News traveled fast in the Warring States. While Raizen was still busy boasting about the clan's latest victory, another message reached him — Senju and Uchiha were about to clash again.
He let out a long sigh. "So, the timeline still loops. Hashirama and Madara are fated to beat each other bloody no matter what I do."
He rubbed his temple and muttered, "Not my circus. Not my fireball jutsu. Right now, I've got to deal with the Hua Xing and Daitō clans."
Both those clans were under siege by the Kaguya, struggling to hold their ground. For Raizen, that spelled opportunity. "If we play this right, we could pull them into our orbit. The Amamiya clan could finally stop being the background extras in someone else's legend."
But his strategist's instinct kicked in. "If I rush them, they'll bite back. We need a precise plan. Submission without resentment—that's the trick."
Unfortunately, he didn't have a clue what that plan was.
He wandered through the clan compound, his thoughts circling like crows. Eventually, he found himself at the training field.
Dozens of children were there, sweating through basic taijutsu drills under a weary chūnin's command. Their shouts echoed against the wooden walls.
Raizen crossed his arms. "Recruiting foreign ninja can patch our numbers for now, but this? This is the real answer. The next generation has to be built, not borrowed."
The drills were sloppy. Stances weak. Movements predictable. The kind of "training" that produced corpses, not soldiers. "These kids wouldn't last a day in a real battle," he thought grimly. "Time to fix that."
His eyes sharpened. "I'll change this."
He summoned Amamiya Ten, the elder who handled internal clan affairs — a practical man, sharp as an old kunai.
Ten arrived with a polite bow. "You called for me, Raizen-sama?"
"I just watched our new generation train," Raizen said flatly. "It's all surface-level. If they're sent to the battlefield like this, most of them won't come back."
Ten frowned. "I agree, but we're short on active shinobi. Who would even teach them? We can't spare anyone."
Raizen smirked. "Then we make a system that teaches them for us. A Ninja Academy."
Ten blinked. "A… what?"
"A place dedicated to raising shinobi," Raizen explained, pacing as he spoke. "We teach both theory and combat. Kids start at four, learn the basics, graduate when they're ready. Six years total. Anyone can apply — clan-born or outsider — as long as they've got the talent."
Ten's eyes widened. "You mean to educate all children together? Even those from outside the clan?"
"Exactly. They'll all study side by side. The academy will only teach basic and C-rank ninjutsu — just enough to give them the foundation. That way, Amamiya children and outsiders grow strong together."
Ten scratched his chin. "If it's only the basics, how's that different from what we do now?"
Raizen chuckled. "I said two parts: theory and practice. The theory's taught by veterans — people who've seen war, not just read scrolls. The practice is where things get serious. Student duels. Field missions. Real teamwork under real pressure."
"Field missions?" Ten's voice rose in surprise.
"Exactly," Raizen said. "Most young ninja die not because they're weak, but because they panic. So before they ever touch a real battlefield, we'll toughen their minds. Once a week, academy teams will go on supervised missions — errands, bandit cleanups, courier runs — led by a Jōnin. Controlled danger. Real experience."
Ten's expression softened from doubt to awe. The vision was bold, maybe even revolutionary. "If this works… it'll tie every foreign ninja to us. Their children will grow up with ours — fighting, learning, surviving together."
Raizen nodded. "And when graduation comes, only those who pass get to call themselves ninja. The rest stay in training. It cuts casualties and forces improvement."
Ten's hands trembled slightly as he imagined it. "If we build this academy… the Amamiya clan could rise higher than ever before."
Raizen looked out over the training field, where children kept shouting through another round of tired drills. His voice was quiet but firm. "This world worships bloodlines and legends. Fine. We'll build ours from the ground up — one student at a time."
And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.