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

AN : There are limited time discounts running on my Patreon page. Check it out and enjoy the story further!! - CODE - 4D172!!

There is also an Early bird offer for first 5 buyers of the whole story!!!

--------------------------------

Tsunade leaned back in her oversized office chair, fingertips tapping idly against the armrest. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, unfocused, as if counting invisible cracks in the plaster.

The door hinge turned.

Familiar footsteps entered.

Her gaze shifted slightly, but she didn’t look over.

”How did it go?”

Roshi walked straight to the desk. Without a word, he picked up one of the processed reports, skimmed the annotations, adjusted its position in the stack, and set it back down.

”He agreed.”

Nothing more.

He moved to the window, hands in his pockets, looking down at the village below.

The Chūnin Exams were still underway. Even at night, Konoha glowed—lanterns lining the streets, vendors calling out, laughter drifting upward like smoke. The village pulsed with life, unaware of the currents shifting beneath its surface.

After watching in silence for a moment, Roshi crossed to the long sofa.

He sat.

Then reclined.

Then simply lay down, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes as if the world had paused for him.

Tsunade didn’t move at first.

Her gaze slid from the ceiling to the figure sprawled across her entire sofa.

He looked as if he had fallen asleep instantly—breathing even, expression unguarded.

She watched him longer than she intended.

”The meeting with Iwagakure has been scheduled.”

Her voice cut cleanly through the quiet office.

”End of next month.”

No reaction.

”In the Land of Grass.”

A faint sound escaped him.

”Mm.”

”Got it,” he added, eyes still closed.

The room settled again.

Then came softer sounds—the muted clink of ceramic on wood. The quiet glug of liquid being poured.

A faint scent drifted across the room.

Sake.

Roshi’s eyelids twitched.

He still didn’t open them.

At some point, Tsunade had abandoned the Hokage’s chair and claimed the short sofa instead. One leg was folded carelessly beneath her, sleeves pushed up without ceremony.

On the coffee table sat a white ceramic bottle, a small cup, and a shallow earthen dish.

Inside the dish: several skewers of grilled chicken, dark with sauce, long since cold.

She picked one up, took a bite—and grimaced.

The fat had solidified. The texture was stiff, the flavor dulled.

”…Tch.”

From somewhere in the office, she produced a small brazier. Then a few charcoal briquettes. She crouched on the floor like a village aunt preparing a midnight snack rather than the Fifth Hokage of Konoha.

A small flame flickered from her fingertip and kissed the charcoal.

Crackle.

The embers glowed orange-red. Heat bloomed outward in soft waves.

Tsunade rolled up her sleeves higher and held the skewer over the flame, rotating it with practiced control. The fat began to melt again, dripping onto the coals with tiny hisses. Smoke curled upward, carrying the rich scent of sauce and meat.

The office—usually heavy with ink and parchment—filled with warmth and firelight.

”This year’s almost over,” she said quietly, eyes on the dancing embers. ”So much has happened.”

For a moment, the only answer was the crackling of charcoal.

Then Roshi exhaled.

He sat up.

Crossed the room.

Picked up a skewer without ceremony and crouched opposite her by the brazier.

The firelight reflected faintly in his eyes.

”Yes,” he said calmly.

”It has.”

”It’s one thing to eat while someone else is sleeping,” Roshi muttered lazily from the sofa, eyes still closed. ”But reheating it too? That’s just disrespectful.”

Tsunade snorted. ”Stealing someone else’s food without asking—that’s disrespectful.”

The skewers were nearly done now, the edges curling slightly, sauce caramelizing into a glossy sheen. The aroma deepened, rich and smoky.

Instead of returning to the sofa, Tsunade sat directly on the floor beside the brazier, leaning her back against the base of the long couch. With one hand, she lifted the sake bottle and drank straight from it. With the other, she tore into a reheated skewer, teeth sinking into the revived meat.

”Three years already,” she said after swallowing, exhaling a faint breath laced with alcohol. ”Since you tricked me into becoming Hokage.”

Roshi opened one eye halfway, sniffed at his own perfectly warmed skewer, and took a measured bite.

”Objectively speaking,” he replied evenly, chewing without haste, ”I was dragged into it as well.”

Tsunade shot him a sidelong glare and took another long swig. ”Someone who disappears every year on extended leave doesn’t get to say that.”

”And someone who frequently dumps her paperwork on an unemployed villager,” he countered calmly, ”has no moral high ground.”

The brazier crackled between them.

For a while, that was the only sound—charcoal popping softly, the faint scrape of bamboo against ceramic, the muted rhythm of chewing.

Roshi finished first.

He stood, walked to the desk, picked up his teacup, and rinsed away the lingering spice with a slow sip. Then he returned to the sofa and reclined exactly as before, arms behind his head, as though the interruption had been nothing more than a passing breeze.

Tsunade ignored him.

After a few more skewers, the warmth of the sake began to soften the tension in her shoulders. She tossed the empty sticks into the brazier and watched them curl, blacken, and crumble into ash.

”Uzumaki Rina came to see me today,” she said suddenly. ”Said Karin wants to become a Medical-nin.”

She paused, lips curving faintly.

”And I heard she beat Fugaku’s youngest son twice.”

From the sofa came Roshi’s calm confirmation. ”True. I witnessed both occasions.”

Tsunade burst into laughter—clear and unrestrained in the quiet office.

”That girl’s got spirit. She’ll make a fine Medical-nin.”

She rose and walked over to the long sofa, leaning down to poke Roshi’s arm with one finger.

”You’ll be an adult next year,” she said. ”How do you plan to pass on Wood Release?”

Roshi rolled slightly, turning his back to her.

”Don’t ignore me.”

She poked harder.

”If Wood Release could be inherited reliably,” he replied at last, voice muffled against the cushion, ”there wouldn’t have been so many problems to begin with.”

Tsunade clicked her tongue and returned to the short sofa, crossing her long legs with exaggerated impatience.

”You’re so cold,” she complained. ”At your age, you should be… more lively.”

Silence.

She squinted at him. ”Give me something interesting, Lord Roshi. There’s no decent gossip left in the village. Life is unbearably dull.”

A beat.

”Lady Tsunade,” his voice drifted over lazily, ”there’s plenty of entertainment. For example, a certain someone who looks perpetually in her prime but is actually—”

The sentence ended abruptly.

A fist, wrapped in monstrous strength, tore through the air.

It slammed into the sofa’s backrest beside his head with a heavy thud. The entire couch shuddered.

”Like that,” Roshi finished calmly, not even flinching.

Tsunade withdrew her fist with a sharp huff. ”Who do you think delayed me for the last few years, huh? If I hadn’t been stuck as Hokage—”

Roshi finally opened his eyes.

He turned his head, dark gaze meeting hers without the slightest ripple.

”You say that with a straight face.”

”I can’t reach it,” she snapped immediately, arms crossing. ”You’re going to the meeting with Iwagakure.”

She wasn’t done. She kicked the sofa leg—not hard, but enough to make it creak in protest.

”Remember that.”

Roshi closed his eyes again.

He rolled over, presenting her with a quiet, unmoving back.

Which, in its own way, was agreement.

—

”The leader of Sunagakure, Baki-san, seemed rather… weighed down.”

In the conference chamber, Samui watched Baki’s retreating figure disappear down the corridor and voiced her observation calmly.

The tripartite meeting had just concluded.

Originally, the practical exchange had been a joint venture between Konohagakure and Kumogakure. Now, with Sunagakure formally joining, the structure had shifted. Since the participants were Genin and newly promoted Chūnin, the event was provisionally renamed the ”New Elite Joint Exercise.”

Getting to that name, however, had not been smooth.

Konoha’s delegation had favored ”New Leaf · Swift Thunder Festival.” Kumogakure had countered firmly with ”Swift Thunder · New Leaf Festival.” Someone even suggested alternating the order depending on the host village.

The idea was practical—but inconsistent branding would only weaken long-term promotion. It was discarded.

Other suggestions followed—”New Bud Competition,” among them—but that, too, felt subtly biased toward Konoha.

In the end, after a discussion that remained civil yet faintly edged with rivalry, a neutral title was selected. A compromise.

Throughout the negotiation, Baki had spoken little.

As Sunagakure’s representative, he mostly observed. Kumogakure, being the one who proposed Sunagakure’s inclusion, clearly intended to extend goodwill toward the recently defeated village and avoided pressing them too hard. Konoha, aside from minor disagreements over logistics, did not obstruct the arrangement.

Samui folded her arms lightly.

”He didn’t look like someone who just secured a new opportunity for his village.”

Roshi’s gaze remained on the freshly signed draft agreement before him, the ink not yet fully dry.

”As for the reason behind Baki’s mood,” a Konoha delegate replied blandly, ”I doubt we’re in a position to speculate.”

Land transformation. Financial strain. Internal opposition. Or perhaps something else entirely.

Whatever weighed on Baki likely stemmed from pressures no single treaty could resolve.

Samui shifted topics smoothly.

”Roshi, you must have seen Sunagakure’s aerial unit by now.”

”Yes.”

To be precise, it had once belonged to the Sky Ninja remnants. But ownership had changed, and so had its banner. Few cared about its origins anymore.

”Recently,” Samui continued, ”Sunagakure has undertaken multiple offshore escort missions. All executed by that aerial unit. The results have been… impressive.”

Roshi nodded faintly.

”They intend to open maritime trade routes,” he said evenly. ”But at their current scale, that air corps is insufficient.”

Opening sea lanes required more than ambition. It demanded sustainable manpower, logistics, maintenance—fuel for the long haul.

And Sunagakure, still recovering from defeat, could not afford missteps.

Samui studied him for a moment.

”You sound as though you’re already calculating their next five years.”

Roshi finally lifted his eyes from the document.

”In this era,” he replied calmly, ”those who fail to calculate five years ahead will find themselves pushed five years behind.”

The conference room fell quiet.

Outside, the banners of three villages stirred faintly in the wind.

------------------

AN: Check out my P@treon For +90 extra chapters.

Thank You For your Support!!

[email protected]/noviceauthor777

-----------------------

To keep the chapters coming - Support with POWER STONES.

For Every 100 power stones - 1 BONUS chapter.