For most children passing through the Academy, receiving the Konoha headband was the beginning of a heroic tale. For Matsuri, it was the opening of an operational cost spreadsheet and legal permission to spill blood.
The first few months following his early graduation were marked by a routine of silent brutality. Without a team to split profits or a sensei to dictate his schedule, Matsuri became a ghost in the village's economy.
He took on D-Rank missions back-to-back—manual labor, structural repairs, urgent deliveries—accumulating the basic payouts. But the true funding for his independence came from C-Rank missions. Assigned as support force for incomplete squads on merchant escorts, Matsuri frequently clashed with low-level bandits and mercenaries on the dirt roads of the Land of Fire.
The ten-year-old boy did not hesitate. While other genins froze in the face of death, the Silent Blade operated. After the skirmishes, with the pragmatism of a vulture, Matsuri searched the bodies. He collected well-forged steel kunais, sealing scrolls, ninja wire, and pouches of ryos. Everything was legally classified as "battle spoils." What he didn't use in his own arsenal, he sold on the black market or to independent merchants on the outskirts of the village.
Coupled with his salary from the night shifts at the Konoha Hospital, his bank account grew exponentially. He lived on the absolute minimum, feeding on cheap rations and hoarding every copper coin. The goal was clearly drawn in his mind: real estate independence. He needed to buy a house far from the center, a refuge with high walls where he could hide his training and his arsenal from the prying eyes of the ANBU and the clans.
At the hospital, the hands that looted corpses in the forests transformed into instruments of absolute precision.
The insane demands Matsuri placed on his own body reflected directly on his chakra control. The Shōsen Jutsu (Mystic Palm), which had once been merely a theory earned through academic merit, was now an extension of his will. He didn't just stanch hemorrhages; he could reconnect muscle fibers and neutralize toxins with a surgical coldness that frightened the older medics. The dichotomy of his existence was clear: he was learning to save lives only to understand more deeply how to take them.
But Matsuri's true advancement didn't happen in the white corridors of the hospital or on dusty roads. It happened deep in the forest, where a violent river cut through the rocks.
Any reasonable genin mastered tree climbing and water walking. That, however, was the barest of basics; it was just standing up. Matsuri decided he needed to master chaos.
In the center of the turbulent river, the water foamed and spun. Matsuri wasn't just standing on the surface; he was running, jumping, and fighting against the current itself.
Vividly recalling the terrifying physicality of battles he had seen in his past life—like the titanic aquatic clash between the Nine-Tailed Fox and Pain, where water served as ground, wall, and weapon—Matsuri pushed his body to the limit of physics.
With the wooden sword in one hand and three kunais in the other, he executed the Interception Katas at high speed over the river. His feet had to readjust the chakra flow every millisecond to compensate for the undulation, the density, and the crashing of the waves.
He exploded in a Micro-Shunshin, the water sinking slightly beneath his sole before launching him forward like a torpedo. In mid-air, he threw the kunais at targets carved into the trees on the bank, drew a shuriken from his holster with his free hand, and landed on the water sliding sideways, his sword cutting the base of an imaginary waterfall.
Taijutsu, Kenjutsu, Shurikenjutsu, and Bukijutsu. Everything flowed as a single continuous entity. He was merging the rigid teachings of the Academy with the ghostly fluidity he had observed in Shisui and the pragmatic efficiency of his test with Kakashi.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. His chakra flickered. His left foot sank into the freezing water up to his knee, breaking his stance. Matsuri cursed, spinning his body so as not to be swallowed by the current, and leaped back to the bank, panting, his lungs burning and his leg muscles trembling with exhaustion.
He collapsed onto the wet grass, closing his eyes.
Physical exhaustion, however, was only the beginning of his routine. With his body resting, his mind took over.
Sitting in a lotus position, Matsuri entered what he called "Tactical Meditation"—a virtual combat mind palace.
His twenty-nine-year-old mind carried a trump card that no other Konoha prodigy possessed: absolute knowledge of the future. He didn't need to imagine generic opponents. He built perfect ghosts.
With his eyes closed, the darkness of his mind gave way to a virtual arena. Before him, a holographic simulation of Kakashi Hatake materialized, exactly as he was on the day of the test. Next, the silhouette of Zabuza Momochi wielding the Executioner's Blade (Zanbatō), molded from his anime memories. And, more terrifyingly, silhouettes draped in black cloaks with red clouds.
Matsuri "fought" against these projections. He simulated every possible scenario.
If Zabuza attacks horizontally, the water will create resistance. If I use the Micro-Shunshin here, the reach of the Zanbatō still cuts me in half.
In the simulation, Matsuri died. The ghost's giant blade cleaved him in two.
He restarted the simulation.
New attempt. Henge on the sword to create false distance, followed by a tactical Kawarimi.
He died again. And again. Thousands of times inside his own skull. He refined his katas, calibrated the distance of his evasion, calculated the exact millisecond to activate a distraction. He used his memories of the original work to predict the speed, habits, and lethal jutsus of monsters who didn't even know he existed yet.
When Matsuri opened his eyes hours later, the sun was already setting, painting the river orange and red. His body was broken, but his mind was as sharp as a freshly whetted razor on a stone.
He gathered his weapons, feeling the weight of the coins in his pouch and the passive flow of chakra in his veins. The foundation was ready. It was time to collect the next phase of the plan from Kakashi.
[Author's Note]
Hello everyone, I hope you are enjoying Matsuri's journey! Writing and planning each chapter takes a lot of time, dedication, and effort (even more so dealing with hand pain from the keyboard!). If you like my work, believe in the potential of this story, and want to encourage me to keep posting frequently, please consider supporting me with any amount. Every bit of help makes a huge difference and motivates me a lot!
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