Chapter: 8
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the high windows of the Konoha library, casting long golden rays across the rows of dusty shelves. It was quiet—peaceful in a way that made it seem like the outside world didn't exist. Here, time felt slower, like it bowed its head in reverence to the countless scrolls and tomes stored inside.
Yuri sat at a secluded table, a thick medical textbook spread open in front of him. The pages were lined with anatomical diagrams, chakra pathways, and carefully scripted instructions for emergency battlefield treatment. He had already read through the first two sections of the book and was now carefully rereading a page detailing the placement of tenketsu points near the heart.
His fingers traced the chakra pathways as he visualized how healing chakra would flow. "So if I focus chakra to this point with slow, pulsing frequency, it stabilizes heart rhythm…" he muttered to himself.
To most kids his age, this would be boring beyond comprehension. But Yuri wasn't like most kids. The calm silence of the library gave him space to think. He had always been this way, even in his past life—drawn to knowledge, driven by curiosity, and possessed by an almost insatiable need to understand. Especially now, in a world where power meant survival, knowledge was no less than a blade.
The truth was, Yuri got bored easily. He was far ahead in the academy curriculum, both academically and physically. There were only so many hours in the day to train, and reading helped keep his mind sharp. Books had always been his second training ground.
He turned the page, engrossed, when a faint sensation prickled his skin. Presence.
He blinked. Someone was nearby. And he hadn't sensed them coming. He straightened slightly and turned his head, only to see the familiar stooped figure of the library's caretaker: Yamada Keuchi.
The old man was dressed in the standard brown vest of a retired shinobi, with a gray scarf slung over his neck. His eyes, though aged, carried a subtle sharpness beneath drooping lids.
"I didn't expect to see you here reading books at this hour, Yuri," Yamada said with a soft chuckle. There was a smile on his face—friendly, but with a touch of mischief.
Yuri returned the expression, matching the tone perfectly. "I could say the same to you, Yamada-san. Just wanted to dig into medical theory. Figured it might be useful one day."
Yamada grunted as he leaned against the bookshelf. "Still obsessed with learning, huh? That's good. Most kids your age are either chasing girls or showing off. You're different."
Yuri tilted his head. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"
Yamada laughed. "Bit of both."
The two stood in comfortable silence for a moment. Yuri looked back down at his book, but before he could resume reading, Yamada spoke again.
"Wait here," he said, and turned toward the back room of the library.
Yuri blinked. "Huh?"
But the old man was already shuffling away.
Minutes passed.
Yuri closed the book and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. He was curious. Yamada wasn't the type to do anything without reason. Despite his laid-back demeanor, Yuri could tell he was a man who had seen and done many things in the past.
When Yamada returned, he was holding a small wooden box, worn and weathered, the lid tied with a simple strip of cloth. He handed it over without ceremony.
Yuri raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Open it."
Yuri did, carefully loosening the cloth and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in black cloth, were rows of slender, polished metal needles—Senbon. Dozens of them.
Yuri's eyes widened.
Yamada nodded. "Those were mine. Used them back when I was in ANBU. My favorite weapon, actually."
"You were ANBU?" Yuri asked, surprised.
"Long ago," Yamada replied. "Before the war ended. I was good with my hands. Quiet. Precise. Senbon suited me."
Yuri picked one up, rolling it between his fingers. It was light, balanced, and sharp.
"Why are you giving these to me?" he asked, glancing up.
"Because you're the only brat I've seen in years who reads medical texts and training scrolls like they're storybooks," Yamada said. "And because you've got a mind for detail. Precision. You're not just strong, Yuri. You're thoughtful. Calculating. These tools belong in the hands of someone like that."
Yuri bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
"And one more thing," Yamada added. "How'd you like to learn some basic healing techniques?"
Yuri's head shot up. "You'd teach me?"
"I'm retired. Got time. And it's a waste letting this knowledge die with me. Besides, I'm curious what you'll do with it."
From that day on, Yuri's afternoons changed.
After class, he would head to the library and meet Yamada in the back room—converted into a quiet training space. There, they would go over basic chakra application: how to focus chakra into one's hands, how to control its intensity, how to feel the energy flowing through the body of another.
Yamada was a patient teacher, but also a strict one. He made Yuri repeat even the simplest exercises dozens of times until his chakra control was exact. "In medicine," he would say, "a millimeter mistake can kill a person."
Yuri absorbed everything. He practiced on vegetables, then on small cuts, then eventually on wounded animals brought in by villagers. His progress was fast, thanks to his prior chakra control training.
He would train late into the evening, sometimes missing dinner at home. Naruto didn't mind—he'd always save Yuri a bowl of ramen or fish stew. And Yuri would ruffle his hair and thank him, before returning to his room to journal everything he learned.
He kept a notebook now. Pages filled with diagrams, chakra pathways, and personal theories about internal injury treatment. It was messy, chaotic even—but it was his. A growing collection of everything he was building toward.
He began integrating senbon practice into his shuriken drills with Itachi. He didn't tell his friend where the needles came from, but Itachi noticed his form improving.
"You've changed," Itachi said one evening.
"Have I?"
"You've always been serious."
Yuri just smiled. "I have a lot to prepare for."
And he did.
He knew what kind of world this was. A world where kindness could get you killed. A world where strength wasn't just respected—it was necessary.
But strength without knowledge? Power without perfection? That was just a blade without a handle.
So he trained. He read. He learned. And in that quiet corner of the library, under the guidance of an old shinobi long forgotten by time, Yuri Shinto continued carving the shape of his own path.
Chapter End.