…
The path back down from the Hokage Mountain was quieter than the way up.
Murakami walked it without hurrying, hands loose at his sides, the morning's work settling into the back of his mind.
Both techniques had performed exactly as M-1 and M-2's findings had suggested they would.
Which meant there was nothing left to familiarize himself with.
He could reproduce both now with the precision that came from having already done it, not just the theory mapped in the mindscape, but the physical reality of having pushed threads through actual earth and felt actual force distribute across an actual formation.
The gap between understanding and execution had closed.
The mental clone technique, he reflected, was a cheat in similar proportion to its physical counterpart.
The shadow clone technique was legendary for exactly one reason beyond its obvious utility; every clone that dispersed returned its accumulated experience to the original.
In the hands of someone like Naruto, who could produce hundreds without meaningfully depleting his reserves, that meant a training multiplier that bordered on unfairness.
Excluding Naruto from the calculation entirely, every other shinobi who used the technique did so in reasonable numbers; three, four, perhaps more if they were pushing it, because the cost per clone was significant enough that excess wasn't an option.
Murakami hadn't come in contact with the shadow clone technique yet, but if its cost scaled similarly to his mental clones, the math would land in roughly the same place, two clones comfortably, three if he pushed his chakra reserves to their limit.
The difference was application.
Shadow clones could do everything the original could, train physically, gather information, fight, carry out tasks in the real world.
His mental clones couldn't.
They existed only in the mindscape, capable only of what the mindscape allowed so there was no physical training or real world presence.
But for technique refinement, jutsu theory application, and the kind of repetitive iterative practice that produced mastery through volume rather than quality… they were exactly sufficient.
He turned the long-term implications over as his feet found the lower path.
Two clones had drained him completely, and after over ten hours of rest he'd only recovered slightly above half his reserves.
One clone running indefinitely, through the night, through a rest period… continuously, would establish a permanent drain ceiling that his recovery could never fully breach.
He'd wake up every morning at something less than full capacity.
The image that surfaced was immediate and specific: Katsuro. Or more broadly, any Nara.
Sharp, strategic, conservation-minded, operating at a consistent energy deficit that made explosive expenditure something to be carefully rationed rather than freely deployed.
The Nara clan's legendary laziness wasn't personality, it was resource management.
His feet slowed for a moment on the path as he considered this, then with a sigh, he resumed.
'A small price to pay, I suppose.'
The tradeoff was straightforward once he stripped the sentiment out of it.
Running one clone overnight meant waking up at reduced capacity in exchange for hours of compounded technique refinement he couldn't produce any other way.
The question wasn't whether the drain was acceptable, it was whether the return justified it consistently.
It did.
He'd include a second clone if he was going to bed anyway.
One assigned to whatever technique needed the most work, the other to whatever miscellaneous problem he hadn't resolved yet.
The overnight window was otherwise wasted on sleep, using it productively at the cost of morning reserves was an exchange he could also live with.
But that introduced a different problem, one he hadn't fully considered until now.
Physical cultivation had a supplement path, Aiko's research into Genkon Bark and its equivalents, Ryouta's hunt commissions building toward Grade Four and eventually Grade Five meat.
The body's reconstruction cost could be offset through what he put into it.
Mental cultivation had no equivalent yet.
Spiritual energy recovered through rest and meditation.
That was the only mechanism he currently had access to.
Which meant sustained clone use wasn't just a drain, it was a ceiling on how fast his spiritual reserves could grow, because growth required recovery, and recovery required periods where nothing was drawing against the reserves simultaneously.
He needed a supplement path for the mind the same way he'd built one for the body.
His first instinct was Hina, but he discarded it before it fully formed.
She was already carrying out the store's expansion, the grocery sourcing, the Ryouta commission arrangement, and whatever she was quietly planning around Aiko's development that she hadn't seen fit to explain to him yet.
Adding spiritual supplement research to that stack wasn't something he was willing to do.
He'd have to find another approach.
His thoughts moved naturally toward the clans.
Konoha had several with deep roots in Yin-based techniques, disciplines that drew specifically on spiritual energy as their primary resource rather than the combined chakra output most shinobi relied on.
Those clans hadn't developed their techniques in a vacuum.
They'd surely developed methods of sustaining, growing, and recovering the very reserve he was currently trying to protect.
Somewhere in that knowledge was what he needed.
He'd have to find a way to ask without explaining why he was asking.
That, he decided, was a problem for after breakfast.
…
Murakami soon reached a modest noodle house he had visited several times before.
The owner glanced up from behind the counter.
"You're here again, Murakami-kun."
Murakami gave a slight nod. "Morning."
"The usual?"
He paused for a moment before answering.
"No. A breakfast set."
"Coming right up."
He found an empty seat near the window while the old chef disappeared into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, a steaming bowl of noodles was placed before him alongside grilled fish, pickled vegetables and a cup of hot tea.
Murakami picked up his chopsticks and immediately dug in, and soon enough, the first serving disappeared, then the second.
By the third, even the waitress passing by slowed her pace, glancing toward his table before continuing on.
"...Another."
The empty bowl was replaced, then another and another.
By the sixth serving, conversations around the restaurant had noticeably quieted.
The chef himself leaned halfway out of the kitchen.
"Murakami-kun..." The waitress called.
Murakami looked up. "Yes?"
"...Are you sure you're alright?" She asked.
"I'm fine." He said and lowered his gaze to continue eating.
The seventh bowl vanished, followed by the eighth and ninth.
By the tenth serving, even two shinobi eating nearby had begun discreetly counting.
"...Ten."
"...Eleven."
"...Twelve."
Murakami finally slowed during the thirteenth bowl.
He placed the chopsticks down and sat quietly for several moments, assessing himself.
The persistent emptiness in his stomach had finally faded into a comfortable fullness.
'Thirteen servings.'
His appetite had increased once before after beginning the Body Refining Method.
This time, however, the increase was far more dramatic.
It wasn't simply hunger anymore, his body was demanding resources passively.
Food was no longer just sustenance at this point, it had become building material.
He stood up at this point. "I'll settle the bill."
The owner stared at the stack of empty bowls before finally shaking his head with a helpless laugh. "I've been running this place for nearly twenty years." He pointed toward the tower of bowls. "I've never seen a child eat that much."
Murakami silently handed over the payment. "I'll be back."
"...Please warn me beforehand next time."
Murakami nodded once before stepping back onto the street.
...
The bustle of the district gradually faded behind him as he headed toward the quieter residential districts occupied by Konoha's old clans.
His thoughts naturally returned to the problem that had brought him here.
Body training had already found a sustainable path, Spiritual energy was different.
Current public literature barely acknowledged it as an independent component of chakra, much less discussed methods of strengthening it directly.
The civilian libraries had already yielded everything they had to offer.
The shinobi archives remained closed behind contribution requirements he had yet to satisfy.
If there were systematic methods of training the spiritual aspect of chakra, they would most likely have been preserved by the clans whose techniques relied upon it.
Even then, Murakami wasn't expecting complete answers.
The Uchiha Clan, one of the two oldest clans in the shinobi world and the inheritors of the Sharingan itself, had never possessed a comprehensive understanding of their own bloodline.
Much of its evolution had been discovered through generations of trial, circumstance and loss rather than careful study.
If even they hadn't unraveled everything about an ability they had inherited for centuries, it would be unreasonable to expect any clan to possess a complete body of knowledge regarding spiritual energy itself.
At this thought, Murakami slowed to a stop.
Before him stood the entrance to the Nara compound.
He regarded the familiar gate in silence.
Katsuro was his friend, that much was true, but friendship did not automatically grant access to generations of accumulated clan knowledge.
Nor did Murakami intend to ask for it outright.
He needed an approach.
One that satisfied his curiosity without exposing the true direction of his research.
"..."
He folded his arms thoughtfully. The Nara clan were not a clan of fools…in the entire Shinobi world, their intelligence has been unrivaled.
There was also the matter of choosing whom to ask first.
Katsuro possessed an analytical mind but specialized more in strategy than Yin techniques themselves.
The Yamanaka, on the other hand...
His train of thought stopped as the compound gates creaked open and three familiar figures emerged together.
Murakami's eyes settled on them and immediately recognized them.
Yamanaka Hiyori, Akimichi Chōya and between them, walking with his usual unhurried pace, Katsuro Nara.
Murakami couldn't help but find the sight faintly amusing.
'So they came to drag him out again.'
Knowing Katsuro, left to himself, there was every possibility he would have remained inside until they arrived to collect him.
At almost the same moment, Hiyori looked up and her eyes immediately landed on Murakami.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. "Murakami-kun!"
Recognition spread across her face almost instantly.
She still vividly remembered the boy their own age who had already grasped both chakra nature transformation and shape transformation.
Something genin rank Shinobi wouldn't even begin studying for years.
Beside her, Chōya's broad face broke into an easy grin.
He remembered something considerably more important; the food.
Murakami had fed him until he couldn't eat anymore.
Anyone capable of doing that had already earned a favorable impression in his book.
Katsuro's expression, meanwhile, remained as unreadable as ever.
Only a faint glint passed through his eyes.
His gaze swept once over Murakami, then briefly toward the Nara compound behind him.
Why was Murakami here?
The question surfaced immediately.
And just as immediately, Katsuro's mind began constructing possibilities.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
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