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

The faint blue glow of the preservation fluid bathed the interior of the transparent container in cold light.

Sora’s remains floated quietly within, his body wrapped in layers of sealing bandages. Konoha’s preservation techniques were meticulous; even after a full year, his appearance remained almost unchanged.

Yet the stillness was only skin-deep.

Unlike the lifeless exterior, the cellular data displayed on the monitoring instruments told a very different story.

Deep within the tissue, abnormal fluctuations persisted—faint, stubborn traces of the Nine-Tails’ chakra.

Roshi’s gaze lingered on the screen, his expression thoughtful as he traced the meaning behind those numbers and waveforms.

”Tailed Beasts…” Tsunade’s voice sounded beside him. She studied the data for a moment before suddenly asking, ”How much do you actually understand about them?”

”By conventional theory,” Roshi replied, ”Tailed Beasts are chakra-based lifeforms. They possess flesh and form, but those bodies are not naturally born—they are constructs formed by chakra itself.”

”As a result, their physical bodies can be destroyed. However, as long as their chakra information remains intact, the Tailed Beast itself cannot be erased. Once the body disperses, it will eventually reform.”

From that perspective, the so-called ’immortality’ of Tailed Beasts bore a fundamental resemblance to techniques like Edo Tensei. As long as the core information remained untouched, the destruction of the vessel meant nothing more than a temporary pause.

Tsunade nodded slowly.

”That’s the orthodox understanding. And from it came the countermeasure every village eventually adopted—sealing jutsu.”

”Early sealing techniques focused on suppression, forcing chakra from an active state into dormancy. Tailed Beast seals began the same way. But later, when combined with the Uzumaki Clan’s sealing arts, a more advanced approach emerged.”

”The core shifted from simple suppression to what can be called form reversal—forcibly dismantling the chakra-constructed body of a Tailed Beast and reverting it to a purely non-physical chakra state.”

”Whether that chakra is sealed into an artifact or into a human body to create a Jinchuriki, the principle is the same.”

She paused, her gaze sharpening.

”But Tailed Beasts are not inert masses of chakra. They are enormous energy aggregates with fully developed self-awareness.”

”That’s why the vessel must be exceptionally strong.”

”Suitable artifacts are rare, difficult to create, and even harder to maintain. In comparison, Ninja with immense chakra reserves and strong mental fortitude became the more ’practical’ choice.”

Her eyes shifted to the pale, bandage-wrapped face floating inside the container.

”And the method Kazuma used…” Tsunade closed her eyes briefly. ”That was taking a shortcut on an entirely different level.”

She turned to Roshi.

”He didn’t confront a complete Tailed Beast—one with a mature consciousness—and forcibly reshape it.”

”What Kazuma acquired were fragments of the Nine-Tails’ chakra.”

”He implanted that chakra directly into Sora’s body, using the host’s own consciousness—combined with sealing techniques—to nurture and restrain it.”

”But the Nine-Tails’ chakra is inherently aggressive and invasive. Over time, it inevitably alters the host’s body, forcing it to mutate toward a form capable of containing—or even expressing—that power.”

”If everything went perfectly, it might have produced a new entity akin to the Nine-Tails itself.”

She exhaled softly.

”But with the true Nine-Tails’ consciousness still sealed within Naruto, that outcome was never guaranteed.”

”The more likely result…” Tsunade opened her eyes, her voice turning cold, ”was the creation of another uncontrollable monster.”

Roshi remained silent, absorbing her words.

’A conscious vessel… combined with sealing jutsu.’

The thought settled heavily in his mind, opening a door to possibilities he wasn’t sure he should be exploring.

—

Land of Earth — Iwagakure

In the end, Ōnoki chose to proceed with Iwagakure’s joint Chūnin Exams as originally planned.

Konoha’s so-called Four Villages Alliance was undeniably a spectacular display. The political pressure and public attention it generated forced him to weigh his options again and again.

But backing out now would only turn Iwagakure into a laughingstock.

The damage to morale and reputation would likely outweigh the sense of isolation that came from standing alone against a four-village alignment.

More importantly, this alliance—built around the Chūnin Exams—was not a military pact. It carried no immediate aggression or existential threat. Had it been a true martial coalition, Ōnoki would have had no choice but to bow, no matter how much his back ached.

As things stood, he judged it to be a temporary convergence—other villages acting out of short-term curiosity, profit, and observation.

Konoha might ride this year’s momentum with a flashy gimmick, but whether such a massive spectacle could be sustained next year remained an open question.

Even if this trend continued, Iwagakure could still finish its own exams first and adjust its strategy afterward.

And even if the western lands were poorer, they weren’t barren.

A few thousand spectators could always be gathered. The promise of a grand event—especially one branded in opposition to the Four Villages Alliance—would still draw attention, particularly from the Land of Earth’s local nobility.

With careful pricing and sufficient promotion, creating a lively atmosphere was not impossible.

”Losing face and appearing isolated will hurt morale,” Ōnoki muttered.

”But as for everything else… no matter what, we’ll endure this year first.”

His thoughts drifted.

”Akatsuki… using them worked well before.”

—

The rivalry and maneuvering of the Five Great Shinobi Villages had little to do with the smaller ones.

After three Great Ninja Wars, the overall structure of the Ninja World had long since solidified.

How much Kumogakure earned, or how grand Konoha’s alliance appeared, meant little to them. They were participants in name only—NPCs in someone else’s game—sharing none of the ticket revenue, and enjoying none of the hidden benefits granted to the hosts.

For these minor villages, the Chūnin Exams were not an opportunity but an obligation.

They attended out of necessity and chose sides with extreme caution.

After the Land of Grass publicly declared exclusive participation in Konoha’s exams, yet secretly sent a team to the Land of Earth without drawing condemnation from either side, Takigakure quickly followed suit, adopting an almost identical strategy.

That left Amegakure.

Publicly, it announced participation in both exams—making it the only visible fence-sitter. On the surface, it seemed awkward.

Yet no one openly challenged them.

After all, Amegakure was believed to possess Hanzō the Salamander—the so-called demigod. Neither Konoha nor Iwagakure was eager to provoke that legend.

—

Amegakure

There was no rain today.

Heavy, lead-gray clouds hung low over the city, and the air was thick, damp, and oppressive.

Pain—Tendō—stood atop the tallest tower, unmoving. His orange hair did not stir, and his Rinnegan gazed coldly at the flow of people threading through the steel frameworks and pipe-laced streets below.

Paper fluttered, gathered, and folded into form.

Konan landed silently behind him.

”Ōnoki has sent a secret envoy,” she said.

Pain did not turn.

”What does he want?”

Konan’s voice remained soft.

”He wants the organization to act during Konoha’s Chūnin Exams—to carry out destructive operations and plunge the event into chaos.”

—

Research on Sora continued steadily until August, when teams from the various Shinobi Villages once again began arriving in Konoha.

The written examination phase of the joint Chūnin Exams was officially abolished. From this year onward, it would no longer be part of the public exam schedule, instead serving as an internal screening process conducted independently by each Village.

Out of caution, Konoha chose to retain the Forest of Death assessment. Its purpose was clear—to evaluate the true strength of the personnel dispatched by the other villages.

To prevent the survival test from affecting either the spectacle or the physical condition of the examinees in the main matches, the Forest of Death stage was scheduled earlier than usual. Anko was temporarily seconded as one of the examiners for this phase.

As for Yamato—since it had already been decided that he would participate—he was temporarily withdrawn from Anbu duty.

From this point on, he would officially appear under the name Yamato.

Inside the Hokage Office, Shizune stood with a thick stack of documents in her arms, delivering the final pre-exam report. Tonton remained quietly by her feet.

”Sunagakure has dispatched thirty-three participants. Hidden Mist, nine. Kumogakure, thirty. Kusa, eighteen. Amegakure, fifteen…”

Tsunade sat behind her desk, listening intently. Hiruzen occupied a nearby sofa, his pipe long extinguished but still held in his hand out of habit. Koharu and Homura sat alongside them, their expressions focused.

”There are ten thousand seats in the audience,” Shizune continued, flipping a page. ”Excluding the reserved section for the Daimyō and his entourage, all remaining tickets have been completely sold out.”

She reported the projected total revenue from ticket sales—a figure impressive enough to briefly silence the room.

The corner of Tsunade’s mouth lifted slightly. Hiruzen let out a quiet hmm, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. Even the two advisors’ tightly drawn expressions relaxed by a fraction.

Money, in the Ninja World, always seemed to come easily.

Asuma had once carried a bounty of thirty-five million ryō. Chiriku, thirty million.

As for Roshi… his name had quietly vanished from the black market bounty lists altogether.

A certain aggrieved bounty hunter loudly condemned the Exchange Office for its ”gross incompetence.”

He hadn’t given up information about Roshi’s Wood Release for free—that knowledge alone was worth a fortune. All he had done was ensure that the Bounty Office understood one thing clearly: the original ten-million-ryō bounty was an absolute joke.

Kakuzu, who had dealt with the Bounty Office for decades, still adhered to a minimum standard of professional ethics.

Until a new bounty appeared that accurately reflected the target’s true strength, the black market chose to withdraw the unreliable old one entirely.

Returning to the matter at hand—while ninja heads were indeed valuable, hunting high-bounty targets was neither simple nor stable.

By contrast, the Ninja Villages—representing the apex of organized violence—would not casually turn their blades on ordinary merchants, at least not while the existing order remained intact.

They possessed far more sustainable sources of income.

Whether through regular financial allocations from the Daimyō’s palace or through mission quotas purchased by nobles and wealthy merchants, a relatively stable economic cycle had long been established.

This system was far more effective than outright plunder, ensuring long-term benefits while maintaining the basic order of production and trade.

After all, those who accumulated wealth in the Ninja World were never without backing. Each merchant stood upon the shoulders of a ninja clan or comparable power.

Take Konoha as an example—the Nara clan’s generations-old deer farming and medicinal herb trade formed a cornerstone of the village’s economy. As one of Konoha’s clans, their influence extended deep into the Land of Fire, and their consistent ability to undertake missions was essential to the village’s operation.

If Ninja Villages themselves were to shatter these rules…

Tens of thousands of unchecked ninja would plunge the world into chaos darker than even the Sengoku era.

No one would benefit.

That was why a competition capable of persuading ordinary people to willingly part with their money—creating a new revenue stream beyond traditional channels—was impossible to ignore.

”All participating teams have arrived and are currently resting at their designated encampments near the outdoor arena,” Shizune concluded, closing the folder. ”Roshi has already led a team to handle the coordination.”

Tsunade nodded. ”Reception must be flawless. But patrols and vigilance around the arena and its surroundings must not relax.”

Hiruzen rose to his feet.

”From today onward,” he said calmly, ”I will personally oversee the surrounding security alongside Anbu.”

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