The second day of the Academy began much like the first, with the distinct and oppressive atmosphere of institutionalized learning. The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air—motes that Nanami Kento found himself tracking with excessive interest simply to avoid listening to Daikoku-sensei's lessons.
Inefficient, Nanami thought, resting his chin on his palm. We are covering geopolitical alliances when we should be focusing on survival rates. History is written by the victors, but the victors are usually the ones who didn't die in a ditch because they knew how to throw a kunai properly.
He sat in his acquired territory—the window seat, third row. To his right sat Tsunade Senju, currently balancing a pencil on her upper lip with a look of intense concentration that she never applied to mathematics. Behind him, Might Duy was vibrating at a frequency that suggested he was physically restraining himself from doing push-ups in the aisle.
Nanami turned his gaze to Tsunade.
He had a plan.
His research into the Netero Template and his own massive chakra reserves had led him to a singular, logical conclusion: he had the hardware of a supercomputer but the software of a pocket calculator. He needed to learn faster. He needed to bridge the gap between his physical age and his mental ambition.
And in the world of Naruto, there was only one cheat code for learning.
Shadow Clones.
The ability to create a solid copy of oneself, split the chakra evenly, and—crucially—retain the memories and experience of the clone once it is dispelled. It was the ultimate productivity hack. It was the dream of every salaryman who wished they could be in a meeting, answering emails, and sleeping at home simultaneously.
Nanami cleared his throat.
"Tsunade," he whispered.
The pencil fell from her lip. She caught it with a reflex that spoke of her lineage, then glared at him. "You made me drop it. I was going for a new record."
"My apologies for interrupting your rigorous training regime," Nanami deadpanned. "I have a query."
"A query?" She raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "You talk like an old man, Kento. What do you want?"
Nanami lowered his voice, ensuring Daikoku—who was currently drawing a very inaccurate map of the Land of Fire on the board—wouldn't hear. "Do you know the Shadow Clone Jutsu?"
Tsunade blinked. "Kage Bunshin? That's my Granduncle Tobirama's jutsu. It's B-rank. Why?"
"Do you know it?" Nanami pressed gently.
Tsunade puffed out her chest, a smug grin spreading across her face. "Of course I know it! I'm a Senju. I found the scroll in the library at home when I was bored. It looked hard, but I learned it."
"Can you teach me?"
The grin vanished, replaced by a look of suspicion. She narrowed her golden eyes at him. "Teach you? That's a high-level technique. Why do you want to learn it?"
"Efficiency," Nanami said simply. "And because I believe I have the chakra capacity to handle it. The Clone Technique taught in class is an illusion. It has no substance. It is useless for... multitasking."
Tsunade hummed, tapping the pencil against her chin. She looked him up and down, scrutinizing him. "I could teach you. The hand signs aren't that complicated. It's the chakra split that's annoying."
"So, you will?"
"Nope."
Nanami blinked. "Why not?"
Tsunade leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded Nanami dangerously of a shark smelling blood. "Because, Mr. Perfect Score, you're boring. You study, you train, you eat balanced lunches. You never do anything fun."
"I define fun as financial security and uninterrupted sleep."
"See! Boring!" She crossed her arms. "I'll teach you, but only on one condition."
Nanami sighed internally. He knew where this was going. "Let me guess. A wager."
"Exactly!" Tsunade slammed her hand on the desk, causing Jiraiya (who was sleeping two rows over) to snort awake. "You never bet with me, Kento! Ever! You always give me those lectures about 'statistics' and 'house edges'. It's annoying."
"I don't bet with you because I know the outcome," Nanami stated calmly. "You will lose. Then, in an attempt to recover your losses, you will bet again. You will lose again. This cycle will continue until you are destitute and asking to borrow money for lunch. I am merely saving us both the administrative headache."
Tsunade's face turned a shade of red that matched the Uzumaki crest. A vein throbbed on her forehead.
Whack.
Her fist connected with the top of Nanami's head. It wasn't a chakra-enhanced punch—she hadn't learned that yet—but she was naturally strong. Nanami's head bobbed forward.
"Ow," he said, rubbing the spot. "Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."
"Shut up!" Tsunade hissed. "I don't always lose! I just have... delayed luck! And you're just scared you'll lose to me!"
"I am terrified," Nanami lied. "But fine. If it will get you to dispense the information, I will entertain this foolishness. One bet. One time."
Tsunade's anger evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer excitement. She looked like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. "One bet. Okay. Here are the terms."
She pointed a finger at his chest.
"If I win, you become my servant for a week."
Nanami raised an eyebrow. "Define 'servant'."
"You carry my bag. You buy my lunch. You do my homework. And you have to call me 'Lady Tsunade' in front of everyone."
"That sounds like slavery with extra steps," Nanami noted. "And if I win?"
"If you win, I teach you the jutsu. And... I'll buy you lunch for a week."
Nanami considered it. The stakes were heavily skewed against him. Being Tsunade's servant would be a PR nightmare and a massive drain on his time. However, the variable in this equation was Tsunade herself.
The Legendary Sucker. A woman so unlucky that in the future, her winning a lottery would be considered an omen of impending doom.
The statistical probability of her winning a game of pure chance is effectively zero, Nanami calculated. She is a cosmic anomaly of misfortune.
"Acceptable," Nanami said.
Tsunade grinned. She reached into her bag—why a six-year-old brought gambling paraphernalia to an academy was a question for another time—and pulled out a small wooden cup and three ivory dice.
"High roll wins," she whispered, shaking the cup. "Simple. Pure luck."
She slammed the cup down on the desk.
"You first, Princess," Nanami offered.
Tsunade rubbed her hands together. "Watch and learn, Kento. This is where my streak starts."
She lifted the cup.
The three dice sat on the wooden surface.
One. One. One.
Snake eyes. The lowest possible score. A total of three.
Nanami stared at the dice. He looked at Tsunade.
Tsunade stared at the dice. Her face went pale. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"Three," Nanami noted dryly. "An impressive display of consistency."
"It... the desk is uneven!" Tsunade stammered, frantically looking for an excuse. "The wind! Jiraiya was breathing too loud!"
"My turn."
Nanami picked up the dice. He didn't blow on them. He didn't pray. He dropped them into the cup, gave it a single, unenthusiastic shake, and inverted it onto the desk.
He lifted the cup.
Five. Six. Four.
Total: Fifteen.
"I win," Nanami said, beginning to pack the dice back into the cup. "Transaction complete. Shadow Clone training commences after school."
Tsunade slumped into her chair, looking like she had just witnessed the death of a puppy. She buried her face in her hands. "How? Just... how?"
"Statistics," Nanami whispered, turning back to the front of the class as Daikoku finally finished his map. "And perhaps, the universe simply enjoys balance. You have the bloodline, the status, and the power. It would be unfair if you had the luck, too."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
While the other students rushed to the gates or the playground, Nanami and Tsunade headed in the opposite direction, toward a secluded training ground behind the Academy building.
It was a quiet spot, shaded by large elm trees, with a few wooden training dummies that had seen better days.
Tsunade walked with her arms crossed, still sulking about her defeat. Nanami walked with his hands in his pockets, feeling a sense of satisfaction.
"Alright," Tsunade said, stopping in the middle of the clearing. She turned to him, putting on her 'teacher' face, trying to salvage her dignity. "A deal is a deal. I'll teach you. But don't come crying to me if you pass out from chakra exhaustion. This jutsu cuts your reserves in half instantly."
"I am aware of the cost," Nanami assured her. "Please proceed."
Tsunade took a deep breath. "Okay. Shadow Clone isn't like the regular Clone technique. The regular one just makes a picture of you out of chakra. It can't hit anything, it can't carry anything. It's a ghost."
She held up her hand, channeling blue chakra.
"Shadow Clone creates a physical copy. You are literally dividing your existence. You have to mold the chakra in your gut, visualize the split, and then force it out."
"The hand sign?"
"Just one," Tsunade said. She brought her hands together in a cross-shaped seal—index and middle fingers of the left hand crossing the index and middle fingers of the right. "The Tiger seal is sometimes used for variants, but Granduncle Tobirama used this specific cross seal to stabilize the massive chakra dump. It locks the flow."
She demonstrated.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
Poof.
A puff of white smoke erupted next to her. When it cleared, there were two Tsunades. They looked identical. Both had their arms crossed. Both looked annoyed.
"See?" the clone said. "Solid."
Nanami walked up to the clone and poked it in the forehead. It felt like skin. It was warm.
"Impressive," Nanami muttered. "Solid mass creation. The implications for labor distribution are staggering."
The clone poofed away. The real Tsunade smirked. "It's harder than it looks. You have to push exactly half your chakra. If you push too little, you get a limp noodle. If you push too much, you explode."
"Explosion is suboptimal," Nanami agreed.
He took a few steps back. He closed his eyes.
Half, he thought. I need to bisect the lake.
He reached into his core. He felt the massive, swirling reservoir of his chakra. It was turbulent, eager to escape. He had to build a dam in the middle of it.
He formed the cross seal. His fingers locked together.
Divide.
He pushed the chakra. He felt a sudden, lurching sensation in his gut, like going over the top of a roller coaster. His vision swam for a microsecond.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
Fizzle.
A pathetic puff of smoke appeared. When it cleared, there was... something. It looked like Nanami, if Nanami had been made of melting wax and left in the sun for three days. The clone groaned, slumped over, and dissolved into a puddle of grey chakra.
Tsunade burst out laughing. She pointed at the puddle. "Look at him! He looks like he gave up on life!"
"He looks tired," Nanami defended, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "He represents my inner desire to lie down."
"Try again, genius," Tsunade teased. "You gave it a body but no structure."
Nanami nodded. He analyzed the failure. Structure. I need to visualize the skeletal frame of the chakra, not just the mass.
Attempt number two.
Cross seal. Divide. Push.
Poof.
This time, the clone stood up. It looked like Nanami. It had the orange shorts, the black shirt, the blonde hair. But its eyes were dead, and it swayed dangerously in the wind before collapsing face-first into the dirt.
"Better," Tsunade critiqued, circling him. "But your distribution is off. You put all the chakra in the head and none in the legs."
"Top-heavy," Nanami noted. "Understood."
He took a deep breath. He centered himself. He recalled the Netero training—the balance, the stance, the feeling of the earth beneath his feet. He needed that same stability in his chakra.
One perfect split. 50/50. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.
He formed the seal. His focus narrowed to a singular point.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu."
POOF.
The smoke was crisp this time. It cleared instantly.
Standing next to Nanami was... Nanami.
The clone stood straight. It checked its hands. It adjusted its collar. Then, it looked at the original Nanami with a bored, deadpan expression.
"So," the clone said, its voice identical to his. "I assume I am the one doing the work?"
"Naturally," the original Nanami replied.
"Typical management," the clone sighed.
Tsunade's jaw dropped. She walked around the clone, poking it, pulling its cheek. "No way... you actually did it. On the third try? It took me a week to get it to talk back without stuttering!"
"I am a quick study when the incentive is high," Nanami said, dispelling the clone. The rush of memory—the sensation of Tsunade pinching his cheek—hit him instantly.
It worked. The memory transfer was seamless.
He bowed to Tsunade—a slight, respectful incline of his head. "Thank you, Tsunade. You are an excellent instructor. Your explanation was the key variable."
Tsunade blushed slightly, looking away and kicking at the dirt. "W-well, you have some talent, I guess." She crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure. "Just don't use it to cheat on tests. Daikoku-sensei will catch you."
"I would never cheat," Nanami said. "I merely delegate."
"Whatever," she huffed. "I'm going home. My grandma is probably wondering where I am. You owe me lunch next week, by the way! Even if I lost, I taught you!"
"I believe the terms were 'if you win', but... fine. I will consider it a consultation fee."
"See ya, Kento!" She waved, running off toward the Senju compound, her ponytails bouncing.
Nanami watched her go.
Ally secured, he thought. Technique secured.
He looked at his hands. The sun was setting, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges.
Time for the second shift.
Nanami didn't go home immediately. He headed deeper into the training grounds, to his usual secluded spot—Training Ground 4.
The clearing was empty. The stumps stood silent and waiting.
Nanami dropped his bag. He stretched his arms.
"Alright," he whispered to the empty air. "Let's see just how much I can abuse this system."
He formed the cross seal.
He didn't make one clone. He reached deep into that massive lake of Senju-tier chakra, the reservoir that had made walking on water a nightmare of containment. Now, that volume was an asset.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
POOF.
A clouds of smoke erupted.
Identical Nanami Kento stood beside him.
"Okay," the original Nanami addressed his team. "Here is the agenda for the evening meeting."
He pointed to Clone. "You are on Fuinjutsu duty. Review the scrolls we copied yesterday. Focus on the geometry of the explosive tag. I want ten variations drawn in the dirt."
Clone sighed. "The tedious administrative work. Why am I not surprised?"
"What are you doing?" Clone asked, eyeing the original.
"I," Nanami said, assuming the Netero stance, "will be performing the Prayer. The muscle memory needs to be built in the primary vessel."
"At least I'm getting paid in experience," Clone muttered, walking over to a patch of dirt to start drawing.
Nanami smiled. It was weird talking to himself, but it was effective.
He closed his eyes. He felt the clones starting their tasks. He could feel their chakra signatures buzzing around him.
This is it, he thought, the excitement bubbling up in his chest. This is how I survive. This is how I get strong enough to retire.
He took a breath.
"One."
He punched.
"Two."
He punched.
It was a symphony of productivity.
Nanami Kento was a one-man corporation, and business was booming.
He punched until the moon was high in the sky. He punched until his arms felt like lead. And when he finally dispelled the clones, the rush of information hit him like a physical blow.
He fell to his knees, gasping.
He remembered drawing the complex seals.
His head throbbed. His chakra was dangerously low, leaving him feeling hollow and shaky.
But he smiled.
"Worth it," Nanami whispered, collapsing onto his back in the grass.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the stars.
Madara Uchiha... Kaguya Otsutsuki... he thought, his eyes closing as exhaustion took him. Just wait. I'll have the paperwork ready for your deportation eventually.
He picked himself up, dusted off his orange shorts, and began the slow, tired walk home.
Tomorrow, he would do it all again. But first, he needed to sleep for twelve hours. Or at least until his mom yelled that breakfast was ready.