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

”Karin is Naruto’s classmate.”

”As for my relationship with her…” Roshi paused briefly, choosing his words. ”I did something beneficial for her and her mother.”

As for the process—now that the Grass Village was an ally, even if Mui happened to see Karin and Rina in Konoha, it wouldn’t provoke any reaction. Roshi saw no reason to broadcast the details.

”Something beneficial…” She didn’t press the matter. Instead, she shifted topics. ”Roshi, will you be returning to the Ninja Academy later?”

”It is a mission, after all.” Roshi nodded.

”Is Konoha’s ninja academy open to outsiders?”

”Yes.”

”Then I’ll take the liberty of visiting.”

They walked on in silence for a while before Roshi suddenly remembered something. ”Samui, by the way—regarding the combat exchange event, does Kumogakure have a preferred name?”

Samui was quiet for several seconds.

”The Raikage proposed ’Lightning and Fire: Sword and Combat Tournament.’”

”Huh?”

…Did something odd just slip out?

”…It’s not limited to sword combat, is it?”

”No. Dodai-san also feels the name is inappropriate, so the final details will need further discussion between him and Shikaku-san.”

—

Watching others make money was sometimes more painful than losing money oneself.

Ōnoki had come to understand this all too well over the past two years.

Kumogakure and Konoha were joining forces again, cooking up yet another scheme. What, exactly, was happening to the ninja world? Shinobi were no longer defined solely by life-and-death missions or blood-soaked battlefields; instead, they were becoming performers—gladiators judged by the public eye.

And yet…

Making money was undeniably appealing.

Traditional missions demanded lives. Even teams that returned unscathed required long-term funding, while casualties meant massive compensation payouts.

To earn a steady income while still engaging in intense combat—inside an arena, no less—was an almost irresistible proposition.

This year, Sunagakure’s own event had failed to turn a profit, but Iwagakure’s joint Chunin Exams the previous year had been a genuine success.

For Iwagakure, with its abundance of Earth Release specialists, constructing the venue cost next to nothing.

Medical expenses? Those were simply opportunities for medical apprentices to hone their skills—two birds with one stone.

If not for the severe diplomatic implications, Iwagakure would have gladly hosted another Chunin Exams early this year.

The delayed announcement was merely to avoid clashing with Konoha.

After all, they had already collided once last year. If Konoha pulled the same move again—another four-village joint event that left Iwagakure standing alone—then the notion of ”isolating Iwagakure” might quietly solidify into an unspoken consensus among the other Great Villages.

That would be truly irreversible.

However, the ”combat exchange event” planned by Konoha and Kumogakure for August presented a new possibility.

By avoiding the title of Chunin Exams, many of the traditional political and public-opinion risks were sidestepped entirely. The real question was what kind of long-term impact such overt entertainment—and commercialization—of ninja combat would bring.

”Exchange, huh…” The Third Tsuchikage muttered, stroking his chin. ”Not a bad name.”

But the question remained—exchange with whom?

Perhaps it would be better to broaden the scope… Western Shinobi Exchange Conference, for instance.

Kitsuchi’s deep voice broke the silence. ”Tsuchikage-sama, should we consider inviting Sunagakure?”

”No need. This is fine as it is.”

Ōnoki had already run the numbers. Setting politics aside and viewing it purely from a commercial standpoint, inviting the other Great Ninja Villages would not significantly increase Iwagakure’s profits—if anything, it would only dilute them.

With Iwagakure’s absolute authority over the Land of Earth and its surrounding regions, compelling wandering ninja to participate would be easy. The smaller neighboring villages wouldn’t dare refuse either; they would send representatives whether they liked it or not. Combined with Iwagakure’s own shinobi, the number of participants—and the spectacle—would be more than sufficient.

The ninjutsu of wandering ninja was chaotic and unrefined, ill-suited for true battlefield combat. But in an arena that prized spectacle and novelty? That very lack of standardization might make them more appealing than the rigid, textbook techniques of the Five Great Nations.

Just as Ōnoki was deep in calculations about Iwagakure’s financial future, a sharp knock echoed through the office.

The door opened, and Fūga stepped in, holding a struggling blond teenager by the collar.

”Tsuchikage-sama! Deidara was using his ninjutsu outside the village again.”

That was the polite version.

Ōnoki knew the reality all too well.

”Let me go, hm!” Deidara protested, flailing. ”That’s art! You just don’t understand it! Hm!”

Veins bulged on the Third Tsuchikage’s forehead as his blood pressure spiked.

”Throw him out of the village,” Ōnoki snapped coldly. ”Let him reflect among the rocks. He can come back when he understands how a shinobi’s power is meant to be used!”

That wretched brat—if not for his exceptional talent. Such promising potential, wasted on a head full of madness and endless ramblings about ”art.”

And Deidara wasn’t the only headache.

Rōshi, the not-so-young Jinchūriki, was another thorn in his side.

If not for last year’s four-village alliance—an affair that exposed Iwagakure’s weakness and plunged it into diplomatic turmoil—Rōshi would likely have already left the village. Even now, his attitude was distant and guarded, as if he were merely waiting for the right moment to depart.

He couldn’t be killed. He was difficult to restrain.

And Han’s stance remained frustratingly ambiguous.

Ōnoki’s gaze shifted to Kitsuchi, silent and steady at his side, and some of the tension in his chest finally eased.

At least there were Kitsuchi and Fūga. And among the next generation—setting aside that troublesome Deidara—there were still Kurotsuchi and Akatsuchi.

’Make money first.’

Ōnoki exhaled slowly and returned his attention to the report on his desk. The mess Deidara had caused would need cleaning up—and every solution required funds.

—

”More money…”

Inside the Hokage’s office, Tsunade stared at the documents Roshi had submitted. They detailed the adoption of Ebisu’s recommendations and the subsequent restructuring of the Ninja Academy, including plans to raise graduation standards. She couldn’t help but sigh.

The Academy was free, and students who failed to graduate were typically held back unless they exceeded the age limit.

”Roshi,” Tsunade said, rubbing her temples, ”aren’t we spending too much this year?”

”Necessary investments,” Roshi replied evenly. That was the only way to put it.

”…That portion of the profits just came in, and it’s already going out.” Tsunade dropped her head onto the desk with a dull thud. ”The advisors are going to interrogate us about the expense reports again.”

”A short-term funding gap isn’t impossible to resolve.” Roshi set down his pen, thinking aloud. The rising expenses were undeniable. ”Last year, there were quite a few projects centered on betting around the events.”

”Most of them behaved themselves, didn’t they?” Tsunade lifted her head slightly, her chin still propped on the desk.

”That doesn’t mean there were no issues. It’s only natural for the village to step in and investigate.”

Ninja villages couldn’t operate such ventures directly—but there were always indirect paths.

”If left unregulated, someone will inevitably cross the line,” Roshi continued. ”As for the costs of cracking down on illegal activities…” He paused, then offered calmly, ”The businesses that profit from a stable, legitimate environment should shoulder part of that burden.”

Tsunade’s eyes sharpened.

”Using that as justification, we can raise funds to cover at least part of the deficit.”

Tsunade had no objection to increasing the village’s income. That said, the finer details still needed to be negotiated with the Advisors. Having heard enough for one meeting, she promptly kicked Roshi out of her office and told him to take the matter to Hiruzen.

”Increased expenditure is a problem,” the Third Hokage said after listening, nodding slowly. ”And resolving it this way is reasonable.”

After all, ever since the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, had negotiated funding terms with the major clans of the Land of Fire, extracting additional resources through mission quotas had become standard practice. This proposal was merely an extension of that principle—applying it to those who now profited economically from newly created competitions.

There was precedent.

Which meant there was no real obstacle.

Hiruzen also voiced clear support for investing in the next generation. ”As for the establishment of preschool classes,” he asked gently, ”what exactly do you have in mind?”

Roshi replied without hesitation. ”Ninja training effectively begins around the age of three.”

Even Hyuga Hinata—whose aptitude was considered relatively average—had started training at roughly that age. Given the vast resources available to a main-branch Hyuga, Roshi believed the village could afford to be more measured in its approach.

”The village can establish classes for children around four years old who show potential to become ninja,” he continued. ”At that stage, there will be no chakra training or ninjutsu. Only basic cultural education, physical activity, and habit formation.”

”The curriculum can be standardized, and the teaching workload…” Roshi paused briefly. ”A seasoned genin would be more than sufficient.”

As for funding, the solution was straightforward. By structuring the daily operation of the preschool as a long-term D-rank mission—replacing some of the inefficient, low-value tasks currently issued—the Village could redirect resources without disrupting the existing financial framework.

After a moment of careful consideration, Hiruzen spoke again. ”If that’s the case, the cost of the preschool can be reduced significantly. As for facilities, you can use the Four Pillars House Technique to construct them.”

”All the village needs to provide is an empty plot of land.”

He then added, ”That said, relying solely on genin-issued missions won’t be comprehensive enough for the early stages. For now, I’ll take responsibility myself.”

The Third Hokage smiled faintly. ”I still have some experience guiding basic courses.”

During his tenure as Hokage, Hiruzen had often set aside time to accompany orphans who had lost their parents. He regularly visited the Ninja Academy as well, serving as an unofficial instructor—teaching fundamental taijutsu and observing the students’ development.

Compared to that, helping out at a preschool was hardly an operational challenge.

In fact, since the retired Hokage already received a salary, no additional compensation was required.

That alone offset much of the initial staffing cost.

As for venue expenses, while they should have been included on paper, the Village was hardly short on usable land. With construction and core personnel already accounted for, the plan—despite appearing complex and approval-heavy—actually met all the conditions for immediate trial implementation.

”Now then,” Hiruzen said, smoothly shifting topics, ”regarding the genin training classes and personnel for next year’s exchange competition—Tsunade has already discussed Gekkō Hayate’s condition with me. Since we’ve decided to transfer him out of Anbu, let him handle taijutsu and kenjutsu instruction.”

”And as for ninjutsu guidance…” The Third Hokage’s gaze settled meaningfully on Roshi. ”I could have taken that role myself, but now…”

Roshi understood the implication at once.

The Third Hokage was heading to the preschool classes. Kakashi was occupied with Root-related matters. And among the remaining shinobi, Roshi was one of the very few proficient in all five basic elemental releases.

Which meant—

There was no one else left.

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