Chapter 97: A Simple Lesson in Basic Fuinjutsu Techniques
Some were muttering the names of animals in a specific order like a mantra, hoping to ingrain the sequence into their muscles. Their hushed voices blended into a strange murmur in the room, like the voices of priests reciting prayers in an ancient language.
While jutsu might require a number of hand seals to work, a skilled ninja could use fewer or even a single hand seal to perform the same jutsu, though some required no seals at all.
The lesson consisted of only theory, with some practice—a reminder to them that even though they were just starting out, the path to becoming a true ninja was long and fraught with trials.
Their teacher demonstrated the technique without seals, with just a sharp gaze and a single breath—a gaze that seemed to penetrate the soul, and the breath was enough to make the candles in the corners of the room sway subtly.
The students all held their breath, amazed, and then tried to imitate it again—albeit with awkward results. Some dropped their scrolls in their concentration. Others crossed their fingers in a nonsensical manner.
Sweat began to drip down their foreheads, but their spirits remained strong. Amidst all the failure and chaos, one thing slowly grew—perseverance.
This was followed by a simple lesson on basic Fuinjutsu techniques, involving the use of storage scrolls and explosive tags.
The Fuinjutsu lesson felt like a mix of calligraphy and explosives experimentation—as if training students to be both artists and explosives. Each student was provided with a blank scroll, special Chakra ink, and a sealing paper that smelled strange—slightly sharp, like a mixture of metal and burning incense smoke.
They were taught how to use the storage scrolls, both storing items inside and removing them from them.
Souta stared at the scroll in his hand, trying to channel Chakra into the symbols—the seemingly ordinary lines of ink suddenly glowed faintly beneath his palm, as if pulsing with life. When successful, a kunai emerged from the scroll, shooting out as if flicked.
The sound of metal whistling through the air at startling speed, nearly striking Souta in the eye. Startled, Souta staggered backward, holding his breath. Several other students gasped in surprise, and one or two laughed nervously, while their teacher simply nodded calmly, as if it were part of the learning process.
They were also taught how to use explosive tags. For this, they were again taken to a training ground outside the village, as the training was quite dangerous, as it involved explosions.
The training ground was a sand dune near Sunagakure Village, dotted with craters from old explosions. The sound of explosions, like small fireworks, echoed from behind the hill, sometimes sounding like laughter, sometimes like the roar of a distant monster.
The smell of smoke and ash hung in the air, making your eyes sting slightly and your throat itch. The wind carried bits of charred paper swirling like black snow.
They were taught how to attach explosive tags, how to throw kunai with explosive tags, and how to make traps with string and explosive tags—an exercise that required precision, intuition, and a bit of courage.
The students walked cautiously like hunters in a minefield, setting the traps with trembling hands and constantly darting their eyes left and right.
Souta had set a trap that almost worked—a simple but neat one, with a fine string attached to an explosive tag hidden behind a bush. As Makima stepped toward it, the string nearly retracted.
But Makima leaped out of the way with a graceful leap, her body spinning lightly in the air, and landed soundlessly, then looked at Souta as if to say, "Try again, Souta." The gaze was sharp but not contemptuous—more like a silent encouragement to improve.
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Chapter 98: Tracking and Stealth Training
They were trained for three months, or in other words, until the sixth month. Three months that felt like a mental and physical test. Their hands were covered in ink stains and tiny cuts from sharp paper, and their ears constantly rang from the bangs. But slowly, they got used to it.
By the end of the sixth month, all the students could recognize the sound of a lit fuse just by its hiss—even from ten paces away. That soft "sss-sss-sss," now made their bodies move instinctively—duck, jump, or roll to safety, like a cat in a storm.
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Then, in the seventh month, Souta and the Ninja Academy students studied a simulated team battle against a teacher/instructor. Souta again teamed up with Pakura, Makima, and a girl—known for her quiet but agile demeanor—to fight together against a teacher.
The instructor they faced this time was known for being cunning and quick—like an old weasel with a good deal of experience. The man's gaze was sharp and often filled with a fake smile, as if enjoying this game of cat and mouse.
The simulation wasn't just a battle, but a psychological warfare that put a strain on the mind and spirit. They had to read movements, guess intentions from a wink or a shoulder position, and move silently—as if every breath could invite destruction.
Every wrong move was punished. Not with violence, but with defeat, forcing them to start over. And most painfully—with a small taunt from the instructor like, "Oh, that was close, if only you weren't as slow as a turtle."
In addition, they also underwent advanced combat strategy and tactics training, where they had to practice adjusting combat strategies and tactics to suit the team's conditions and the mission area. This training required more than just strength. They had to think like squad leaders—understanding the positions of their teammates, the terrain, and the precise timing of attacks.
They were given a rough map of the training area, hand-drawn on an ancient scroll with ink still wet in places, complete with natural obstacles and man-made traps. There were shallow rivers, fragile wooden bridges, thorny bushes, and hills with loose rocks.
Souta and his team sat cross-legged around the map, with solemn gazes and small pencils in hand, marking entry points, ambush points, and escape points. Pakura whispered quickly, Makima added short notes, and the mysterious girl simply pointed silently—but always accurately.
They debated in hushed voices, plotting each move like a lively game of shogi. Sometimes Souta tapped his chin with the handle of a kunai, considering the best path to flank the enemy.
Three months passed, now it was the ninth month.
Time flowed like an autumn river. The seasons began to change. The once-warm air now carried a nip of cold that crept in during training, cutting through the gaps in their clothing like thin knives.
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Now entering their tenth month, Souta was studying tracking and stealth training—in other words, Infiltration.
They were taught how to walk without leaving a trace, how to blend in with their surroundings, and even how to imitate animal sounds when necessary.
The sounds of birds, the snorts of wild animals, and the chirps of insects became part of their living camouflage. The training was like an art that taught them to disappear, not only physically, but also from the enemy's awareness.
Souta and the others practiced reading tracks—whether it was footprints, oddities in the surrounding area, or anything else. Souta learned to recognize trampled grass, small twigs, and even faint dips in the ground caused by someone's knee.
They also learned how to wear various clothing suitable for disguise—from priests' garb to peasants' garbs to beggars'. Each outfit had its own rules: how to walk, how to talk, and even how to smell.
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