The new decree had shaken Konoha to its core—especially among the civilian shinobi.
Only they truly understood the weight of what this change meant. For years, resources had been out of reach for them. Children from shinobi clans received structured training and education within their families from an early age.
By the time they entered the Academy, they were already far ahead—having refined chakra since childhood, studied the basics of Ninjutsu, and even undergone special conditioning, like medicinal baths that enhanced their physical potential.
In contrast, children from civilian families only began learning chakra refinement after enrolling in the Academy.
Clan-born children typically started training as early as four years old. With skilled shinobi parents guiding them and genetics on their side, their natural aptitude was often superior. The likelihood of producing powerful shinobi was simply higher among the clans.
That was the invisible wall separating the privileged from the rest.
Now, standing before the newly posted decree, one such ordinary shinobi couldn't hold back tears.
His name was Morishita Haruki, a Chūnin of no special lineage—just another soldier among many. But in this moment, his heart burned with something long forgotten: hope.
"Haha! Finally! The day for us civilian shinobi to rise has come!" he cried out, fists clenched.
"Thank you, Lady Tsunade!"
He wasn't alone. Around the village, similar voices echoed—cheers, laughter, even sobs.
"Ah… what a pity," muttered another shinobi in his thirties, wearing the standard Konoha flak jacket.
"If Yukimura had lived to see this…"
Two companions stood beside him, fellow Chūnin who had gathered around the bulletin board.
"Yeah," one said with a sigh.
"Back then, Yukimura was sent on a B-rank mission. He wanted to apply for a new Ninjutsu—it would've boosted his survival odds—but the request was denied. The approval process was so strict back then."
The man's expression dimmed, grief flickering in his eyes.
"If only he'd gotten that Ninjutsu," he murmured. "He would've made it back alive."
"Meanwhile, clan shinobi get access to Jutsu without even trying…" one of them began bitterly.
"Watch your words, Suzuki!" the older shinobi warned, his tone sharp.
Suzuki grimaced but said nothing further.
"Let's not dwell on the past," said the eldest of the group—Aokikawa, another Chūnin. His voice carried the weight of years.
"What matters now is that Lady Tsunade's reform gives us civilians a real chance. For the first time, we can stand on equal ground."
Aokikawa wasn't being dramatic—he was being honest. He knew his own limits.
He had once been among the top of his class—never a prodigy, but diligent, capable, and proud. Yet life had slowly worn him down. Years of missions, near-deaths, and silent sacrifices had dulled the fire of his youth.
After graduating, he'd been assigned to a modest three-man squad led by a Chūnin instructor—nothing like the legendary teachers who guided the Konoha Twelve. His sensei had taught him only two Ninjutsu before running out of things to pass on.
The rest was experience: how to set traps, move silently, detect ambushes, climb trees, walk on water, fight hand-to-hand.
Everything else—every technique beyond the basics—Aokikawa had earned through blood, grit, and accumulated battle merits.
The Chūnin Exams, for him, had been an uphill climb.
Unlike clan shinobi, who breezed through with backing and reputation, civilians like him faced scrutiny at every step—background checks, recommendation letters, and mission evaluations. Many with family names were promoted swiftly.
Sometimes, a single additional Jutsu learned could make the difference between promotion and stagnation.
But for the average civilian, even acquiring one new Jutsu required navigating endless bureaucracy—or worse, waiting until those with connections had their fill.
Years passed that way. The gifted few from civilian backgrounds either perished young or were eventually noticed by the higher-ups and groomed further. The rest… faded into anonymity.
Chūnin who could never rise higher. Jōnin who were never recognized.
Countless shinobi spent their lives mastering low-rank Ninjutsu, surviving on experience and instinct alone, until the spark of ambition that once defined them dimmed completely.
They became the silent backbone of the village—necessary, invisible, and forgotten.
And now, with one decree, everything had changed.
For the first time, civilians could see a system that acknowledged their effort. Points earned from missions could be exchanged for techniques. Promotions would depend not on family name, but measurable merit.
It was more than reform—it was revolution.
Haruki wiped his tears, grinning fiercely at the announcement. "This time," he said, "we won't be left behind."
Aokikawa smiled faintly, the corners of his lips trembling. It had been years since he'd seen that kind of fire in anyone's eyes.
"Yeah," he murmured, almost to himself. "This time… we all move forward."
"Suzuki, I heard your son graduated too. I hear his talent is quite good. He surely won't end up like us, right? Work hard—use your merit points to get him a few Ninjutsu. He should at least make it to jōnin!"
Aokikawa patted Suzuki's shoulder with a grin.
At that, the man named Suzuki smiled proudly. "Yes, Ono just graduated. His talent's even better than ours back in the day. With enough resources, becoming a jōnin shouldn't be a problem!"
A jōnin in the village was a respected figure—someone who stood above ninety percent of shinobi.
"Hahaha! Suzuki, you'll have to buy us a drink this time!" Aokikawa laughed heartily.
"Brother Kawa, don't tease me. Isn't your kid still in the Academy? Fifth grade now, right? He'll be learning Ninjutsu soon enough. You'll be the one treating us then!"
"Hahaha! Fine, fine! I'm in a good mood today—let's all go have a drink!"
The three shinobi laughed and made their way to the tavern, their laughter echoing down the street.
Scenes like this could be seen all over Konoha that day…
Ino–Shika–Chō Headquarters
Shikaku Nara and the others were once again gathered around a low table, a freshly issued policy document spread open before them. Even the ever-calm strategist of Konoha let out a sigh as he finished reading.
"Shikaku, will the new decree affect us?" asked Inoichi Yamanaka carefully. His tone was calm, but his question carried weight—what he really wanted to know was how they should respond.
Shikaku glanced at him, then replied, "Of course it'll affect us. These policies will definitely lower the prestige of clan shinobi like us. But do you really think our generations of accumulated influence can be overtaken so easily by civilian shinobi?"
He leaned back, folding his arms. "Tsunade's move is clever. She's won over the hearts of the people in one stroke—and once you have that, controlling Konoha naturally follows. This just proves we didn't bet on the wrong side."
He tapped the table lightly. "The shinobi world's bound to enter a turbulent era. It's only wise to prepare early. These reforms, if successful, will strengthen Konoha's foundations. After a few major conflicts, our village might not decline at all—it might even grow stronger."
Inoichi let out a low whistle. "As expected of Lady Tsunade. To turn the tide with a single stroke… truly worthy of being the granddaughter of the First and Second Hokage."
Shikaku gave him a sidelong look, then calmly lifted his teacup. After a quiet sip, he said, "When did I ever say these were Tsunade's ideas?"
Inoichi blinked. "Oh? You mean…?"
Shikaku blew across the rim of his cup, a thin wisp of steam curling upward. He set it down and said evenly, "These strategies are too refined. Tsunade's capable, but her approach tends to be more direct. This… feels like someone else's work. My guess? Either Naruto came up with it—or someone advising him did."
Inoichi's eyes widened slightly. Though he had suspected as much, hearing Shikaku say it aloud still surprised him.
That young man—barely the same age as his daughter—had already shown immense power. But this level of political insight… that was something else entirely.
"Shikaku… do you really think Uzumaki Naruto could have such depth? Your evaluation of him seems a bit too high."
Shikaku gave a faint, knowing smile. "We'll see soon enough."
...
TN:
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