Two years.
It doesn't sound like much, but when I look back, everything has changed.
At ten years old and in my fifth year at the Academy, I've grown—not just in skill and understanding, but physically as well.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror of my room within the orphanage, I barely recognize the scrawny kid I used to be when I first arrived here. Six years. Gone
My face has lost most of its childhood roundness, leaving behind sharper angles, nothing too defined yet, but enough to make me look less like a little kid and more like a proper shinobi-in-training.
My hair is still the same deep black, though I keep it shorter now, cropped just above my eyebrows to keep it from getting in my eyes.
My skin that used to be smooth, has started showing the early signs of a shinobi's life, small scars on my knuckles, a faint scratch near my jaw from a sparring match that went wrong, and a roughness to my palm from constant training.
I'm taller than most kids my age, but not by much. Just enough that I don't look weak.
My build is lean, wiry muscle, not bulky, but defined from the weighted seals and relentless drills I put myself through.
And then there are my eyes. Dark. Nothing protagonist inducing.
Good.
As for other matters…
The days of struggling with the Clone Technique feel distant now. Not because I'm a prodigy, far from it, but because I trained harder and smarter.
"Oof."
The early morning chill greets me as I step outside, stretching the tension from my limbs.
The restriction of the weighted seals, a constant but familiar pressure on my muscles. They've grown stronger, denser, over the years, just like my chakra.
I let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the air before I head inside.
When I first started my business, my only real concern was securing a future where I didn't have to scrape by or risk my life just for some quick cash like some mercenary.
Well, that's what Shinobi are, but still…
As the ryō started coming in, I realized something: the orphanage needed help more than I did.
I mean, sure, I could've used the money to buy better training gear, nicer clothes, or even save up for some chakra-enhancing supplements, but every time I thought about it, I'd come back to the same frustrating conclusion.
I had it better than the others.
Not by much, but still.
I had my little business. I had a way to improve myself, to carve out a future beyond whatever scraps the village decided to throw my way. The other kids? Not so much.
And I hated it.
Not that I'd ever say that out loud.
It was annoying, infuriating even, seeing the younger ones with holes in their clothes, shivering in the colder months because the orphanage barely had enough blankets to go around.
Watching them try to stretch out meals that were already too small, acting like they weren't hungry so someone younger could eat more.
It pissed me off.
Like, what kind of shinobi village was this?
In a place where people could spit fire from their mouths and summon clones out of thin air, we still had kids going to bed hungry? Still had drafty rooms and broken floorboards that no one bothered to fix?
Ridiculous. Stupid. Infuriating.
I wasn't some kind of saint, but come on.
And yeah, I wasn't a genius businessman or some high-ranking shinobi with endless resources, but I could do something.
So I did.
I started small, extra blankets, better food, fixing up some of the worst parts of the orphanage. I made sure to be subtle about it, though. Can't have people thinking I'm some bleeding heart or anything. No way.
So whenever Hoshino-san asked where the new supplies came from, I just shrugged.
When the younger kids found thicker futons waiting for them at night, I just acted like I had no idea and looked on in excitement…my own kind of excitement.
I'm sure they picked up on that.
I mean, Two years ago, the roof leaked whenever it rained. The floors creaked, the bedding was threadbare, and food was stretched thin. Now?
The difference is night and day.
New tatami mats line the floors, the walls have been replaced and reinforced, and the entire building has been expanded to house more children.
A proper storage room now exists, kept organized with small-scale storage seals to maximize space.
And food? No more counting grains of rice. I made sure of that.
The money from my business has steadily funneled into the orphanage, though I never let my name be attached to it.
Instead, I made sure the funds went through Ishida-san, who took to the role of 'anonymous benefactor's representative' with an amused sort of professionalism.
Hina, of course, helped maintain the story that the seal master refused to reveal their identity.
The secrecy worked in my favor, not just for security reasons, but because it allowed me to operate without unnecessary attention.
I step into the kitchen, where Hoshino-san is already preparing breakfast.
"Early as always, Murakami," She greets without turning around.
"Habit," I reply, moving to help her.
Her eyes flick to me, taking in my growing frame. "You've been eating properly, at least. No scrawny limbs anymore."
"Muscles are useful," I shrug and joined her to quickly make the meals.
Yup. I still made the meals with Hoshino in the orphanage whenever I was around.
Strength, Chakra, and Growth
Two years of relentless training have reshaped me.
Physically, I'm stronger.
The weighted seals have paid off, and my body has adapted to the ever-increasing resistance. My speed, endurance, and reaction time have improved significantly, and I no longer feel sluggish when moving at full weight.
Taijutsu? Still not a specialist, but I've drilled enough basics to hold my own against most of my classmates. I lack raw talent, but I make up for it with speed and efficiency.
Chakra?
That's where the real growth is.
Two years ago, I barely had enough chakra to maintain a single Clone. Now, I can summon three without breaking a sweat. My control has improved drastically thanks to constant refining with water walking and chakra thread exercises.
It's not prodigious, but it's solid.
I've gotten a good handle on water walking. It was there all along but I failed to grasp it.
At first, water walking had been a frustrating mess. Tree climbing was one thing, solid, tangible, predictable. Water? Water was a traitorous bastard.
The first few times I tried, I sank immediately. The next few times, I overcompensated and got launched backward like some kind of idiot. It felt impossible to find the balance between too much and too little chakra.
Then, one night, while lying on my futon, mentally running through my failures, I remembered something. A quote from one of the greatest martial artists of my past life—Bruce Lee.
"Be like water, my friend."
My thoughts stirred, staring at the ceiling as the words rolled around in my head.
Water wasn't just some passive thing that got in my way. It moved. It adapted. It flowed around obstacles, changed form without losing its essence. It wasn't about fighting against it, it was about becoming part of it.
The next morning, I approached the training with a new mindset.
Instead of treating water like an enemy that needed to be conquered, I thought of it as an extension of myself. I didn't force my chakra onto it. I let it spread naturally, adjusting to the constant motion, bending without breaking.
And just like that, it clicked.
I stood on the surface, completely stable.
It was still a challenge, of course, prolonged practice was necessary to maintain my balance, but I had finally grasped the core concept.
Water wasn't an obstacle. It was a medium.
I just had to flow with it.
Moving on, if my training was slow and steady, my business was the opposite.
In two years, I've gone from selling a few storage seals to having a full-fledged operation.
The merchant networks expanded fast, word spreading about the mysterious seal master who delivered quality products discreetly. I've started supplying not just storage seals, but minor reinforcement seals for structural support, fire-proofing, and even waterproofing.
Shinobi clients, though fewer, were more lucrative. Some genin and chūnin found my weapon storage seals useful since they were compact, efficient, and tailored to personal preferences.
I kept prices competitive but never too cheap. Exclusivity was part of the appeal.
Of course, I never let anyone know I was the creator.
Hina handled most of the logistics, managing interactions with customers while Ishida-san acted as the professional middleman.
I remember that one time when we were setting the tables in the store, ishida said. "By the way, a few noble families have shown interest in security seals for their estates."
I pause. That's new and a little bit shocking.
"Nobles?"
He nods. "Word is spreading. They want enhanced door seals, perimeter alarms, and theft-proof vaults."
I lean back, considering the implications. Expanding into noble clientele means higher profits, but also higher risks. Nobles don't just buy, they investigate. If they trace the source of the seals back to me…
I exhale. "I'll think about it. For now, let's keep our current clientele stable."
Ishida-san nods, respecting my caution.
I haven't visited that topic since.
And despite the time spent on business and training, I never neglected the Academy. I couldn't afford to.
Graduation was next year, and while I wasn't at the top of my class, I wasn't scraping the bottom either.
The Clone Technique, once my biggest hurdle, was now second nature. My transformation was clean, and my Substitution was quick enough to use reactively.
I wasn't the best in any one subject, but I was consistent across the board.
Sparring was another story.
There were those born fighters, the ones with natural talent, clan training, and bloodline abilities. I wasn't one of them. But I had something they didn't.
Efficiency.
I didn't waste movements. I didn't throw wild punches or reckless kicks. I conserved energy, struck with purpose, swift and heavy, and adapted mid-fight.
Most of my classmates underestimated me because I lacked flashy techniques. That was fine. Let them. I couldn't be bothered.
Less attention meant fewer problems.
…
As breakfast finished and the orphanage slowly came to life, I stepped outside to start my daily routine.
Today was the first day of my 5th year and I wasn't about to miss the classes that will involve ninjutsus.