Chapter 28 

Jiraiya returned the next morning with a plain black baton tucked under his arm and a wide grin on his face.

"The old geezers said yes," he announced, giving the baton a casual spin. "Took some convincing, but Pa owed me a favour."

The baton looked completely unremarkable. Just a length of metal, smooth and featureless, the kind of thing you'd find anywhere. If Jiraiya hadn't told me what it did, I'd have assumed it was a training stick. According to him, the nature-expelling baton was what the Toad Elders used on trainees who absorbed too much Nature Energy. One solid hit would force the excess out before it could petrify the user. I still had to be cautious, if you mess up phenomenally you can still go beyond the point of what the baton can expel.

We set up in a secluded clearing deep within the Senju Compound, far from any buildings or people. Tsunade insisted on being present for the first session, though she spent most of it sitting on a log reading medical journals, glancing up only when things went wrong.

Things went wrong a lot.

The absorption itself was the easy part. I knelt on the grass, placed my palms flat against the earth, and reached for the energy the way I'd always felt I could. The plants around me responded immediately. Grass blades leaned toward my hands. The roots of nearby trees shifted subtly in my direction. I could feel their energy, green and alive and warm, flowing up through my palms and into my coils. The Living Disaster perk had given me Senju genetics alongside the Nature Release which was adapted to this world, and both made the intake side almost effortless. Plants wanted to give me their energy. It was like breathing.

"Good," Jiraiya said, watching closely from a few meters away. "You're pulling it in steady. Now try to balance it with your own chakra. You need a one-to-one ratio of physical energy, spiritual energy, and nature energy in three equal parts."

I tried. I held my own chakra steady and let the Nature Energy flow in alongside it, trying to find the balance point where all three aligned.

The skin on my left hand started turning grey.

The baton cracked across my shoulders before I even registered Jiraiya moving. The impact knocked me forward onto my face, and I felt the excess Nature Energy get ripped out of my system in a single violent pulse. The grey faded from my skin immediately.

"Too much," Jiraiya said, twirling the baton casually. "You're pulling it in too fast. Slow down."

I pushed myself up, spitting grass out of my mouth. "Noted," I muttered.

We went again. And again. And again.

The problem became clear within the first hour. I could absorb Nature Energy with ease, but the balancing act was a completely different challenge. Every time I tried to hold the three-way ratio, the Nature Energy component would surge past the other two and start converting my cells. Jiraiya would catch it and smack me, I'd reset, and we'd try again.

By the end of the first day, I had been hit with the baton forty-three times. My shoulders and back were covered in welts. I had not successfully achieved Sage Mode for even a single second.

Jiraiya sat down across from me in the grass, scratching his chin. He didn't look disappointed, just thoughtful.

"Your situation is different from mine," he said after a while. "When I learned Sage Mode, I had to figure out how to sense and absorb Nature Energy first. That was a hard part for me. The balancing came after, which I’m admittedly not good at either. For you, the absorption is natural. But the ratio, that's where you're stuck. You take in too much too fast, and you can't hold the balance long enough to enter the Mode."

I wiped the sweat from my face with the back of my hand. "So what do we do?"

"Well, here's what I'm thinking." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sage Mode isn't just about enhanced jutsu. It boosts everything, your physical strength, your speed, your durability, your sensory perception, all of it. That's why entering the Mode first is the standard approach. You transform, and then everything you do is enhanced."

He held up a finger. "But you can't hold the balanced state. At least, not yet. What you can do, though, is reach the perfect ratio for a few seconds at a time before the Nature Energy overwhelms the balance. So instead of trying to enter and maintain a full Sage Mode, what if you achieve the ratio briefly, and then channel that balanced Sage chakra directly into a technique before the balance breaks?"

I turned that over in my mind. "So I'd be performing Sage-enhanced jutsu without actually entering Sage Mode. I'd get the perfect ratio for a moment, form the Sage chakra, push it into a technique, and release it before the Nature Energy throws the balance off."

"Exactly," Jiraiya confirmed, looking pleased. "You wouldn't get the passive benefits that full Sage Mode provides. No constant physical boost, no enhanced perception, none of the ambient effects. But the individual techniques you channel it into would carry genuine Sage chakra. They'd hit harder, last longer, and be significantly more difficult to counter or dispel."

That was more than enough. The Hashirama scrolls contained jutsu that required chakra reserves I simply didn't have yet. If I could supplement my own chakra with Sage chakra during the casting, the medium and higher-level techniques would become accessible. Not the absolute peak abilities, not the landscape-altering monstrosities, but the practical combat techniques that could make me a genuine force on the battlefield.

"Let's focus on that," I said, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

Jiraiya grinned. "Now you're thinking."

The remaining three days were spent on exactly that. Instead of trying to achieve and maintain the full balanced state for Sage Mode, we worked on the brief-window approach. I'd begin forming a technique normally, then open a channel to the plants around me, pull in Nature Energy, hit the perfect three-way ratio for just a moment, and push the resulting Sage chakra into the jutsu before the balance collapsed.

The first few attempts were disasters. A Wind Bullet infused at the wrong moment exploded in my face, which then sent me flying away from the training area, after which Tsunade had to heal me. That was when I learned to keep on Guard as a default after that when experimenting. An Earth Wall came out covered in moss and fungal growth that spread uncontrollably across the clearing. A set of roots I grew with Sage chakra punched through the ground so violently they nearly impaled Jiraiya, who had to throw himself sideways to dodge.

"Watch it!" he yelled from where he'd landed.

"Sorry!" I called back, genuinely apologetic.

But by the third day, I was getting it. The key was timing. I had a window of roughly two to three seconds where I could hold the perfect ratio before the Nature Energy started to overwhelm the balance. Two to three seconds was enough to channel the Sage chakra into a single technique and release it.

On the last evening, as Jiraiya packed up the baton and prepared to head back to wherever the Hokage needed him next, I stopped him at the edge of the clearing.

"Jiraiya-sensei," I said.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"Thank you for teaching me," I said simply.

He turned around fully, and a warm, easy smile spread across his face. He reached out and ruffled my hair hard enough to mess it up completely. "Don't mention it, kid. When you're ready to try for the real thing, get either Minato or myself."

He disappeared in a swirl of leaves, and the clearing felt emptier for it.

Two days later, I was standing in the Hokage's office receiving my promotion.

Hiruzen placed the folded vest on his desk and slid it toward me alongside a new set of identification papers. The vest was a darker shade of green than my Chunin one, though wearing it was optional.

"Special Jonin," Hiruzen said, puffing on his pipe. "Your performance during the Kumogakure engagement, in addition to the prior elimination of Gari, has demonstrated capabilities well beyond the Chunin rank. You lack the leadership experience for a full Jonin appointment, but your combat abilities and tactical judgment warrant the advancement."

I picked up the vest. The material was denser than the Chunin one, heavier in the hand. "Thank you, Hokage-sama," I said, running my thumb over the fabric.

"Don't thank me yet," he replied, pulling a thick folder from his desk drawer and setting it on the surface between us. "With the rank comes responsibility. I want you leading a team on several upcoming missions. Small squad, high-priority targets. You'll be selecting your own members."

He tapped the folder with two fingers. Inside were personnel files, about a dozen of them, each containing a photograph, service record, mission history, and skill and personality assessment. All Chunin. All available for assignment.

"Review these tonight," Hiruzen instructed, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Give me your selections by tomorrow evening."

I tucked the folder under my arm, bowed, and left the office.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I'd gone through every file twice. Competent shinobi, all of them. Clean records, solid mission completion rates, the kind of reliable, middle-of-the-road operatives that formed the backbone of any military. Any three of them would make a functional squad.

But functional wasn't what I wanted. I didn't need someone who would follow orders adequately and file clean reports. I needed people who would push themselves past what was reasonable when the situation demanded it, because the missions I was going to be sent on would demand exactly that.

I set the folder down on my desk and rubbed my eyes. The house was quiet, the kind of deep silence that only settled over the Senju Compound after midnight. I pulled on a light jacket and stepped outside.

The compound's training grounds were scattered throughout the property, tucked between the residential buildings and the tree line. Most were empty at this hour. I walked without any particular destination, just moving to clear my head, eventually drifting beyond the compound's outer wall toward the public training areas.

I heard it before I saw it.

A rhythmic thudding, fists hitting air with controlled force, interspersed with sharp exhales. Coming from one of the public training grounds just past the tree line.

I moved into the canopy and suppressed my presence with the nature-synchronization technique, settling onto a high branch with a clear view of the clearing below.

A man was shadowboxing alone. He was lean, not heavily muscled but wiry, with a bowl cut of dark hair, thick eyebrows, and a neat moustache that gave him a slightly old-fashioned look. He wore a green jumpsuit and orange leg warmers, both darkened with sweat. His movements were measured and deliberate, cycling through basic forms. Jab, cross, pull back. Low kick, pivot, reset. Front kick, sidestep, guard.

Nothing advanced. Nothing flashy. But the fundamentals were textbook. Every punch had proper weight transfer. Every kick had correct hip rotation. His guard returned to the correct position after each strike without any wasted motion.

Then his chakra shifted.

"Second Gate, open!" he announced to nobody, his voice bright and cheerful despite the hour.

His body tensed. The muscle fibers in his legs and arms visibly tightened beneath his jumpsuit, and his movements sharpened. He ran through the same forms again, faster now, the punches snapping harder through the air.

"Third Gate, open!"

Skin flushed red. His speed increased noticeably. [Martial Arts Prodigy] fed me the assessment automatically: with three Gates open, his output was roughly mid-Chunin level. Not bad. Not bad at all for a man whose body was clearly operating at a fraction of its potential.

Then he dropped back down. The colour faded from his skin, and I heard his breath catch, a pained hitch that he swallowed quickly.

"First Gate, open!"

Back up. The lighter strain of the First Gate was visibly easier on him, and he moved through a kicking series with practiced familiarity.

"Fourth Gate, open!"

The jump from First to Fourth was clearly pushing it. His body seized for a half-second as the Gate forced itself open, and when he resumed moving, [Martial Arts Prodigy] painted the picture clearly. Micro-tremors in his hands. His left knee compensating for damage in his right hip. The muscles in his lower back firing unevenly, suggesting old tears that hadn't healed properly.

His body was breaking down. Had been breaking down for years, probably, from the cumulative stress of opening and closing the Gates night after night.

And he was smiling.

Not a grimace forced into the shape of a smile. A real one, wide and full of genuine joy, like there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be than alone in a training ground at one in the morning tearing his own muscles apart.

I stayed in the tree and watched him for another twenty minutes. He cycled through the Gates three more times, always in a different order, always pushing the transitions. Each switch visibly hurt him. Each time, the smile came back.

Eventually he stopped, doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He stood up, gave the empty clearing a thumbs up, said something about "the springtime of youth" that I couldn't quite make out, and limped toward the exit.

I dropped from the tree after he was gone and landed softly in the clearing. The grass where he'd been standing was torn up from the pressure of his footwork.

Maito Dai. The Eternal Genin. I knew exactly who he was.

I walked back to my house, picked up the personnel folder, and set it aside. I didn't open it again that night.

The next morning, I watched him again.

He left his small apartment at six in the morning. A boy with the same thick eyebrows, probably seven or eight years old, waved him off from the doorstep. The kid had bushy dark hair that fell to his chin and an energy about him that was unmistakable even at this distance. Guy. The kid who would one day be acknowledged as the strongest in the world by Madara Uchiha himself.

Dai waved back with both arms, struck a pose that nearly knocked over a potted plant on the step, and headed toward the mission assignment desk.

I watched from a rooftop as he collected his assignment for the day. He came out reading a small slip of paper, and even from this distance I could see the momentary flicker of resignation that crossed his face before the smile reasserted itself.

On his way to the mission location, he passed two Chunin leaning against a wall. They were younger than him by at least fifteen years.

"Morning, Dai," one of them called out, his tone dripping with false friendliness. "Another D-Rank today? At your age, that's kind of impressive."

The other one snickered. "Eternal Genin earning those cat-catching wages."

Dai turned to them and bowed, deep and genuine. "Thank you for your support! Every mission is an opportunity to fan the flames of youth!"

They stared at him as he walked away, then looked at each other and laughed.

I felt my jaw tighten.

The mission itself was exactly what the Chunin had mocked. The Fire Daimyo's cat had escaped again, a fat, orange creature that apparently made a hobby of fleeing its owner. Dai tracked it through the market district, across two rooftops, and into a narrow alley between a fishmonger and a fabric store.

Through [Martial Arts Prodigy], I could read his body clearly. His bone structure, his muscle density, his natural range of motion, the way he distributed his weight, all of it. The raw material pointed to someone who, if he hadn't used the Gates the previous night and was operating on a fully rested body, would be moving at low-to-mid-Chunin level speeds. Respectable. But there was more to it. The way he favoured his right leg, the limited range of motion in his left shoulder, the slight hesitation every time he reached overhead, those spoke to longer-term damage that wasn't just from last night's session. Accumulated injuries, years of them, layered on top of each other. If those were addressed, I estimated his base physicality would be comfortably mid-Chunin. And that was without factoring in the Gates technique at all.

When he climbed the first rooftop, his right hand gripped the ledge a fraction too hard, overcompensating for weakness in his left shoulder. When he lunged for the cat in the alley, his hip caught, the same right hip I'd noticed last night, and the cat slipped through his fingers.

He caught it on the second try, holding the furious animal at arm's length while it clawed at his sleeves. He was breathing harder than a man of his conditioning should have been after a short chase.

He wasn't the strongest person I'd encountered in this world. He wasn't the most skilled, or the most talented, or the most anything.

But I put myself in his position. Decades of mockery. A rank that would never advance. A body that hurt every single day. A child to raise alone. And still, every night, without fail, he went back to that training ground and pushed himself until his muscles tore. Not because anyone was watching. Not because anyone cared. Because he believed in what he was doing.

If I were in his shoes, I would have given up. I knew that about myself with complete certainty. My perks, my System, my advantages, they were the foundation everything I'd accomplished was built on. Take those away, and I was just a guy from a peaceful world who happened to get a second life. Dai didn't have any of that. He had nothing but himself, and himself was enough.

That was what I wanted watching my back.

That evening, I requested a meeting with the Hokage at his residence. Hiruzen received me in his study, still in his robes, a cup of tea cooling on the table beside him.

"You've made your selection?" he asked, setting aside a scroll he'd been reading.

"One of them," I said firmly, looking straight at him. "Maito Dai."

Hiruzen's hand paused halfway to his teacup. He looked at me, and I could see genuine surprise cross his face. "A Genin?" he questioned, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, sir," I replied steadily.

"He is not in the files I gave you," Hiruzen noted, raising an eyebrow.

"I know," I said simply.

Hiruzen picked up his tea and took a slow sip, studying me over the rim. "Yuuki-kun, I have a great deal of respect for your judgment. But Maito Dai has failed the Chunin Exams on multiple occasions. His mission record consists almost entirely of D and low C-Rank assignments. He has no recorded ninjutsu or genjutsu capabilities." He set the cup down carefully. "What makes you believe he is suited for high-priority missions?"

"I'd like you to see something before you decide," I said, keeping my voice respectful but firm. "Would you take a walk with me tonight?"

He regarded me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching. "A walk," he repeated, sounding mildly bemused.

"It won't take long," I assured him.

He set his teacup down and exhaled through his nose. "Very well."

Just past midnight, the Hokage and I stood in the tree line overlooking the same training ground. His presence was suppressed so completely that even standing right beside him, I could barely sense he was there. The Professor, indeed. The man had earned that title through a mastery of shinobi arts that most people could only dream of, and even something as simple as hiding his chakra signature was done with a level of refinement I could only aspire to.

Dai was already there.

He stood in the center of the clearing, rolling his shoulders, loosening his joints. Then he began.

"First Gate, open!" he announced to the empty clearing, his voice ringing with enthusiasm.

The forms started. Basic punches, basic kicks. Textbook fundamentals. Hiruzen watched with a neutral expression, his arms folded inside his sleeves.

"Second Gate, open!"

The speed increased. The power behind each strike sharpened. Still basic forms, but executed with greater intensity.

"Third Gate, open!"

Skin flushed. Movements cracked through the air. I glanced at Hiruzen. He had leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing.

"First Gate, open!"

The drop. Dai's body shuddered from the rapid descent, but he kept moving, transitioning seamlessly back into the lower-intensity forms without stopping.

"Fourth Gate, open!"

The surge. Dai's muscles swelled visibly, veins pressing against his skin. His shadowboxing became a blur of controlled violence, each strike displacing air with audible force. The smile never left his face.

Hiruzen watched the entire display in silence. After five minutes of Dai cycling through the Gates, switching between them in seemingly random order, the man stopped. He was breathing hard, sweat pouring off him, his hands shaking. He gave the empty clearing another thumbs up and began his cool-down stretches.

I glanced at Hiruzen again.

The polite skepticism was gone from his face, replaced by something more contemplative. He watched Dai stretch for a minute longer, then turned and began walking back toward the village.

I fell into step beside him. We walked in silence for a while, through the quiet residential streets, the only sound being distant insects and the occasional bark of a ninken from the Inuzuka compound.

"I remember him clearly now," Hiruzen said quietly. "His file crossed my desk years ago. Multiple Chunin Exam failures, consistently low mission rankings. I noted at the time that his physical assessments were unusual, a higher baseline than his performance suggested." He paused. "I assumed he was simply inconsistent."

"He's opening and closing what he calls the Eight Gates," I said. "Based on what I've seen, he seems to have developed the technique himself. He's been forcing open the internal chakra limiters in his body, the ones that are normally kept closed. That's what's destroying his body. He trains every night, and he's never fully recovered by the time morning comes."

Hiruzen walked in silence for another minute. "Forcing open the body's natural limiters," he repeated slowly. I could see him working through the implications, the vast repertoire of knowledge behind those dark eyes connecting the dots. "That would explain the disparity between his physical potential and his actual performance. The cumulative strain on his musculature, his joints, his tendons, it would be severe."

"It is," I confirmed. "But the technique works. What he showed tonight, that wasn't the limit. He's been developing this for twenty years, and from what I can tell, he's still progressing."

We reached the path leading to the Hokage's residence. Hiruzen stopped and looked at me.

"I will allow it, tentatively," he said, his tone measured. "But I want you to spar him yourself first. Get a proper assessment of his combat capabilities and report to me. If he meets the minimum standard for the missions you'll be assigned, he's yours."

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

The next morning, I put on my new Special Jonin vest for the first time. The darker green was a subtle difference from the Chunin one, but it felt different. Heavier in a way that had nothing to do with the fabric.

I found Dai near the mission assignment office, standing outside in the morning sun, reading another mission slip. Two Chunin were standing nearby, and as I approached from the side street, I heard one of them mid-sentence.

"...honestly surprised they even let him take missions anymore. What's the point of assigning a man his age to—"

I walked directly between the two of them, shifting a few points into Strength as I did. My shoulders caught both of theirs as I passed, and the added density behind the contact sent them stumbling apart, one catching himself against the wall and the other nearly tripping over his own feet.

They looked up, irritation flashing across their faces. Then they registered who had just shouldered past them. The dark green vest. The face from the Bingo Book.

The colour drained from the first one's face. His companion had gone rigid.

"S-Senju-sama, we didn't see—"

I looked at them. My expression was blank, my eyes slightly tight. Where was the Will of Fire in this scene? The grand ideal of Konoha protecting its own, the comrades who were supposed to be family, and these two couldn't extend basic respect to a man who'd served the village longer than they'd been alive.

"Leave," I said flatly.

They stumbled over each other getting out of the street.

Dai, who had turned around at the commotion, was staring at me with wide eyes. His mission slip was crumpled slightly in his grip. I snorted, shaking my head, and turned to face him.

"Maito Dai," I said, keeping my tone even. "Walk with me?" I requested.

He straightened up so fast I was genuinely surprised he didn't pull something. "I, of course, sir!" he responded, snapping to attention.

We fell into step together, heading toward one of the quieter paths that led away from the main thoroughfares. Dai walked half a step behind me, clearly uncertain about why a Special Jonin with an S-Rank bounty was requesting his company.

"How may I help you, Chunin Senju!" he asked, his voice booming with earnest energy.

"Special Jonin," I corrected gently. 

"My sincerest apologies, Special Jonin Senju!" He bowed while walking, which almost sent him headfirst into a signpost. He caught himself at the last second and straightened up, looking mortified.

The man was rather dramatic, wasn't he? I suppressed a smile.

"A few nights ago, I was taking a stroll through some of the public training grounds," I said, keeping my eyes on the path ahead. "I saw you training."

The energy drained from his posture instantly. His shoulders dropped, and I caught the wince he tried to hide. He was expecting a reprimand. Some officer telling him he was being irresponsible, or that the noise was bothering someone, or that a Genin had no business creating or practicing such a dangerous concept.

"The reason you struggle on your missions and the promotion exams," I continued, stopping and turning to face him directly. "It's because of the injuries, isn't it? From the Gates."

He stared at me. The cheerful mask wavered, and for a moment I saw something raw underneath it. Not shame. Something closer to the resignation of a man who had long ago accepted that no one would ever understand what he was doing or why.

"The technique I've been developing places considerable strain on the body, yes," he said carefully, his usual boisterous tone subdued. "But it is a small price to pay for the power to protect those who are precious to me."

I held his gaze. "Why did you start developing it?" I asked. "The Gates technique. What made you begin?"

Dai was quiet for a moment. The longest I'd heard him go without speaking since we'd started walking. When he spoke again, the theatrics were gone. Just a man, talking honestly.

"At first, I wanted recognition," he admitted, his voice low. "I could not use ninjutsu. I could not use genjutsu. No matter how hard I tried, those arts were beyond me. But I could fight. I could punch and kick and take a hit. And I thought, if I could develop a technique that made those things extraordinary, then people would see me. They would recognise me as a powerful shinobi, as someone who had created something no one else could."

He looked down at his hands. They were calloused, scarred, the knuckles swollen from years of impact.

"Over time, that changed," he continued quietly. "After Guy was born." His face softened in a way that transformed his entire appearance, the dramatic posturing replaced by something deeply genuine. "I have a son. He is everything to me. And when I look at him, I do not see recognition or glory. I see a boy who will one day face the same world I face, a world that can be very cruel to those without special talents."

He closed his hands into fists. "I am developing this technique so that I can leave him a legacy. Something he can use to protect himself and the people he loves, even if he inherits none of the gifts that come so easily to others. That is why I train every night. That is why I will not stop."

I let his words settle. A legacy for his son. Twenty years of grinding his own body into dust so that his kid would have something to defend himself with. A technique, built from nothing, through sheer force of will.

"I'm not here to lecture you, Dai," I said. "I'm here to ask you to spar me."

Whatever he had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. His eyebrows shot up. "Spar? With you, sir?" he asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.

"Just Yuuki is fine," I said. "And yes. I want to see what you can do. No Gates first, just straight Taijutsu."

We walked to a secluded training ground on the edge of the village. It was an older one, the wooden posts weathered and the grass overgrown, but the clearing was flat and wide enough.

I rolled my shoulders and settled into a loose stance. I kept my attributes balanced, no points shifted in any direction. This was an assessment, not a real fight, and [Martial Arts Prodigy] would give me all the data I needed without me having to exert myself. "Whenever you're ready," I said, relaxed.

Dai bowed formally, then dropped into his own guard. Basic, textbook. Defensive stance, hands up, weight evenly distributed. No frills, no personal style. Just clean fundamentals.

He came in with a straight jab. I read it easily and slipped it, letting it pass my chin. His cross followed, aimed at my chest, and I parried it with my forearm. He stepped back, reset, and came again with a low kick targeting my lead leg.

I checked it on my shin and countered with a light jab of my own, pulling the power so it barely grazed his guard. He blocked it cleanly, his forearm in exactly the right position.

We traded for a few minutes. He threw combinations and I read them, responding just enough to test his reactions. He wasn't fast, and his power was limited by the accumulated damage in his body, but every single technique was mechanically sound. His punches had proper structure. His kicks had correct hip engagement. His footwork maintained balance at all times. When he blocked, his guard was exactly where it needed to be.

This was a man who had drilled the basics ten thousand times until they were perfect. He didn't have Orochimaru's serpentine fluidity or Killer B's wild improvisation or Tsunade's overwhelming force. He had something more fundamental than any of that. He had a foundation that would never crack.

I stepped back and held up a hand. "Good. Your fundamentals are excellent," I said, meaning it.

He bowed again, breathing steady. "Thank you, Yuuki-san," he replied warmly.

I reached into my vest pouch and pulled out a small clay container. Inside were several Restoration Pills. The pills had been synthesized using the original Soldier Pill recipe, but with the enhanced plants I'd grown as substitutes for the standard ingredients. The result was something fundamentally different from what it had started as. We'd grown many different varieties of mutated plants for different purposes, medicinal herbs with wildly different properties. There were avenues being explored into developing entirely new medicines using these plants, but the war had forced those research efforts to the side in favour of mass-producing what already worked. For now, the Restoration Pills were the priority. Unlike standard Soldier Pills, which forced the body to cannibalize its own stamina and risked cardiac failure on overdose, these provided significant physical recovery and replenished chakra reserves without any of the negative side effects.

I held one out to him.

"Take this," I said.

He looked at the pill, then at me. Recognition flickered in his eyes. "That is one of the new battlefield restoration pills, isn't it?" he said, his voice dropping. "Those are incredibly valuable. I could not possibly accept something like that. That is worth more than a month of D-Rank missions."

"I'm the one who makes them," I said simply. "I have more than I know what to do with."

That wasn't strictly true. The pills were being stockpiled for front-line distribution, and each one was technically worth a significant sum. But I had personal access to as many as I needed since I was the one who grew the base ingredients. Wartime meant the village wasn't compensating me for production yet, but post-war, Konoha would owe me for every single pill that had been manufactured and distributed. I could walk up to Hiruzen after the war ended and name almost any sum, and the village would have to honour it. Most of that money would end up in the Senju clan coffers regardless, since I was now officially part of the clan.

"It will help you recover significantly," I explained. "Physical damage, fatigue, chakra depletion, all of it. I want to see what you can really do when your body isn't held together by willpower alone. Use the Gates. Push yourself as hard as you can without causing permanent damage."

Dai looked at the pill in my outstretched hand. His fingers trembled slightly as he took it. He swallowed it, and I watched the effect take hold. His posture straightened as the accumulated aches and damage began to knit themselves together. The compensation in his hip evened out. His left shoulder stopped favouring its weak side. His hands stopped shaking.

His eyes went wide. "This is..." he trailed off, flexing his hands open and closed, testing joints that had been grinding painfully for years.

"Yeah," I said, settling back into my stance. "Now show me."

Something changed in his expression. The cheerful mask and the underlying resignation both fell away, and what was left was the face of a man who had been waiting twenty years for someone to take him seriously.

"First Gate, open!" he called out, and the burst of energy was immediate.

He launched forward, and the difference from before was obvious. His jab came in at a speed that would have troubled most Chunin. I dodged it casually, but I noted the improvement. His body was actually performing at its baseline now, unhindered by accumulated injury.

"Second Gate, open!"

He closed in, throwing a rapid combination. Jab, cross, hook, low kick. The transitions were smooth and fast, each technique flowing into the next without wasted motion. I blocked and parried at my leisure, letting him work, reading the data through [Martial Arts Prodigy].

"Third Gate, open!"

His skin flushed. The speed jumped. He was moving at a solid mid-Chunin level now, his strikes coming with genuine force behind them. His straight right came in hard enough that blocking it sent a noticeable jolt through my forearm. I shifted a few points into Swift to maintain my comfortable margin and countered with a body jab that he actually managed to deflect before it landed.

His technique remained clean even at this output. No wild swings, no overextensions. The fundamentals held up under pressure.

"Fourth Gate, open!"

The air around him compressed. His movements became fast enough that I had to start paying proper attention rather than simply cruising on [Martial Arts Prodigy]'s analysis. He threw a spinning back kick at my midsection that I stepped around with a bit more urgency than before, and followed it with a lunging straight punch that I leaned away from at the last moment.

"Fifth Gate, open!"

The surge was powerful. He pushed off the ground hard enough that the grass around his feet flattened in a circle. He came at me with everything he had, a barrage of strikes that pushed into the boundary between high-Chunin and low-Jonin output. His fists cracked through the air with visible pressure displacement. I shifted more points into Swift and parried, deflected, and dodged, letting him push me back across the clearing.

He was impressive. Not because of raw power or special techniques, but because of what his performance represented. This was a man who trained on a broken body, raised a child alone, ran D-Rank missions to put food on the table, and was mocked daily for his rank. And on one Restoration Pill, with a body finally allowed to operate without constant pain, he was pushing output that would make most Chunin sweat.

I found an opening in his combination, stepped inside his guard, and swept his legs. He hit the ground hard but rolled immediately, coming up in a defensive crouch. I held up my hand. "That's enough," I said.

He released the Gates. The red faded from his skin, and he sagged forward, breathing heavily. But the smile was back, wider than I'd ever seen it.

"That was... incredible," he said between breaths, his voice thick with emotion. "I have not felt this good in years. The pain, it was just gone."

"The pills provide significant recovery," I said, crouching down to his level. "If I provide you with a few per week, your training and your mission performance would both improve. Your body would actually have time to heal between sessions."

He looked at me like I'd offered him the sun. "Why... why would you do this for me?" he asked quietly.

"Because I admire you," I said. The words came out simply because they were true. "You've dedicated twenty years to developing this technique alone, without any support, without a teacher, without anyone in your corner. I was born with a bloodline and many other advantages that I didn't earn. The fact that you've progressed this far with nothing but your own effort is something I deeply respect."

I stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, and I pulled him to his feet.

"I'm putting together a team for upcoming missions," I continued. "High-priority assignments. I need people I can rely on, people who won't break when things get difficult. I need someone who can watch my back."

The expression that crossed his face was something I wasn't prepared for. It wasn't surprise or excitement. It was the look of a man who had been standing in the rain for twenty years and just felt it stop.

"It would be my absolute honour!" he declared, snapping into a pose with a thumbs up and tears streaming freely down his face. He didn't even try to hide them.

I turned away before he could see the smile I couldn't quite suppress. "There's one more thing," I added over my shoulder.

"Yes?" he managed, his voice still thick.

"I want you to come to the hospital tomorrow. I'm going to have Lady Tsunade examine you."

He stiffened visibly. "Lady Tsunade? The Sannin?" he repeated, sounding like I'd just told him to report to a dragon… which wasn’t really that far off.

"She's the best medical-nin. I want her to assess the cumulative damage from the Gates and make sure there's nothing that needs immediate attention." I looked back at him. "Consider it a requirement."

He nodded quickly, still looking slightly terrified. I didn't blame him. Tsunade had that effect on people.

"And Dai," I said.

"Yes?"

"Rest tonight. I mean it. No training. Let the pill do its work."

"Yes, sir!" he barked, snapping off a salute that was somehow both rigid and enthusiastic.

I left the training ground and took the long route back to the Senju Compound, walking slowly through the evening streets. The sun was getting low, casting long orange light across the rooftops and market stalls.

As I passed through the market district, movement in the window of a small ramen stand caught my eye. I slowed and looked.

Dai was sitting at the counter with a small boy beside him. Guy. The kid was attacking a bowl of ramen with both hands, noodles hanging from his chin, talking around a mouthful of food. Dai laughed and wiped sauce off the boy's cheek with his sleeve. Guy said something that made Dai throw his head back and roar with laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained, spilling out of the open shop front and into the street.

They started some kind of arm-wrestling contest over the remaining gyoza, both of them grunting with exaggerated effort, their thick eyebrows furrowed in identical expressions of comical determination. Dai let him win, and the kid pumped his fist in the air while Dai clapped and cheered like his son had just been crowned Hokage.

I watched them from across the street for a moment. Two people in a ramen shop, being loud and ridiculous and completely, unreservedly happy.

I turned and walked home.

Another chapter that mostly has a spar and chatting instead of actual plot progress, but I think that this chapter is needed for one, a calm down from the fight with Killer B. 

Yuuki gains access to Senjutsu, not Sage Mode itself, because I think it's a bit too early to introduce that into the story. 

The entire Dai plot line is because YouTube decided to recommend a video on him. After that, I went and rewatched the episode that goes over his history, and god damn, is Dai rapidly becoming my favorite side character. If you're interested in watching that too, it's episode 418 of Naruto Shippuden. 

As for the other members, I decided to not do original characters because I'm just not good at it, and because of me messing up everyone's ages. A lot of the valid characters are just unavailable because I altered the timeline a bit too much.

So, for It's a Solution, I've decided that I'm just going to cycle through different Jonin, the clan heads, that went on the Kumo Retreat mission with him, so we can get to know them, get some interactions with them. 

That's it for me, folks. I will see you next week with an update to Celestial Star. After that, you'll have another INAS chapter. Now, since May has five weeks, you're going to get a new story called Fang Over Fang. It's a Kiba self-insert with the Celestial Dojo after the Sasuke Retrieval Arc. After that, another Celestial Star to end the month off with. 

Now, I'll be fully honest with you: my exams are likely going to start in May and maybe go till the first week of June. It shouldn't be more than that, so there might be one less update this month. I'll try to get it done if I can, but yeah, consider this an early warning. 

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