Handover work had nothing to do with Hyūga Akira.
Did he even have any real duties?
Sadly—no. And even if he did, they still wouldn't concern him.
If he could slack off, he absolutely would. Becoming a workhorse was never an option.
So he left behind just a single sentence:
"All the intel files are on the desk. Look through whatever you want. I don't know anything else."
After that, Akira spread his hands and went straight back to sleep.
This infuriated the fat ninja.
Managing an entire city couldn't possibly amount to just this much work. Even if they hadn't fully taken control of the city, the volume of intelligence alone should've been considerable.
"He definitely didn't collect intel properly!!" the fat ninja snapped angrily.
Murakami Hana sat in a chair, casually flipping through the documents. Without even lifting his head, he said calmly,
"Kusen died too suddenly. He wanted to monopolize this city, but instead got himself killed."
The fat ninja's eyes darted as a thought occurred to him.
"I suspect Kusen was killed by that kid. He has that kind of strength."
At the very least, in close combat, he'd been completely outmatched. That level of physical skill wasn't weak even among chūnin. He didn't know exactly how strong Kusen had been, but if Muyū wanted him dead, it wouldn't have been difficult.
Whoosh—
A sharp sound cut through the air.
A kunai flew past the fat ninja's ear, slicing a bloody gash through it.
Murakami Hana looked at him with a half-smile.
"Don't try to use me. Do you really think you're worth that much?"
The fat ninja's face darkened, but he still forced out a strained smile.
There weren't many jōnin in the Rain Village, but every single one of them was dangerously unrestrained. He didn't dare provoke Murakami Hana.
This man could actually kill him.
"And besides," Murakami continued, smiling like a fox, "you don't have any evidence."
Murakami had personally gone to inspect the battlefield where Kusen died. There were signs of modification, yes—but not enough to determine who had struck the fatal blow.
"You really are a lawless little brat," Murakami muttered, growing more interested in this Muyū.
Killing a superior was a grave crime.
But that only applied when there was proof.
Without proof, it was still possible to kill someone—but a person who had already caught Lord Hanzō's attention wasn't someone who could be dealt with so casually.
"Bold… no—arrogant," Murakami said softly.
He recalled the look in Akira's eyes.
Most people, when faced with an utterly overwhelming opponent, showed fear or despair.
But that kid's gaze had been different.
It was like a tiger cub staring at prey—
unable to hunt yet, but already envisioning the day it would.
Murakami almost laughed at the thought.
Becoming a jōnin in the Rain Village was already uncertain. Wanting to hunt him? That was nothing short of a fantasy.
The fat ninja beside him was trembling slightly.
Rain Village jōnin all had something off about them, mentally speaking. He was starting to worry Murakami might snap.
Murakami, however, ignored him entirely.
"He's smart, too. That level of strength at his age—add a bit of luck, and he might actually become a jōnin."
The greatest weakness of small ninja villages was this:
they lacked the ability to systematically cultivate jōnin.
The Rain Village could train chūnin, but jōnin? That relied almost entirely on talent or extraordinary opportunities.
Take Hanzō, for example.
His power far surpassed that of an average jōnin because salamander organs had been transplanted into his body. Under the cultivation of the Rain Village leader Shōzō, he'd achieved strength that completely eclipsed normal standards.
By the major villages' evaluation, Hanzō was an elite jōnin—
the only elite jōnin the Rain Village possessed.
He was a ninja qualified to compete for the title of "Kage" among the great villages.
The Rain Village itself had never truly cultivated an elite jōnin, so few people realized just how terrifying Hanzō truly was—even among elites.
Other minor villages fled on sight when faced with him. No one had ever truly witnessed the full extent of his power.
To Murakami and the other Rain Village jōnin, Hanzō was invincible.
If not for righteousness and the restraints of the master–disciple relationship, Hanzō wouldn't have needed to hide at all.
Murakami glanced at the fat ninja, who was buried in his work.
"Trash," Murakami said coldly, without caring how the man felt.
Looking at him only made Murakami appreciate Muyū more.
Every new jōnin strengthened the Rain Village.
Of course, the road ahead for that kid would be far from easy.
The fat ninja didn't dare retort. He kept his head down, waiting for Murakami to leave. Only then would this place truly become his territory.
His people were already hidden throughout the city.
As for revenge against Murakami?
He didn't even dare consider it.
Attacking Murakami would be insubordination—something the Rain Village would never tolerate. If Murakami killed him, that would simply be "cleaning up trash," at worst earning a verbal reprimand.
More importantly—he couldn't beat a jōnin.
But Murakami… wasn't the only target.
That brat, Muyū—
That one he could deal with.
A poisonous hatred flickered in the fat ninja's pea-sized eyes, though he kept his head bowed, not daring to let Murakami notice.
Hyūga Akira had no idea how highly he was being evaluated.
After sleeping straight through to morning, he went to see Nagato.
He didn't even need to visit the tower anymore—it had little to do with him now.
Inside a slightly refurbished cave outside the city—
Nagato threw shuriken at a distant straw dummy. They all hit, but the force behind them was pitiful. Several clattered uselessly to the ground.
When he noticed Akira entering, Nagato immediately stopped and greeted him respectfully.
"Teacher."
Akira glanced at the dummy. With that level of power, even a breeze could knock the shuriken loose.
"Not bad," Akira nodded.
Nagato had only been training for a few days. Reaching this level already counted as decent progress.
"I'm leaving," Akira said bluntly.
"Huh?" Nagato looked at him in shock.
You're leaving already?
He hadn't even mastered the three basic techniques yet. His taijutsu was little more than wild flailing, and shuriken were basically decorative in his hands.
Akira stroked his chin and asked,
"Nagato, do you want to come with me? Otherwise, you'll have to train on your own from now on."
Nagato thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"Sorry, teacher. I don't want to leave my family."
Akira nodded. He'd expected that answer.
"If you need ninjutsu in the future, you'll have to find it yourself. Most wandering ninja aren't very strong—you can take their techniques. Trust that feeling inside you and carefully judge their strength. If you can't beat them head-on, use traps. If traps don't work—go after their family."
"Wait—teacher!" Nagato interrupted, eyes wide.
"Isn't that… kind of wrong?"
What kind of teacher teaches that?!
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