I stood in the middle of the Forest of Death, the thick canopy overhead blocking out most of the sunlight and turning the whole place into this green-tinted maze that felt like it was watching me right back. The air was heavy with that damp, earthy smell mixed with whatever weird plants and animals lived out here—rotting vegetation, distant musk of something large and probably aggressive, the faint sweetness of flowers I couldn't name—all of it pressing in from every direction. Far enough from any official training grounds that I didn't have to worry about random jonin stumbling on my little secret lab session, but close enough to the village walls that I could bolt back if something went horribly wrong. The Forest of Death had a reputation for a reason, and even with my kitsune regeneration, I wasn't eager to test myself against whatever giant centipedes or chakra-eating bugs called this place home.
Several of my shadow clones were already spread out in a loose circle around me, each one holding one of the scrolls I'd grabbed from the archive, their faces matching mine down to the slight scowl I got when I was concentrating hard. We'd already tossed the basic fireball jutsu and flame bullet ones to the side after the first couple tests because they were too straightforward and honestly kind of boring once I started layering youki on top. Great Fireball was great and all—iconic, classic, the kind of move that made Uchiha clan members nod in approval—but it was just a big ball of flame. I needed more than that. I needed fire that did things fire shouldn't do. Our real goal was seeing what happened when I pushed the fusion of youki and chakra, but damn if that wasn't proving way harder than I expected.
I wiped sweat from my forehead and muttered to the nearest clone, the words coming out half complaint, half genuine frustration.
Ryusei: This fusion thing is a nightmare. It's like trying to mix oil and water but the oil keeps exploding in your face.
The clone just nodded, not bothering to respond verbally because we shared the same brain and he already knew everything I was feeling. He rolled out the scroll for Great Fire Annihilation while I focused on the youki humming under my skin, that strange other-energy that felt like a second heartbeat, warm and hungry and always waiting just beneath the surface. We'd already learned the hard way that straight-up fusing the two energies was extremely difficult—something I didn't think would backfire as spectacularly as it did. One early attempt had sent a clone flying backward into a tree when the energies clashed, the backlash leaving a nasty burn on his arm that took way too long to heal even with my kitsune regen. The memory of that failure was still fresh, the sharp pain of it echoing in the clone network.
But amplifying a jutsu with youki? That was actually possible and way more promising. Instead of trying to merge the energies into something new, I could let the youki ride alongside the chakra, coating it like oil on water, adding properties without destabilizing the whole structure. I watched as one clone formed the seals for the Great Fire Annihilation—Ram, Snake, Tiger, the movements crisp and practiced now after a dozen attempts—and then let a thin thread of youki bleed into it instead of trying to merge everything at once.
The flames that roared out weren't normal red-orange anymore. They came out blue-tinged and hungry, spreading faster than the scroll described and latching onto the practice dummies we'd set up like they had a mind of their own. The heat hit me even from twenty paces away, dry and intense in a way that made my eyes water, but it was the other effects that really caught my attention. The properties it gained were wild—the fire didn't just burn the wood and grass; it started draining the residual chakra I'd left in the dummies for testing, pulling it in like fuel so the blaze kept going even after the initial burst should have died out. I watched as one dummy crumbled to ash while the flames around it continued to burn, feeding on nothing but the ambient energy I'd left behind.
It left behind these faint illusory afterimages that hung in the air for a few seconds after the main flames passed, tricking the eye into thinking the fire was still moving when it wasn't. The afterimages flickered and danced, confusing the depth perception, making it hard to tell where the real danger ended and the phantom began. That would mess with anyone trying to dodge or counter, force them to hesitate just long enough for the real flames to catch up. And the worst part, or maybe the best depending on the fight, was the soul-searing edge. Even on the dummies it felt like the heat clawed at something deeper than skin, leaving a lingering pressure that made my own chest tighten when I got too close. It wasn't just physical damage—it was spiritual, something that resonated in the chakra network and left behind a dull ache that standard healing jutsu probably couldn't touch.
If I hit a real person with that, it wouldn't just burn their body. It would mess with their chakra pathways and leave them shaken, disoriented, like their spirit took a hit too. I could imagine an enemy shinobi trying to form hand seals while that soul-burn radiated through their system, their fingers trembling, their concentration shattered. I grinned despite the sweat dripping down my back, the satisfaction of progress washing away some of the earlier frustration.
Ryusei: Okay, that's useful. Really useful.
The genjutsu I'd layered around the entire clearing kept everything hidden. I'd woven it thick, the kind that made the whole area look like empty forest to anyone passing by—sounds muffled, chakra signatures smeared into background noise, even the smell of smoke and burned wood masked behind an illusion of damp earth and old leaves. No one could sense or see what was happening even if they were standing right in front of me, unless they had some special counter like a dojutsu or a really high-level kai. It let me push hard without worrying about ANBU or random patrols catching the light show, but it also drained my reserves faster than I liked. Maintaining the veil while also training was like juggling with one hand tied behind my back, but the safety was worth the cost.
Two clones were off to the left working on taijutsu, the sounds of their kicks and punches echoing dull under the genjutsu veil. One was drilling Dynamic Entry over and over, launching himself at a tree trunk with that flying knee strike and trying to shave off milliseconds each time, grunting every time he landed wrong and had to roll back up. The technique looked simple—jump, kick, land—but the timing was everything. Too early and you lost momentum, too late and you overshot the target. The clone was getting better, his body learning the rhythm through repetition, but there was still a hesitation in his movements that told me he wasn't fully comfortable yet. The other was spinning through Konoha Whirlwind, legs whipping in wide arcs that snapped branches and sent leaves flying, both of them cursing under their breath when a foot caught on a root or the timing went off by a hair. I could feel the shared feedback from them—the burn in their muscles, the frustration when a combo didn't flow right, the small spike of satisfaction when a sequence finally clicked—but also the slow improvement, the way Ryusei's old academy basics were finally clicking with my extra strength.
Another clone was deeper in the trees practicing pure youki manipulation, no chakra mixed in, just raw yokai energy coiling around his hands like blue smoke. He was trying to shape it into solid constructs, small blades at first, then trying to extend them like my tails did in fox form. Every few minutes I'd catch a flash of light and a muttered curse before it fizzled out again. The progress was slow—painfully slow—but I could feel the youki responding more readily than it had a week ago. It was like training a muscle that had never been used, waking up something that had been dormant for too long. The clone had managed to hold a small blade shape for almost four seconds before it dissolved, which was three seconds longer than yesterday. Progress was progress.
The kenjutsu clone was nearby, the new blade I'd bought swinging in smooth arcs as he ran through Konoha Style Sword Technique: Single Slash and the faster blade-draw variants. The steel whistled through the air while he adjusted his grip and footwork, the movements slowly becoming more fluid. Ryusei had never held a real sword before—the academy had taught basic knife work, sure, but a katana was a different beast entirely. The weight distribution, the angle of the cut, the way you had to breathe with each strike—it was all new, and the clone's body was learning through trial and error. I watched him execute a blade-draw, the sword leaving its sheath in a silver arc that cut through a hanging vine clean in two. Not perfect—the draw was still too slow, the follow-through sloppy—but better than this morning.
Body flicker practice was happening on the far side—one clone popping in and out of sight in short bursts, trying to shave distance and reaction time. The poof of smoke from each jump mixed with the lingering scent of my earlier fire tests, and I could see the clone's frustration mounting as he tried to chain multiple flickers together without pausing between them. The technique was straightforward in theory—chakra to the feet, instant acceleration, reappear somewhere else—but the chakra control required was intense. One wrong pulse and you'd overshoot your target by meters, or worse, materialize inside a tree. The clone had already done that once, and the memory of reforming inside solid wood was not one I wanted to repeat.
Earth release wasn't my specialty at all. I could feel it when I tried the basic forms—my chakra just didn't want to cooperate, like trying to push water uphill through a sieve. No talent there, plain and simple. The earth chakra moved sluggishly through my network, resisting every attempt to shape it into something useful. But my goal was to learn and refine at least one jutsu, Earth Wall, for defense, something solid I could slam up when things got too close for comfort. I had one clone working on it right now, hands forming the seals slow and deliberate—Tiger, Snake, Ram, the sequence drilled into his head from the scroll—a low wall of dirt rising a couple feet before crumbling back down with a frustrated sigh from the clone. He tried again, focusing harder, pouring more chakra into the ground beneath him. The wall rose higher this time, almost a meter, but the edges were unstable, crumbling even as they formed. The clone slammed his fist against the dirt in frustration, the wall collapsing back into a shapeless mound.
Ryusei: This is gonna take forever.
I just waved him off because yeah, I knew. Earth wasn't my element, probably never would be, but having even a basic defensive option could save my life someday. I'd keep at it, even if it meant spending hours making mud walls that fell apart at the slightest touch.
Lightning was even worse—below average affinity at best. I'd tried the basic lightning jutsu from the archive, the ones that were supposed to be entry-level for anyone with the right nature, and the results had been pathetic. A faint spark at my fingertips, a weak crackle that barely singed a leaf. No way I was pulling off Chidori anytime soon without frying my own hand. The chakra nature just wasn't there, and forcing it would probably do more harm than good. I made a mental note to test my chakra nature more later—maybe there was a way to train affinity, to coax out a response that wasn't naturally there—but for now, lightning was on the back burner.
The Rasengan, though. That was something else entirely. I remembered the hand motions and the spinning chakra from the show clear enough, but actually doing it was another story. The Fourth Hokage hadn't invented it yet—Minato was still a teenager, still learning from Jiraiya, still years away from creating his signature technique. But I knew the theory: shape transformation at its highest level, no hand seals, just pure chakra control. I'd been experimenting with it in small bursts, trying to spin chakra in my palm without the balloon or the rubber ball that Naruto had used in the anime. The results had been... underwhelming. A wobbly sphere that lasted maybe two seconds before collapsing, not even strong enough to ruffle my hair. Still, the idea of multiple clones using youki to create the physical form and chakra as the power source kept circling in my head. Not a true fusion, just a workaround where youki handled the body and chakra supplied the juice. It felt promising, like I could spam clones without draining my main reserves as hard, but the manipulation still wasn't stable enough. Every time I tried pushing more youki into a clone it started to flicker at the edges, the form getting fuzzy like bad reception on an old TV.
Me personally? I was sitting cross-legged on a fallen log, trying to wrap my head around sealing and barrier jutsu. The scrolls were open in front of me, diagrams of containment arrays and protective domes staring back like they were mocking me. I traced the seals with my finger in the dirt, muttering the sequences under my breath, but it felt exactly like learning calculus back in school—I was terrible at it. Numbers and patterns never clicked for me, and now these intricate chakra threads and spatial locks were doing the same thing, slipping away every time I thought I had them. One attempt at a basic barrier seal had fizzled out with a weak pop of energy that barely covered my hand. Another try sent a backlash sting up my arm that made me curse loud enough for the nearest clone to glance over. The chakra flow required for sealing was precise, surgical, and my approach was more sledgehammer than scalpel. The youki side of me wanted to brute-force it, flood the seals with raw power and see what stuck, but the rational part knew that was how you ended up with a half-sealed arm or worse.
Ryusei: This is bullshit.
I rubbed my wrist, the sting already fading thanks to the regeneration, but the frustration lingered.
Ryusei: Why does this feel harder than fighting actual Suna jonin?
The answer was obvious, of course. Fighting was instinctive, something my body understood on a level that didn't require conscious thought. Sealing was intellectual, a puzzle that demanded patience and precision, two things I'd never had in abundance even before I got turned into a nine-tailed fox. I kept at it for another ten minutes, sweat dripping into my eyes, the seals blurring on the page as my concentration wavered. I tried a different approach—tracing the seal in the air with chakra instead of ink, feeling the shape of it rather than just seeing it. The barrier flickered to life for half a second, a translucent dome no bigger than a beach ball, before collapsing with a soft hiss. Not a complete failure, but not a success either. Close, but close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Finally I sat back and let out a long breath, the exhaustion settling into my bones. Maybe I should put this one on hold for now and focus more on my specialties—fire, wind, taijutsu, genjutsu. Those were clicking. Those felt natural. Sealing and barriers could wait until I had a teacher or at least a better grasp on chakra control. No point banging my head against a wall that wasn't going to break anytime soon.
I stood up, brushing dirt off my pants, and looked around at the clones still working. The taijutsu pair were breathing harder now, one wiping blood from a split lip after a missed block. The youki clone had managed a small floating orb that hovered for almost thirty seconds before popping, the blue light fading like a dying ember. The kenjutsu one was flowing through his forms smoother, blade catching the filtered light in clean arcs that left afterimages in the air. The body flicker clone was covering more ground with each jump, the poofs coming faster and quieter, the intervals between them shrinking with every attempt. The earth wall clone had managed to raise a waist-high barrier that held for almost ten seconds before collapsing, which was progress even if it didn't feel like much. The sealing attempts had left scorch marks on the log where the barriers had failed, little blackened circles that looked like burnt offerings to a god of frustration.
I called out to them, keeping my voice low even though the genjutsu veil should hold against casual observation.
Ryusei: Alright, wrap it up for today. We've got enough data on the amplification. Fire gains chakra drain, soul burn, and those disorienting afterimages. Wind makes it spread faster and cut deeper. Taijutsu is coming along, kenjutsu too. Keep drilling the earth wall on your own time if you want, but don't push the lightning until we figure out nature training. And for the love of everything, don't blow yourself up with the Rasengan experiments.
The clones nodded, some of them poofing out immediately and feeding their memories back to me in a rush—the burn of the fire tests, the solid impact of a successful kick, the frustration of a crumbling earth wall, the brief triumph of a barrier that almost worked, the ache in muscles that had been pushed too far. I felt the full weight of the session settle in my muscles and my head, the progress real but the gaps still glaring. I rolled up the last scroll and tucked it away, the forest around me quiet except for the distant calls of birds that couldn't see through my illusion and the rustle of something larger moving through the undergrowth far enough away to ignore.
One clone lingered, the one that had been working on youki manipulation, and gave me a tired grin. His hands were still smoking faintly from the last attempt, the blue energy fading from his fingertips.
Clone: You really think we can pull off those multi-clone youki bodies without blowing ourselves up?
I smirked back, adjusting the new blade on my back and feeling the weight of it settle against my spine.
Ryusei: We'll find out. But not today. Let's head home before someone actually does wander through and tests my genjutsu the hard way. I don't feel like explaining to the Hokage why there's a crater in the Forest of Death.
The clone laughed—a short, tired sound—and then poofed, leaving me alone in the clearing with the scorched ground, the broken dummies, and the lingering smell of blue fire. I took one last look around, committing the results to memory. The fire had spread further than I intended, blackening a wide circle of earth and leaving behind those strange afterimages that still flickered at the edges of my vision. The dummies were ash. The tree the taijutsu clones had been using was dented and scarred, bark stripped away in long gouges. The earth wall had left a lumpy mound that looked more like a grave than a defensive barrier. All in all, a productive session.
I stretched my arms above my head, feeling my spine pop in several places, and then turned toward the edge of the forest. The genjutsu veil dissolved as I walked, the sounds of the forest rushing back in—bird calls, insect hum, the distant chitter of something that might have been a monkey or might have been a demon depending on how unlucky I was. I leaped up into the trees, finding the familiar path back toward the village, the rooftops calling to me like they always did.
The sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold that filtered through the canopy in broken beams. I moved fast, not quite body flicker speed but close, the sword on my back bouncing gently with each jump. The scrolls were secure in their pouch, the knowledge tucked away for later review