(đź“š Check Out My Other Novels:
The Strongest Swordmaster in the World of Naruto (AU)
A Shaman from the Uzumaki Clan in the World of Naruto
Marvel: The Sorcerer in America
The Puppet Maker in the World of Naruto (AU)
🔥 New Releases on [email protected]:
The Author of the Mystic World in Marvel
A Madman in a Crossover World with Binding Vow
Thank you for reading, and your support means the world to me!)
________________________
Chapter 145: Rest After the Battle
"You've all worked hard. Now, rest while you listen." Masamichi's voice was calm—calm like a stream running deep through a quiet valley—yet beneath that tranquility lay an authority that brooked no argument. His tone was not a suggestion, nor merely an instruction; it was a decree, absolute and immovable, commanding respect without ever needing to demand it.
His steps were slow, heavy, yet measured. Each footfall echoed softly across the vast, dust-filled training hall, the sound rolling through the air like the heartbeat of the place itself.
Masamichi came to a stop beside the fallen body of the Panda Puppet—a massive war doll that once stood tall and proud like a silent guardian, now lying broken and lifeless at the center of the arena.
The puppet's frame of metal and wood was torn apart; parts of it had melted from excessive chakra heat. Its once-glimmering eyes were now dim, hollow spheres of glass. Thin wisps of steam still rose from its joints—faint traces of the battle's lingering warmth, like the puppet's final breath after fulfilling its duty.
Masamichi crouched slowly, his knees creaking softly as he lowered himself until his gaze met the puppet's cracked, expressionless face.
His fingers moved gently, brushing along the fractured surface of the Panda's head. He touched it with the care of someone tending to a wounded comrade, his movements deliberate, reverent. The cold metal against the warmth of his skin created a strange yet familiar contrast—a silent acknowledgment between creator and creation.
"You did well," he murmured. His voice was so soft it nearly vanished into the still air of the late afternoon, like a prayer whispered to a spirit that could no longer respond.
With calm precision born of habit, Masamichi drew a storage scroll from the pocket of his dark trousers. The parchment was pale white, its center marked by a faintly glowing purple seal. With a single stroke of his finger, he broke the seal.
Complex symbols pulsed across its surface, and in an instant, a surge of violet-blue light flared outward, wrapping around the puppet's body.
A breeze swirled through the hall, carrying the scent of scorched metal and dust.
Within seconds, the enormous Panda Puppet dissolved into light and was drawn into the scroll, leaving behind only the scarred floor—etched with cracks and scorch marks that told the story of where it had once stood so proudly.
Masamichi rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his knees. His eyes shifted toward his three students, scattered across the arena, each in a different state of exhaustion.
Souta lay sprawled across the sandy ground, his entire body slack from fatigue. His chest rose and fell slowly, his breathing heavy but steady—like a soldier who had survived a long, brutal war.
To his left sat Makima, surrounded by fractured earth. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling above, distant yet deep, as if her thoughts had wandered far beyond the physical world. The soft orange light of the setting sun spilled across her face, catching the faint curve of her cheek and the shadow beneath her tired eyes.
To Souta's right was Pakura, sitting cross-legged with her back straight and shoulders relaxed. Her hands rested upon her knees, palms open, as though she were trying to calm the residual energy still pulsing through her veins. Strands of her long hair had come loose, swaying gently as the evening wind slipped through the cracks in the walls.
The training hall—Building Twenty-Three—was now silent.
Its walls bore the scars of fierce combat: long cracks snaking across the stone, small craters from explosions, and burn marks scattered like dark constellations.
Through these wounds of battle, sunlight streamed in from the holes high in the walls, spilling golden beams that bathed the three young shinobi in a quiet, almost sacred light.
Particles of dust floated and spun within the rays, glimmering as though tiny stars had come down to rest in the air among them.
Masamichi stood at the center of it all, his silhouette framed against the sunlight pouring in behind him. His coat fluttered softly in the afternoon breeze that crept through the broken windowpanes.
Then his footsteps echoed again—soft, deliberate, and full of weight. He approached them slowly, his gaze sharp and unwavering, carrying the kind of authority that could pierce through one's soul. His eyes moved from Souta to Makima, then to Pakura, seeing each of them not as mere students, but as warriors who had faced the edge of their limits and endured.
...
Chapter 146: The Three of You Are Officially Ninja
"From this day forward," Masamichi finally spoke, his voice deep, calm, yet carrying a weight that seemed to pierce straight through bone, "the three of you are officially ninja."
His words echoed through the stone walls of the vast training hall, rolling like the restrained rumble of distant thunder.
The air itself seemed to vibrate, carrying the gravity of each syllable that fell from his lips. The three before him—Souta, Pakura, and Makima—who had been bowing their heads in silence, slowly began to lift them.
Masamichi's gaze swept over them deliberately, one by one. First to Souta, whose youthful face still bore that unmistakable stubbornness; then to Pakura, who sat upright with unwavering composure; and finally to Makima, silent, her eyes gleaming sharply like shards of glass.
His gaze was not merely one of assessment. Beneath that sharpness lay something warmer—a quiet pride, a teacher's trust in the students who had grown beyond what he once was.
And yet, behind that proud glint lurked an unspoken concern he could never truly hide. Masamichi knew better than anyone that being a ninja was not a title to boast of.
It was an oath—a vow that demanded blood and sacrifice, a burden they would carry until the end of their lives.
"Starting tomorrow, you'll be carrying out missions with me," Masamichi continued. His tone remained calm, but each word carried the weight of a stone pressing against the chest.
Every syllable landed firm and deliberate, like chisels carving meaning directly into their hearts. "While under my command, you are to follow every order I give—without exception."
He didn't raise his voice, yet the authority within it compelled anyone in front of him to straighten their backs instinctively.
Inside the training hall, the colors of dusk began to seep in. Masamichi's voice resonated softly, blending with the dry whisper of desert wind slipping through the cracks of the window. The orange light brushed across their faces, sharpening the gravity of the moment.
Each of his words struck like a hammer against their chests, a reminder that the man standing before them was not just a teacher—but a leader who had once walked the thin line between life and death.
"I know," Masamichi went on, his voice lowering slightly, eyes narrowing with focus, "two of you possess Kekkei Genkai, and one of you has mastered all five elemental natures of chakra."
He paused, allowing silence to swallow his words. The stillness deepened the weight of what had been said, giving the meaning space to settle into their minds.
The golden sunlight grazed his face, carving the sharp lines of his jaw and reflecting in his eyes like polished steel.
His gaze shifted—from Souta, whose head remained bowed but whose fists were clenched tightly; to Pakura, sitting firm, her eyes burning with determination; then to Makima, unmoving, her calm demeanor veiling the storm of thoughts behind her eyes.
"But I don't care about any of that."
His tone changed—lower, heavier, pressing on the air itself. The atmosphere grew thick around them, as though the very room recognized the weight of his words. "On missions, what matters most isn't pride in your abilities—but efficiency and cooperation."
Masamichi stepped forward. Each of his steps sounded deliberate, slow but steady, echoing faintly across the stone floor. His shadow stretched long, draping over his three students, while the sunlight behind him outlined a towering silhouette that seemed to swallow the light itself.
In that glow of fading day, Masamichi appeared almost like an ancient guardian—unyielding, steadfast, eternal.
"Use only the abilities you can truly control," Masamichi said firmly. "Do not act recklessly just to show off your strength."
He stopped, letting the silence draw out once more as he looked at each of them in turn.
"Power without control," he continued slowly, "is not proof of strength… but the beginning of destruction."
The words fell softly, yet cut deep, leaving an invisible mark in their hearts.
Outside, the desert wind stirred, carrying the dry scent of sunbaked sand and earth still radiating the day's heat—an echo of the trials that awaited them beyond these walls.
________________________
[Announcement: The novel 'A Shaman from the Uzumaki Clan in the World of Naruto' And 'The Strongest Swordmaster in the World of Naruto (AU)' is now completed on [email protected]. If you want to binge-read the entire story right away, you can join as a member on [email protected]. Alternatively, if you prefer to wait patiently, it is also available on Webnovel and Scribble Hub—though it will take quite a while for those platforms to catch up to the final chapter available on [email protected]. That is all from me. See you all around!]
[Note: 350+ latest chapters have been added! For Just 3$ You Get Access To Chapters Way Ahead,Â
Now you can access the chapters before Webnovel And Scribblehub by following,Â
Just become a patron on [email protected]:
[email protected]/Alex_Fabianoki]