The Ninja Academy of Konoha, a place where every shinobi’s journey begins, was founded by the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama. As the cradle of countless warriors, it stood as the heart of the Will of Fire—shaping the next generation of protectors for the Hidden Leaf. Many great ninja had walked its halls, their footsteps echoing through the corridors of history.

Under Tobirama’s leadership, thirty-eight remarkable students had once emerged from this very institution—names that would later become legends: Sarutobi Hiruzen, Shimura Danzō, Uchiha Kagami, Akimichi Torifu, Mitokado Homura, and Utatane Koharu, to name a few.

Now, under the Third Hokage’s rule, that same flame had passed on to a new generation. Sarutobi Hiruzen, in his prime, had mentored his own elite trio—Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade—now celebrated throughout the shinobi world as the Legendary Sannin.

Even Hatake Sakumo, too, had risen to Jōnin, standing proudly among them.

And yet, despite his reputation and strength, Sakumo often found himself completely stumped… when it came to his little brother, Hatake Kyūjō.

Ever since the death of their father, the responsibility of training Kyūjō in the ways of the shinobi naturally fell to Sakumo, who was more than thirteen years older.

Their main focus? The Hatake Clan’s signature swordsmanship—a style built on precision, stealth, and lethal efficiency. Of course, chakra extraction wasn’t part of the curriculum yet. That had to wait until Kyūjō’s body was a little more developed.

After all, chakra came from the body’s physical and spiritual energy—energy that relied heavily on cellular strength. And for a child still growing, overexertion could be dangerous.

…Unless, of course, it was during wartime.

In the chaos of a Shinobi World War, even fresh Genin were thrown into battle without mercy. Survival itself became a privilege, and concerns about “developmental safety” were luxuries no one could afford. When a village loses a war, even meals become uncertain—let alone training.

— — —

Still, despite only practicing the most basic fundamentals of swordplay, Kyūjō’s progress was nothing short of shocking—even for a seasoned Jōnin like Sakumo.

Imagine a toddler, barely three years old, wielding a wooden training sword no larger than a kunai… and managing to deflect every single wooden shuriken Sakumo threw with expert Jōnin-level force.

Sure, Sakumo was holding back.

But even so… this was completely abnormal.

And the longer they trained, the more Sakumo realized that Kyūjō wasn’t just “gifted”—he was operating on an entirely different level.

The most obvious clue?

His insane physical strength.

No joke—Kyūjō, with his tiny hands gripping a wooden blade, once cleaved straight through a tree trunk thicker than a dinner bowl. A clean, perfect cut. And this was from a kid who looked like he’d just learned how to walk.

If Sakumo hadn’t commissioned the blade himself from a reputable blacksmith, he might’ve suspected that Kyūjō was using a legendary sword.

What Sakumo didn’t know, however, was that Kyūjō’s power came from the mysterious lightning-shaped mark on his forehead. A birthmark that radiated something… unnatural. Something otherworldly.

On top of that, Kyūjō had been secretly cultivating his body every night using a refined Version 3.0 Thunder Breathing Technique, coupled with intense physical conditioning and top-tier nutrition—prepared by none other than himself.

— — —

But it wasn’t just brute strength.

Another thing that puzzled Sakumo was Kyūjō’s terrifyingly sharp senses.

At times, he even suspected that his little brother had inherited the Byakugan from the Hyūga Clan somehow.

Kyūjō’s bright blue eyes, laced with faint lightning patterns, didn’t just look sharp—they felt like they could pierce through walls. He could see far, analyze movement patterns, and detect chakra fluctuations with pinpoint precision.

It wasn’t limited to sight either. His hearing, smell, touch—even taste—were all far beyond human norms.

With that level of sensory acuity, wouldn’t he be perfect as a sensor-type ninja?

Well, Sakumo eventually chalked it up to their mother’s lineage—she came from the Yamanaka Clan, after all. Maybe Kyūjō had inherited some hidden sensory talent.

— — —

That said, from Kyūjō’s perspective, the Hatake swordsmanship style felt… a little off.

It wasn’t that the techniques were flawed. In fact, their silent, assassination-oriented design was incredibly effective—swift strikes, rapid shadow movement, short blades that were easy to conceal.

Combined with the right ninjutsu, it was a one-hit kill style. That was the legacy of the White Fang of Konoha—Sakumo’s eventual moniker.

Sakumo’s reputation as one of the strongest shinobi in history was well-earned. Even among Kage-level elites, he was a force to be reckoned with—outshining his future son, the “Copy Ninja” Hatake Kakashi, in more ways than one.

And truthfully, Kyūjō could admit: Sakumo’s mastery of this style was nothing short of brilliant.

— — —

But Kyūjō’s fighting style leaned in a very different direction.

He preferred bold, powerful swordsmanship. He wasn’t someone who hid in the shadows. He thrived in head-on clashes—like thunder tearing through the sky.

Hatake-style techniques were quiet. Kyūjō’s instincts screamed loud.

He could use the clan techniques if he had to, sure. But they didn’t bring out the full potential of his strength or his combat rhythm.

Still… there were many elements worth borrowing.

Techniques like silent footwork, breath suppression, burst-step dashes, and vanishing into the shadows—these weren’t flashy, but they were practical.

Even if they didn’t directly increase his power, they expanded his toolbox. In a world as unpredictable as the shinobi one, flexibility was just as important as raw strength.

— — —

Later that morning, as Kyūjō stepped through the gates of the Ninja Academy, Sakumo couldn’t help but call out behind him.

“Kyūjō! No fighting at school!”

He hesitated, then added nervously, “And absolutely no drawing your sword—no matter what!”

Kyūjō rolled his eyes without even turning around. His small frame stopped briefly at the school’s front door before replying over his shoulder, voice flat.

“I know, I know! Just go do your mission already!”

“I’m not gonna cause trouble.”

With that, he disappeared into the building, leaving his older brother behind.

Sakumo gave a tired sigh, scratching his head.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Kyūjō… But what if the kid accidentally hurt one of his classmates?

Or worse—one of his teachers?

Just in case, Sakumo decided to follow after him.

Not to spy.

He just wanted to have a little… “chat” with the faculty.

A friendly warning—to make sure Konoha’s most terrifying little prodigy didn’t turn the classroom upside down.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep