By the time the class ended, fewer than five students had successfully grasped the Body Replacement Jutsu. Instructor Sunada Hayato dismissed them with a cold reminder: the curriculum for the Three Basic Jutsu was officially complete. From now on, classes would shift entirely to practical combat applications.
As the students scattered, Araki Ryo shot Sengoku a complicated look before turning away in silence. Yotaka Arashi trotted over, smiling and ready to chat, but Sengoku smoothly brushed him off with the excuse of needing more solo practice.
Soon, Sengoku stood alone in the emptying training ground, watching the setting sun cast long, bleeding shadows over Sunagakure's sandstone architecture. The thought that had been quietly brewing in his mind finally hardened into absolute resolve: It's time to graduate early.
Staying in the Academy was a waste of his life. He needed to enter the mission system, accumulate real combat experience, and secure the resources necessary to survive the inevitable outbreak of war. But what exactly were Sunagakure's graduation standards?
In his memories of his past life, Konohagakure seemingly only required proficiency in the basic jutsu. However, Suna was a brutal, resource-starved military state; it stood to reason their requirements would be much harsher. Did they just require the Three Basic Jutsu, or did they demand a higher threshold of lethal combat proficiency?
He needed reliable intelligence. And the best source was Monzaemon. He wouldn't ask for a favor directly—that was too suspicious. He would just go to ask for advice.
Sengoku quickly made up his mind and headed back to his stone house to prepare. He grabbed the Chakra Thread Manipulation scroll to serve as his primary excuse. Then, his eyes swept over his finished sandstone crafts, settling on a delicately carved scorpion. It was his most refined piece to date, every joint polished to a smooth finish. It wasn't monetarily valuable, but it demonstrated immense patience and steady hands—traits a puppeteer would naturally appreciate. It would smooth the conversational waters.
Following the address Monzaemon had given him, Sengoku navigated to a secluded district near the village perimeter. The detached stone house was heavily weathered by the desert wind, standing in stark, quiet contrast to the denser residential blocks.
Standing before the heavy wooden door, he could hear the faint, rhythmic sounds of tapping and grinding gears from within. He knocked. The sounds abruptly stopped.
A moment later, the door creaked open. Monzaemon appeared, his white hair slightly unkempt and a smudge of machine oil on his forehead. Despite his youth, he carried a heavy, grounded presence. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw the boy.
"Oh, it's you," he said, stepping aside and pulling the door open. "Come in. It's a bit of a mess, so mind your step."
Sengoku walked inside. Calling it 'a bit of a mess' was a massive understatement. The interior wasn't a home; it was a chaotic, high-functioning puppet workshop. The large room was crammed with materials. Half-finished humanoid puppet chassis leaned against the walls. The floor and tables were littered with blueprints detailing complex joint structures, transmission mechanics, and chakra circuitry. Wooden limbs, metal gears, and spools of fine conductive wire were piled everywhere. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust, brass, and heavy machine oil. The only remotely clean space was a simple bed tucked in the far corner.
Monzaemon casually swept a pile of loose gears off a workbench to clear some space. "Have a seat. What brings you here?" he asked naturally.
Sengoku didn't sit immediately. Instead, he respectfully presented the scroll and the sandstone scorpion. "Lord Monzaemon, apologies for the intrusion. I ran into a few bottlenecks regarding chakra thread manipulation and was hoping to ask for your guidance. And this... is just a small piece I carved myself. A token of my appreciation."
Monzaemon took the scorpion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he inspected it. "Good craftsmanship. Very precise," he noted, a hint of genuine approval in his voice. He set the scorpion on the table and picked up the scroll. "You've clearly been putting in the work. What's the specific issue?"
"It's regarding independent micro-manipulation when controlling multiple threads simultaneously," Sengoku explained. He carefully articulated the exact sensory and control bottlenecks he had experienced while trying to coordinate multiple kunai strikes and while conceptualizing the internal mechanisms of The Pursuer.
His questions were highly specific, revealing a depth of understanding that far exceeded a typical Academy student.
Monzaemon listened intently, nodding occasionally. Rather than explaining with words alone, he picked up several stray metal wires from the table. With a flick of his fingers, near-invisible chakra threads shot out and attached to the metal. As he spoke, he demonstrated. Under his control, the lifeless metal wires danced through the air like living serpents, executing intricate, complex weaves. His explanations were sharp and incisive, instantly untangling the theoretical knots in Sengoku's mind. It wasn't just manipulation; it was absolute art.