The market district buzzed with life, its narrow streets packed with vendors shouting over one another, shinobi weaving through the crowd, and civilians bartering for everything from fresh produce to exotic weaponry.
I made my way through it all, a modest bag of freshly purchased supplies tucked under one arm: brushes, ink stones, rolls of fine rice paper, and a few sticks of high-quality charcoal. I'd even managed to find a small, lacquered calligraphy set with carved kanji along the handles.
To the average observer, it looked like I was preparing for a deep dive into traditional art—monochrome landscapes, delicate brushwork, and maybe the occasional brooding haiku in kanji. They would be wrong.
It was fuinjutsu training supplies.
If regular jutsu were spells, then fuinjutsu was enchantment. I wanted more than just flashy techniques—I wanted wizard armor and a wizard tower. And no wizard tower was complete without enchantments carved into its walls, doors, and defenses. And you couldn't call yourself a wizard without a snazzy wizard's robe.
Unfortunately, aside from vague references in history books and the occasional mention in advanced theory, the actual techniques of sealing arts were completely locked down. Not even the academy had a whisper of it. It was as if the very knowledge was taboo—too dangerous to trust even to prospective shinobi.
But that wasn't going to stop me.
I had ink, paper, chakra, and a shiny new storage scroll waiting at home like a puzzle box begging to be cracked open.
Fuinjutsu would be mine.
I turned the corner, mind already spiraling into theories on chakra inscription, only to be knocked flat by a blonde blur of motion.
My bag exploded—brushes clattered across the stone pavement, paper fluttered like frightened birds, and my brand-new ink stones shattered on impact.
"You'll never catch me! I'm the Prank Queen! Believe it! Future Hokage right here!"
The voice belonged to none other than Naruko Uzumaki. I knew about her, of course—everyone did. She was like a neon sign: loud energy, mischief, and zero regard for subtlety.
Hated, for reasons I had no grasp on.
In other words, an attention magnet. And I was trying very hard to avoid attention. So no, I couldn't go chasing her down to scold her about respecting other people's property.
I just watched as she disappeared across the rooftops, her speed leaving a pack of chūnin struggling to keep up.
Not that I could've caught her anyway.
I sat up slowly, brushing dust off my sleeves and surveying the damage. Most of the paper was unsalvageable. The brushes? Some were bent, but most were broken. The ink was a total loss—now soaking into the dirt like some kind of sacrificial offering to the gods of inconvenience.
I gathered what I could—not much—and stood with another sigh.
Better a spilled art set than being pancaked by a ten-ton steel beam.
With my makeshift salvaged kit in hand, I turned back toward the market. Time to buy replacements.
Nothing worth doing ever came easy.
After I got home from the market, I wasted no time trying to crack how storage seals worked.
It was easy. Basically I just had to trace it and infuse chakra into the ink without putting it in the paper. It would have probably been harder if my chakra control wasn't so good. Perks of a civilian chakra pool, I guess.
Still, it was much easier than I thought it would be. Easier than mastering hand seals at least.
I stared down at the scroll in front of me, my brush still dripping with fresh ink. Wisps of chakra smoke clung to the air of my cramped, slightly musty apartment. On the floor lay a kunai on top of my seal—then, with a flex of my chakra, it vanished into the seal I'd just reverse-engineered.
More smoke curled up from the scroll. Another flex. The kunai reappeared with a soft proof against on top of the scroll. Flex. Gone. Flex. Back. Flex.
I grinned, practically giddy as I played with it. But even as I watched the kunai flicker in and out of existence, my mind wandered to what this moment really meant. Sealing—fūinjutsu—was just the art of storing things, right? Just like coding was the arrangement of 1s and 0s. That was the simplest way to describe it.
But it was also a gross oversimplification.
Coding, at its core, was simple. Yet given the right tools, the right knowledge, it gave rise to wonders—artificial intelligence, immersive video games, sprawling digital worlds. Sealing was no different. It had two variables : seal and unseal. My ones and zeros. The building blocks.
Now it was time to write my own programming language.
Konoha must have had their own—layers upon layers of scrolls and theory, jealously guarded by the village elite. But I had no access to that. This was DIY or bust. Thankfully, I had some coding experience from my previous life. Not a lot—just the occasional odd job or freelance gig—but enough to give me a basic understanding.
Still, seals weren't just rigid lines of logic. They were artistic, fluid. Brushstrokes mattered. Symmetry mattered. It felt like coding had taken a long detour through calligraphy, ritual, and intent.
But none of that mattered right now.
What mattered was that the foundation was laid. The first step toward wizard armor and a wizard tower—done. Now I just had to grind it out until I could ink storage seals in my sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Later in the day, it began to rain. I glanced away from my work and out the window and admired how the summer showers shifted Konoha's ambiance—giving it a melancholy it didn't usually have. A soft, reflective kind of gloom that stirred a strange nostalgia in me.
I put down my brush and leaned back on my hands, letting the rhythm of the rain lull me into that rare, quiet space inside my head. The streets shimmered with reflections, the sky turned silver, and for once, the Hidden Leaf felt... still.
That peace lasted all of five minutes.
A knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I got up and opened it, only to be greeted by the sight of a plain paper bag resting on the doorstep.
Curious, I picked it up and peered inside.
Fuinjutsu supplies.
Specifically—my fuinjutsu supplies. The same ones I'd left on the market floor earlier that day after they'd been trampled and cracked. Only now, they weren't quite as broken. Still unusable, sure—but someone had gone out of their way to try and fix them.
I glanced down the hallway. Empty. No one in sight. A civilian couldn't have vanished that fast.
A shinobi then.
I focused my senses—hearing, chakra, movement. Nothing. So not just a shinobi. A skilled one.
"Whoever you are," I called out, "come out."
I didn't really expect a reply.
My eyes widened when a blur of orange dropped down from a loose ceiling board with the grace of someone who'd done that a thousand times.
There she stood, in all her neon orange glory. Naruko Uzumaki.
Grinning from ear to ear, arms crossed, posture guarded, eyes hidden beneath the curve of her smile.
"Hi! Saw you left these," she said, holding up a hand like she was delivering a pizza instead of a half-broken set of mystical tools. "Figured you'd need 'em! No thanks needed, dattebayo."
She was giving off some serious uncanny valley energy—grin too wide, voice too cheerful—but she had brought my stuff back. Even if I didn't need them anymore, effort was effort. And Mama didn't raise an ingrate.
Plus she had a verbal tic. Absolutely adorable.
"I see. Well, thank you, Nyaruko-san," I said, stepping aside and gesturing inward. "Would you like to come in and wait out the rain?"
Naruko blinked like I'd just spoken a foreign language. Her eyes widened for a second before she shook her head quickly, dialing her smile back to a more human level.
"Uh, thanks but... no thanks. I—I guess I'll see you around."
With a quick, awkward wave, she turned and jogged down the hall, through a window and off into the rain.
Shinobi. I shook my head.
I went back to my own window and resumed watching the downpour. Barely a few minutes passed before I was interrupted again by another knock.
I opened the door.
There she was.
Same girl. Soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to her forehead. Eyes sheepish.
"T-that offer still good?" she asked, suddenly timid in a way that didn't match the boisterous prankster persona she had put on earlier.
I sighed and stepped aside, letting her in. She looked around my apartment like she was causing the place for future mischief, which was kind of rude—but she was a kid, and an orphan, so I let it slide.
I went into the kitchen to put something together.
"Tea?" I asked.
Her face scrunched up like I'd offered her poison.
"Juice, then," I said, pouring her a cup and setting a pot on the fire for myself.
I gestured toward the kotatsu. She sat down, still damp, and I joined her, both of us quietly staring out at the rain.
Awkward silence stretched between us like a rubber band about to snap. She squirmed. I let her. Eventually, I took pity.
"So... what were those chūnin chasing you for?" I asked.
That did it.
Her eyes lit up and she launched into an animated retelling of her latest stunt—something involving dye, smoke bombs, a painted teacher's lounge, and an unfortunately placed bucket of glue.
That was how I met Naruko Uzumaki.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
We met up a few more times after, Naruko proving herself to be more than she appeared to be. Kind, determined, honest, and possessed of a sort of determination and willpower that shocked me to witness
She showed herself a lady of value, someone worth my attention. That is why I was here.
The Academy bell rang out in the distance, its high, shrill tone slicing through the afternoon lull like a kunai through parchment. Lunch time. Perfect.
I adjusted the bento in my hands, checked that the furoshiki was still neat, and stepped out onto the street, my geta clacking softly against the stone path—well, not geta. Still my old shinobi sandals and cropped black pants. Some habits were too comfortable to kick.
I'd let my hair down today. Literally. The long, straight strands of brown flowed past my shoulders now, silky and perfectly combed. Back in the Academy days, I kept it tied back tight, trying to fade into the background. But I wasn't hiding anymore. I was eating regularly, sleeping well, and my skin—once pale and sickly from starvation—now looked smooth, refined, even a little elegant. The thinness remained, but it worked for me now. Gave me the air of some wandering noble's wayward son. Or so I liked to think.
Wine-red eyes. That was the final touch. Soft. Kind. Disarming.
I wore a wine-colored kimono to match—nothing flashy, just rich and clean, paired with a plain black inner layer. Polished, but not gaudy. Proper, like a well-mannered civilian boy with no particular ambitions beyond a comfortable life.
Which is exactly what I wanted people to think.
When I stepped onto the Academy grounds, I drew attention. Not from the teachers, thank the gods, but from the students clustered around the courtyard, lunch boxes in hand, mouths halfway to chewing.
They all stopped.
Whispers followed me like a breeze.
"Who's that?"
"He's pretty..."
"Wait—is he here for someone?"
I ignored them and kept walking, scanning the crowd until I saw the orange flash near the edge of the yard.
There she was. Naruko Uzumaki. Sitting under a tree by herself, kicking her legs against the roots looking bored. Half of her lunch looked like it had been thrown together by someone blindfolded. Which, knowing her, wasn't far off.
I approached quietly, and the moment she looked up, her eyes went wide.
"Izuku?!"
That drew even more attention.
Her classmates' heads practically snapped toward us, eyes darting between her and me like they were watching the first scene of a drama unfold.
"I brought you lunch," I said with a soft smile, setting the bento down beside her. "Something warm. I figured whatever you packed was probably three days old, or just... sad."
Naruko blinked. "How'd you—"
I ignored the question and crouched beside her, lowering my voice and stance, getting eye level and resting my elbows on my knees, so only she could hear. "Are you sleeping well? Eating regularly? You haven't been skipping meals again, have you?"
She blinked again, slowly, like I'd just spoken a foreign language. "Uh. I—?"
"You're growing," I said, brushing a stray leaf from her hair. "You can't do that properly on instant noodles and Ichiraku."
The poor girl turned bright red.
I straightened and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, giving her a gentle nod.
"I packed sweet potatoes and simmered vegetables. There's rice and chicken, too. Eat it all. It's good for you."
"Y-yeah. Okay," she muttered, flustered.
"Good." I smiled again, not the teasing kind, but the warm, steady sort that made people feel safe. "Then I'll take my leave. Enjoy the rest of your day, Naruko-san."
I bowed slightly, turned, and walked away—never once looking back, though I could hear the commotion the second I left her bubble of space.
"Who was that?"
"Do you know him?!"
"He's so cute! Is he your boyfriend?!"
I smiled to myself as I walked back toward home, the sound of squealing girls trailing behind me like music.
Phase one of my master plan begins, what is that master plan, you ask?
Well, Grooming of course.
The act of luring someone in with gifts, favors, sweet words, promises, praise—or, if you're truly cultured, BBQ ribs—with the intent of securing sexual favors. Typically, the groomer holds a significant advantage: emotional intelligence, financial clout, raw IQ, or just the good ol' power imbalance of being an adult messing with a minor.
Or as I like to call it: Waifu Husbandry.
Now, I know what you're thinking. But hear me out.
Is it really so bad if I take a few impressionable young girls under my wing, give them the emotional support, financial stability, and moral compass they need to one day blossom into strong, independent women? I think not. And if—through no manipulation of mine, I swear—they happen to fall hopelessly in love with me? Well then. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?
All I can do is the righteous thing—the biblical thing—and welcome them into my home, my heart, and treat them like the priceless jewels they are.
If that wasn't clear enough, let me spell it out for you:
I'm going the harem route.
But I'm not some bottom-feeding degenerate picking up every hottie that looks my way. I've got standards. No gold-diggers. No brain-dead cavewomen flinging their panties at the raw aura of my—future—wealth and martial prowess. No. Just like I plan to master magic the slow way—foundation first, then glory—I'll build my harem right. Quality over quantity. Loyalty over lust. I'm raising queens.
There's just one problem.
This is Konoha. A village where the elites eat, sleep, and breathe espionage. Every movement, every alliance, every flicker of potential power is scrutinized, dissected, and archived. If word got out that I was collecting kunoichi like Pokémon cards, I'd be on some ANBU watchlist before you could say "dattebayo."
So I kept my head down at the Academy. No flirting, no friends, no attachments. A lone wolf. Not because I wanted to be, but because I had to be. But now? I'm out. A civilian boy with a suspiciously high number of female friends? That's not a red flag. That's just charming. Toss in a few talented non-ninja girls and the whole thing looks innocent.
All I have to do now is find them.
Golden blonde hair and eyes like a summer sky flashed through my mind.
Yeah, I think things are off to a good start.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I sigh into the evening air letting my antipathy out into the universe.
It had been one of those days.
The kind where training felt like pulling teeth with a kunai. I'd made progress—real, measurable progress. My tiger seal was practically second nature now, and I could hold the boar seal while jogging, no hands signs required. Even the damn serpent was coming together, though I still got phantom hand cramps, when I flexed my chakra to replicate its effects.
But Ram?
Ram hated me.
Every time I made the seal, it sparked something—like turning a key in a lock that didn't open. My chakra would shift, become pliant, responsive, more moldable.. I couldn't replicate that responsiveness without the hand sign. And I tried. Hard.
My trip to Naruko's school earlier in the day was buoying my spirits, but it could only do so much against the pure agony of stalling progress.
The frustration was getting to me.
Fuinjutsu was an even bigger pain. I knew it would be difficult, but building an entire language for chakra commands from scratch? Turns out, it was borderline impossible. And that was me being optimistic.
So, I went for a walk.
Konoha's parks weren't just places for picnics. Half of them doubled as training fields, a nice little compromise between civilian life and the madness of ninja culture. And that's when I saw him—this green rocket of a boy hammering his fists into a post.
Not just any post. Hashirama wood. Chakra grown and hard as steel.
There were indents in the thing. Actual fist-shaped indents.
I blinked.
He was wearing a green jumpsuit with orange leg warmers and red-stained bandages around his hands. Except—wait. The red wasn't fabric. It was blood. The deeper red at the knuckles gradually faded into a pinkish hue near his elbows.
That's when I marched over, frowning.
"Oi," I said, voice even but sharp. "You're going to pulp your own hands if you keep that up."
He didn't even look up, just grunted and went in for another strike. I stepped closer, chakra already flowing to the seals etched inside my inner sleeves. A soft brush of my thumb against the hem and—puff—a small first-aid kit appeared in my palm.
No true wizard worth their salt would walk around without a haversack.
I stepped in and caught the boy by the shoulder. He flinched, tried to yank away, and nearly collapsed. I caught him before he hit the ground.
"Sit," I ordered, lowering him gently. "You're done for today."
"But—" he started, eyes swimming with exhaustion.
"No buts. You're literally bleeding through your bandages. Let me see."
He hesitated, then nodded. I took a kunai and carefully sliced through the wrap. What I saw made me wince. His knuckles were swollen, cracked open, and raw. The skin had split in places, scabbed over, and split again.
The only miracle was that no bones were poking out.
"How the hell are your hands still intact?" I muttered, dabbing antiseptic onto a clean cloth.
He winced. "Because my flames of youth will not be extinguished!"
I paused, then chuckled. "Right. Of course."
"Thank you, kind stranger!" he shouted, beaming even as his eyes teared from the sting of the antiseptic.
I nodded and kept working. But the moment I wrapped his hands, he staggered to his feet, clearly intending to go back to punching.
"Stop," I said, holding out a hand. "You'll destroy yourself."
"I must continue! It is my only path forward!"
That made me freeze. Something in his voice—raw and desperate—cut through the afternoon air.
I turned to him slowly. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
His face crumpled, but he stood tall. "I am a failure. A cripple. I cannot use jutsu. I have no talent. No techniques. But I have hard work! I will prove that I can be a splendid ninja regardless!"
I blinked. "You can't use jutsu?"
He nodded grimly.
"You don't have chakra?"
"I do," he said, confused. "But the medics say I cannot mold it. That I am... defective."
I frowned. "That's... impossible. Chakra is physical and spiritual energy combined. Everyone can mold it. You have to be able to."
He looked up, confused and a little hopeful.
"Sit," I said again, gentler this time. "Let me try something."
I knelt and placed my hands around his. Not forming a seal—just letting my chakra pulse outward, brushing against his. I wasn't a sensor ninja, but I'd been training. I could feel it if I focused.
What I felt made me inhale sharply.
His chakra network was twisted—parts that should spiral ran straight, channels that should've been wide were pinched or forked oddly. It was like someone had tried to draw a circuit board and sneezed halfway through.
But it was still a network.
I sat back, mind racing. "Touch your left knee with the back of your hand."
He looked baffled but obeyed.
And I felt it. A flicker—subtle, but distinct. A whisper of chakra, reacting.
The beginning of the rat seal.
My mind raced. His body could trigger the automatic responses—just not with standard hand seals. His problem wasn't that he couldn't mold chakra. He just could do it like everybody else.
I stood and helped him to his feet.
I stared into his dark eyes, eyes that gleaned with hope, tenacity and childish fervour and I found myself, unable to walk away.
"Do you want to learn jutsu?" I asked softly.
His eyes widened. "Don't give me false hope. Please. I couldn't bear—"
"Just answer the question."
Tears welled up. "Yes."
"What's your name?"
"I am Rock Lee! Future foremost taijutsu specialist of Konoha!" he yelled, while his knees wobbled, barely able to stand on his feet. He had spirit, I'll give him that.
I nodded once, solemn. "Alright, Rock Lee. If you want help… I might be able to give it."
His eyes shone like twin suns. "I will burn down the forest of youth with the wildfire of my gratitude!"
"…Right," I said, lips twitching. "Let's start with getting you new bandages."
I seem to have made a friend… nice.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It was evening in Konoha, and I had opened my windows to let in the cool air, while slaving over a hot stove, For the orange hurricane that should be arriving just about…
The front door slammed open, rattling the frame with a force that I would definitely be hearing from my neighbours about. Naruko stormed in, looking like a small whirlwind wrapped in orange fleece. Her cheeks were puffed out, and she was marching toward me with her brows pulled together in a scowl.
"I cannot believe you did that!"
…now.
I glanced up from where I was setting the bowls on the table, keeping my expression calm, though there was a small flicker of amusement in my chest. I wiped my hands on the dish towel, then tucked it under my arm as I gave her a soft smile. "Did what, Naruko-san?"
"Don't play dumb!" she snapped, her voice sharp as she stomped over. "You know what!"
I tilted my head slightly, pretending to be more confused than I actually was. I could tell she was flustered, though she was trying to hide it behind her usual brashness. "If you mean bringing you lunch, I apologize. I hadn't realized kindness was such an offense."
Her cheeks flushed, and she practically threw herself onto the couch in the corner—the only real piece of furniture in my apartment apart from the kotatsu and my bed—with a dramatic huff. "You showed up looking like a prince from some fancy noble family! And you gave me food! In front of everyone! They wouldn't shut up about it for the rest of lunch, dattebayo!"
I stayed composed, walking over to the stove. "You didn't like the food?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. There was no need to rile her up further.
"I did like it," she grumbled, clearly still bothered, her gaze fixed on the floor. "But that's the problem! It was too good! Now Sa–everyone thinks I'm dating some rich boy with silky hair and a tragic backstory."
I remembered that slip for later. It seems I had competition.
I couldn't help but smile at her words, though I did my best to hide it behind a polite nod. "I see. Then I must apologize once more, Naruko-san. I never meant to tarnish your reputation with such reckless benevolence."
She groaned. "You're impossible."
I glanced back at the ramen I'd prepared, deciding it was time to soften her up a bit more. "I did make it up to you, though." I lifted the lid off the pot and revealed the steaming ramen. "Your favorite. No where close to ichiraku's, but I think you'll like it. Pork miso, extra garlic, no green onions."
Her eyes practically lit up. "Ramen?"
"Ramen," I confirmed with a smile.
She squinted at me suspiciously, like she was trying to figure out if this was some kind of trap. "Is this a trap?"
I leaned against the counter, my hands still resting on the bowl. "No," I said with complete sincerity. "It's bribery."
She stared at me for a moment, then sighed, grabbing the bowl with a reluctant smile. "Fine. But I'm still mad at you."
"Of course." I watched her carefully, waiting for her to take her first bite.
It didn't take long for her to start slurping the noodles with a sound of contentment, her eyes closing as she tasted the warmth. It was satisfying to watch, but I didn't want to let the silence linger too long. I took my seat across from her and sipped my broth, letting her enjoy the food for a moment before I spoke.
"I met a strange boy today."
Naruko paused mid-slurp, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at me. "Yeah?"
I thought for a moment, tapping my finger lightly on the side of my bowl. " Very polite. Seemed... lost, but determined to be a great shinobi. Like someone I know."
She raised an eyebrow. "Was he from the Academy?"
"Yes," I replied.
She sat up a little straighter, a curious glint in her eyes. "gonna tell me his name?"
I smiled softly, shaking my head. "hmmm. I don't think so."
Her eyes rolled, but I could tell she was holding back a smile of her own. "You're so annoying."
"And yet," I said, pushing the extra egg toward her side of the bowl, "you're still here."
She didn't answer, but she grabbed the egg, popping it into her mouth with a huff. That was good enough for me.