The control he had over that jutsu had grown noticeably finer, noticeably cleaner.
"So this is what it feels like when talent stacks on top of talent..."
Kiyohara rubbed his chin, standing alone in the little courtyard behind his crumbling house. No wonder Orochimaru had gone to such lengths to chase better vessels. Sometimes, the difference really was that obvious.
He slowly clenched his fist. Strength still pulsed through him, dense and lively, like a spring that had just been dredged open. All that vitality could be converted into chakra at any moment. If this had been the old him, he definitely would not have had this much left in reserve after a round of practice.
He still needed time to adjust to it, to absorb it, to make it fully his.
"What I really need now is a future related to taijutsu."
The thought rose naturally in his mind.
A boost in spiritual power was certainly good. It increased chakra, sharpened perception, made ninjutsu easier to learn. But if the gap between spiritual energy and physical energy grew too wide, that would bring its own trouble.
Kiyohara remembered Kurama Yakumo, Kurenai's future disciple. A terrifying genius in Yin Release, but her body had been too weak to bear the weight of her mind. That was the danger of imbalance. In the ninja world, chakra was never just one thing. It was the marriage of body and spirit. If one side grew too far ahead, the whole structure could warp.
Which was why he had begun to suspect something else.
Hashirama Senju.
The God of Shinobi, possessor of monstrous vitality, source of the infamous Hashirama cells that every ambitious madman in the ninja world treated like treasure. A man like that should not have died so early. Yet he had.
Why?
Kiyohara could think of several possible answers.
Maybe he had overdrawn himself in the battle with Madara.
Maybe the balance inside him had collapsed after years of impossible strain.
Maybe it was something even stranger, some metaphysical nonsense tied to reincarnation and chakra, the sort of thing this world loved to spring on people at the last moment.
There were too many possibilities to pin down. But the suspicion itself remained.
Hashirama Senju had died too young.
Kiyohara let the thought pass. There was no point worrying about gods and legends when he still had ordinary problems in front of him.
"The next mission should come in a few days," he muttered. "Before that, I need to find a proper shop and get my ninja tool forged."
The chakra metal he had taken from Hikari still needed to be remade. Until it became a usable blade, it was just a pile of expensive fragments.
Then another thought surfaced.
"Iwagakure shouldn't be able to hold out much longer, right?"
He narrowed his eyes.
The collapse at Kannabi Bridge had been too painful. Their logistics had taken a brutal hit. Minato had shredded the ninjas sent to contain the infiltration. The strategic advantage had already tilted. In a normal world, that should have been the prelude to pressing the attack and forcing a decisive outcome.
But this was Konoha.
And Konoha's higher-ups had a habit of taking a winning position and somehow turning it into a lecture about peace, compromise, and the burdens of leadership.
Kiyohara still remembered how absurd the original development had been. Hiruzen Sarutobi, with victory nearly in hand, had gone and offered terms. No compensation. No hard pressure. No finishing blow. Just a neat little surrender at the exact moment the enemy was wobbling.
It was like pushing lane after lane, cracking the inhibitor, standing one step from the crystal-and then your own top lane suddenly typed "ff" and forced everyone to follow.
No wonder Danzo had exploded over it.
Not because Danzo was righteous, of course. He was a festering tumor with a polished excuse for everything. But on that point alone, his anger had made sense. So many people had died. So much blood had been spent. And then the village had simply... let go.
Kiyohara exhaled slowly.
"After that, we'll probably turn our focus toward Kirigakure."
That was the more immediate danger. Madara's backup board. The village hidden in mist, lies, and blood. The kind of place where a man could vanish without even leaving behind a scream.
Which meant one thing.
He would need to be even more careful on his next mission.
***
Several days later, the evening sky over Konoha glowed a dull gold.
Inside the Hokage's office, the lamps were already lit.
Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his broad desk with his familiar pipe between his fingers, white smoke drifting lazily through the room. The paper stacks in front of him were as tall as ever. Reports. Casualty summaries. Logistics. Chunin evaluations. The war machine was still hungry, and the old man remained at its center.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
Minato Namikaze entered, freshly returned from the border. He bowed lightly.
"Third Hokage-sama."
"Minato." Hiruzen's eyes softened a little. "You've come back quickly."
Minato stepped forward and handed over a scroll. "This is the detailed report from the border. Also, the latest news from the front-the Iwagakure forces along the Grass Country line have withdrawn thirty miles."
Hiruzen lowered his pipe.
"Oh?"
He took the report, opened it, and read with practiced speed. A trace of relief appeared on his face.
"Good. Very good. If Iwagakure is truly losing momentum, then we can start concentrating our strength against Kumogakure and Kirigakure."
His gaze lifted.
"You've worked hard, Minato. You always seem to bring back good news."
Minato did not respond immediately. Praise sat strangely on him, like a cloak he never quite claimed. He only bowed his head a little.
Hiruzen set the report aside and reached for another document on his desk.
This one was thinner.
A final results sheet from the Chunin selection exam.
His eyes lingered on one name before he slid it across the table.
"Take a look. The genin you recommended-Kiyohara-passed the selection. And not quietly, either."
Minato accepted the paper, surprise flickering across his face.
"He took part in the selection?"
His eyes moved down the list until he found the name.
Kiyohara.
Promoted.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I originally thought his record at Kannabi Bridge would be enough for direct promotion," Minato said. "But proving himself again in the arena isn't a bad thing."
Hiruzen nodded and took another pull from his pipe, exhaling thoughtfully. Naturally, Minato inhaled the secondhand smoke without complaint. There were certain things nobody escaped in the Hokage's office.
"Direct promotion was certainly an option," Hiruzen said. "But allowing him to go through the selection let us evaluate him more comprehensively. Strength alone is never the full picture. I wanted to see how he adapts to different opponents, how he thinks under pressure, how he carries himself when the fight changes."
Minato's expression grew more attentive.
He understood immediately.
This was not distrust.
It was investment.
Konoha had lost too many good people. Too many Chunin. Too many Jonin. Too many steady hands who formed the real spine of the village. A commoner ninja with a clean background, battlefield merit, and visible talent was not merely useful-he was scarce.
Hiruzen was not just confirming Minato's judgment. He was deciding how much weight to place on the boy going forward.
"No written report can match seeing someone with your own eyes," the Third Hokage continued. "From the account you submitted, I already knew he had potential. Now I know the praise wasn't exaggerated."
Minato lowered his gaze for a moment.
"Kiyohara is indeed promising," he said quietly. "And more than that-he has the instinct to protect his comrades. In the current situation, that matters greatly."
He was remembering what Rin had told him afterward. Kiyohara staying behind. Kiyohara stalling Oishi. Kiyohara fighting while the others escaped.
That kind of decision was not something everyone could make.
Hiruzen tapped the result sheet lightly with one finger.
"Clean background. Good performance. Proper temperament."
His voice was mild, but the decision inside it had already hardened.
"He's worth cultivating. Since you're already familiar with him, Minato, continue to keep an eye on his development. Guide him where appropriate. Give him the right chances when they appear."
Minato bowed at once.
"Yes, Hokage-sama."
And this time there was no hesitation in his voice at all.
He already admired the boy. Receiving explicit permission to help him further only made the path clearer.
***
Back in his courtyard, Kiyohara knew none of this.
He stood beneath the fading light with a shuriken in one hand and a thin copper wire looped around his fingers.
"Again," he murmured.
The old courtyard was tiny, uneven, and cracked in places, but it was enough. A wall. A post. A little dirt. A little open sky. For a poor ninja, that counted as a training ground.
The rogue ninja version of himself hovered nearby in silence, half-faded, watching.
Kiyohara flexed his wrist once.
"Copper wire really isn't as good as proper elastic cord," he muttered. "But it'll do for practice."
What he was working on now was an advanced extension of basic shuriken manipulation. Attach a line. Throw wide. Control the return. Turn the angle. Bind the target. That alone was already useful.
But the part that interested him more came after.
The rogue ninja Kiyohara had explained it before.
The Uchiha's Fire Release: Dragon Flame Jutsu could travel along a hidden wire and turn a trap into an execution. If fire could ride the line, then lightning could as well.
The logic was simple.
Simple and vicious.
"You haven't forgotten that one, right?" the rogue ninja had asked.
"Of course not," Kiyohara had answered.
Now he drew a breath, fixed his eyes on the wooden target board he had set up in the yard, and threw.
The shuriken whistled past the board without striking it.
Then he flicked his wrist.
The near-invisible wire snapped taut. The shuriken curved in a clean arc, wrapped the board twice, then bit deep into the wood with a hard metallic thunk.
"Good," Kiyohara said.
His left hand flashed through signs.
Lightning chakra spilled from his fingers and flowed into the copper wire.
Crack.
A faint blue arc raced along it and scorched a black line into the wood.
The board smoked.
Kiyohara stared at it for a moment, then smiled.
"That works."
He considered the technique carefully.
The foundation was still shuriken manipulation. The wire was just a medium. The lightning gave it bite.
Not flashy. Not grand.
But practical.
That mattered more.
"What should I call it?"
He tilted his head, genuinely thinking it over.
Then he nodded once, satisfied with himself.
"Lightning Release: Guiding Lightning Through the Manipulated Shuriken."
A mouthful, perhaps. But still better than some of Minato's naming sense.
That thought alone was enough to improve his mood.
The rogue ninja Kiyohara looked at him in silence, expression caught somewhere between resignation and amusement.
Kiyohara, meanwhile, was feeling quite pleased.
The road ahead was still long.
The ninja world still ran on bloodline nonsense, reincarnated monsters, and people born with cheat codes stuffed into their sockets.
But he had something now too.
A path.
A method.
A way to keep climbing.
And when the wind was at his back, even surrender could start to look like strategy.