…
Mito Uzumaki's POV
There are days I wonder what kind of circumstances birthed Murakami.
He speaks far too calmly and carries himself with far more caution than someone his age should.
This project of his is the sort of undertaking I would expect from an experienced Uzumaki Fūinjutsu expert after years buried in theory and experimentation.
Not from a fifteen-year-old boy.
And yet, here he was.
When he first explained it to me, I thought the idea was a little ridiculous.
Not because it was impossible, but because it didn't really make sense.
And the more he explained, the more I realized that the basic principle could actually work.
What surprised me was how casually he spoke about it.
He wasn't boasting or trying to impress me, he simply explained the problem, the solutions he'd already considered, and the difficulties that remained.
Then, when one solution proved impractical, he immediately started looking for another.
That caught my attention.
Most shinobi are content to use what already works. Murakami seems interested in asking why it works, and whether it can be done differently.
His communication network is a good example.
Clans already possess techniques that allow information to travel over great distances. Sensors also had techniques to do that. Because of that, few people would think to turn communication itself into a system independent of those abilities.
Murakami did.
And when I pointed out the problem of powering such a network, he didn't try to force the original idea.
He changed the problem.
He proposed converting chakra into another form of energy, storing it, and using that stored energy to operate the network.
Electricity, he called it.
I still don't know whether that idea will work, but I understand why he believes it might.
That is what makes him interesting.
He doesn't seem to have all the answers, but herefuses to stop at the first question.
I noticed something else during our conversation.
He is careful about what he reveals.
Very careful.
I don't know whether that comes from his time in the war, or simply his nature. We have spoken properly only once, so I would be foolish to pretend I understand him already.
But I can say this much; there is very little childishness in the way he thinks.
He is still fifteen, yet listening to him speak, it is easy to forget his age.
Tsunade has told me quite a bit about him, though I suspect her stories are not entirely reliable. She is still a child, after all, and children have a habit of making ordinary things sound much more interesting.
Still, after speaking with him myself, I can understand some of her fascination.
There is something unusual about the way he thinks.
I cannot say I understand him yet. We have only just begun speaking properly.
Perhaps that is why I offered to teach him.
His knowledge of Fūinjutsu is impressive, but there are gaps in it. He has learned much on his own, yet there are things that cannot be discovered efficiently through experimentation alone.
If I can help him avoid a few mistakes, perhaps that will be enough.
As for what he eventually does with that knowledge… That remains his decision.
For now, I am simply curious; what kind of person will a boy like Murakami become if someone gives that mind proper guidance?
I suppose I'll find out.
…
"What do you think of this world, Murakami-kun?" Mito asked, her gaze resting on the young man seated across from her.
Murakami glanced at her. "Is that supposed to be a philosophical question?"
"Think what you will. Just give me an answer."
He was quiet for a moment. His fingers rose to his chin as he considered the question, and then he looked back at her. "I think this world is sick."
Mito's brows lifted slightly. "Oh?"
"Hmm." He nodded. "Very sick."
"That is quite a judgment. Why?"
Murakami gave a small shrug. "Because too many things are wrong, and everyone has simply learned to live with them."
Mito said nothing, allowing him to continue.
"Children are trained to kill before they're old enough to understand what death means. Clans raise their children to hate other clans because of things their ancestors did. Villages build armies, then call them tools for peace."
He paused. "And when the next war comes, everyone acts surprised."
There was no anger in his voice. If anything, that made his words more unsettling. He spoke as though he were simply describing something he had observed many times.
"We keep treating the symptoms," he continued. "A war ends, so we celebrate peace. A village loses too many shinobi, so we train more. Someone betrays us, so we create better security. Then the same problems appear again a generation later."
Mito's expression grew thoughtful. "You believe peace is temporary?"
"I think the way this world pursues peace is temporary."
That answer caught her attention.
Murakami leaned back slightly. "Peace isn't just the absence of fighting. If the reasons people fight never change, then you're only waiting for the next excuse."
Mito studied him for a moment. "You sound rather pessimistic for someone your age."
A faint smile touched his lips. "I'm not pessimistic."
"No?"
"I'm practical."
Mito almost smiled. "And what does a practical young man intend to do about a world he believes is sick?"
Murakami was silent for several seconds. "Nothing, for now."
That answer surprised her. "Nothing?"
"I don't know enough yet."
He looked down at his hands. "I know what I don't like about this world. That doesn't mean I know how to fix it."
Mito nodded slowly.
That, at least, sounded more reasonable.
"But I can start with something small."
"Your communication network?"
"Yes." He looked toward the opened scroll. "Information is one of the problems I can actually do something about."
"How so?"
"Because people make decisions based on what they know."
His gaze returned to hers. "If information is delayed, people make decisions with incomplete information. If it's intercepted, they make decisions based on assumptions. If it's difficult to obtain, only those with the right connections have access to it."
He paused. "A better communication system won't end wars. I'm not foolish enough to believe that."
Mito's eyes flickered slightly.
"But it might prevent some mistakes. It might allow someone to warn another village before a situation gets out of control. It might let a merchant coordinate with someone hundreds of miles away without relying on a shinobi to transport sensitive information. It would save more lives."
"A few lives," Mito repeated.
Murakami nodded. "That's enough reason to try."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mito asked quietly, "And if it becomes something more?"
Murakami's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then I'll decide what to do with it when I get there."
Mito smiled faintly.
A sensible answer, or perhaps simply the answer of a boy who had already learned that some ambitions were safer when spoken of one step at a time.
"And all this effort, simply to avoid relying on another person."
Murakami didn't flinch. "That's what I came to you for, isn't it? A better way. A way that doesn't require sacrificing someone just to make the system work."
"And if there isn't one?"
"Then I wait. I refine. I rethink." He shrugged slightly. "I'm not that desperate, Mito-sama."
"Not yet," she murmured.
He caught that, but let it slide.
"I've read enough to know how the world reacts to things it doesn't understand," he continued. "It rarely embraces them at first. People resist. They call them unnatural or dangerous."
He paused. "Then someone proves they work, and after that? Everyone wants them."
Mito narrowed her eyes slightly. "And which side do you intend to be on when that happens?"
"Neither, if I can help it." A faint smile touched his lips. "But I'm not under any illusion that I'll always be the one deciding what happens to something I create."
He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the wooden floor. "That's the part that bothers me."
Mito said nothing.
"I can control the design. I can control how I build it. But once something becomes useful enough, other people will want it. They'll improve it, restrict it, weaponize it, or try to destroy it."
His fingers tightened slightly against his knee. "And I don't know yet which of those possibilities worries me most."
Mito watched him quietly.
For all his confidence, there was something almost ordinary in that uncertainty.
Perhaps he simply understood that some things could not be controlled once they were released into the world.
"I've thought about where this world is heading," Murakami continued. "Not because I know exactly what will happen, but because the pattern is difficult to ignore."
He lifted his gaze again.
"Villages grow. They get greedy. Tensions build. Eventually, something gives and it's all chaos. People die, everyone calls it necessary, and when it's over, they rebuild and call the result peace."
He paused.
"Then the next generation inherits the same problems."
Mito's eyes narrowed slightly. "You believe the cycle will repeat."
"I think it would be foolish to assume it won't."
"And what do you intend to do when it does?"
Murakami was silent for a moment. "I don't know."
His answer was simple.
"But I'd rather have something useful in my hands when that day comes than realize afterward that I could have done something."
Mito tilted her head slightly. There it was. That unusual air about the way he spoke.
It was the way he described the cycle itself, as though he had spent a great deal of time thinking about where it led. There was a weariness beneath his words that didn't quite belong to someone his age.
Mito's fingers rested quietly against her robes.
For years, she had watched the same cycle repeat. Clans raised children to protect their own, protection became rivalry, rivalry became hatred, and hatred eventually became war.
The Village System had broken that cycle for a time. Hashirama had believed it could last.
But after his death, the peace they had built proved more fragile than anyone wanted to admit. The villages remained, the weapons remained, and so did the fear that had created them in the first place.
She had spent years wondering whether anything could truly break it.
And now, sitting across from her, was a fifteen-year-old boy speaking about the same problem in his own strange way.
For the first time in a long while, Mito felt something stir in her chest.
Hope.
Perhaps it was foolish.
Perhaps it was simply the hope of an old woman who had spent too long watching the world repeat its mistakes.
Still, she couldn't deny it.
"You think you're the only one who sees the cracks?" she asked.
Murakami shook his head. "No. But I think most people see the cracks and simply learn to step around them."
His gaze settled on her. "I'd rather see if they can be repaired."
Mito smiled faintly. "That sounds considerably harder."
"I never thought it would be easy." He shifted slightly, then, unexpectedly, his expression became almost playful. "Let me give you an example, Mito-sensei."
She raised an eyebrow but allowed him to continue.
"If you put a hundred red ants and a hundred black ants into the same jar, they can coexist perfectly well. They have no reason to fight."
Mito listened.
"But what happens when you shake the jar?" His smile disappeared. "They'll start attacking each other."
He paused.
"The red ants think the black ants are the enemy. The black ants think the red ants are the enemy. Neither side knows why the other is attacking, so they simply respond."
His eyes met hers. "But neither of them is the one who shook the jar."
Mito's expression slowly changed. "The jar is the world," she said.
"And the hand shaking it is whatever keeps creating the conditions for them to fight."
Silence settled between them.
Murakami continued. "That's how I see the shinobi world. Different villages, different clans, different interests. Everyone reacts to whatever threat is placed in front of them."
His voice remained calm. "They fight. They lose people. They become afraid. That fear creates another reason to prepare for the next fight."
He shrugged slightly. "And eventually someone shakes the jar again."
Mito looked down at her tea.
It was a simple analogy, yet there was something uncomfortable about how well it fit.
"And what do you intend to do?" she asked.
"Stop shaking the jar."
Mito gave a quiet laugh. "A noble goal."
"I didn't say I knew how to accomplish it."
That answer made her look back at him.
Murakami's expression was serious. "I just know that killing the ants isn't going to solve the problem."
Mito was quiet for a moment. "And if someone else is holding the jar?"
"Then I'll have to convince them to put it down."
"And if they refuse?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the garden beyond the open shoji. "Then I'll just have to be strong enough to take it."
Mito studied him for a moment.
There was no grand declaration in his voice. No claim that he would save the world, nor any certainty that he even knew how.
Just a stubborn willingness to keep looking for another answer.
That, perhaps, was more believable.
"You speak about these things with an odd amount of conviction for someone your age."
Murakami gave a small smile. "Maybe I just spend too much time thinking."
"Perhaps." Mito let the silence linger. "And your communication network?" she asked. "Where does that fit into all this?"
"It's a tool."
"Only a tool?"
"For now."
Mito raised an eyebrow. "For now?"
Murakami nodded. "Information doesn't stop people from fighting. But having the right information at the right time can stop a bad situation from becoming worse."
"And who decides what information people receive?"
His expression became more guarded. "That is a problem I'll have to solve before the network becomes large enough for it to matter."
Mito smiled faintly. "At least you recognize that it is a problem."
"I'd be an idiot not to."
She chuckled.
He wasn't presenting himself as someone who had already solved everything. He had ideas, certainly. Ambition too.
But beneath both was caution.
"You remind me a little of my husband," Mito said after a moment.
Murakami froze for a moment. "The First Hokage?"
Mito laughed softly. "No. Hashirama."
Her smile faded into something gentler. "The man before he became the Hokage. He believed the world could be changed. He was idealistic enough to think peace was possible, even when everyone around him insisted otherwise."
She looked at Murakami who was now looking at her with doubt in his eyes. "You're different from him."
"I would hope so," he immediately said in obvious relief.
Mito chuckled. "But there is something similar."
"What?"
"You don't seen satisfied with simply accepting the world as it is."
Murakami went quiet.
Mito lifted her teacup.
"Whether that becomes wisdom or trouble remains to be seen."
A faint smile appeared on his face. "Probably both."
Mito laughed softly. "Now that sounds more like something Tobirama would say."
Murakami gave her a dry look. "I'll take that as a compliment, then."
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Like it? Read up to chapter 90 on [email protected]/This_Young_Lord