"I'll catch you tomorrow," I told Minato as we reached the fork in the road where our paths home diverged. "Early, I promise."
Minato gave me a look that said he didn't believe me for a second. "You said that yesterday."
"And I meant it yesterday too." I flashed him my most innocent smile. "It's the thought that counts."
He shook his head, but I caught the smile he tried to hide. "Just don't be late for the taijutsu test. Sensei said he'd fail anyone who misses it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I called back, already heading in the opposite direction—not toward my apartment, but toward the bustling center of Konoha.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows between the buildings as I navigated the increasingly crowded streets. Academy was over, but my day was just beginning. Academic learning was all well and good, but the real education happened out here, among the living, breathing heart of the village.
'This is where the real skills are honed,' I thought, watching merchants haggle and shinobi mingle with civilians.
I turned down a side street and entered the Akimichi-owned restaurant that had become my primary source of income. The rich aroma of grilled meats and spices hit me immediately.
"Shinji!" A slightly chubby boy around my age called from a table where he was helping arrange plates. Akimichi Choza waved me over. "Right on time!"
I slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the spread of food. "Business good today?"
"Packed since noon," he confirmed, sliding a plate my way. "Got another recipe for me? That pizza thing is still bringing people in from three villages away."
I grinned. "Working on something new. Give me another week."
The arrangement was simple—I shared "family recipes" from my previous life, Choza's family paid me for each successful addition to their menu. Pizza had been just the beginning. Garlic bread, tiramisu, and my own spin on ramen had followed. The beauty of reincarnation—I couldn't bring jutsu knowledge, but I could bring culinary secrets.
For the next hour, I sat with Choza, sampling dishes and keeping my eyes and ears open. Restaurant work was perfect for information gathering. People talked freely when eating, especially shinobi unwinding after missions.
"—heard the Senju and Uchiha elders arguing again—" "—mission to the Land of Rivers went sideways—" "—new jonin selection happening next month—"
I filed each snippet away, building my mental map of village politics. Knowledge was currency, and I was saving up.
As the dinner crowd started coming in, Choza's father called him to help with the customers. Before leaving, Choza slipped me an envelope. "This week's cut. The dessert you suggested is especially popular."
I pocketed it with a nod of thanks. "I'll bring the recipe for cheesecake next time. Trust me, it'll blow your mind."
Outside again, the streets were dimming as evening approached. I wove through the crowd toward my next destination—a small apothecary tucked away in a quieter district.
The alley between two closed stores provided perfect cover—narrow, shadowed, and overlooked by most passersby. I slipped into the familiar space, glancing both ways to ensure I was alone.
Old habits die hard. Even after months of this routine, I still checked.
I formed the hand seals slowly, deliberately. Ram, boar, ox, dog, snake. Not something they'd taught my class at the Academy yet—this particular jutsu was reserved for the final year students. But I'd spent weeks lurking near the senior classes, memorizing the seals and theory from a distance. Spying on your own school had to be the most legitimate form of academic dishonesty.
"Henge no Jutsu," I whispered, feeling chakra ripple across my skin like a cool breeze.
The transformation wasn't dramatic—that would defeat the purpose. I grew a few inches taller, my features shifted slightly older, maybe fifteen instead of six or seven. My black hair lightened to brown, pulled back in a simple ponytail. My eyes changed from black to a nondescript hazel. A small scar appeared near my right eyebrow—details sold the illusion.
I rolled my shoulders, settling into the transformed body. Perfect. Anonymous enough to be forgettable, consistent enough that Yukiko wouldn't suspect anything unusual.
"Hiroki" was the name I used with her. A chunin apprentice medic with an interest in traditional remedies—or so she believed. The perfect cover for a business relationship that would raise too many questions otherwise.
I adjusted my clothes and stepped out of the alley with a different posture—straighter, more confident, the walk of someone with official business rather than an Academy student where he shouldn't be.
The bell jingled as I entered the small apothecary. Shelves lined with jars of dried herbs, powders, and tinctures created a familiar labyrinth of scents—earthy, floral, and medicinal all at once.
"Right on schedule," Yukiko-san said without looking up from her mortar and pestle. The elderly woman continued grinding what looked like dried flower petals as I approached the counter. "Tuesday delivery, as always."
"Business before pleasure," I agreed, leaning casually against the counter.
We'd been partners for nearly three months now. What had started with me selling her a single salve recipe had evolved into a proper arrangement—I supplied formulations from my previous life's knowledge, she manufactured and sold them as her own creations, and we split the profits.
She set aside her work and reached under the counter, producing a small envelope. "Your cut from last week. The bruise paste is still the most popular, but that cough syrup is gaining traction. Three shinobi from the Inuzuka clan bought jars yesterday."
I thumbed through the money with a satisfied nod. "They probably recognized the wintergreen. Good for dogs with joint pain, too."
"I didn't tell you that," she said with a knowing smile. Our arrangement worked because she never questioned where my knowledge came from, and I never explained. Plausible deniability benefited us both.
"I'll need my usual supply," I said, pocketing the envelope. "And maybe something extra."
She nodded, already gathering items from behind the counter. She quickly wrapped comfrey salve, arnica tincture, and willow-bark tablets—my standard personal kit for training injuries.
"Something else you're working on?" she asked, noting my continued presence.
"Thinking of branching out. Energy tonics, perhaps." I lowered my voice, though no other customers were present. "Academy students would pay well for something to help them stay alert during long lectures."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Just herbs, Hiroki. Nothing that would get either of us in trouble with the authorities."
"Of course, just naturally occurring stimulants. Ginseng, perhaps some guarana..."
"Here," she interrupted, pushing a small book across the counter. "From my private collection. Medicinal plants of the Land of Earth. Return it when you're finished."
I took the book carefully. "I'll have it back next week. With notes."
"I expect nothing less." She gathered jars of what I recognized as the base ingredients for my next experimental formula. "These should get you started. Might need to visit the Yamanaka flower shop for the fresher components, though."
"Already arranged," I said with a wink. Another business relationship carefully cultivated through strategic trades and never asking too many questions.
She packed everything into a discreet cloth bag. "Same time next week?"
"Unless something interesting comes up." I dropped a few extra coins on the counter. "For the book loan."
As I stepped outside, the sun had nearly set. Perfect timing. Instead of heading home, I turned toward the abandoned training grounds at the edge of the village. No one used them this late—exactly why I'd chosen them for my private practice.
The clearing was perfect—far enough from prying eyes but still within village bounds. I set down my bag and stretched, feeling the pleasant burn in my muscles after a day of deliberately holding back.
Here, I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to be the lazy, barely-passing Academy student. Here, I could actually train.
I started with the basics—taijutsu forms at full speed rather than the slowed-down, "still learning" pace I used at the Academy. My body moved smoothly, each strike and block executed with the muscle memory from hours of secret practice.
Next came kunai and shuriken practice. I reached into my pouch and pulled out a handful of shuriken. The metal stars caught the moonlight as I weighed them between my fingers, feeling their balance. The Academy taught a standard grip—thumb and forefinger on the flat sides. I shifted to a pinch grip instead, holding the star by its points between my middle finger and thumb.
I spotted a knot in a tree thirty feet away and narrowed my eyes. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the first shuriken spinning. Thunk. Dead center.
"Too easy," I whispered.
I backed up another fifteen feet and adjusted my grip slightly. This distance required more rotation. I released three shuriken in rapid succession, each with a different angle of release. They hit the tree in a perfect vertical line, separated by inches.
My heartbeat quickened. Now for the challenging part.
I pulled out three more stars, holding them between splayed fingers. I'd spent weeks practicing this after seeing a jonin do it once. I flung all three flying in a horizontal spread. They struck three separate trees at the same height, fanning out like deadly metal wings.
"Thirty-five... thirty-six..." I counted as I continued, moving and throwing from different positions.
The weight of two kunai felt familiar in my hands as I measured them thoughtfully. I launched the first toward a tree on my left, then the second a heartbeat later at a calculated angle. The metallic clink of their mid-air collision was deeply satisfying as the second blade deflected perfectly, changing direction to strike a target hidden behind a large boulder—a shot impossible to make directly.
"Now that's more like it," I whispered, retrieving the weapons. The nick marks where they had connected showed the precision of the hit.
The final throw missed by a hair. "Damn."
I gathered my weapons, wiping each clean before returning them to my pouch.
After two hours of intense training, sweat poured down my face and my chakra reserves felt appropriately depleted. I gathered my supplies, carefully erased evidence of my practice, and headed back.
The stars twinkled overhead as I finally made my way home.
The stairs to my apartment creaked under my weight—a useful warning system for anyone trying to sneak up or down. I'd memorized exactly which ones made noise and which didn't. Useful knowledge for late-night excursions.
"Ah, Shinji-kun! Perfect timing."
I turned to see old man Tanaka shuffling out of his apartment, third door down from mine. His wispy gray hair stood up in all directions, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose as usual.
"Tanaka-san," I greeted with a respectful nod. "How's the shoulder?"
"Much better thanks to that salve you brought last week." He rotated his arm with considerably more ease than before. "Haven't had this much mobility in years."
I smiled. "Glad it helped." Tanaka had been a chunin in his youth before a shoulder injury forced early retirement. Now he spent his days playing shogi in the park and occasionally sharing stories of old Konoha with anyone who'd listen.
"Almost forgot," he said, disappearing back into his apartment briefly. He emerged with a small brown package. "As promised."
I accepted it with both hands, detecting the distinctive smell of quality tea leaves. "This is too generous."
"Nonsense. My niece brings it from the Land of Tea. Better than what they sell in the village." He waved dismissively. "Small price for getting these old joints moving again."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries before he retreated back inside. I continued up to my floor, package tucked safely away. Tanaka's "payment" was always something practical—tea, home-cooked meals, occasionally bits of shinobi wisdom far more valuable than money.
As I reached my door, the one across the hall opened. Minato emerged, scrolls tucked under one arm.
"There you are," he said, sounding relieved. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned the apartment entirely."
"And miss your daily lectures on punctuality? Never." I fished out my key, nodding at his scrolls. "More light reading?"
He held them up with a sheepish smile. "Advanced chakra theory. Thought you might want to look them over too."
"Already?" I raised an eyebrow. We'd just covered basic chakra pathways in class that morning. "Getting ahead of yourself, don't you think?"
"Says the guy who can practically dance on water at midnight." His voice dropped to a whisper on the last part.
I froze, key halfway to the lock. "You followed me?"
"Once," he admitted without a trace of shame. "After you disappeared three nights in a row. I was worried."
I leaned against my door frame, sake bottle dangling loosely from my fingers. "Spying on your neighbor? And here I thought you were the respectable one between us."
He shrugged. "I figured it out too, actually. Just wanted to see if we had the same approach."
"Of course you did." I uncorked the bottle and took a casual swig. "The great Minato Namikaze, walking on water like it's solid ground while the rest of us peasants are still stuck on trees."
His expression brightened with a hint of competitive spirit. "I can hold it longer than you."
"Is that a challenge?" I raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Namikaze. I'm not as mediocre as our sensei thinks." I took another lazy swig from my sake bottle. "Get your feet wet tomorrow? The usual spot. I'll show you things they don't teach at the Academy."
His expression brightened. "Really?"
I pushed off the door frame. "Tomorrow after school. Bring those scrolls if you want." I gestured to his materials with my sake bottle. "I'll bring something stronger than water to walk on."
Minato rolled his eyes. "I'll make dinner," he offered immediately. "Got some fresh vegetables from the market. You hungry now?"
"Deal." My stomach growled on cue.
As Minato headed back to his apartment, I leaned against my doorframe, watching him go. It was risky letting anyone see what I could really do, but if I had to pick someone to trust, it would be him. There was something about Minato Namikaze that made you believe in him.
'Besides,' I thought as I entered his apartment, 'a training partner might be exactly what I need.'
The evening suddenly looked promising. Good tea, good food, and maybe a breakthrough on my finisher. Not a bad way to end the day.