Chapter Four
A week later.
The memory of discovering my affinity was a ghost that haunted my every waking moment. I was still training, pushing my physical body until my muscles screamed and my bones felt like they were grinding to dust. All to raise my basic stamina. I had also begun, with the grim determination of a man digging his own grave, to increase my control over my chakra.
And on top of that, I had finally, finally identified my elemental nature.
I let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to deflate my entire body. The air in my small room was still and heavy.
Scrape.
My fingernails dragged across the wooden floor as I clenched my fist.
"I have the Lightning affinity," I muttered to the empty room.
The words tasted like ash.
I hadn't expected to get this. And the reason I wasn't exactly doing cartwheels of joy? It's a damn nightmare to find techniques for it. The village's specialized technique library was notoriously sparse when it came to Lightning Release. It was a rare affinity, a double-edged sword of power and scarcity.
---
The Technique Hall loomed before me, a building that seemed to pulse with the silent energy of a thousand secrets. I pushed the heavy oak door open, its groan a low, complaining note in the bustling atmosphere.
Whoosh.
The door swung inward,revealing a river of people.
I saw ninja and shinobi of all shapes and sizes flowing in and out. Some had the weary look of veterans, their faces etched with stories I probably didn't want to hear. Others were fresh-faced, their eyes wide with ambition. Perhaps some were here to purchase a shiny new technique, a fresh kill for their arsenal. Maybe others were trying to pick up a new mission from the section that was, I knew, linked to the Mission Desk. Now wasn't the time to think about that, though. My mission was clear.
I approached the reception desk, my footsteps echoing faintly on the polished stone floor. The woman behind it was… normal. Deeply, almost offensively normal. She looked to be in her early twenties, with long, chestnut-brown hair that fell in soft waves and eyes the color of dark coffee. She was a calm island in the chaotic sea of shinobi. Notably, she didn't wear the Konoha forehead protector that was practically a part of every ninja's uniform in the village. A civilian, then. Just a receptionist.
"Hello, ma'am. I am Chunin (Hideki Sōsuke). I've come to purchase some new techniques," I said, my voice a formal, practiced recitation.
She offered a polite, professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome. I'll just confirm your name in the records."
After a few minutes of me providing my registration code—that little slip of chakra-imbued plastic that proved I wasn't some random lunatic off the street—she returned. She slid a single sheet of paper across the smooth, varnished wood of the counter.
Tap.
Her fingernail made a soft sound on the paper.
"Here you go. You can choose the techniques you wish to acquire. Write the name of the technique on this paper when you're finished and give it back to me." Her voice was a monotone melody. Then she added, "Since you are a Chunin, you are permitted access to the techniques from the C and B-rank sections."
I gave her a quiet, grateful nod. "Thank you, Miss."
She responded with a slight, dismissive gesture, her eyes already sliding past me to the next person in line. I didn't bother to pay the newcomer any mind. My focus was already tunneling forward, toward the hallowed, scroll-lined halls of the technique sections.
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"Alright then," I whispered under my breath, the words swallowed by the sheer, overwhelming scale of the place. "This… this is a terrifying number of techniques."
The air in the C and B-rank section was different. It was cooler, drier, and smelled of old paper, ink, and the faint, metallic tang of stored chakra. The techniques were meticulously categorized into several sections. Signs, elegantly calligraphered, pointed the way: Earth Release, Wind Release, Water Release, and even Fire Release. And there, a smaller, less crowded aisle, was my destination: Lightning Release.
I needed Lightning techniques. It was my affinity, my curse and my potential salvation. I walked towards that section, my shadow stretching long and thin behind me.
I took a moment, a single, steadying breath, to simply look at the names. My eyes scanned the labels on the scroll ends and file folders.
Rustle.
My own hand reached out,brushing against the scrolls.
"Lightning Style: Electric Conductor."
"Lightning Style:Close-Range Shock."
"Lightning Style:Electrical Discharge."
The names were strange, clinical, and promising all at once. Since I had enough money—and the cost of techniques varied wildly by rank—I had decided on my criteria. I needed techniques that fulfilled three conditions.
First, offense. If I couldn't run from a fight, it was better to have some offensive techniques, even if they were weak. They could buy time.
Second, low consumption. I didn't have the massive chakra reserves of clan kids, born with silver spoons and bloated chakra coils. So, acquiring low-cost, fast techniques would be the best option.
Third, and this was crucial, they couldn't be too expensive. My wallet wasn't a bottomless pit.
Techniques were divided by rank: D, C, B, A, S. A D-rank technique could be bought for around 5,000 ryo. A C-rank would set you back 20,000. B-rank? A cool 50,000 to 60,000. And A-rank started at a soul-crushing 150,000 ryo, at the very least.
Even after my missions, I didn't have nearly enough to buy a lot of high-level techniques. What I needed were affordable techniques I could actually develop and use in my life. I couldn't blow all my cash on fancy scrolls that might end up as useless, expensive decorations.
I found a small, isolated table tucked between two towering shelves and sat down, the wooden chair groaning in protest under my weight.
Creak.
I unloaded the stack of technique files I had gathered.A few from the C-rank section, a couple from B-rank, and I'd even snagged a few from D-rank, just to be thorough. I began to methodically page through them.
My fingers closed around one of the files. It was labeled: "Lightning Style: Close-Range Shock."
I read the technique scroll quietly. According to the description, this jutsu allowed the user to convert chakra to the tips of their hands to generate a close-range shock against an opponent, inducing a short-term paralysis. It was noted to require a small amount of chakra, but also needed significant control so you didn't end up zapping your own fool self while trying to use it.
"I have good control," I murmured to the dusty air. "Especially after the weight training and tree-walking exercises. And soon, I'll start water-walking training. That should increase my chakra control even more." It was a small, fragile confidence, but I clung to it.
I moved on to the next technique.
Thump.
The file for"Close-Range Shock" was set aside.
"Lightning Style: Lightning Clone."
I swallowed hard. This was a technique I had gone straight for from the A-rank section. It was an elemental clone technique specific to Lightning Release. That meant its cost was naturally lower for me, as my affinity reduced the chakra cost. And I desperately needed a clone. It would help increase my training speed exponentially.
"If I master this clone," I reasoned, a spark of genuine excitement cutting through the gloom, "I'll have a training partner. I can finally practice my combat forms against something other than the sad, lonely shapes I remember from the Academy." In the end, this was an A-rank technique, meaning it required a substantial amount of chakra. Still, the future benefits for my training made me look past its eye-watering price tag of 150,000 ryo.
My hand reached for another file. This one was from the B-rank section.
Swish.
The paper made a crisp sound.
"Lightning Style: Lightning Replacement."
A technique specialized for escape. It created an electric facsimile of the user, allowing the caster to flee during danger. Furthermore, according to the technique's summary, it was fast. The fine print stated it only required good control, and you'd have the ability to escape sudden, rapid attacks.
"With this," I thought, a grim smile touching my lips, "I'll have an ultimate escape rope. Add the clone, which will also allow me to increase my training speed, and the Close-Range Shock for an effective, close-quarters attack… if I can increase my chakra control." It was starting to come together, a patchwork arsenal of survival.
Finally, I was about to make my last choice. I didn't have the luxury of time to pick ten techniques. I needed the ones that were most effective for me.
My hand now held the final technique I would purchase. Another A-rank, and a critically important one for me.
Crackle.
I could have sworn I felt a static charge from the scroll.
"Body Flicker."
A technique that increased the user's speed. On top of that, it was designed to increase a ninja's stamina, allowing them to cover great distances. Once mastered, the body's speed would become much faster. Especially since I possessed the Lightning affinity—this affinity needed a fast body to truly utilize its properties. Therefore, without a second thought, I decided to buy these four techniques.
In the end:
Close-Range Shock was C-rank.
Lightning Clone was A-rank.
Lightning Replacement was B-rank.
Body Flicker was A-rank.
All together, this was going to cost me roughly 400,000 ryo. A small fortune. But it wasn't a problem when weighed against the ability to protect myself in the coming war. It was the cost of staying alive.
---
I walked back to the reception desk, the selected files feeling like lead weights in my hand. The normalcy of the receptionist was a stark contrast to the lethal knowledge I now carried.
(Hideki Sōsuke) has emerged. "Did you find the techniques suitable for you?" the receptionist asked, her smile still perfectly painted on.
I slid my list across the counter. She took it, her eyes scanning the names. Her smile flickered for a microsecond, a crack in the professional facade, as she saw the two A-ranks.
I produced the payment. "Here you are, the payment for the techniques." The stack of ryo notes was substantial. It represented months of work, of risk. It was terrifying.
After that, I thanked her, the words feeling hollow. I turned and walked out of the Technique Hall, the heavy door groaning shut behind me like a tomb seal.
Thud.
My destination was the training grounds. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. There, amidst the dirt and the worn training posts, I had decided I would begin. I would train on these techniques, bit by bit, piece by piece, until I mastered them. I would raise the quantity and quality of my affinity.
I would become faster. I would become stronger. I would survive.
The first spark of lightning crackled at my fingertips, a tiny, defiant promise in the gathering dusk.
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End of Chapter.
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Thank you, dear readers, for joining (Hideki Sōsuke) on his painfully expensive journey to not die.
Your support is the only chakra pill that keeps this story going!
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