitted a steady chill. Bamboo-like channels guided trickling water behind the walls.
The counters themselves were crafted from expensive golden-thread nanmu wood.
This atmosphere was something modern renovations could never match—elegant, refined. The ice blocks were infused with medicinal herbs, filling the air with a faint, soothing fragrance.
These special blocks were only used at room temperature—around twenty-five degrees. In colder or hotter weather, regular air conditioning worked better.
Guards stood at the entrance, and a high-tech device from some advanced company scanned every visitor: anti-Transformation Jutsu measures.
Right now, no one was at the counters depositing money. Rich clients were rare—most shinobi spent fast. Only a few needed actual banking.
"Hello! Handling business?"
The young lady behind the counter smiled brightly as she spotted Kaito. "So good to see you again, Kaito-genin."
"Smooth mission today?"
"Decent enough." Kaito returned a casual nod. "Though Sayu-san, you look even prettier today."
Fukuyama Sayu, in her bank uniform, gave a light laugh. Her delicately made-up face lifted as she looked at him. "Flattery~ But no matter how pretty I get, I can't compare to how handsome you are, Kaito-genin~"
"Two years now, and your looks haven't faded a bit. If anything... you seem even more attractive~~~"
After printing the deposit slip and stamping it, she handed the bankbook back, propping her chin on her hands.
"So? Interested in marrying into the family? My household's pretty well-off~ I could totally support you. All these missions, and you've only saved about five million, right?"
"That kind of money doesn't go far~"
Kaito took the book, calmly brushing off the lingering perfume scent before tucking it away. "Five million one hundred and seventy thousand, to be exact."
He deposited every spare ryō. Home had maybe fifty thousand in loose change. As long as he stayed single, money was endless.
Fukuyama Sayu claimed her father was some high official in the Fire Daimyo's military affairs office—rich and powerful, anyway.
The young heiress had heard about shinobi and decided she wanted one as a husband—one who matched her tastes.
Her doting father thought it brilliant. Military affairs could use a ninja son-in-law.
So Sayu became a full-time clerk at this branch.
(Clerks here weren't just anyone—only nobles' or officials' children qualified.
Commoners? Impossible.
Even shinobi had to sever village ties, prove no lingering connections, and get family or in-law approval.
Positions rotated regularly, with periodic audits and staff changes every few years—to prevent greed from spoiling the elite's financial pie.
A little skimming was tolerated—they weren't hurting for it—but they protected the system fiercely.
Plus, shinobi and village funds were stored here. Trouble meant ninja fists. Daimyo officials paid the price, so staff stayed careful.)
...
After bidding farewell to Sayu (and the hostile male clerk glaring daggers), Kaito stepped out of the cool lobby.
Nobles really knew how to live.
Fresh-squeezed fruit drinks on the counters, snacks, casual chatter...
That work vibe was every past-life salaryman's dream.
And supposedly, a few years' salary here could buy a jonin's lifetime earnings.
"But sorry—grinding missions is just to fuel better training volume."
With that thought, Kaito headed to a training ground and began today's sword routine.
"1"
"2"
"...1000"
"1001"
"1002"
...
Simple: grip the sword two-handed, swing forward. Five meters away stood a thick tree. The blade wind left faint friction marks on its trunk, building...
Time blurred. Swings uncounted.
Finally, a small crack appeared on the tree's front side, with a soft snap.
Crack!
"Close enough."
"Training ends here for today."
Kaito wiped his sweat, sheathing the ninja sword—still his first custom long blade, bought for three hundred thousand.
Stingy? Sure. But sentimental. As long as it held, he'd use it.
He'd check and fine-tune the blade with his fruit ability, keeping it pristine—more fruit practice.
Maintenance went to his usual shop. The owner was always shocked it showed zero wear, calling Kaito a true blade lover.
Too bad the kid's talent was lacking—botched ninjutsu in chunin exams repeatedly, stubbornly insisting on earning promotion fairly... and failing.
Everyone knew the "Black Phantom" wasn't ordinary genin-level—at least in taijutsu.
So this time, the owner sweetened the deal: make chunin, get the family heirloom...
Kaito tuned out the rest.
Same old: "Wait till you're chunin~~"
No thanks.
Today's goal: sword ki. Compress air with speed and precision—turn force into slashing blades.
Even in hot weather, Kaito wore long sleeves and pants—lightweight gear modified by his fruit.
Every limb and torso piece weighed at least two hundred pounds now.
Constant load built advanced taijutsu control: make the body "forget" the weight, deepening mastery.
It honed power, precision, weapon fluency.
Next, he drew a new arm-length short sword and resumed swings.
Meanwhile, far away on a Grass Country battlefield...
Three shinobi faced unprecedented crisis.
Unlike Rain's endless gloom, Grass felt almost like Konoha—open, green.
A small rocky hill, surrounded by child-high wild grass, sheltered three figures. More closed in outside.
Jiraiya, gravely wounded by pursuing Iwa-nin, slumped against an inner boulder. Tsunade healed him, hands glowing green.
"Hang on, Jiraiya!"
Orochimaru watched coldly. Outside rustles grew.
"Earth Style: Rock Blaster!" ×N
Massive stones spewed from fifty-odd pursuers' mouths—crude compared to disguised Kumo-nin earlier, but each boulder half-man-sized.
Whoosh whoosh—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Dust rained inside the tunnels.
Orochimaru decided. His path was long—he couldn't end here.
"Give up, Tsunade. Their earth jutsu will collapse this hill. To escape, we leave now—you and I."
"And Jiraiya."
Her firm tone darkened his face.
"With our stamina and chakra? Carrying him is impossible."
Seeing her ignore him, continuing healing, Orochimaru drew a kunai.
"Fine. You keep healing."
"I'll end him myself."
Before he moved, Tsunade's killing intent erupted. "One step—I kill you!"
Even in pain, voiceless, Jiraiya managed a victory sign.
"Because from the start... Jiraiya trusted you."
"That trust... you can't break it!"
Her words froze Orochimaru. "Damn it..." He lowered the kunai.
Then—outside quieted. A heavy blast rocked the hill—explosive tags?
Boom—
Orochimaru shielded the pair as the wall shattered. White light flooded in, silhouettes rushing through.
Chunin Nawaki: "Orochimaru-sensei! Tsunade-nee! Jiraiya-nii! You okay?!"
Chunin Kurama Unkai: "Should be here. Ryuun, your sensing right?"
Special Jonin Yūhi Ryuun: "No mistake! Life signs that way."
Special Jonin Hyūga Suzuka: "Relax. I see Orochimaru-sama, Tsunade-sama, and Jiraiya-sama inside. Jiraiya-sama's badly hurt, though."
"Don't let guard down. Unkai-chunin, with me—confirm Iwa's fully withdrawn with support." Special Jonin Shimura Yūko.
"Yes!"
Familiar voices shook Orochimaru. He saw them clearly: Konoha reinforcements.
"Nawaki... you came too." Orochimaru finally smiled openly. Safe. No need to kill Jiraiya in despair. And his student had grown—fighting on the front.
War's end neared.
(Their squad had destroyed Iwa's Grass Country supply depot.)
"Close one. Good thing we made it." Now gracefully matured, Ryuun wiped tense sweat, ninja sword on her back. Fifty Iwa-nin versus similar support numbers—risky if it came to blows.
"You three, with us." Yūhi Mahiru helped Jiraiya as the group regrouped and returned to camp.
Thus, the Second Shinobi World War ended. The Sannin's legend solidified in its final days, resounding across the world.
Afterward...
Troops trickled back. Iwa retreated to Stone borders.
(Shinobi world had rules—major nations declared war formally.
Small countries? Depended on big powers' moods.
Like Kiri's annihilation of Uzushio.)
In Konoha, Kaito's days grew easier. Missions now optional—only if he felt like training, or ones Duy couldn't solo.
Orochimaru's team was special as Hokage disciples. Normally, short-handed or leaderless teams disbanded and reassigned.
But Kaito and Duy formed an unofficial duo—occasionally teaming for tasks.
(Team tasks: one at a time unless solo.
Solo: standard forty percent cut. No exploits—mission desk noted participants, checked client satisfaction.)
Nawaki made chunin last year, heading to front with Orochimaru and others.
Squad One? Just the two of them now.
"Strength up, money stacked... what's missing~?" Kaito strolled lazily. War-end rumors hit papers last month—daimyo attitudes forced Iwa retreat even without Sannin intervention.
Sucking on a popsicle, he recalled three years ago—the Surgeon fiasco ruined by two women. Only late last year, with Orochimaru and Tsunade deployed, hospital short-staffed, no leads... he'd reopened the persona cautiously.
One "experiment" per infiltration—no slip-ups.
His experiments were reversible: heal then re-injure; worsen then revert.
In other words...
With Hashirama cells? He could transplant and integrate perfectly—swap, splice.
Early Kumo incident? Imperfect splice left the guy paralyzed, terrified.
Now? Full mobility guaranteed—toe-wiggling level!
Lost in thought, Kaito reached the rear mountain overlook above the Hokage Rock, popsicle stick in mouth.
"But now..."
"It's different."
"I'm not that weak anymore."
(Conventional strength: personal skill alone crushed jonin, even average Kage.
Full fruit: anything short of jinchūriki, Hashirama-cell Uchiha, sage-mode beasts, or Ōtsutsuki—near-instant kills. Including Mangekyō users.
ROOM's remote cutting scaled with target durability.
Couldn't one-shot? One-on-one, 9-1 odds his favor—except Ōtsutsuki.)
"So..."
"Time to travel!"
"Let the Surgeon's name spread beyond Konoha."
"Let the shinobi world feel the charm of an all-round medical ninja—"
Endless missions bored him. Travel meant witnessing the world, understanding it truly. Nesting in Konoha training endlessly? Stifling.
Perfect timing.
War over—he could leave, chase, discover... that lost dream he couldn't name.
As he thought, the situation aligned. Nations needed recovery—constant border clashes impossible. Trade, industry exchanges required.
By late June, Year 37... "Second Shinobi World War Ends" headlined papers worldwide. Nations mourned, prayed for the fallen.
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