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

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A proposal, in the end, was only a proposal.

Whether it could truly take root depended entirely on Sunagakure’s own resolve.

Choosing a site for transformation, committing manpower, maintaining it year after year—none of these were matters solved with a single decree. If the people of the Land of Wind lacked diligence, if the village wavered halfway, then even the finest seeds would amount to nothing more than empty rhetoric.

For Roshi, cultivating drought-resistant—even salt-tolerant—tree species was not particularly difficult. With the power of Wood Release, reshaping plant traits was simply a matter of time and refinement. Over the past two years, he had accumulated ample experience in experimentation and controlled growth.

Technically, it was feasible.

Whether it would endure—that was another matter.

If Sunagakure chose to redirect its ambition inward, pouring its strength into reshaping the Land of Wind, that would be ideal. If not… it made little difference.

There were always other ways to keep them moving along a manageable trajectory.

Baki departed in silence, his mind clearly burdened.

Such matters would not yield a swift answer. Even after he returned and presented Roshi’s proposal to the Sand elders, internal debates alone would take time.

—

By November, the air carried a sharp chill.

Yet the arena district of Konoha burned with growing excitement.

The brief war seemed already distant—erased beneath the noise of vendors, the banners of visiting delegations, and the swelling anticipation of the Chūnin Exams’ main event. Merchants shouted, foreign shinobi mingled, and crowds filled the newly expanded stands.

War faded quickly when spectacle arrived.

The Hokage office, too, regained its rightful occupant.

Tsunade dropped into her familiar chair and swept her gaze across the desk.

”…Why does it still look like this?” she muttered darkly, staring at the stacks of documents. ”You weren’t working hard at all, Roshi.”

After several days free from paperwork, even the sight of it offended her.

”If I hadn’t been diligent,” Roshi replied calmly from the side desk where he had temporarily presided, ”there would be twice as much.”

He tapped the topmost pile.

”These are newly submitted since the main rounds began.”

”Applications for permanent commercial stall rights. Requests for expanded security deployment outside the arena. Confirmation of VIP reception protocols from various countries …”

Tsunade collapsed forward onto the desk with a muffled groan, her blonde hair half-buried beneath scrolls.

”Are you some heavenly punishment sent to torment me?”

Roshi set the Hokage seal and a stack of documents neatly in front of her.

”Stamp. Sign.”

”I need to visit the Academy.”

”Ebisu submitted a list of candidates. He’s already confirmed their chakra natures.”

Still facedown, Tsunade’s voice drifted out from beneath the paperwork.

”You’re this busy, and you still have time to meddle in Sunagakure’s future.”

”People aren’t tools,” Roshi answered evenly. ”They’ll always seek a way to survive.”

Tsunade lifted her head slightly. A few papers slid down her hair.

”Oh? And what’s Lord Roshi’s grand philosophy?”

”If left entirely to themselves,” he continued, ”their chosen path may not be optimal.”

He adjusted his cuffs.

”As beneficiaries of the current order, offering a viable alternative is not charity. It is an investment.”

”A method of preserving our own long-term returns.”

Tsunade stared at him for a long moment.

”…You really are calculating.”

Roshi gave no rebuttal.

By the time she looked up again, he had already left the office, the door closing softly behind him—leaving the Hokage alone with her paperwork, her responsibilities, and the distant roar of a village celebrating peace.

At the gates of the Ninja Academy, Ebisu had clearly been waiting for some time. The moment he spotted Roshi, he straightened and hurried forward.

Compared to before, the elite instructor’s tone now carried unmistakable respect.

”Lord Roshi.”

”Mm. Report.”

Ebisu immediately produced three neatly organized student files.

”After a period of observation and foundational testing, these three have shown exceptional chakra control and theoretical comprehension. Their physical conditioning surpasses their peers, and they already meet the baseline to begin low-level elemental ninjutsu.”

He read the names carefully.

”Kamano. Aoimaru. Gaito.”

Roshi accepted the files, scanning them swiftly.

No surnames. Not Senju. Purely civilian origins.

He paused slightly at the evaluation pages—handwriting detailing discipline, stamina metrics, chakra stability fluctuations.

Promising.

From his sleeve, he withdrew a scroll and handed it over.

”Inside are five basic elemental techniques.”

”From now on, once you determine a student is qualified, you may authorize access to the corresponding elemental jutsu at your discretion.”

Ebisu’s eyes widened slightly.

”If any student masters the technique before the academic year ends, submit their names.”

”The village will commend them accordingly—and subsidize the chakra paper costs.”

Ebisu accepted the scroll with both hands, solemnly.

”I understand. I will ensure it is handled properly.”

Roshi gave a faint nod.

”Is Iruka’s class currently in session?”

”Yes. Shuriken and kunai throwing practice.”

—

On the training field, Iruka was marking scores beside the wooden targets.

After nearly two months as a homeroom teacher, he had formed a clear assessment of the class.

The background composition was complicated—but academically, Sakura Haruno stood at the top.

In raw physical strength, Akimichi Chōji held the advantage.

For agility and tracking, Inuzuka Kiba.

And as for laziness—

Nara Shikamaru reigned uncontested.

Overall potential…

”Hmph.”

Sasuke watched as Karin’s shuriken struck the target but failed to land dead center, releasing a nearly inaudible scoff.

His gaze slid toward Naruto.

That idiot’s grades were nothing special. His ninjutsu theory was borderline hopeless.

But his taijutsu growth rate…

Sasuke’s brow twitched faintly.

From reckless flailing at the start of the semester to controlled footwork and proper stance—too fast.

Still.

At this level?

He can’t possibly beat me.

Iruka clapped his hands lightly.

”Alright, next—kunai throwing.”

His voice faltered.

Under the trees beyond the field, two figures had appeared silently.

Iruka’s spine stiffened.

”Na—Naruto! Help Sensei fetch more training kunai!”

Naruto blinked, pointing at the nearby basket.

”Eh? There’s still some right here, Iruka-sensei.”

”Not enough!” Iruka hissed under his breath. ”Hurry!”

”Hehehe, if you say so…” Naruto scratched his head but obediently dashed off.

Good.

Let Sasuke throw first. If Naruto’s gone, there won’t be a shouting match.

”Sasuke. Demonstration.”

Sasuke stepped forward without a word.

A flick of the wrist.

One kunai.

Bullseye.

Two kunai were released simultaneously, crossing arcs in midair—

Both embedded cleanly in the center ring.

Three at once.

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

All three struck dead center.

He stepped aside calmly, as expected, greeted by a wave of shrill admiration.

”Sasuke-kun is amazing!”

Iruka forced a composed nod.

”Next—Ino Yamanaka.”

”One by one.”

”Karin Uzumaki.”

Sasuke folded his arms.

Let’s see.

Karin exhaled slowly.

Her first kunai—

Bullseye.

A ripple of surprise spread.

”Huh?”

The second.

Bullseye.

The third and fourth—

Clean.

Ino grabbed her shoulders, bouncing excitedly.

”Karin! That was incredible!”

Iruka’s face lit up.

”Excellent improvement!”

Even her final simultaneous throws landed solidly within the inner rings.

Sasuke’s expression hardened.

He stepped back onto the line.

”Move.”

”Ah—Sasuke, it’s someone else’s turn—”

”That was a warm-up.”

He didn’t look at Karin.

Didn’t look at Iruka.

He raised both empty hands.

Then with a subtle flick, four kunai gleamed between his fingers.

”Watch closely.”

The swing was smooth.

Controlled.

All four kunai embedded perfectly into the bullseye again.

Cheers erupted once more.

But in the very next instant—

A chill.

Instinct.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright.

”You—Uchiha Sasuke!”

The voice cracked like lightning.

”Don’t get cocky, you arrogant jerk!”

He turned sharply, his body already shifting into an evasive stance.

”You think a sneak attack will always suc—”

He stopped.

Red hair like blazing fire.

A white fist.

Compressed air spiraled around it with terrifying force.

So fast—

Why is she—

The punch roared toward his face.

—

Steam from the hotpot fogged the windows, sealing the winter chill outside. Inside the small ninja apartment, warmth and spice filled the air as the three former members of Team Five gathered around a low table.

The broth rolled and bubbled.

Anko leaned forward, staring at the violent shade of red in Roshi’s dipping bowl as if it were a crime scene.

”Roshi still eats hot pot like this?” she complained, brows tightly knit. ”Wouldn’t egg wash make it smoother? More civilized?”

Roshi didn’t even look up. He calmly added another spoonful of chili paste into the already alarming mixture.

”Hotpot without spice,” he said evenly over the boiling broth, ”is just boiled water pretending to have ambition.”

Anko clicked her tongue.

Among the three of them, two had hopeless sweet teeth. Anko was the extreme case—someone who could pair desserts with sweet soup and call it balance. Itachi, by contrast, preferred subtle sweetness, usually neutralized with lightly bitter tea.

Anko pointed accusingly at Roshi.

”Heretic, Captain. I finally understand why this team fell apart.”

”Anko-senpai,” Itachi said mildly, lifting a slice of shiitake with perfect composure, ”technically, senpai is the one who remains most loyal.” Both you and I are in the Anbu.”

Anko’s eyes widened in theatrical outrage.

”Huh?! The one who ran off first is lecturing me about loyalty now?!”

She grabbed a slice of beef and dropped it dramatically into Roshi’s bowl.

”Look carefully, Roshi! This is what loyalty looks like in action!”

Roshi glanced at the meat soaking in his sea of chili oil.

Without a word, he lifted it, rolled it thoroughly in the red sauce until it gleamed ominously, and placed it gently back into Anko’s bowl.

”Insufficient sincerity,” he said calmly. ”Try harder.”

Anko stared at the now fully weaponized slice of beef.

”…This bowl is dead to me.”

For a few seconds, she simply looked betrayed.

Then Roshi spoke again, casually.

”I went to the Ninja Academy today.”

Itachi paused.

”Sasuke got beaten up again.”

”…Again,” Itachi repeated softly, setting his chopsticks down. A faint crease appeared between his brows. ”Was it Karin Uzumaki?”

”Ah, that girl!” Anko immediately brightened, temporarily forgetting her contaminated bowl. ”When we brought her back two years ago, I did not expect her to grow into something that… energetic.”

She leaned forward with a mischievous grin.

”So? Did Itachi’s precious little brother cry this time?”

”He didn’t cry,” Roshi said. ”He didn’t fight back either.”

Both Anko and Itachi looked at him.

”He just stood there,” Roshi continued, ”frowning. Like he was trying to calculate why he got punched again.”

Anko burst out laughing.

Roshi calmly recounted the scene—Iruka teaching, Karin performing well, and Sasuke stepping forward to demonstrate superiority once more.

”Sasuke is a gentle child,” Itachi said quietly.

”Or stunned,” Anko countered. ”Your brother is absolutely the type who shows off his talent when provoked.”

She shot Itachi a sideways look.

”Completely different from you.”

Then she elbowed Roshi lightly.

”Or maybe,” she said in a teasing whisper, ”the appearance of our ’Hero Who Slew the Kazekage’ and ’Heir of Wood Release’ stirred up some strange competitive instinct in the little guy.”

Roshi gave her a flat look.

”It was kunai throwing.”

”So?”

”So if I inspire them,” he replied, picking up another slice of meat, ”they should at least aim for something more ambitious than each other’s faces.”

Anko snorted.

Itachi, however, allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

Outside, the wind pressed softly against the window.

Inside, the hotpot continued to boil.

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