Seiran glanced at Obito, currently looking rather foolish as he chased after shuriken, and thought to himself, Obito, don't blame me for this. The boy was the perfect test subject—always eager to do something stupid. Besides, a little humiliation would keep him focused on training rather than mooning over girls. Seiran told himself it was for Obito's own good.
After his interference control test, Seiran had learned something crucial: he could influence even high-speed flying shuriken. Future shinobi who relied on them would barely be a threat.
Across the training ground, Instructor Fujino Daikichi clutched at his thinning hair, looking like he'd aged five years in the span of an hour. "How did such an oddball come out of the Uchiha Clan?"
"Forget it," Daikichi sighed. "Next up, Hyuga Iroha."
A boy with bandaged forehead walked forward, his Byakugan gleaming white and pure. He threw two shuriken with practiced precision.
"10 points. 9 points. 10 points."
The crowd murmured appreciatively.
"Amazing. Almost as good as Kakashi."
"It's the Hyuga Clan, after all."
But someone whispered louder: "Why's he wearing a bandage on his forehead?"
The question died quickly, but not before Hyuga Iroha's face went cold. His fists clenched unconsciously as he walked back into line.
Daikichi nodded, satisfied. Over the past few days, he'd observed that while Iroha wasn't the most naturally gifted, he was undoubtedly the hardest worker. For branch family members, hard work was survival.
"Next, Hyuga Seiran."
Seiran stepped forward and picked up several shuriken, weighing them with casual indifference.
Seven. Seven. Seven. Then finally, a ten.
The crowd's murmur turned dismissive.
"He's nowhere near Iroha's level. The gap between him and Kakashi is huge."
"Not everyone's a genius, I guess."
"Did you see those first throws? He almost hit eight. Pure luck on that last one."
Seiran's face remained blank, as if he hadn't heard a word. The comments rolled off him like water.
Across the field, Hyuga Iroha spared him a single glance, then looked away. They were both Hyuga in name, but they rarely spoke. Seiran simply wasn't worth his attention.
---
That evening, a knock at his door interrupted Seiran's solitude. When he opened it, a branch family guard stood waiting.
The man produced a small pouch and handed him an envelope with Seiran's name written neatly on the front. "Your living expenses. This month's allocation."
"Thanks." Seiran took the envelope and turned it over. Inside were fifteen thin bills—exactly 1500 ryo.
The guard nodded and vanished in a shimmer of movement. Once a month, no more, no less. Their interaction lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Seiran did the mental math. A bowl of ramen cost 60 ryo. Fifteen hundred ryo for a month meant he'd have to be careful. The Hyuga Clan ran like clockwork—everything measured, everything controlled, every member a cog in an enormous machine. Tradition and hierarchy meant everything to them.
But there were advantages to that precision. At least he had some freedom as a branch member. The main family didn't micromanage every purchase, every movement.
The Caged Bird Curse Mark on his forehead didn't concern him much either. Once his Electromagnetic Manipulation grew strong enough, once he could deconstruct matter at the molecular level, a seal would be trivial. That day would come.
For now, he needed to focus on growth. The real problem was time, resources, and getting stronger fast enough to matter.
---
The weekend arrived, and Seiran made his way to the Naka River.
The water sparkled under the afternoon sun, reflecting forest and sky in its gentle surface. This river was famous throughout Konoha—it held the history of the village itself. The wars between the Uchiha and Senju. The conflicts that shaped the Hidden Leaf Village's foundation. All of it traced back to this water.
Today it welcomed an unusual visitor: a boy in rolled-up trousers, standing thigh-deep in the current.
Snap!
Seiran thrust his hand down and came up with a log. Water splashed his face.
He was far enough upstream from the Uchiha district that he didn't have to worry about them causing trouble. The reasoning was simple: he was here to fish. But more importantly, he was here to practice.
Two metal skewers the size of chopsticks hovered around his body, polished from thin iron rods and held aloft by invisible magnetism. The moment he spotted prey, they'd move like lightning.
As he waded, fine particles of metal gradually adhered to his exposed calves. The riverbed was rich with ore deposits—natural minerals washed downstream and collected here over centuries. Konoha's climate was temperate, rainy, surrounded by mountains. The Hokage Rock itself proved how geologically rich this land was.
The Naka River, being the largest waterway in the area, held deposits of valuable ores. If he collected enough, he could trade them at the ninja shop for money. Food, supplies, and the chance to level his Electromagnetic Manipulation all at once.
Three birds with one stone.
Over the past week, Seiran had been testing how much proficiency he needed to advance. Difficult, complex uses of his power granted more experience. Routine, easy applications? The returns diminished rapidly. He'd already burned through most of the gains from simple knife manipulation.
Now he was doing three things simultaneously: controlling two metal skewers for fishing, continuously absorbing ore particles through his skin, and learning to push the limits of what Level 1 Electromagnetic Manipulation could do.
The experience gains were substantial.
A cluster of small fish gathered beneath a nearby boulder—perfect prey. But moving closer would disturb the water and send them scattering.
Seiran held his breath.
Zzzt!
Electric current erupted from between his toes, thick as his thumb, rippling downstream. The fish seized up, paralyzed.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The two skewers blurred forward. One impaled a fish cleanly through the belly, then angled perfectly to catch the two others on its tail. Three kills with one strike.
Seiran controlled the weighted metal rod and floated it back to him, satisfied with the catch. Meanwhile, his mind registered the feedback:
[Electromagnetic Manipulation experience +2]
Level 1 was still painfully weak. The current he could generate was barely enough to stun small fish. Complex manipulation remained exhausting. But it was progress.
Standing waist-deep in the Naka River, Seiran looked at his catch—three fresh fish for dinner—and grinned.
"Thanks, Faraday. Thanks, Maxwell. Thanks, Tesla. And especially thanks to my junior high physics teacher." He raised one hand to the sky like a benediction. "I wouldn't be eating tonight without you all."