As Monzaemon's intricate demonstration of chakra thread manipulation wound down, Sengoku's gaze drifted over the half-finished puppet chassis and scattered blueprints littering the workshop.
"Lord Monzaemon... these designs are incredible," Sengoku said, allowing a touch of genuine awe into his voice. "I wonder how long it will be before I can build something truly useful and contribute to the village's strength."
Monzaemon smiled faintly, his fingers still casually weaving the near-invisible threads through the air. "There's no need to rush. Building a solid foundation is the most critical step. Master what the Academy teaches you first; the opportunities will come naturally."
Sengoku seized the opening. "About the Academy... we actually just finished the final curriculum for the Three Basic Jutsu today." He kept his tone even, letting just a hint of restless boredom bleed into his words. "It feels like everything else is just repetitive drilling now."
"Oh? You've mastered all three already?" Monzaemon glanced up, mildly surprised by the pace but not overly shocked. "A solid foundation is a good thing. Combat drills build essential experience."
"Yes," Sengoku nodded. He hesitated for a calculated second before continuing. "It's just... sometimes the progress feels agonizingly slow. I've heard that in other villages, talented shinobi are allowed to graduate and take on real missions much earlier. What exactly is the standard for graduation here in Sunagakure? When is a student considered truly qualified?"
He kept his eyes downcast, tracing the edge of his scroll to feign a casual, innocent curiosity.
Monzaemon paused his manipulation of the metal wires. His sharp eyes locked onto Sengoku, a heavy, evaluating gaze that seemed to pierce right through the boy's calm facade. He stayed silent for a few seconds. "You want to graduate early?"
"I do. I feel like there's nothing left for me to learn in a classroom," Sengoku answered with practiced earnestness. "I want to become a real shinobi and offer my strength to the village as soon as possible."
Monzaemon chuckled softly. It was impossible to tell if he bought the 'patriotic youth' act or saw right through it. Instead of pressing the issue, he simply answered the question.
"Sunagakure operates differently from other villages," Monzaemon said, his tone turning pragmatic. "Our environment is brutal, and our resources are scarce. Every single shinobi is a vital asset, which means we cannot afford to waste lives. The graduation standard isn't impossible, but it isn't simple, either."
He set his tools down on the workbench. "First, absolute mastery of the Three Basic Jutsu. I don't just mean performing them in a calm classroom. I mean executing them flawlessly under extreme duress and in harsh environmental conditions. Second, the physical exam. In desert combat, chakra reserves often run dry. When that happens, your body is your only weapon. Your endurance, speed, and basic taijutsu must meet the absolute baseline of a Genin."
Monzaemon held up a third finger. "Finally, the academic test. This isn't just basic literacy. It covers global geography, foundational squad tactics, rudimentary intelligence analysis, and... loyalty to the village."
His tone shifted almost imperceptibly on the last point, a subtle weight added to the word, but the nuance vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Meet those three criteria, and you become a Genin," Monzaemon concluded. He picked his tools back up, signaling the end of the topic. "So, don't rush. The Academy will teach you what you need to know. Patience is just as vital as strength."
Sengoku quietly absorbed the intelligence. The requirements were indeed stricter than the lax standards he remembered Konoha having, but they were entirely within his current capabilities. As for the 'loyalty' assessment? It was likely a bureaucratic formality. Suna's administration didn't have the time or resources to deeply psychoanalyze an orphan who had never stepped foot outside the village walls.
Having acquired his target information, Sengoku didn't overstay his welcome. He asked a few more superficial questions about chakra threads to maintain his cover, thanked Monzaemon profusely for his time, and respectfully took his leave.
"Feel free to come by if you hit another wall in your training," Monzaemon called out without looking up from his gears. "But remember: take it one step at a time."
---
Stepping out of the cluttered workshop, the biting desert wind felt colder than before. Sengoku pulled his collar up and walked briskly through the dark streets, his mind rapidly categorizing his next moves.
Back in the silent confines of his stone house, he didn't immediately move to his workbench to carve sandstone. Instead, he stood by the table under the dim oil lamp, picking up the heavy, scarred training log he had brought back from the Academy.
Mastery of the Three Basic Jutsu. Physical combat proficiency. Tactical knowledge.
He mentally checked off the list. His brutal beating of Jiro proved his physical specs were already well beyond the Academy average, and his jutsu execution was practically seal-less. Faking the persona of a hot-blooded, village-loving youth to pass a loyalty check would be trivial.
The only real variable was the unwanted attention an early graduation might bring. But with the First Shinobi World War creeping closer every day, the risk of exposure was utterly negligible compared to the danger of remaining weak. He needed that Genin vest. He needed mission pay to fund his arsenal.
However, as his fingers traced the rough bark of the training log—measuring roughly forty centimeters long and distinctly dense—his urgent drive to petition for graduation hit a sudden, tactical pause.
The Kawarimi jutsu. The spatial swap.
His earlier epiphany roared back to the forefront of his mind: merging the Body Replacement Jutsu with explosive puppetry. The Pursuer was an active, ranged weapon. But what if he built a reactive, defensive trap?
He didn't need to build a complex, humanoid puppet for this. He needed a highly specialized, single-use bomb. A mechanical shell engineered to perfectly mimic the exact dimensions, weight, and chakra conductivity of a standard training log. If he could make the imitation flawless enough for the Kawarimi's spatial anchor to lock onto it seamlessly...
In a life-or-death battle, he could swap places with the decoy in the blink of an eye, teleporting to safety while leaving his attacker to strike a highly pressurized, detonating iron core.