Chương 200: Chapter 115: It Wasn’t Supposed to Be Like This

The New Year slipped away, ushering in the 51st Year of Konoha. Zhen Dongye was another year older. In his first life, he had spent his childhood yearning for the freedom of adulthood, only to find himself in mid-life with the terrifying realization that time possessed a predatory speed—as if someone had taken a pair of shears to the film of his existence. Having been granted a second chance, he no longer harbored such infantile impatience.

Even with a soul far more weathered than his physical frame, he savored the sensation of growth. Every few months, he made it a point to bring his parents to the photo studio; mortals cannot halt the river of time, but they can at least use photographs to trap a few of its ripples. Once the festivities concluded, the Academy gates swung open for the children, and the shinobi returned to their posts, straining to pull the village back into its habitual orbit.

Unami Gekko, however, remained strangely idle regarding his squad. Theoretically, now that Zhen and his teammates had achieved the rank of Chunin, Unami's tenure as their Jonin instructor could have ended. Whether they remained a team was now a matter of personal preference and administrative whim. Given their bond, Unami was more than willing to keep the unit together. The post-war landscape of the Land of Fire remained volatile.

The borders were particularly porous, crawling with a "talent pool" of rogue ninja, wandering sellswords, and brigands. The instability of the neighboring smaller nations had birthed a wave of desperate men who frequently crossed the frontier to prey on Konoha's border towns. Consequently, as the village shifted back to its standard operational mode, mission requests descended like a blizzard. Most shinobi, barely recovered from the front lines, were immediately thrust back into the field.

Zhen and his peers were the exceptions. Unami's philosophy was that the children were still in their prime developmental years; they should focus on accumulation and cultivation. Since none of them were wanting for coin, there was no reason to squander their youth on the drudgery of low-rank missions. Don't be in a hurry to work as a child, Unami would joke, because you'll have more than enough of it once you're an adult.

Within the confines of a mid-sized training ground, Zhen's original body sat cross-legged atop the highest branch of an ancient tree. He remained perfectly still, eyes closed in deep meditation. The golden embers of the setting sun bathed him in a warmth that defied the biting winter wind. He seemed fused with the wood, swaying rhythmically with the breeze.

His current cultivation was a three-pronged endeavor: the absorption of White Natural Energy, the refinement of Wind, Earth, and Water nature transformations, and the mastery of Yin-Yang chakra control. After years of explosive growth, his progress had slowed to a crawl. His juvenile physique had become a bottleneck. Instinct warned him that forcing a breakthrough would only invite biological rot; thus, he remained patient.

Holding Kage-level combat potential at the age of ten was a feat beyond the wildest dreams of any ordinary genius. With the war over, he had pivoted his focus toward Sealing Arts and the development of his remaining elemental affinities. Below the tree, a Shadow Clone of Zhen stood with disciplined focus. He wove the hand signs for the Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu, exhaling a massive sphere of flame that roared across the clearing, leaving a scorched, smoldering crater in the earth.

The clone remained still after the strike, carefully savoring the sensation of chakra transmuted into heat. These techniques, along with several Lightning and Fire Style applications, had been taught to him by Shisui Uchiha—with Chief Fugaku's explicit blessing. The Uchiha's Three-Tomoe Sharingan allowed them to archive a vast library of "borrowed" techniques; they viewed standard elemental jutsu as common currency, easily traded for political goodwill.

Only their secret arts—specifically the genjutsu tied to their bloodline—remained under an absolute embargo. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Even without Shisui's help, Zhen could have accessed Konoha's central archives. His wartime contributions were significant enough that the Third and Fourth Hokage had granted him clearance for almost any elemental scroll, barring the high-risk Forbidden Techniques.

The latter were the heritage of the Hokage lineage, and no amount of merit could buy a commoner a seat at that table. Zhen's fireball was impressive—easily rivaling that of an Uchiha Chunin—but compared to the chakra he invested and his legendary control, it was inefficient. To put it in perspective: in Wind Release, one unit of chakra produced five units of destructive force. In Fire Release, five units of chakra barely produced one. His chakra simply resisted the transformation.

This was the result of two months of grueling labor; at the start, he couldn't even manage a spark. This was the hurdle of a shinobi training an element for which they lacked a natural affinity. Theoretically, any human could master all seven natures given enough time, but the brevity of human life and the hard limits of the flesh made such a pursuit a fool's errand for most. A shinobi usually mastered a second element to reach the Jonin standard and then stopped.

Someone like Rock Lee, who lacked any elemental affinity whatsoever, might spend decades trying to produce a single spark. For those like him, the path of Taijutsu wasn't just a choice; it was the only road that didn't lead to a dead end. Once his Fire Style drills were complete, the Shadow Clone transitioned into Lightning Release. He was still in the foundational stages, using hand signs to coax the chakra into a flickering, electric state within his coils. As for actually discharging it?

He could manage a weak jolt—enough to provide a numbing sensation. He mused that if he ever decided to cross-dress and work as a masseur at the hot springs, he'd be the most popular technician in the village. In the quiet of his study, under the steady glow of a desk lamp, the real Zhen poured over scrolls on Sealing Arts.

Like Medical Ninjutsu, the prerequisite knowledge was staggering, involving the fundamental principles of containment, the categorization of seal scripts, and the stabilization of pocket dimensions. He had to admit that while Kushina Uzumaki shared her son's boisterous, scatterbrained temperament, she was a scholar at heart—albeit a highly specialized one. Mastery over the Uzumaki seals required more than just the "brute force miracles" her bloodline provided.

"Zhen! Jiro! Dinner's ready!" Megumi Dongye's voice drifted through the door, echoing the call of a farm wife summoning her brood. When Zhen arrived in the dining room, he saw his father emerging from the bedroom, looking utterly drained. Jiro had been in meetings at the Hokage Building all day, and he looked as though he had spent that time hauling boulders instead of sitting in a chair. He lacked even the appetite for his meal. Zhen observed him carefully.

"Father, something on your mind?" Jiro hesitated. Normally, he would shield his family from the grime of village politics, but Zhen's preternatural maturity and keen insight made him a tempting confidant.

"It's about the council meeting..."

"Wait," Zhen interrupted. He extended his senses, scanning the perimeter of their home. Finding no eavesdroppers, he nodded.

"Go on." The caution in his son's eyes gave Jiro a strange sense of security. He recounted the events of the Jonin Council—Fugaku's proposal and the Elders' systematic dismantling of the new Hokage's support.

"Do you think the Uchiha Chief was wrong to ask?" Jiro finished.

"It's not a matter of right or wrong," Zhen replied calmly.

"It's a matter of timing. It was ill-advised."

"Is that so? Then perhaps the Fourth was a bit too eager to push for change."

"Eagerness isn't the issue. It wouldn't matter if he waited years. As long as the Third and the other Advisors remain in power—as long as they haven't truly retired—any fundamental change regarding the Uchiha is an impossibility." Jiro blinked, stunned.

"But if that's the case, how is the village any different than it was before?"

"It's not," Megumi chimed in, setting a bowl of rice down.

"That's what everyone is saying. It's just a different man in the same old hat."

"That's wrong," Jiro muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"Something is broken. It wasn't supposed to be like this." Though Jiro was thirty, his understanding of politics was—like most shinobi—at a grade-school level. You cannot expect a man trained from birth to be a weapon to suddenly possess the soul of a statesman. Even Zhen, with the benefit of his past life's memories, only saw the board more clearly because he stood outside the game.

"Of course it's wrong," Zhen said, returning to his meal.

"The problem lies with the Third. If a man is going to abdicate, he should do it cleanly. But old men hate change. They believe the village only survives if it stays on the tracks they laid down. It's human nature—and it protects their interests. Give it a few years. Eventually, the Third will realize he has to make a choice."

"And if he never does?" Zhen offered no answer, focusing instead on his rice in the heavy silence that followed.