I kept at it, extending more chakra threads from my fingers, adjusting the flow and testing different points along the fox's body. Each time a limb twitched, even slightly, I carefully shifted the point of contact, sliding the thread by fractions until I found the exact location where it responded best. It was slow work, full of trial and error, and every limb was different. What worked for one leg did nothing for another, and the head required an entirely separate approach. Still, progress was progress. Piece by piece, I mapped most of the responsive points across the figurine. A small smile crept onto my face as I extended several threads at once, each anchored to a precise location, then injected chakra with carefully controlled concentration.
The fox reacted. Its head shook in a stiff, mechanical motion, followed by an awkward shift of its front legs. The movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but unmistakably intentional. I focused, guiding the threads with care and coaxing the figurine forward. It took a clumsy step, then another, its balance off but holding. That alone was enough to make my pulse quicken. It was not smooth or elegant, but it was real progress.
I stared at the figurine with renewed awe. This was not simple chakra threading. The threads were not manipulating the limbs directly. Instead, they were interfacing with something beneath the surface. Seals. My chakra threads latched onto small, precisely placed seal points along the exterior, and through them I could faintly sense a much larger internal network responding. Now that I was connected, the structure revealed itself bit by bit. Layers of fuinjutsu were woven throughout the inside of the fox, regulating chakra flow, interpreting intent, and coordinating movement through chained interactions rather than direct force. It reminded me, vaguely, of Master Shuzo's notes on multi-phase traps and conditional seal activation, but only at a distance. Those designs were rigid and reactive, built around fixed triggers and predetermined outcomes. This was something else entirely. It adjusted. It responded. It behaved less like a trap and more like a system that expected interaction.
This was an entirely different discipline of fuinjutsu, one Konoha did not have knowledge of.
The realization made my curiosity burn brighter. Carefully, deliberately, I decided to take the figurine apart. I moved slowly, examining seams, testing resistance, feeling for hidden locking mechanisms. Since it was assembled, there had to be a correct way to disassemble it, and forcing it apart would risk damaging the internal seals. Finding the proper sequence was not easy. Some pieces resisted until others were removed first, and more than once I had to stop and reassess before continuing. Still, the distraction was welcome, especially when it was this engaging.
After some time, the fox lay separated into neat, orderly pieces across the floor. Every part was intact, each component carefully set aside. Without chakra flowing through it, the internal seals remained hidden. I exhaled softly, relieved. If the puppet toy had been any more complex, I might have failed, but it was small and contained enough that patience carried me through my lack of experience with this kind of system.
I started from the first piece in the order I had disassembled it, extending a chakra thread and carefully activating the seals embedded within. Dark lines bloomed into view, ink-like and precise, responding to the chakra flow. I studied them closely before transferring every detail onto a scroll I had summoned, copying the structure exactly as it appeared. Once I finished documenting the first piece, I moved on to the next, repeating the process methodically, part by part, until I reached the last fragment of the fox.
By the end, I had the complete seal schematic laid out in front of me.
They were foreign. Completely unlike any sealing formulas I had seen in Konoha. A few markings carried vague similarities, hints of familiar functions like regulation or distribution, but those were rare and superficial. Most of the seals followed principles I did not recognize at all, their purposes unclear and their interactions unfamiliar. Whatever tradition this came from, it was not one we practiced openly, if at all.
I leaned back with a quiet sigh. I had already removed lightning chakra circulation and Stormdrive training from my schedule, expecting to gain time elsewhere, but now that expectation felt naive. Understanding how this fox functioned would demand focus, patience, and a level of study I had not planned for. Still, the thought did not discourage me. If anything, it stirred excitement. Learning something entirely new always did.
I leaned forward again, eyes scanning the schematics as I traced how the chakra threads connected into the wider formation. Piece by piece, I began reconstructing the fox in my mind, preserving the integrity of the entire system while mentally linking each seal, thread, and response. I imagined the flow, the transitions, the way intent was translated into motion. It was like running a full simulation in my head, testing interactions without ever activating the real thing. Fortunately, that kind of mental assembly was not unfamiliar to me. Any shinobi serious about fuinjutsu had to learn to think this way.
I had a vague grasp of how the system functioned now, at least at a surface level. The real difficulty lay ahead. Understanding which seal did what, how they interacted, and why they were arranged this way would take far more time than simply making the fox move. I was still turning that thought over when I sensed Shisui approaching the house. Instinct kicked in. In a single motion, I funneled chakra into the seal etched into my palm and stored everything in front of me away, scrolls, parts, notes, all of it gone an instant before the door slid open. Shisui stepped inside, arms loaded with bags, already grumbling. "Those merchants are vultures. I usually buy ready food with fixed prices, but vegetables, meat, seasoning, everything costs a fortune. And they do not budge. No fear, no threats, nothing. I swear they are more brutal than missing-nin." I nodded in quiet agreement. Finally, someone who understood the true enemy. Raw ingredients were absurdly expensive, and the way merchants guarded their prices bordered on criminal. Shisui dropped the groceries down and collapsed into a sitting position, clearly exhausted from nothing more than aggressive haggling. I looked down at him, took in the state he was in after a simple shopping trip, and muttered silently to myself, pathetic.
I started preparing dinner as I spoke, more out of habit than anything else. "You should have bargained for bulk," I said while washing the rice. "They will eat you alive if you do not fight for every single ryō. Sensei, you have to learn to be strict with merchants." Shisui shook his head as he dropped onto the floor. "No. I will leave the shopping to you." He paused, then frowned. "Actually, one of the merchants said this handwriting looked familiar. He went pale after that and gave me an absurdly hard time. What did you do to them?" I chuckled nervously, keeping my eyes on the pot. "I will go shopping next time. Do not worry about it, sensei."
Given how drained I felt, both physically and emotionally, I kept the meal simple, but I did not cut corners. Rice cooked properly, rinsed until the water ran clear and left to steam instead of being rushed. A light broth built slowly from vegetables, skimmed clean, seasoned just enough to wake the body without weighing it down. For the meat, I trimmed it carefully and seared it hot, letting it caramelize before lowering the heat so it stayed tender, finishing it with the fat and juices it released instead of drowning it in spices. Nothing fancy. Nothing wasteful. Just balanced.
When I set the meal down, Shisui paused mid-movement. He took the first bite out of politeness, then stopped. His shoulders eased almost immediately, tension draining out of him so fast it was almost funny. He took another bite, slower this time, then another, and by the third his posture had straightened and the tired haze in his eyes had thinned. "This is… good," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. A moment later he frowned at the plate. "No, this is really good." I watched him finish everything without another word, the energy returning to his movements, and felt a quiet sense of satisfaction settle in.
He glanced around the now clean, pleasantly scented house, then at the empty bowls, licking his lips with clear regret as if still wishing for a second serving. Only then did he look back at me, staring with something close to wonder. His voice lifted with renewed energy. "Noa," he said, the excitement rising despite his attempt to sound calm, "why do you not just stay here for good?" I recoiled slightly at the sudden enthusiasm, but he leaned forward. "In return, I will teach you all my secrets. I will train you to become the strongest shinobi in history."