Jordan scanned the courtyard from above. Eight elite jonin guarded the perimeter in plain sight, with four more concealed inside the house and scattered through the grounds.
Twelve Senju ninja crammed into one location. This kind of lineup could raid border settlements across the Land of Fire without breaking a sweat.
But the clan leader's wife was vulnerable after childbirth, and newborn Tobirama offered little tactical value as a hostage. The security made sense. Still, Jordan had no intention of triggering an incident.
Time for a field test.
His sky-blue eyes bled to crimson. Three black tomoe materialized in each iris, spinning lazily. The Sharingan card had integrated perfectly.
Jordan clapped his hands together. Chakra surged through his system, flooding into his eyes and amplifying the Sharingan's power to its maximum threshold. The AT Field shimmered into existence around him, invisible but absolute.
Genjutsu and reality merged.
"Ninja Art: Illusion Technique—Za Warudo!"
The technique fell without sound. An invisible force field descended over the courtyard like a cage, sealing it from the world. To any observer outside, nothing had changed. Inside, reality bent to Jordan's will.
The Sharingan's true strength in genjutsu lay in shaping mental worlds. Within the illusion, every rule could be rewritten. Space. Time. Causality itself.
Jordan's three-tomoe Sharingan was a manifestation of his Stand ability, not an organ transplanted from Uchiha Takuya's corpse. The compatibility issues that plagued other wielders didn't exist. The Sharingan responded to him as naturally as breathing.
Without Indra's bloodline, the doubled chakra consumption remained. But Jordan was no exhausted copycat ninja struggling with depleted reserves. His mental energy regenerated faster than the Sharingan could drain it.
The genjutsu invaded reality through the AT Field. The courtyard froze in perfect stillness while the world beyond the walls continued its lazy afternoon rhythm.
Everyone inside the barrier fell under Za Warudo's influence the instant it activated. Everyone except Hashirama, whom Jordan had specifically excluded from the effect.
The technique was still experimental. Jordan wasn't taking chances.
F-boy materialized beside him, pale purple and transparent against the frozen world.
"Hypnotize them," Jordan said. "All twelve. Make sure there's no blowback when I release this."
F-boy's expression remained cool and professional as he descended into the courtyard. His fist blurred through the air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Each Senju ninja received a precisely measured psychic strike to their temples, deepening the illusion's hold. F-boy worked with clinical efficiency, moving from target to target.
When he finished, he glanced back at Jordan and raised his middle finger.
Jordan ignored the gesture. "Good enough. Let's move."
Beside a clear stream at the forest's edge, Jordan set Hashirama down. The boy had been shouting with delight during the flight, his first time experiencing aerial travel.
"See?" Jordan gestured at the water. "This is the stage that truly suits you."
Hashirama let out an awed sound. The stream he'd seen countless times before suddenly held new meaning, like Van Gogh discovering his brushes.
"When skipping stones, you need to find flat ones like these." Jordan raised his hand. Dozens of smooth pebbles lifted from the riverbank, glowing with blue psychic energy as they orbited his palm. "Second, you throw at a shallow angle so the stone creates a slope when it hits the water. That's what makes it bounce. Finally—and this is crucial—you use your wrist to give the stone a perfect spin when you release it. The stronger the rotation, the more bounces you get and the farther it travels."
Hashirama blinked, processing. Then his face scrunched with confusion. "Big brother, what's a 'perfect spin'? Ow! Why??"
Jordan withdrew his fist from the fresh bump on Hashirama's watermelon-shaped head. "Because you need to call me master now."
Hashirama remembered something his father had mentioned once. The way of the ninja. The character for shinobi—endurance.
What did it really mean?
Follow your heart and endure what must be endured.
"As for what makes a spin perfect..." Jordan's expression remained neutral. "How should I know? I haven't even finished developing the Rasengan yet."
Hashirama stared blankly.
Jordan pulled back his smoking fist, outwardly composed but internally celebrating.
Breaking news: Man in Warring States period makes future God of Shinobi cry—twice in one day!
This is historically verifiable!
He cleared his throat twice, restoring his teacherly demeanor. "You just need to remember to use your fingers and wrist to make the stone spin as you throw. Watch closely. I'll demonstrate."
Hashirama didn't understand half the words, but his enthusiasm burned brighter than ever.
Jordan selected a stone from the orbiting collection. His wrist snapped forward.
The pebble skipped across the water's surface—one, two, five, ten times. It crossed the entire stream and disappeared into the opposite bank's tall grass.
Clap clap clap clap clap!
Hashirama's eyes shone like he'd found the faith he'd been seeking his entire life.
"So amazing!"
"Your turn." Jordan sent the remaining stones into a lazy orbit around Hashirama. From a distance, they resembled a ring of tiny stars. "Don't worry. We've got plenty of ammunition."
Hashirama didn't know what ammunition meant, but to a child his age, these floating pebbles were treasure incarnate.
His eyes glittered with golden light.
"That's enough," Jordan said, glancing at the sky. "We should head back."
Hashirama nodded obediently, but his posture was anything but humble.
He planted his feet in a wide stance, body coiled with tension. His upper body twisted at an awkward angle. Both hands rose high before his right arm swept downward in a dramatic arc.
The pebble launched from his grip like a cannonball.
"This is my ultimate spin, Master!"
The JOJO-style delivery he'd invented on the spot carried genuine power. The stone skipped across the water all the way to the stream's center before its momentum finally died and it sank beneath the surface.
Jordan covered his face.
I gave him too much encouragement. The big idiot tendencies were already there, and I just made them worse.
Tobirama, don't blame me. This is absolutely the last time.
Back in the courtyard, Hashirama remained absorbed in the joy of his new skill.
At Jordan's direction, F-boy moved through the frozen Senju ninja one by one, adjusting their positions and postures to match their original stances before the genjutsu had activated.
Hashirama looked up suddenly. "Master... are you leaving?"
Jordan crouched down and ruffled the boy's watermelon hair. "Yeah. Master still has things to take care of."
Disappointment flickered across Hashirama's face. "Will you come back to see me?"
"Of course. Your dad and I are good friends."
Jordan clearly remembered a note in one of Senju Butsuma's books: Whoever is an enemy of the Uchiha is a friend of the Senju clan.
Technically true.
He gave Hashirama's head one final pat and straightened. "I always keep my promises, Hashirama. Grow up strong. I'll see you in the future."
"Goodbye, Master!"
Jordan snapped his fingers.
His form dissolved like a soap bubble, spiritual energy scattering on the wind. The Za Warudo illusion that had frozen the courtyard in time collapsed with it.
The Senju guards blinked. The afternoon sun felt warm on their faces. Everything was exactly as it should be.
Inside the house, a newborn cried.
Hashirama Senju stood alone by the pond, clutching a smooth stone in his small hands, and smiled.