"Arkain." Renjiro said in a calm, low voice: "Given my current condition, what's the fastest way to improve my strength—to better protect myself?"
He knew better than anyone how powerful Arkain's simulation capabilities were. Even vague questions could yield precise, actionable plans.
[Beep! Mission Established... Running Simulation—Simulation Complete.]
[Conclusion: Primary Recommendation—Specialize in Taijutsu.]
Renjiro raised an eyebrow, and said in confusion: "Taijutsu? Why?"
[Beep! Two Main Reasons: First, Low Entry Threshold.]
[Second: Rapid Improvement When Paired with Arkain's Real-time Correctional Support.]
Renjiro considered it carefully—and it made sense. Of the three core ninja disciplines—Ninjutsu, Genjutsu, And Taijutsu—the first two demanded extensive theory, chakra control, and battlefield experience.
But Taijutsu was grounded in raw physical ability. With Arkain monitoring and correcting his form in real time, he could optimize every movement and accelerate progress dramatically.
After a brief pause, his eyes gleamed with new light: "Any other suggestions?"
[Beep! Secondary Recommendation: Augment your equipment. Suggested weapon—Ninja blade.]
"A ninja weapon? A blade?" The suggestion surprised him: "Explain."
[Beep! Two Key Reasons: First, Arming Yourself Increases the Immediate Lethality of Close-quarters Combat.]
[Second: One of Your Teammates Possesses Solid Sword Skills. You May Consult Her and Benefit From Her Experience.] Answered Arkain.
Renjiro couldn't help but be impressed. Arkain had even factored in team synergy—something he hadn't considered. It wasn't just a plan; it was a roadmap.
"Is there anything else?" He asked in a voice tinged with hope.
[Beep! No further recommendations at this time.]
The flat, mechanical response doused his rising anticipation. A flicker of disappointment passed through him.
Shaking his head, Renjiro steadied himself and gave a final command: "Alright. Keep the mission active. Notify me immediately if new developments arise."
[Beep! Mission Re-established. Status: Long-term Objective. Parameters Locked... Simulation Ongoing...]
---
Later that day, after completing his assigned duties at the camp, Renjiro made his way to the supply depot.
Without hesitation, he used his own funds to requisition a standard-issue ninja blade. Slinging the sheathed weapon across his back, he left the depot and headed straight toward the field hospital.
When he arrived, Meri looked up in surprise. Ever since Team Zeri had returned to camp, its members had been scattered across various duties, rarely exchanging more than a nod during morning and evening shifts. And now, here stood Renjiro—sword on his back—walking toward her.
Before she could say anything, he got straight to the point: "I'd like you to teach me swordsmanship."
Meri blinked in surprise, her sapphire-blue eyes widened, and her voice rose involuntarily: "You… want me to teach you swordsmanship?"
Renjiro nodded, his voice was steady and sincere: "Yes. Among everyone I know, you're the only one truly proficient with a blade. I need your guidance."
And with that, he bowed deeply.
Meri immediately panicked. "Ah—no, no! You don't need to bow!" She stammered, rushing over with flustered urgency, her cheeks were blooming red as she tried to pull him upright.
Renjiro straightened, slightly awkward. He'd inherited the custom from memory—bowing when requesting instruction—but seeing Meri so easily flustered made it feel unnecessarily formal.
"Please, Meri." He said in serious and earnest voice: "I'd be very grateful."
And that was the end of it. For someone as soft-hearted as Meri, sincerity was a blade sharper than any steel. She stood frozen for a moment, caught between embarrassment and sympathy.
Seeing her falter, Renjiro pressed the emotional angle a bit more. Some might call it shameless, but he wasn't above using a little guilt when the stakes were high—and right now, Meri's help was very crucial for his survival in battlefield.
As expected, she agreed. Meri said at last, fidgeting with her sleeves as she looked at him: "…Fine, but I'm not really qualified to teach anyone. So don't call it instruction—we'll just… train together, okay?"
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as she added: "I can only show you the basics. And my sword style is a family technique... I'm not allowed to teach it to others without my father's permission."
By the time she finished, her face had turned completely red.
When Renjiro heard Meri mention her family sword style, he immediately understood her hesitation. He nodded without missing a beat.
"That's perfectly fine." Renjiro said reassuringly: "You don't need to teach me your actual sword style. Just showing me how to use a ninja blade properly is more than enough."
He wasn't expecting to become a master swordsman overnight. What he needed was practical, efficient usage—just enough to raise his lethality in close-quarters combat.
Besides, with his heightened perception—akin to Observation Haki—and Arkain's combat-assist capabilities, even basic techniques could become deadly in his hands.
"…Oh." Meri responded quietly, though her expression shifted strangely. A hint of disappointment flashed in her eyes, and her lips curved into a soft pout.
Renjiro, on the other hand, was thrilled. Her tentative agreement meant one of his immediate objectives was now secured.
"Alright then—once I finish my duties tomorrow, I'll come find you and we can start."
"Okay…" Meri murmured, barely above a whisper.
Not wanting to interrupt her shift any longer, Renjiro smiled and said: "I'll leave you to it, then. See you tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked off, waving casually over his shoulder.
Meri stood motionless in the corridor, watching him disappear into the golden light filtering through the hallway. After a few silent seconds, she huffed, cheeks puffed like a steamed bun, and stomped lightly in frustration.
"Big idiot."
---
"Blade training's covered. Taijutsu's on me. And once Zeri-sensei's back on his feet, I might be able to pick up a few advanced moves from him too." Renjiro walked toward the dorms, hands tucked behind his head, calmly mapping out his next steps: "Being a Chūnin, he's got to have a few tricks up his sleeve."
But then—
"He's here!"
A burst of shouting cut through the camp. Renjiro's attention snapped toward the noise. He quickened his pace, weaving between rows of tents and clusters of curious shinobi gathering up ahead.
As he pushed through the crowd, the reason for the excitement became clear.
A mission unit had returned—one freshly back from deployment. They moved in a tight, orderly formation, all bearing a familiar insignia on their backs.
The Uchiha fan.
And leading them was someone Renjiro recognized instantly: a young man with short, spiked hair, calm and confident eyes, and a sword slung across his back.
"Uchiha Shisui." Renjiro muttered under his breath: "Shisui of the Body Flicker."
There was no mistaking him. For someone who had once binged the entire anime, spotting major characters was instinctive—and Shisui's appearance was unmistakable.
But despite that, Renjiro felt… conflicted.
He admired their loyalty to Konoha—both Shisui and Itachi. What they had done for the village was something he could never bring himself to do. Not in their situation. Turning against their own clan for the sake of the village… that kind of sacrifice was beyond him.
But admiration didn't mean affection. He respected their conviction, but he didn't like them—especially not Itachi.
There was something about his character, his choices, that rubbed Renjiro the wrong way. Even knowing the full story… he simply couldn't agree with the path Itachi had taken.
Despite their overwhelming popularity, Renjiro viewed Shisui and Itachi through a different lens. He understood why the world praised them—loyal, selfless, devoted to the village above all else. But to him, all the lofty ideals in the world couldn't excuse what they did to their own clan.
Sacrificing your family for the so-called "greater good"? That wasn't noble, that was betrayal.
Even if their intentions had been pure, Renjiro believed their decisions were flawed—choices that led to irreversible consequences. The Uchiha may have been preparing a coup, but the village elders had created the very conditions that bred rebellion—decades of surveillance, segregation, and suspicion. Both sides bore responsibility. No outcome would have been bloodless.
In the end, there were no heroes, only survivors.
Renjiro's expression darkened: "If someone hurt my family…" A cold gleam flickered in his eyes: "I don't care about peace or politics. I'll choose my blood. Every single time."
Even if his kin had made mistakes, justice meant accountability—not extermination. No woman or child, no innocent who bore nothing but a surname, deserved to die for the sins of others.
Still, even with all his resentment, Renjiro couldn't deny the truth.
Itachi and Shisui were prodigies, and with Uchiha blood running through their veins, their talent was only amplified. Their strength was real—and dangerous.
Renjiro clicked his tongue in annoyance: "Tch! Not my scene."
With a final glance at the distant gathering—where Hyūga and Uchiha stared one another down in another passive-aggressive contest of pride—he turned away.
This was just another fire waiting to explode.
The entire camp, nestled deep in the Land of Waves, felt like a powder keg. Whether it was the Hokage's doing, Danzo's manipulations, or the quiet scheming of those two aging advisors, someone had thought it wise to place the Hyūga and Uchiha in the same forward camp.
It was like forcing oil and flame into the same room and hoping nothing caught fire.
Frankly, it was a miracle the two clans hadn't started killing each other yet.
But Renjiro? He was just a lowly genin. No voice, no status, no interest in their posturing.
He left the power plays to the fools who craved them and returned to what truly mattered—his own training.