Sosuke turned and left.
The first step had been taken.
Even if his teacher was an alcoholic, he was a man who had actually bled on the battlefield.
Practical experience drastically outweighed Academy theory.
The sky was still dark.
Konohagakure's streets were shrouded in a thin layer of morning mist.
Sosuke stood before the entrance of a ninja tool shop.
It was an old establishment located on the main commercial street. The sign depicted a crossed kunai and shuriken under the name "Tenten Ninja Tools."
'Rumor has it this is the predecessor to the franchise owned by that bun-haired kunoichi's family,' he noted inwardly.
Sosuke pushed the door open.
The shop was deserted.
Various cold weapons lined the walls. Longswords gleaming with a chilling light, pitch-black kunai, and tightly bound bundles of Paper Bombs.
"Welcome."
The owner behind the counter, a middle-aged woman, was polishing a massive Fuma Shuriken.
She glanced up at Sosuke.
Her gaze was entirely flat.
Though his clothes were clean, Sosuke's current attire marked him plainly as a civilian. He wore no forehead protector, nor did he carry the lingering bloodlust of a veteran shinobi.
"What are you buying?" the proprietress asked.
"A standard set," Sosuke said, stepping up to the counter. "Ten shuriken, two kunai. And a set of ankle weights."
Genzo had claimed he couldn't train in Taijutsu, but he intended to test that theory.
The proprietress paused her polishing.
"Ankle weights? How heavy?"
"Twenty kilograms."
She blinked in surprise, giving Sosuke a second, more measuring look.
"Young man, twenty kilograms is a Chunin-level training load. A civilian puts those on, they won't even be able to walk."
"Twenty kilograms," Sosuke insisted.
The proprietress shrugged. As long as the money was good, she'd sell rocks to a customer if they asked.
"Shuriken are 150 Ryo each. Ten will run you 1,500 Ryo."
"Kunai are 300 Ryo apiece. That's 600 Ryo."
"The ankle weights are filled with high-density lead sand. A pair goes for 2,000 Ryo."
"Total comes to 4,100 Ryo."
Sosuke didn't haggle.
He pulled several crisp bills from his coat and slapped them onto the counter. He had fenced another 'antique' through the Red Snake Gang's channels to afford this.
This was exactly why being a shinobi burned through money.
A single set of entry-level gear equaled two months of living expenses for a normal household. Throwing these weapons in combat and failing to retrieve them was literally throwing money away.
'No wonder civilian shinobi are always scraping by.'
Sosuke holstered the kunai at his waist.
The cold metal pressing through his clothes gave him a strange sense of security. These were murder weapons. They were the fangs needed to survive in this world.
He then strapped the heavy weights to his lower legs.
Heavy.
Unbelievably heavy.
It felt like two boulders had been shackled to his ankles. Every step required him to forcefully engage his thigh muscles just to lift his feet from the floor.
"Thanks for your patronage."
The proprietress pocketed the cash and returned to polishing her Fuma Shuriken.
Sosuke stepped out of the shop.
Step by step, he made his way toward the western edge of the slums. He was adapting to the load.
This was a necessary toll on the road to power.
Five o'clock sharp.
Sosuke arrived at the shipping container in the waste disposal yard right on time.
Genzo sat by the entrance, nursing the exact same bottle of liquor.
"You came."
Genzo cast a sidelong glance at Sosuke's legs. Even through the fabric of his pants, the dragging heaviness of his gait was obvious.
"You bought ankle weights? How heavy?"
"Twenty kilograms."
"Idiot."
Genzo cursed, tipping his head back to take a swig.
"Starting with massive weights right off the bat? Do you want to shatter your knees?"
"Take them off."
"Learn to crawl before you run. A shinobi doesn't survive by relying on brute force."
Sosuke didn't argue.
He unbuckled the weights he had just strapped on. The sudden release of pressure made him feel weightless, almost as if he could float.
"A shinobi's true strength stems from chakra." Genzo used his iron crutch to draw a circle in the dirt. "The physical body is a vessel. Chakra is water. If the vessel leaks, all your training is pointless."
"With your current chakra control, even climbing trees would be too much for you."
Genzo pulled a single tree leaf from his pocket.
"Stick this to your forehead. Use your chakra to hold it there. Every time it drops, that's ten push-ups."
It was the Leaf Concentration Practice. The most rudimentary form of chakra control training.
It seemed simple enough.
Sosuke placed the leaf against his forehead and mobilized the chakra within his body.
A rush of thermal energy surged toward his head.
Puff.
The output was too violent. The chakra blasted the leaf off his skin, tearing it clean in half.
"Ten," Genzo commanded coldly.
Sosuke dropped to the ground and started his push-ups. The dirt was filthy, reeking of the acidic stench of the waste disposal yard.
Ten reps completed.
He picked up another leaf. This time, he was meticulous. He throttled the chakra output, releasing it incredibly slowly.
The leaf stuck.
But it only held for three seconds. The chakra flow stuttered.
The leaf fluttered down.
"Ten."
Genzo's expression remained entirely blank.
One morning.
Sosuke performed exactly five hundred push-ups.
His arms had moved past soreness and entered a state of complete numbness. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging sharply.
Yet he didn't utter a single sound.
He never even asked for a break.
After every set, he hauled himself up, grabbed the leaf, and started again.
The frequency of Genzo's drinking noticeably slowed.
He watched the ragged, exhausted youth in front of him.
He had absolutely no talent. His chakra pathway system was rigid, and his chakra flow was entirely stagnant. If he had been born into one of the Hidden Village's major clans, an aptitude this poor would have relegated him to cannon fodder or logistics immediately.
But the kid's gaze was dead steady.
It was a look that belonged only to someone willing to be utterly ruthless with themselves.
"Stop."
Genzo tossed his empty liquor bottle into a nearby trash heap.
"That's enough for today."
Sosuke collapsed onto the dirt, gasping for air.
"We continue tomorrow. Take this."
Genzo tossed him a small scroll. It was battered, its edges frayed and worn.
"Those are the hand seals for the Academy Three Basic Jutsu. Go home and memorize them. Don't just act like a muscle-brained idiot doing push-ups all day."
Sosuke caught the scroll. He gripped it like a priceless treasure.
"Thank you, sensei."
"Don't call me sensei." Genzo turned and ducked back into his shipping container. "This is a transaction. Bring the money tomorrow. Ten thousand Ryo."
Sosuke dragged his heavy body back to his shop.
He didn't rest immediately.
Locking the door, he retrieved a piece of boiled fire salamander meat.
The massive caloric intake and biological energy provided by ninja beast meat were essential to repair his torn muscle fibers.
Half an hour later.
Sosuke felt the crushing exhaustion finally begin to recede. His muscles burned with heat.
It was the sensation of cellular restructuring. Cellular fortification.
This was his foundation.
If a normal civilian trained like he just had, they wouldn't be able to get out of bed the next day. They would likely suffer from acute rhabdomyolysis.
But he possessed an unnatural advantage.
As long as he had money, as long as he had resources, he could exploit his physical body like a machine.
But right now, his funds were drained.
He needed to make a large score.
And he needed to do it fast.
Sosuke double-checked the locked shop door and drew the curtains.
In the dim light, he extended his hand.
He concentrated his will.
This time, he wasn't going to synthesize raw materials. He was going to craft a piece of art.
An artifact he had seen in a museum from his past life surfaced in his mind—a gold filigree spider hairpin.
****.
A weighty sensation materialized at his fingertips.
Solid gold flowed and expanded across his palm. A thumb-sized golden spider took shape. Eight slender, razor-sharp legs sprouted from a body etched with microscopic, hair-like textures.
But this wasn't enough.
The next step: artificial aging.
He manipulated the metal's surface structure, inducing a faint oxidation layer and deliberately adding micro-abrasions to its hidden corners.
The final result looked exactly like a desperate, fallen noble's last remaining family heirloom.
Sosuke examined the object in his hand and smiled in satisfaction.
In the eyes of an appraiser, this piece was worth at least fifty thousand Ryo.
Sosuke kept the shop closed for the day.
He changed into a clean, long traditional tunic and neatly combed his hair.
He was heading to the Red Light District.
Not the underground black market, but the very core, the most high-end establishment in the pleasure quarters: Zuiyetsurou (Drunken Moon Pavilion).
It was the playground for Konohagakure's wealthy merchants and even high-ranking shinobi.
It was also the absolute best place to fence high-end goods.
Two kimono-clad attendants stood guard at the entrance to Zuiyetsurou. Seeing Sosuke approach, they made no move to block him. Although his clothes weren't luxurious, his calm, grounded aura made it clear he wasn't some ordinary rabble.
"I'm looking for Madam Haruno."
Sosuke handed over a calling card—one he had penned himself the night before. It bore only a title and a name: Antique Dealer, Sosuke.
The attendant took the card and went inside to announce him.
A moment later, a middle-aged woman walked out, still carrying an undeniable charm. She wore a vibrant purple kimono and held a circular fan.
"An antique dealer?" Madam Haruno looked Sosuke up and down. "You're a fresh face."
"Quality goods don't care about their origins."
Sosuke retrieved a small wooden box from his coat and slid the lid open just a fraction.
A flash of gold peeked out.
It was that distinct, unmistakable luster. Catching the ambient light, it was breathtakingly radiant.
Madam Haruno's eyes lit up.
She had survived in the pleasure quarters for decades; she had a venomously sharp eye for value.
The craftsmanship on the piece was unparalleled. The microscopic texturing on the spider's legs wasn't something a common smith could forge.
It carried the distinct aesthetic style of the Land of Lightning.
"Did this bleed out from the Land of Lightning's Daimyo court?" Madam Haruno probed.
"That's a story from the previous generation," Sosuke replied, his tone deliberately vague. "Fifty thousand Ryo."
"Thirty thousand," Madam Haruno immediately countered. "This piece is far too conspicuous. I can't easily wear it."
"You don't need to wear it." Sosuke smiled. "It's a perfect gift. Or, perhaps, a centerpiece to anchor your pavilion."
"Forty thousand. In cash."
"Deal."