The evening air was cool as Murakami made his way back from the stream. His muscles still ached from the day's training, the weighted seals having left their familiar ache in his limbs.
As he walked, his mind was already at work, calculating how to fit his new regimen into the next day.
Training remained the priority, but now bukijutsu demanded attention.
Should it be folded into the early morning routine, stacked atop his body workout and taijutsu training, or reserved for evening practice, when focus might be harder to maintain?
Then there was the Academy that took a major portion of the day. As a student, even if he is already knowledgeable about certain things, lessons and practice couldn't be skipped.
There was only so much his general knowledge from the anime could provide him.
Fūinjutsu was no different, it demanded calm, precision, and patience. Rushing it wasn't an option.
The store was the one thing he didn't have to worry about since Hina handled the day-to-day flawlessly.
Seeing that run smoothly freed him, but it also made him painfully aware of how little time there really was in a day.
This led him to understand that there was also the option of having others do the work for him but he quickly shook off that thought.
His personal strength remained a priority. Having someone learn Fūinjutsu for him was counterproductive since they could always leave.
There was the option of building trust but he wasn't keen on that. In a world filled with backstabbers and brainwashed fodder, he'd rather do it alone than have to watch his back at every twist and turn.
With that in mind, he started mapping the day out in his mind: mornings would be for meditation, workout, taijutsu and maybe bukijutsu if he felt sharp; midday, Academy lessons and sealing practice; evening, fūinjutsu review.
Every block mattered. Every minute counted.
By the time he reached the orphanage gates, he had a rough plan in place. It wasn't perfect, but for now, it would do.
Tomorrow would be the real test, fitting bukijutsu into the day without letting anything else slip.
Repetition by repetition. That was how he bent time to his will.
He soon arrived at the entrance of the orphanage where a few kids were running and kicking around a soft round ball with excitement on their faces.
Murakami smiled at the sight then tried to silently walk around them only for the ball to fly straight toward his head.
He caught sight of the ball from the corner of his eye and couldn't help but marvel at fate's attempt in not letting him proceed unnoticed
With a soft sigh, he reached out and plucked the ball from air before it could hit him.
*Gasp*
The children who hadn't noticed him at first gasped at the sight but immediately all became excited.
"Mura-nii!" One of the children shouted as his eyes sparkled in admiration. "So cool!"
Murakami's eyes twitched as he turned to the boy who also happened to be the culprit behind the ball's trajectory.
"Hiro-chan," he said, trying to sound stern. "What have I told you about control?"
Hiro looked down at his feet, cheeks reddening. "S-sorry, Mura-nii! I didn't mean to—it just slipped."
Murakami exhaled slowly, fighting back a small smile. "Lucky for you I'm in a good mood today. Next time, pay more attention."
He turned slightly to face them, balancing the ball in one hand while holding his staff in the other. "Control isn't just about not hitting people," he said, voice calm but firm.
"It's about knowing exactly what you're doing. Whether you're kicking a ball or training to be a shinobi, it's better to be careful and precise than to just hit as hard as you can."
He shifted his stance, planting his legs firmly and spinning the ball lightly on his finger while resting the staff against his shoulder.
"See? Everything comes from how you stand, how you move, and how you focus. Your hands, your legs, your balance, they all have to work together. If one part slips, the whole thing falls apart."
The kids' eyes widened, their small hands gripping at the air as if they could reach into his movements. "Wow, Mura-nii!"
Hiro-chan exclaimed, completely focused on the ball and the way it moved on Murakami's finger.
Murakami smiled faintly, tossing the ball lightly up and catching it on the back of his hand, letting it roll across his forearm. "Practice this," he said, allowing the ball to fall and lightly kicking it towards Hiro with a controlled tap, "and you'll see how much easier everything gets when your body and your mind work together."
The children leaned forward, watching him like he was magic. Murakami glanced down at them, suppressing a small smile as he walked away.
…
As Murakami disappeared through the orphanage door, the yard felt somewhat emptier, but the energy he left behind remained.
Hiro kicked the ball lightly, almost as if testing himself. "I… I want to do it like Mura-nii!" he blurted, cheeks still red from awe.
"Like… spinning it on your hand?!" another child, Emi, whispered, eyes wide as the ball rolled over to her.
She picked the ball and tried to mimic the motion, but the ball bounced clumsily between her fingers and hit her on the face. She yelped and laughed at herself.
Kenta, another kid crossed his arms trying to look serious, muttered, "I can totally do it. I just… need practice." But his eyes betrayed him as he kept looking at the door Murakami disappeared into as though not wanting to embarrass himself.
Some of the smaller kids stared silently, their mouths slightly open. "He makes it look so easy," one whispered to another, a mix of admiration and frustration in his voice.
Hiro-chan finally straightened, ball tucked under his arm. "Alright, that's enough for today," he said, glancing toward the orphanage door. "Even Mura-nii is back now… we don't want him seeing us all dirty and messy before dinner."
The others groaned lightly, but nodded. They knew how stern and intimidating Murakami could be when things weren't done right around him.
Laid back as Murakami might be, no one in the orphanage wanted to get on his bad side. Not even the older kids who had watched him grow.
…
Murakami had already put away his staff and scroll and making his way down the stairs, before he could reach the main floor, a small voice piped up.
"Mura-nii?"
He looked down to see Yuto, a shy boy of around 6 years he hadn't spent much time with before, standing a few steps ahead of him, eyes wide and serious.
"Hoshino-san said she wants to see you in the kitchen," Yuto said, shifting nervously. "She… she said it's important."
Murakami inclined his head slightly. "Alright," he said calmly, his mind already shifting from training schedules and evening routines to whatever Hoshino might need. "Lead the way."
Yuto brightened a little and scurried ahead, guiding Murakami toward the kitchen while he followed.
Murakami followed Yuto into the kitchen, the boy stepping aside to let him through the doorway.
Hoshino stood near the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked up as Murakami entered.
"Ah, Murakami-kun," she said with a smile. "I'm glad you're here. Daichi and Aiko aren't back yet and I need a hand with something before dinner."
Murakami nodded and stepped closer. "What do you need me to do?"
Hoshino pointed to a basket of vegetables. "I need these cleaned and prepped for tonight's meal. Can you help with that?"
"Of course," Murakami replied. He took the basket and set it on the counter, rolling up his sleeves.
Yuto lingered at the edge of the kitchen, watching silently, while Murakami began sorting the vegetables following which he washed them.
Hoshino moved to the stove, preparing other ingredients, and glanced over at him. "Thank you. I know you've had a long day."
Murakami smiled gave a slight nod, focusing on the task. "It's fine."
The kitchen filled with the quiet sounds of work, water running, vegetables being chopped, and the occasional clatter of utensils all while Yuto stayed close, observing everything.
'Looks like Daichi will have a wonderful Kouhai in the future.'
Murakami sliced the last carrot cleanly and pushed the pieces into the bowl. Hoshino glanced over, her shoulders easing a little.
"Perfect timing, Murakami-kun. Thank you."
He set the knife down. "Mm. What's next?"
Before she answered, Yuto shifted forward. His hands were clenched behind his back, as if holding himself still.
"Mura-nii… can I help too?"
Murakami looked at him. The boy's eyes were bright but uncertain, flicking between the counter and Murakami.
"You can pass me the bowls and utensils," Murakami said. "Careful. Don't rush."
Yuto nodded quickly, too quickly, and in his excitement, nearly bumped the counter while grabbing a stack of bowls. He steadied himself, cheeks warming, then handed them over with both hands.
Murakami took them without comment and kept his movements slow enough for Yuto to follow. The boy matched his rhythm, watching closely, slipping into step after a few tries.
When the final pot lid settled into place, Hoshino clapped lightly.
"That's everything. Good work."
Yuto straightened immediately, chest puffing a little. Murakami wiped his hands and nudged a ladle toward Yuto.
"Bring that to the table. Don't drip."
"Yes!" Yuto hurried off, careful with his step.
The kitchen grew quieter again, the simple order restored. Murakami moved to help with the serving trays, and Hoshino fell in beside him.