With the forge installed, Hii Kōri was off to the Ninja Academy.
But just before departure, Mataza—who'd been avoiding him since their conversation—suddenly called out.
"Here. These were my textbooks from the Academy. My notes might still be useful. Take a look."
Awkward smile, wandering gaze—the elder brother extended a stack of old books.
From the wear on spines and covers, these books had been frequently turned over. Yet they were perfectly preserved—no extra creases, no stains.
Clearly, even three or four years after graduation, Mataza still treasured these textbooks. His expression showed reluctance to part with them.
"Thanks, Big Brother."
But since offered, Hii Kōri wouldn't be polite.
Stones from other hills may polish jade. Even a chūnin's notes might spark inspiration.
With voice so flat it almost betrayed no emotion, Hii Kōri "thanked" him, maintaining his "deep grudge" persona. Taking the textbooks, he nodded to Mataza, then followed Chiyo to the Academy.
Watching them leave, Mataza scratched his chin. In the end, he said nothing.
Even among the Five Great Villages, the Ninja Academy systems were all adapted from Tobirama Senju's Konoha model.
Teaching cycles, curriculum, class structures—all localized, but largely similar.
Term had already been running two months. As Hii Kōri's guardian handling his transfer enrollment, Chiyo had paperwork to process.
"Ah... familiar feeling."
Left waiting in the corridor again, Hii Kōri gazed out the window, commenting dryly.
Yes—the window.
A school for five and six-year-olds wouldn't be housed in sunless underground.
Though teaching five-year-olds to kill sounded pretty damn dark—even more than Jujutsu Shijia—and humanistic care seemed odd for such schools, in this era it was understandable.
Like Hii Kōri disliking certain writers' works, yet acknowledging their era demanded such writing.
Every age had its "necessities" and "obvious truths."
In the Warring States Period, average life span under forty. Clan children learned combat from the moment they could walk. Enemies deliberately killed opposing clans' women and children. That era's obvious truths.
Until one undefeated man crushed the entire ninja world, establishing Konoha with his friend, ending that barbaric age.
That man—called the God of Shinobi—was First Hokage Hashirama Senju. And his friend who ultimately diverged—the Demon of the Shinobi World, Madara Uchiha.
Reading their histories and achievements, many wondered why he didn't simply conquer the entire ninja world. But consider: he was just a ninja from the Warring States Period.
Never receiving systematic education beyond killing techniques—he probably never considered, never knew how to rule or govern a nation.
Hashirama likely acted on simple ideals: "No more slaughter. No more children dying meaninglessly."
Only an idealist would commit the "folly" of distributing tailed beasts to maintain peace.
If he and Madara hadn't possessed world-overwhelming power, such idealists would've died miserably in the Warring States Period.
Looking now, Hashirama's efforts seemed wasted. Peace's fig leaf about to be torn away again. But at least ninja and civilians alike lived dramatically longer.
Even brief peace had meaning.
History spirals upward. Development trend from low to high, simple to complex forward motion. Even when repeating past stages, it repeated differently—on higher foundations.
Conversely, restoration backslids or trying to leap too far—neither ended well.
As for teaching five-year-olds to kill...
Hey buddy. This is a ninja village.
What do you think ninja do? Chase cats and dogs all day?
Spy missions, sabotaging enemy facilities, assassinations, long-term bodyguard duty—these were ninjas' main income. Daimyō funding alone couldn't sustain a village.
Not state organs—more like permanent employment organizations. In mercenary organizations, children learned killing.
Besides killing techniques, the Academy taught seemingly non-combat skills.
Children lacking ninja talent weren't discarded as waste. Worst case, they dropped out. Helping family business or finding shop work—they'd survive.
Having essentially lived over thirty years as a jujutsu sorcerer—infinitely close to curse user—Hii Kōri had no psychological burden about killing.
How many of these kids will still smile on the battlefield...
Through the window, watching children play "ninja games" on the playground, Hii Kōri felt uncharacteristically sentimental. Not for the children—for the Academy's teaching philosophy.
If hesitant, don't pull the trigger. Enrolling in the Academy meant at least reverence for this profession.
Treating a career is almost tied to life as play—to someone who passionately revered "research" and literally died for it—this was hard to stomach.
*Or is this their last playtime? Well, thinking that way, it doesn't matter. They're just kids. Never experienced life and death—how could they understand awe? Glancing at his own slender hands, Hii Kōri realized he might be too demanding of his "peers." He pulled out Mataza's old textbooks and flipped through them to pass the time.