My head is killing me.
That was the first and only thought that registered as Namikaze Hatani drifted back into consciousness. The sensation, like his skull was being split open with a dull chisel, jolted him into full awareness.
"Sss—!"
He hissed through his teeth, instinctively reaching up to clutch his head.
"Hatani! You're awake! You're finally awake!"
Before his hand could even reach his forehead, he felt his wrist being clamped in a vice-like grip. He sucked in another sharp breath, genuinely unsure for a moment which hurt more—his brain or his bones.
"Sorry, sorry!"
Nawaki, who had been keeping watch by the bed, realized his error immediately. He scrambled to let go, his movements a frantic blur of apologies as he reached out again, seemingly wanting to massage the hand he'd just nearly crushed.
"Where... where are we?"
Hatani, fully awake now thanks to Nawaki's "help," pulled his hand back. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples in a desperate attempt to soothe the throbbing.
"Hatani, are you okay?" Nawaki asked. Seeing his friend's "self-harming" gestures, he was too worried to answer the question, his face a mask of concern. "Wait right here. I'll go get Sis!"
Fortunately, after the trials of the Land of Rain, Nawaki was no longer the green rookie who would lose his mind or spiral into a depressive funk after seeing a comrade die. Knowing that his hovering wouldn't actually help, he jumped up and hurried out to find Tsunade.
"Wait... water..."
Hatani's throat felt like he'd swallowed a desert. He tried to call Nawaki back for a drink, but he was a second too late.
Left with no choice, he threw off the blanket and prepared to swing his legs out of bed to find some water himself.
"Hatani! What are you doing out of bed? Lay back down, don't move!"
Just as he finished pulling on his shoes, Nawaki burst back in. Seeing Hatani moving, the boy looked ready to physically pin him back to the mattress.
"He's likely just thirsty, Nawaki. Go get him some water."
This time, Hatani didn't have to explain. Tsunade, following close behind her brother, stepped into the room and cleared up the confusion.
"Ah... oh! Right, right away!"
Nawaki's face flushed red with embarrassment, and he scrambled back out of the room once more.
"Sit," Tsunade commanded, her tone brooking no argument as she sat across from Hatani. "You aren't exactly fragile right now, but the backlash from that jutsu is still in your system. You need rest."
"I wasn't... I wasn't trying to cause trouble," Hatani muttered.
For some reason, looking at Tsunade gave him the same sense of unease he used to feel as a child when facing a nurse with a vaccination needle. He felt an inexplicable urge to shrink back. He pulled his head in like a turtle, mumbled his protest, and dutifully climbed back onto the bed.
"That jutsu..."
Tsunade stared at him. Despite herself, her mind kept returning to the image of that terrifying technique. Even as a Princess of the Senju and the direct disciple of the "Professor" himself, she could say with absolute certainty that she had never seen—or even heard of—that A-rank (at minimum) technique before.
In other words, it was highly probable that this Genin, who had been out of the Academy for less than a year, had created it himself.
The thought was staggering.
Tsunade had been immersed in shinobi theory since she was four. She had refined her chakra under the guidance of the First, Second, and Third Hokage, as well as Lady Mito. Even with twenty years of study and high-level combat under her belt, her own original technique was still just a conceptual prototype. She still had three major hurdles to overcome and at least a year of refinement before it would be ready.
It was as if a child from a family of world-class scientists—someone with a genius IQ, a private library, and a top-tier laboratory—had been beaten to the punch by a kid from a normal family who had just finished elementary school and managed to build a functional rocket using nothing but a rusty wrench.
"That jutsu wasn't anything special, really," Hatani said.
His answer was so casually dismissive that Tsunade's fist momentarily tightened.
"When I was little, we didn't have much to eat. My brother and I would go out to the creek to catch fish."
Hatani knew he was treading on dangerous ground. His head still throbbed, but the pain seemed to sharpen his focus. He knew he couldn't hide the existence of "Powershot," so his mind raced to find a narrative that Tsunade would buy.
If he could get Tsunade to vouch for him, the "how" and "why" of the jutsu's creation would be validated. With her status, he could even establish a link to the Third Hokage. That would be a vital layer of protection if Danzo and his Root operatives decided to take an interest in him.
"Most of the time, we didn't have flint or matches. When we needed a fire, my brother would use a stick to drill into wood."
To explain why he thought of high-speed rotation for Wind Style, Hatani dug into his genuine memories of growing up with Minato. As orphans of low-level Genin, their childhood hadn't been much better than their future nephew's. They really had spent a lot of time catching fish in the outskirts of the village. Even if someone investigated, the story would hold up.
"That's it?" Tsunade asked, her brow furrowing.
The idea that rotation increases the cutting power of wind was common knowledge to anyone who studied nature transformation. But countless ninja knew that, and not one of them had ever produced a technique like Powershot.
"Of course not," Hatani said, realizing she wouldn't be fooled that easily.
"Rotation adds cutting power, but it also makes the wind dissipate. It's like raindrops on a spinning umbrella; the faster it spins, the further the water flies. So, the second step is compression."
Hatani's face took on a look of genuine pride. He wasn't faking it—he was genuinely pleased with himself for figuring out the mechanics.
"If you compress all that wind into a tiny, focused space before adding the rotation, there's nowhere for the wind to dissipate. It's forced to spiral forward with all that built-up energy."
"Like forcing a massive volume of water through a narrow pipe?"
Tsunade was a genius in her own right; a simple explanation was all she needed to see the logic. Her eyes lit up with realization.
"Exactly."
"Except..." Tsunade's expression shifted. She leaned in, a knowing, almost playful smile on her lips as she fixed him with a piercing gaze. "For formless wind, keeping it bound in such a narrow 'pipe' of chakra is the hardest part, isn't it? Just how did a Genin manage that level of shape transformation?"
Hatani's face instantly fell. He realized his "mundane" explanation had just hit a brick wall. He could only offer Tsunade a weak, awkward smile.