Kiyohara watched his Tachi float shakily in the air, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
'What should I name this application? And what else can I control?'
He released his grip on the magnetic field, and the longsword fell cleanly back into his hand.
'As expected, the streamlined blade of a sword doesn't have much air resistance, but it's certainly not the optimal shape for sustained, maneuverable flight. If the goal is purely flight speed and stability, a shuttle-shaped throwing knife or a ring structure would be vastly superior aerodynamically. A ring, especially, would be easy to stabilize via rotation.'
As for the Tachi...
Kiyohara weighed the weapon in his hand. He immediately dismissed the idea of modifying his primary weapon for better flight.
'At this stage, I am just verifying the concept. Using my existing sword is practical. But its slashing function is still critical for close combat; I cannot sacrifice its structural integrity or edge alignment just to make it a better projectile.'
Perhaps he needed to commission a specialized set of ninja tools explicitly designed for magnetic manipulation. Something lightweight, streamlined, and perfectly balanced for telekinesis.
Thinking of this, Kiyohara drew a standard shuriken from his pouch.
He closed his eyes, visualizing the physics inherited from the Radical Spirit. He constructed a ring-shaped, high-speed rotating magnetic field around the star-shaped blade.
This rotating field interacted directly with the magnetism Kiyohara had already imbued *into* the shuriken's metal. The resulting interaction generated a localized propulsive force, perpendicular to the plane of the magnetic rotation.
By micro-adjusting the axis direction and the rotational speed of the field, he could dictate the shuriken's flight path and velocity without ever touching it.
It sounded overly complex, but essentially, it was just molding chakra into physical laws.
The shuriken began to rise from his palm, hovering steadily in the air.
Because its mass and size were much smaller than the Tachi, Kiyohara's control was immediately smoother.
Forward.
Tilt left.
Accelerate.
He tossed a handful of shuriken into the air, engaging multiple fields at once.
The blades traced crooked, erratic trajectories. Sometimes they shot forward with lethal speed; other times they retreated sluggishly, or spun wildly out of control like headless flies. Several times, a blade almost broke free of his control, whistling past his face and breaking him out in a cold sweat.
The requirement for precise, microscopic chakra control and multi-tasking mental concentration was far higher than the single-burst acceleration required for the Electromagnetic Coin.
But Kiyohara's eyes only grew brighter.
Failure was expected. Every erratic movement, every near-miss, gave his nervous system a little more proficiency in manipulating multi-point magnetic fields.
It wasn't until the sky began to darken into deep purple that Kiyohara finally ceased his training, catching the exhausted shuriken.
He decided to tentatively name this developing technique Magnet Release: Object Manipulation Jutsu.
'Rasa and Gaara probably do something similar on a macro scale,' Kiyohara thought, imagining the Kazekage effortlessly controlling vast, tidal oceans of Gold Dust. A thrill of anticipation ran through him.
Perhaps one day, he could earn a title like Kiyohara of the Sand Waterfall—only his waterfall would be composed of electrified iron and telekinetic steel.
Of course, at this stage, he still had a long way to go before he could casually slaughter an army with a floating sword like Orochimaru.
A ninja's combat power is ultimately capped by two insurmountable mountains: Chakra Control and Total Chakra Volume.
"I knew you'd be out here training."
Kurenai emerged from the treeline, placing her hands on her hips with a triumphant "I've seen through your lies" expression on her face.
"No wonder you're always coming up with insane new tricks! It turns out you really are waking up at 4:00 A.M. to grind every single day!" Kurenai accused him.
She had originally thought he was half-joking back in the Academy when he spouted that nonsense. But seeing him out here, drenched in sweat after hours of grueling, highly technical practice?
He already possessed the latent talent of a genius, yet he worked this hard!
"Of course," Kiyohara smiled faintly, wiping his forehead. "I owe all my strength entirely to my own hard work."
'Though I should definitely credit a massive portion of it to the ghosts of my future selves,' he added silently, choosing to keep that detail to himself out of kindness.
During this lull in the war, aside from mandatory camp duties, he was squeezing every drop of time into training. He needed to master his current arsenal before the end of the month.
There were only two weeks left until the next "Last Words Letter" opened. He had to survive until then.
"From now on, you have to call me when you train," Kurenai huffed, pointing a finger at him. "No more secretly working harder than everyone else. If we're going to grind, we do it together."
She was already looking forward to the bewildered, panicked expression on Genma's face when he realized he had been completely left in the dust by both of them.
'So this is what it feels like to quietly plot your rise to the top!' Kurenai thought proudly. She, Kurenai Yuhi, would also start grinding from today onward!
"Fine. I'll call you next time," Kiyohara agreed easily.
Having a beautiful girl train beside him was easy on the eyes and would make the grueling hours slightly more pleasant. However, he fully intended to keep his most classified techniques—like Konoha-Style: Willow—strictly to solo night sessions. Things that needed to stay hidden would stay hidden.
"Only next time?" Kurenai leaned in close, peering up at him.
"I'm heading back to rest," Kiyohara said, rolling his shoulders. "Synthesizing chakra burns physical stamina. When the stamina is gone, you have to sleep."
Training required a strict balance. Only freaks of nature with infinitely resilient bodies, like Might Duy or his son, could train until their muscles tore and simply walk it off.
"This... alright," Kurenai nodded, looking at the sweat dampening his dark, shaggy hair.
'This detestable guy actually looks... really good when he's drenched in sweat,' Kurenai thought, her mind suddenly a flustered mess.
As the two of them walked back toward the camp perimeter, a sharp crunching sound caught their attention.
Walking toward them down the dirt path was a delinquent-looking teenage boy. He wore a trendy, high-collared jacket, walking with an arrogant swagger, one hand stuffed lazily in his pocket. He tossed his dark hair and chewed aggressively on something in his mouth.
It was Asuma Sarutobi.
Kiyohara glanced at him. Asuma was chewing on the plastic stick of a lollipop. Clearly, he hadn't yet evolved into the chain-smoking addict that his father, the Third Hokage, was.
"Asuma? What are you doing out here?" Kurenai asked, genuinely surprised to see him in this sector.
"My squad's patrol route passes through here, so I swung by," Asuma replied smoothly.
As the Hokage's son, he was still required to perform wartime missions to build his resume. However, he rarely saw the true meat grinders. His mother, Biwako Sarutobi—the Hokage's wife and Head of Konoha Medical—could secure him relatively safe assignments with a single coded message from the rear. And no frontline commander was going to complain to Hiruzen about it.
"Kurenai. Did you two just finish training?" Asuma asked, his tone perfectly casual.
But internally, alarm bells were blaring.
Asuma had never viewed Genma as a threat. Genma was too laid-back. But he absolutely, under no circumstances, would allow someone objectively more handsome and talented than him to hover around Kurenai.
He had carried a massive crush on her since the Academy. He had secretly decided she was his one true love, and he fully intended to pursue her aggressively. And right now, Kiyohara was standing entirely too close to her.
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