If life was a project, then the period between ages five and six was the "Development Phase."
Nanami Kento sat in the center of his bedroom floor, legs crossed in a full lotus position. The room was dark, save for a single candle flickering on his desk. It was 4:00 AM. The rest of Konoha was asleep, dreaming of peace or war, but Nanami was awake.
He was looking for the on-switch.
According to the memories of his previous life—specifically the anime he had watched with a beer in one hand and a cynical expression on his face—Chakra was the fusion of Physical Energy and Spiritual Energy. It was the currency of this world. Without it, he was just a child with a baker's apron. With it, he was a potential weapon.
Physical energy comes from the cells, Nanami recited internally, his breathing slow and rhythmic. Spiritual energy comes from the mind and experience.
He had plenty of spiritual energy. His soul was older than his body; it carried the weight of a thirty-year corporate career, a lifetime of disappointment, and a meeting with a drunken pirate god. His spirit was dense. It was heavy.
The problem was the body.
His physical vessel was still growing. It was soft. It craved sugar and naps. Trying to mold chakra felt like trying to start a jet engine with a AA battery.
Focus, he commanded himself. Find the heat in the stomach. The coil.
He pushed his mind inward. For weeks, he had been doing this. Sitting in the dark. Breathing. Waiting. It was boring. It was tedious. It was exactly the kind of repetitive, unglamorous work he excelled at.
And then, he felt it.
It wasn't a roar of power like in the shows. It wasn't a golden aura exploding outward. It was a subtle click. A warmth, like swallowing a mouthful of hot tea, bloomed in his solar plexus.
Nanami held his breath. He mentally grabbed that warmth and pulled.
It moved. It flowed through a pathway he didn't know he had, rushing from his stomach to his lungs, then out to his limbs. It felt electric and sluggish at the same time, like warm syrup moving through his veins.
Chakra unlocked, Nanami noted, opening his eyes. The candle flame flickered, reacting to the sudden release of pressure in the room.
He looked at his hands. They looked the same—small, uncalloused, fragile. But underneath the skin, he could feel the hum. The engine was running.
Step one complete, he thought, extinguishing the candle with a pinch of his fingers. Now, to build the chassis.
The Netero Template was a strange archive. It wasn't just a stat boost; it was a comprehensive library of Isaac Netero's entire existence. Every punch, every prayer, every moment of enlightenment the Chairman had ever experienced was stored within Nanami's mind.
However, the library was restricted.
It wasn't a sudden download that would fry his toddler brain; it was a slow drip-feed. The memories were locked behind a biological paywall. As his body grew strong enough to handle the strain, new files unlocked.
Currently, he only has access to the basics: the stance, the breathing, and the foundational gratitude. The 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva and the Zero Hand were in there somewhere, buried deep, waiting for him to reach the necessary level cap.
He knew the path. He just had to walk it.
Nanami stood in the backyard of the bakery. The sun was just beginning to crest over the Hokage Rock, painting the stone faces in shades of orange and gold. The air was crisp, smelling of dew and the yeast rising in his father's kitchen.
He assumed the stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Spine straight, as if suspended by a string from the heavens.
"One," he whispered.
He thrust his right fist forward.
It was a clumsy imitation. His child's body lacked the snap, the speed, the devastating power of the Chairman. It was just a boy punching the air.
But Nanami didn't stop. He pulled the arm back.
"Two."
He punched again.
"Three."
In his mind, the unlocked memories guided him. He saw the image of Isaac Netero in the snowy mountains. He felt the phantom sensation of cold air on skin that wasn't his. He saw the madness of it. The devotion.
Nanami wasn't devoted to martial arts. He didn't care about being the strongest for the sake of strength. He was devoted to survival. He was devoted to the idea that if he sweated enough now, he wouldn't bleed as much later.
"Fifty... Fifty-one..."
His shoulders began to burn. Lactic acid built up in his deltoids. His form started to slip.
Correct it, his mind snapped, a flash of Netero's discipline correcting his posture. Elbow in. Rotate the hip.
He forced his tired muscles to obey.
"One hundred."
He paused, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his nose onto the grass. One hundred punches. Netero did ten thousand. Nanami was currently operating at 1% capacity.
Acceptable, he decided, shaking out his arms. I am six. If I destroy my rotator cuffs before the Academy, it will be a poor return on investment. Tomorrow, one hundred and ten.
He didn't just punch. He prayed.
Not to a god—he'd met one, and the guy was an alcoholic pirate, so Nanami had little faith in divinity—but to the act itself. He focused on the sensation of movement. The gratitude that he could move. The gratitude that he was alive.
It was a strange mental state for a six-year-old. It was meditative. It was... Zen.
As the months passed, the "Prayer" became part of him. He would punch before breakfast. He would punch before lunch. He would punch before bed. The movements became sharper. The "snap" of his uniform sleeve became louder.
His mother, Haruka, would watch him from the kitchen window while kneading dough.
"He's very... dedicated," she told his father one morning. "He's been punching that same spot of air for an hour, dear. He looks so serious. Like he's angry at the wind."
His father laughed, dusting flour off his hands. "He's a boy, Haruka! They have energy to burn. Better he punches the air than the customers. Besides, look at his form! He stands like a little statue. Maybe he'll be a Taijutsu specialist."
Nanami heard them, but he didn't break focus.
Nine hundred and ninety-eight.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine.
One thousand.
He lowered his hands, bowed to the empty backyard, and went inside to wash his hands. Hygiene was also part of the discipline.
Once the physical foundation was laid, Nanami moved to Phase Three: Efficiency Control.
This was where things got complicated.
Nanami had assumed he would have a standard civilian chakra pool. Maybe slightly above average due to his adult soul. But as he began to meditate and draw out the energy, he realized he had made a severe miscalculation.
His chakra wasn't a pool. It was a lake. And it was getting deeper every day.
The combination of a potent reincarnated soul and the residual cosmic energy from his "trip" had resulted in a chakra volume equal to that of the Senju or Uzumaki clans. He had the fuel of a Ferrari in the chassis of a tricycle.
This sounded like a good thing on paper. In practice, it was a logistical nightmare. Trying to control this much energy with a six-year-old's focus was like trying to drink from a fire hose without spilling a drop.
He sat at the kitchen table, a single green leaf from the oak tree outside plastered to the center of his forehead.
"Kento, do you want some soup?" his mother asked, placing a bowl in front of him.
"Yes, please," Nanami said, not moving his head. The leaf vibrated slightly, threatening to fly off across the room if he lost focus for even a second.
"Are you... going to take that leaf off?"
"No," Nanami replied, picking up his spoon. "It is training."
"Training for what?"
"Adhesion," he murmured, taking a sip of miso soup. "If I can keep this leaf stuck to my forehead using only spiritual energy while eating, I will minimize wasted resources."
Haruka smiled, shaking her head. "You're a strange one, Kento. Just don't let it fall in the soup."
Nanami took that as a challenge. He ate his soup. He read the newspaper. He even helped wash the dishes. The leaf remained stuck to his forehead, held there by a turbulent ocean of chakra that he was desperately trying to keep calm.
He felt the chakra constantly flowing to his forehead. It wanted to burst out. It wanted to blow the leaf to smithereens. Holding it back required immense mental fortitude.
This is multitasking, Nanami analyzed, sweating slightly. It's like answering emails while on a conference call while the building is on fire. I was born for this.
Weeks turned into months. One leaf became two. Then three. Eventually, he was walking around the house with leaves stuck to his elbows, knees, and forehead, looking like a poorly disguised bush spirit.
It was time to escalate.
The tree in the backyard was an old oak, its bark rough and gnarled. It stood about thirty feet tall.
Nanami stood at the base, looking up.
Tree walking, he thought. The standard test for Team 7. If they could do it in a week, I should be able to do it in three days.
He channeled chakra to the soles of his feet. He visualized the energy as invisible hooks, latching onto the bark.
He stepped forward. His right foot stuck to the vertical trunk. Solid.
He stepped up with his left. Also solid.
Easy, he thought, arrogance flashing for a microsecond.
He took a third step. He poured too much chakra—a common hazard with his massive reserves. The bark exploded under his foot as if he'd planted a small explosive tag. Splinters flew. His grip failed.
Gravity, the ultimate auditor, claimed its due.
Nanami fell backward, landing hard on his butt in the grass.
"Oof."
He stared up at the tree. Too much output. I pushed the tree away instead of gripping it. Delicate. It needs to be delicate.
He got up. Brushed the dirt off his black shorts. Tried again.
Step. Step. Step. Crunch. Fall.
Step. Step. Step. Slip. Fall.
It went on for hours. By the afternoon, his back was bruised, his ego was bruised, and he was covered in bark dust. But he was getting higher. Five steps. Ten steps.
By the third day, Nanami was standing horizontally on a branch twenty feet in the air, reading a book on basic history.
His father walked into the yard to hang up some laundry. He paused, looking up. He saw his six-year-old son standing perpendicular to the trunk of the oak tree, casually turning a page.
"Kento?"
Nanami looked down (or rather, sideways). "Good afternoon, Tou-san."
"How... how are you doing that?" His father's eyes were wide, a mix of shock and undeniable pride.
"Chakra," Nanami said simply.
His father laughed, a booming sound that shook the leaves. "That's my boy! Look at you! You're a natural ninja! Wait until I tell the customers. 'My son can walk up trees!' They won't believe it!"
Nanami allowed a small, rare smile to grace his face. It wasn't efficiency. It wasn't training. It was just... nice. To make his dad proud.
"Don't tell them yet," Nanami advised. "I still need to master the descent. Coming down is significantly harder than going up."
If Tree Walking was difficult, Water Walking was a nightmare.
Water was fluid. It shifted. It didn't push back like wood. It required a constant, dynamic adjustment of the chakra. If you pushed too hard, you fell in. If you didn't push enough, you sank. And when you had enough chakra to drown a village, 'pushing too hard' was the default setting.
Nanami didn't have a river nearby. He didn't want to go to the public training grounds and splash around like an idiot in front of Uchiha elites.
So, he improvised.
The bathroom of the Nanami household was modest. It had a deep, square wooden tub that was filled with hot water every evening.
It was 9:00 PM. His parents were downstairs talking with eachother.
Nanami stood in the bathroom. He was stripped down to his white underwear. The tub was full, the water steaming gently.
This is it, he thought grimly, staring at the water's surface. The final frontier of basic control.
He took a deep breath. Channel the chakra. Constant flow. Match the frequency of the water. Do not act like a Tailed Beast.
He stepped onto the water.
For a second, a glorious second, he stood there. He hovered on the surface of the hot water, feeling like a messiah in tighty-whities.
I am doing it. I am—
The water shifted slightly due to his weight. He overcorrected. A surge of potent chakra blasted from his foot.
SPLASH.
It wasn't a gentle fall. The water erupted as if a cannonball had hit it, splashing halfway up the walls and soaking the ceiling. Nanami plunged into the hot water, displacing whatever was left onto the tiled floor.
"Damn it," he muttered, wiping his eyes and spitting out bathwater.
He climbed out, dripping wet. The floor was now a slipping hazard. He grabbed a towel, mopped it up, and refilled the tub.
Attempt number two.
He stepped on. He wobbled. His knees shook as he tried to stabilize the turbulent ocean of energy under his feet. He looked like he was surfing on an invisible board during a hurricane.
Steady... Steady...
The door slid open.
"Kento, did you forget your—"
Haruka froze.
She saw her son, in his underwear, standing on top of the bathwater, trembling violently, his arms wide open for balance, surrounded by a damp room that looked like a typhoon had just passed through.
Nanami froze. He looked at his mother. She looked at him.
Slowly, with great dignity, Nanami sank. He didn't fall. He just stopped channeling chakra and let himself slide beneath the surface until only his eyes and nose were visible, like a crocodile.
Haruka blinked. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Then she giggled. Then she laughed.
"Oh, Kento," she said, shaking her head as she placed a fresh towel on the rack. "You work so hard. Even in the bath?"
Nanami blew a bubble in the water. Please leave, Mother. This is a critical training environment.
"Make sure you dry the floor when you're done," she said, her voice warm with affection. "And don't stay in too long, you'll turn into a prune."
She closed the door.
Nanami resurfaced, gasping for air. His face was burning, and not just from the steam.
Humiliation is a powerful motivator, he told himself, climbing back onto the rim of the tub. I will master this tonight. I will stand on this water for ten minutes, or I will not sleep.
He stepped back onto the water. He wobbled, he slipped, but he didn't fall.
By midnight, the bathroom was a sauna, the floor was soaked, but Nanami Kento was standing in the center of the tub, perfectly still. The water beneath his feet rippled gently, the massive power under his soles finally tamed into a calm surface.
He had conquered the tub.
The year ended not with a bang, but with a checklist.
Nanami sat at his desk, reviewing his progress.
Physical Conditioning:
Push-ups: 200 reps (continuous).
Run: 5km (pace: moderate).
Netero's Prayer Punch: 500 reps daily. Form is improving. Speed is increasing.
Chakra Control:
Leaf Concentration: Mastered. Can hold for 2 hours while reading.
Tree Walking: Mastered. Vertical and inverted traversal.
Water Walking: Functional. Can sprint on water. Standing still requires active focus due to high chakra volume.
Fuinjutsu (Sealing):
Theory: Intermediate. Memorized the 12 basic seals of the Uzumaki primer (found in the public library).
Practice: Poor. Calligraphy is legible but lacks spiritual infusion. Ink is expensive. Need to secure funding.
Nanami put down his pen. He looked at his hands. They were a little rougher now. There were small callouses on his knuckles from the punches. His legs felt firmer, coiled with new muscle.
He wasn't strong compared to a Jonin. He would probably still lose to a specialized Genin. But for a civilian-born six-year-old? He was ahead of the curve.
He was ready.
"Kento!" his father shouted from downstairs. "Breakfast! You don't want to be late!"
Nanami stood up. He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a new set of clothes. Not the black of mourning, but the blue and grey of the Academy uniform.
He dressed efficiently. Shirt tucked in. Collar straightened. Ninja sandals tightened.
He looked in the mirror. A blonde-haired boy with sharp eyes stared back. He didn't look like a hero. He didn't look like a villain. He looked like an employee ready for his first day at the firm.
Konoha Ninja Academy, Nanami thought, adjusting his collar one last time. Or, as I prefer to call it: The Internship.
He walked downstairs. His parents were waiting. His mother had a packed lunch that smelled amazing.
"Look at him!" Haruka gushed, snapping a photo that blinded him for a second. "Our little ninja!"
"Work hard, son," his father said, gripping his shoulder. "Make us proud. But stay safe."
"I will," Nanami promised. "I will follow the rules. I will study hard. And I will come home at 3:00 PM."
He walked out the door, the sun hitting his face. The village was bustling. He could see other parents walking their children to the Academy. He saw the Uchiha crests, the Hyuga eyes, the Inuzuka dogs.
He was stepping into the lion's den.
Nanami Kento adjusted his imaginary tie, checked his internal watch, and began the commute.
Time to clock in.