Two years.
It didn't sound like much time, but when I look back, a lot has changed.
At ten years old and in my fifth year at the Academy, I've grown, not just in knowledge and skill, but physically as well.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror of my room within the orphanage, I barely recognize the kid I used to be when I first arrived here.
Six years. Gone.
The roundness of my face was gone, leaving behind sharper angles, nothing too defined yet, but enough to make me look less like a little kid.
My hair obviously retained its deep black colour, though I allow it to grow longer now, cropped just above my eyebrows to keep it from getting in my eyes.
My skin that used to be smooth, has started showing early signs of maturity.
There were small scars on my knuckles, a faint scratch near my jaw from a sparring match that went wrong, and a roughness to my palm from constant training.
I'm taller than most kids my age, but not by much. Just enough to be intimidating.
My build was lean with wiry muscle, defined from the weighted seals and relentless training drills I put myself through.
And then there were my eyes. Colour. Nothing protagonist inducing.
This was good.
As for other matters…
"Oof."
The early morning chill swept through me as I stepped outside, stretching the tension from my limbs.
The gravity of the weighted seals, a constant pressure on my muscles. They've grown stronger and denser, over the years, just like my chakra.
I let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the air before I proceeded on my way. Thoughts of what I've accomplished so far playing through my mind.
When I first started my business, my only real concern was securing a future where I didn't have to scrape by or risk my life just for some quick cash like some mercenary.
Well, that's what Shinobi are, but still…
As the ryō started coming in, I realized something: the orphanage needed help more than I did.
I mean, sure, I could've used the money to buy better training gear, nicer clothes, or even save up for some chakra-enhancing supplements, but every time I thought about it, I'd come back to the same frustrating conclusion.
I had it better than the others.
Not by much, but still.
I had my little business. I had a way to improve myself, to carve out a future beyond whatever scraps the village decided to throw my way. The other kids? Not so much.
And I didn't like that.
Not that I'd ever say that out loud.
It was annoying, infuriating even, seeing the younger ones with holes in their clothes, shivering in the colder months because the orphanage barely had enough blankets to go around.
It pissed me off.
Like, what kind of shinobi village was this?
I understood that they were going through a difficult time with the war and all that, but in a place where people could spit fire from their mouths and summon clones out of thin air, we still had kids going to bed hungry?
Still had drafty rooms and broken floorboards that no one bothered to fix?
Ridiculous. Stupid. Infuriating.
I wasn't some kind of saint, but come on.
And yeah, I wasn't a genius businessman or some high-ranking shinobi with endless resources, but I could do something.
So I did.
With Hina coordinating it, we started small, extra clothes and blankets, fixing up some of the worst parts of the orphanage.
I made sure to be subtle about it, though. Can't have people thinking I'm some bleeding heart or anything. No way.
So whenever Hoshino-san asked where the new supplies came from, I just shrugged and said I had no idea.
When the younger kids found thicker futons waiting for them at night, I just acted like I had no idea and looked on in excitement…my own kind of excitement.
I'm sure they picked up on that.
Two years ago, the roof leaked whenever it rained, and the floors creaked under every step. It was difficult to be silent when you walked in the building.
It wasn't terrible though, just worn down, like a place that had seen too many years without enough care.
Now?
The difference is night and day.
New tatami mats line the floors, the walls have been replaced and reinforced, and the entire building has been expanded to house more children.
We even have a proper storage room now, properly organized, labeled, and fitted with small storage seals to stretch the space farther than physics should allow.
The money from my business has steadily funneled into the orphanage, though I never let my name be attached to it.
Instead, I made sure the funds went through Ishida-san, who took to the role of 'anonymous benefactor's representative' with an amused sort of professionalism.
Hina, of course, helped maintain the story.
The secrecy worked in my favor, not just for security reasons, but because it allowed me to operate without unnecessary attention.
To me, wealth was a test of character, it reveals whether we can give without losing ourselves, or gain without losing our integrity.
Most would argue otherwise but I couldn't be bothered to care.
People like to think money changes you.
It doesn't.
It just shows who you were all along.
If you were selfish before, wealth gives you a bigger mirror to admire yourself in.
If you cared before, it just gives you more reach.
Simple as that.
I wasn't trying to be some hero, or build a reputation as the "kind orphan who made it big."
That's stupid. Attention gets you killed faster than poverty in this world.
…Or in any world as a matter of fact.
The thing is, I just didn't want to forget where I came from.
So I thought; If I have the means, what am I going to do with them?
It's not enough that I earn, the question is what I build with it, and how I let it serve more than just me.
I decided I wouldn't be the kind of shinobi who only trains hard to fight and hoard rewards for myself. Instead, I'd channel what I earned into something better.
That was the principle of investment I lived by.
For me, the answer I came to was simple:
I give because I can.
That was the conclusion I had come to.
This was my home and although I will age out soon, it'll always be my home.
No matter how much I dreaded the future this world had in store, I wasn't about to let that ruin the present moment that is already as beautiful as it is.
So the orphanage became the priority.
Not because I wanted to be noticed, but because someone needed to step up.
…
I step into the kitchen, where Hoshino-san is already preparing breakfast.
"Early as always, Murakami-kun," She greets without turning around.
"Hmm," I hummed, moving to help her. "Good morning ma'am."
She gave a small chuckle at that, stirring the pot with a practiced hand.
"You've been up since dawn again, haven't you?"
I shrugged, reaching for a basket of vegetables and starting to slice them with a kitchen knife. "Old habits. The body wakes up before the sun does these days."
"Before the sun and before me," she replied, smiling faintly. "You're still a child, you know. You should be sleeping in, not running around training before breakfast."
I smirked. "If I sleep in, who's going to run the orphanage when you retire?"
That earned a short laugh. "Retire? I'll think about that on the day you stop working yourself to exhaustion. Someone has to take care of you."
I smiled slightly and didn't reply. This wasn't the first time we were having this conversation so we fell into an easy rhythm, with the quiet sounds of chopping, boiling, and clinking utensils filling the kitchen.
Yup. I still made the meals with Hoshino in the orphanage whenever I was around.
Strength, Chakra, and Growth
Two years of relentless training have reshaped me.
Physically, I'm stronger.
The weighted seals have paid off, and my body keeps adapting to the ever-increasing resistance.
My speed, endurance, and reaction time have improved significantly, and I no longer feel sluggish when moving at full weight.
Taijutsu? Still not an expert, but I've drilled enough basics to hold my own against most of my classmates. I may lack raw talent, but I make up for it with speed and clean, efficient movements.
Chakra?
That's where the real growth is.
Two years ago, I barely had enough chakra to stick on a surface for 15-20 minutes. Now, I can sit upside down without breaking a sweat for an hour.
My control has improved drastically thanks to constant refining with water walking and chakra thread exercises.
It really wasn't prodigious, when you think about it, but it's solid.
Why I say this is because with the right amount of consistent effort anyone could achieve this.
Even an academy Sasuke could perform the C-Rank Fire ball jutsu after a series of repetition.
To outsiders, I may be a genius, but I don't believe that to be the case. I just worked harder than others.
When it comes to the chakra control exercises, I've gotten a good handle on water walking. It was there all along but I failed to grasp it.
At first, water walking had been a frustrating mess. Tree climbing was one thing, solid, tangible, predictable. It was like walking on land but with an altered sense of gravity.
Water? Water was a traitorous bastard.
The first few times I tried, I sank immediately. The next few times, I overcompensated and got launched backward like some kind of idiot. It felt impossible to find the balance between too much and too little chakra.
Then, one night, while lying on my futon, mentally running through my failures, I remembered something. A quote from one of the greatest martial artists of my past life—Bruce Lee.
"Be like water, my friend."
My thoughts stirred, staring at the ceiling as the words rolled around in my head.
Water wasn't just some passive thing that got in my way. It wasn't weak. It was inevitable.
It yielded, yet eroded mountains.
It flowed, yet carved its own path.
It didn't oppose the world, it moved with it, bending and reshaping without ever losing its essence.
In that instant, I felt something click inside me. My chakra, my thoughts, even my heartbeat, everything seemed to align, moving with a rhythm beyond conscious control.
It was about understanding it, its freedom, its patience, its quiet, unrelenting strength.
I called that experience; Enlightenment.