There were still 1,236 points left in Hyūga Akira's experience pool.
For now, he wasn't in a rush to level up. One level now required 5,000 EXP, and that was no small amount. At minimum, he'd have to kill four chūnin to scrape that together—and opportunities like that didn't exactly grow on trees.
Compared to levels, skill upgrades gave far more tangible returns.
He mainly relied on two skills in combat:
Fire Release: Ignition (Fudōbi / 不知火)Bear Extermination Hand (熊博手)
Whether it was throwing shuriken or close-quarters combat, these two were core to his fighting style.
After some thought, he chose Bear Extermination Hand.
Ignition only added fire-element damage. The real foundation of his offense was still raw power—and Bear Extermination Hand amplified that far more directly.
[Bear Extermination Hand (Lv.4)]
EXP: 0 / 800
Traits: None
→ Upgraded
[Bear Extermination Hand (Lv.5)]
EXP: 0 / 1600
Traits: None
At level 5, the technique now granted the strength of five bears.
He tested it briefly. Chakra consumption increased by about one-third—but the boost in power was obvious.
Remaining EXP: 436.
With that little left, he could only upgrade Clone Technique or Two-Tiger Style: Fire Heaven Form, neither of which offered great value right now. He decided to leave them for later and maybe use Brain Enzyme to push them instead.
"Right now… among chūnin, I'm probably not weak anymore."
Akira clenched his fist.
All of this strength came from skills. In terms of raw level, he was still just a genin.
And reality wasn't a game.
In the real world, a single kunai—if used right—could kill someone. With the right opening, even a jōnin could fall.
But in-game? Different story entirely.
Enemies had HP bars. As long as the HP wasn't emptied, you could rip their head off and they'd still regenerate like nothing happened. The system existed for one purpose: to make killing as annoying as possible.
By the system's standards:
Lv.10–20 → GeninLv.21–30 → ChūninLv.31–40 → Special JōninLv.41–50 → JōninLv.51–60 → Elite Jōnin
In-game, those levels came with stats, HP, and modifiers.
In reality, those numbers meant far less.
For example, the gap between chūnin and special jōnin wasn't necessarily large. Special jōnin were simply shinobi who excelled in one area—still weaker overall than true jōnin.
Akira could already kill chūnin. Theoretically, he could also kill a special jōnin.
But true jōnin were different—balanced monsters with ninjutsu, taijutsu, and genjutsu all at high levels.
Right now, he wasn't there yet.
"If this mission goes well, and I finish farming the exorcist skills… going back and testing for chūnin should be easy."
"Hell, even jōnin might not be impossible."
Plenty of people in canon became jōnin without truly matching the standard.
Take a certain silver-haired fifty-fifty ninja.
Twelve-year-old Kakashi technically met the requirements in all three disciplines—but his combat experience was nowhere near enough. What Konoha had been thinking with that promotion was still a mystery.
By that logic, Akira figured he could aim high too.
The next day.
"What?! You want me to ambush Konoha shinobi?!"
Akira's voice cracked.
He stared at Murakami Hana in disbelief.
Just yesterday, he'd been thinking about going back to Konoha and climbing the ranks.
Today, he was being told to kill Konoha ninja for fun.
What kind of sick joke was this?!
"You have a problem with that?" Murakami asked, his foxlike smile returning.
Clearly, he'd adjusted his mindset overnight.
"Can we even win?" Akira asked cautiously.
Killing Konoha ninja wasn't just dangerous—it was political suicide.
If this ever came to light, forget becoming jōnin. He'd be lucky not to rot in prison.
Konoha liked to pretend it was fair and just, but behind the scenes? There were plenty of dirty games.
Murakami rubbed his chin.
"According to our intel, Konoha deployed one jōnin and three chūnin."
Akira looked at him skeptically.
It wasn't that he looked down on Murakami—but Konoha jōnin were on a completely different level.
Murakami noticed the doubt. His smile stiffened.
"I'm very strong, you know. Even against Konoha shin—"
His voice trailed off.
So you're not confident either, are you?!
"For Lord Hanzō!!"
"Don't change the subject like that!! Hey!!"
Their own team leader lacked confidence—and they were supposed to ambush a Konoha squad?
This wasn't an ambush.
This was a suicide mission.
"In any case, failure is not an option," Murakami concluded.
Akira slapped a hand to his face.
This was bad. Really bad.
Worst case… he could cancel his transformation and defect back to the Konoha side mid-mission.
It wasn't impossible.
"…How many people are going?" Akira asked.
Surely they weren't sending just the two of them.
Murakami led him out to the central plaza.
Two more shinobi were already waiting.
And they looked familiar.
Aren't those my neighbors?!
"Chūnin Yuki," Murakami said.
"Chūnin Yuka."
Yuki was a tall young man with blue bangs covering one eye, giving him a vaguely mysterious look.
Yuka, on the other hand, looked gentle and refined—pretty features, graceful figure, flaxen hair draped over her shoulders.
"Hi, I'm Kiuame," Akira said, stepping forward and offering a handshake.
He completely ignored Yuki.
Yuka covered her mouth and laughed softly, placing her hand in his.
"…Another lecher," Yuki snorted.
Shing—
A bronze blade appeared out of nowhere.
Yuki barely managed to block with a kunai—but the force sent him skidding back over ten steps before he stabilized.
Akira didn't even look at him.
Instead, he smiled warmly at Yuka.
"If we get the chance, we should talk about life sometime."
Why bother with a brute when there was a pretty lady right there?
Yuka giggled.
"Little brother, come back and say that once you're older."
Akira's smile stiffened.
She looked twenty-something.
His disguise made him look fifteen or sixteen.
This identity was useless.
Completely ignoring the fact that his real body was twelve.
"Enough," Murakami said cheerfully. "Now's not the time for infighting."
His eyes lingered on Akira.
He's even stronger than last time.
Murakami was certain of it—the moment Akira struck, he'd felt the difference.
"Let's move out," Murakami said.
And just like that—
The mission began.
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