Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Roshi had originally been reporting to Tsunade on the situations in Sunagakure and Kumo.

Among the two, Kumogakure’s stance was the clearer one. They were extremely firm on the issue of the venue—the first event had to be held in the Hidden Cloud. In exchange, they were willing to allocate Konoha a share of the ticket revenue.

The problem was that the proposed share fell short of Konoha’s expectations.

That was why Roshi was here today.

After all, Kumogakure had been the one to proactively propose the idea in the first place. It would be far too crude to say outright, ”We plan to abandon you and work with someone else instead.”

So the only option was to raise the price—slowly and methodically.

In the end, Kumogakure would still be the preferred partner. They were the most active, the most prepared, and—crucially—the disagreement wasn’t truly about money. That wasn’t the core conflict between the two villages.

However, if Konoha conceded too much on key interests during the very first collaboration, every subsequent negotiation would become far more passive—and far more painful.

This back-and-forth was necessary.

It wasn’t about winning immediately, but about making the other side clearly understand Konoha’s bottom line.

In any case, a new form of combat exchange competition—from its overall framework and rule-setting to promotion and preparation—would require a significant amount of time. It certainly wouldn’t be completed within the year.

Both sides had plenty of room to negotiate at a measured pace.

Roshi’s report had just concluded when Kakashi arrived to brief them on the follow-up investigation into Root.

Neither Roshi nor Tsunade showed much surprise when Kakashi confirmed that Danzo still retained Root’s core secrets and influence.

After all, this was Danzo.

The difference now was that he no longer held the position of advisor. Continuing to dig into Root would therefore be far less politically complicated.

Personnel cost money. Bases cost money.

Tsunade tapped her fingers lightly against the desk, thinking aloud.

”The Shimura clan owns a considerable number of businesses within Konoha. In theory, tracing their financial flows isn’t impossible…”

She paused, then shook her head.

”But now isn’t the right time.”

Recently, Koharu had suggested temporarily bringing Danzo out of retirement to assist with security during the Chunin Exams.

When facing complex situations, the two advisors still trusted Danzo’s ability to handle problems more than most.

”Let’s wait a little longer,” Tsunade decided. ”We’ll deal with this year’s Chunin Exams first. After that, we can continue digging.”

”Yes,” Kakashi replied, then moved on to another matter. ”Regarding the youths and children currently undergoing training within Root…”

”Most of them have already had the cursed seals on their tongues, which prevents them from disclosing Root’s classified information. Beyond that, based on initial physical examinations and psychological evaluations, there are no severe abnormalities.”

”In the future, should we consider allowing these children to leave Root’s closed environment, enter the Ninja Academy, receive formal education, and attempt to integrate into normal village life?”

Tsunade didn’t hesitate.

”Yes. Verify each child’s background and current condition. Compile a confirmed list and submit it.”

”I’ll notify the academy to prepare for their intake in advance.”

”Yes!” Kakashi answered sharply this time. The exposed eye beneath his forehead protector seemed to carry a rare spark of emotion.

During the investigation into Root, even with most of the darkness still concealed by Danzo, what had already been uncovered was heavy enough to weigh on anyone.

The chance for these children to step out of that darkness and into the light was one of the few parts of this mission that genuinely eased Kakashi’s heart.

The silver-haired jōnin departed to arrange the transfer procedures to the Ninja Academy.

The office fell temporarily silent.

Tsunade leaned back in her wide chair, exhaustion finally showing as she nearly collapsed into it.

”So,” she said after a moment, ”we’re back to the Chunin Exams again.”

”Originally, we planned to use only a survival assessment in the Forest of Death to screen our own Genin.”

”But this year, there aren’t any suitable candidates.”

”And without a large-scale survival assessment in a complex environment like the Forest of Death, it’ll be difficult to properly observe and evaluate the strength of the Genin teams sent by the other three Great Ninja Villages during the early stages.”

”The first phase of this year’s Chunin Exams will likely still retain the Forest of Death.”

She exhaled slowly.

”However, the joint exam we originally planned with Sunagakure… was never meant to grow to this scale.”

”But this time, it’s the Four Great Ninja Villages…” Tsunade exhaled slowly. ”To be honest, if we don’t want Konoha’s showing to be downright embarrassing, we may have to let

Kōsuke Maruboshi participate.”

A joint Chūnin Exams involving four Great Ninja Villages was no small affair. Worse still, it was being held on Konoha’s home ground. If Konoha’s own representatives performed poorly—or were eliminated early—the optics would be disastrous.

And yet, Kōsuke was simply too old.

What made Tsunade hesitate most was the implication: someone of that age and strength still wearing the title of Genin. If he appeared, it would only invite ridicule—mockery that Konoha’s promotion system was stagnant, decayed, and incapable of recognizing talent.

”Perhaps… we could consider letting Tenzo participate,” Roshi said from the side.

The idea had only occurred to him moments earlier, when Kakashi mentioned the children raised within Root.

”Tenzo?” Tsunade straightened instantly. ”But he’s—”

Roshi continued calmly, ”He was raised directly by Root in his early years, then transferred to Anbu. His career never followed the standard path—he didn’t graduate from the Ninja Academy, nor did he ever participate in a public Chūnin selection.”

”His promotions were handled internally through Root and Anbu mission evaluations, with direct approval from the Hokage.”

”From an official registration standpoint,” Roshi concluded, ”he doesn’t formally possess the rank of Chūnin or Jōnin. Letting him participate in the Chūnin Exams doesn’t create a conflict of a high-ranking shinobi competing in a lower-tier examination.”

Tsunade’s eyes lit up immediately. She slammed her palm onto the desk.

”That’s right! Now that you mention it—his entire service record is special approval and Anbu assignment. The official archives really do skip the Chūnin Exams step!”

”Good. Then it’s settled. Tenzo will participate in this year’s Chūnin Exams!”

Mid-sentence, her expression shifted as another thought struck her. Her fingers began tapping rapidly against the table.

”Wait… there are still quite a few shinobi like him left in Root.”

”They were all trained internally, never went through a unified public exam, and had their ranks advanced directly with Hokage authorization.”

Now that Root had been officially reclaimed and placed under Kakashi’s supervision, completing the formal Chūnin Exams process for these special-case shinobi was no longer optional.

It was both a formal confirmation of their status and a critical step in fully integrating Root’s remnants into Konoha’s standard system.

With that realization, Tsunade felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

The problem of strong candidates for the coming years’ Chūnin Exams—something that had been quietly worrying her—was suddenly much less pressing.

Ironically, Danzo’s long-standing practice of isolating Root had, through an unexpected twist of fate, solved a very real problem for Konoha.

—

Tsunade’s concerns had found a solution.

Ōnoki’s, however, had not.

He had long been mentally prepared for Sunagakure and Kumogakure to participate in Konoha’s exams, just as they had last year.

This year, after witnessing the sheer revenue potential of the Chūnin Exams, even if the Hidden Cloud later turned hostile over profit distribution, they would first wait and see how the situation developed.

That much, Ōnoki could accept.

But the Hidden Mist’s sudden involvement threw everything into disarray.

He hadn’t even made a move yet—so how had Iwagakure ended up feeling subtly isolated by the other four Great Ninja Villages all at once?

Worse still, Iwagakure’s own announcement—to host Chūnin Exams in September—had already gone public.

’…Should I cancel it?’ the thought crept in.

”No.”

He dismissed it immediately.

”That would turn Iwagakure into a laughingstock.”

For the first time since ascending to the position of Tsuchikage, Ōnoki found himself truly stuck—caught between pride, timing, and a rapidly shifting Ninja World that no longer waited for anyone to make up their mind.

—

This man was not arrogant.

But he was not kind, either.

Samui was certain of that.

He wasn’t lazy—his ability to juggle diplomacy with multiple villages at once during this period proved as much.

Nor was he particularly diligent. Once a project reached its designated phase objective, he would immediately withdraw, refusing to waste energy on anything he deemed unnecessary.

Today only reinforced that impression.

After negotiations between Konoha and Kumo had essentially been finalized, he no longer went out of his way to accompany her on tours, nor did he employ subtle pressure or probing tactics.

”Samui,” he asked evenly, ”is there anywhere else you’d like to visit?”

”As a Konoha shinobi, that isn’t a question you should be asking me, Roshi-san.”

He paused, then replied honestly, ”My apologies. I’ve already shown you everything I know. Konoha doesn’t actually have that many unique attractions.”

”Then let’s leave it at that.”

Samui didn’t name a destination. Instead, she turned and walked in a random direction. Roshi followed quietly, always maintaining a distance of about one step—neither intrusive nor distant.

After some time, her shoulders began to ache. She stopped at a small riverside park, found a clean bench, and sat down to rest.

Roshi didn’t sit.

He stood nearby, gazing at the flowing water, his eyes calm to the point of emptiness.

There was a limit to mental endurance—even more so for ordinary people. Once that limit was exceeded, the mind slipped into a hollow, detached state.

Sunagakure had already been handled. When he spoke with Chiyo last year, he had anticipated much of what would happen this year. The only miscalculation was the trigger—he hadn’t expected the commercialization of the Chūnin Exams to be the catalyst.

But the outcome was largely the same.

What had changed was the method.

Originally, the plan had been Sunagakure luxury goods in exchange for Konoha bulk supplies. Now, it had become allocating a share of joint Chūnin Exam profits, then purchasing necessities at market price.

Different paths. Same leverage.

If Gaara had been in power, things might have been simpler. That Ichibi Jinchūriki—discarded since childhood—was ironically one of the few who truly understood Sunagakure’s position in the ninja world, unburdened by layered schemes and hollow pride.

Still, neither the negotiations with Sunagakure nor the informal dealings with Kumogakure were enough to exhaust him like this.

The real drain came from something else entirely.

While he dealt with diplomacy outside, a Shadow Clone at home was conducting continuous tree-cultivation experiments. Every evening, when he returned and dispersed the clone—bang—a flood of experimental data crashed into his mind.

It felt as though his life had suddenly been overfilled.

”Roshi,” Samui said, glancing at him, ”if you’re not feeling well, you don’t need to force yourself to stay here with me.”

”Ah—no, it’s fine.” His voice drifted slightly. ”Just standing here, feeling the breeze… it’s nice.”

”That kind of perfunctory attitude isn’t very appealing,” Samui said bluntly.

”My apologies, Samui-san.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of apology in his tone. His gaze remained unfocused, as though fixed on the river—or perhaps something far beyond it.

”By the way,” he added, ”there’s something I’d like to ask. It might be a little presumptuous.”

”If you already know that,” Samui replied coolly, ”then I suggest you don’t ask.”

”It shouldn’t involve village secrets or sensitive matters.”

She considered this for a few seconds. Given the gradually easing relationship between the two villages, she gave a cautious nod.

”As long as it doesn’t involve information my village explicitly forbids sharing, you may ask.”

Roshi finally turned his gaze toward her.

”Legends,” he said quietly.

”In the Land of Lightning… are there legends about the Sage of Six Paths?”

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