Tobirama Senju rarely felt surprised anymore.
But Ethan had managed to do it again.
The taijutsu he used just now clearly didn’t belong to any martial style Tobirama recognized.
It was something entirely unfamiliar.
“…How old is this kid?” Tobirama stared at Ethan with growing disbelief.
“He already created his own combat style?” For the first time, the future Second Hokage’s gaze truly changed.
This boy’s potential was frightening.
Still— admiration was one thing.
Tobirama had no intention of letting Ethan grow arrogant.
So he walked over calmly and said in an even tone: “Your taijutsu is acceptable.” “You’ll need to polish it further.” Ethan nearly sighed in relief.
Getting an “acceptable” from Tobirama was practically praise.
At least he hadn’t been verbally dismantled.
“So…” Ethan asked carefully, “does that mean I can start learning ninjutsu from you now?” Tobirama gave a slight nod.
“First, I need to review your fundamentals.” He crossed his arms.
“A towering structure is built on a stable foundation.” Then, beginning with the most basic academy-level techniques, Tobirama systematically rebuilt Ethan’s understanding from the ground up.
Transformation Technique.
Substitution Technique.
Clone Technique.
He even slipped in conceptual explanations related to Shadow Clone Jutsu.
And very quickly— Tobirama realized something unsettling.
Ethan’s learning speed was absurd.
Not only did he understand techniques immediately— he instinctively extrapolated new applications on his own.
Every explanation generated three more ideas in Ethan’s head.
Tobirama’s expression gradually softened with visible satisfaction.
After all, every teacher loved the same kind of student: The kind who grasped everything instantly.
Minimal explanation.
Maximum comprehension.
But Ethan’s true monstrosity wasn’t just his understanding.
It was his execution.
As long as he understood the theory— he could usually perform it almost immediately afterward.
The deeper Tobirama taught, the faster Ethan absorbed everything.
Hours slipped by without either of them noticing.
Soon, Ethan had already mastered all the foundational material Tobirama originally intended to review.
Even the deliberately advanced concepts Tobirama mixed into the lessons failed to slow him down.
At that point, even Tobirama started feeling uneasy.
“…Maybe his talent isn’t limited to Wood Release.” For the first time in years, the greatest inventor in shinobi history felt both excitement and caution at the same time.
He suddenly had the overwhelming urge to teach Ethan everything.
Every jutsu.
Every forbidden technique.
Every theory he had ever developed.
He wanted to see just how far this boy could go.
But eventually— Tobirama forcibly suppressed the impulse.
Ethan was still too young.
Handing massive amounts of advanced techniques to an unstable mind would be dangerous.
As someone who had spent his entire life researching ninjutsu, Tobirama understood better than anyone how terrifying obsession could become.
So he deliberately slowed the pace afterward.
Even then, by the end of the day, Ethan had still learned an astonishing amount.
Tobirama felt both proud— and faintly alarmed.
By evening, Ethan shamelessly finished dinner at the Senju residence before finally getting kicked out.
The moment he left, Tobirama immediately sought out Hashirama and explained everything he’d witnessed.
Hashirama slowly set aside the intelligence report in his hands.
His expression turned serious.
According to Tobirama— Ethan wasn’t merely talented.
He was a once-in-a-century monster.
Hashirama rubbed his forehead helplessly.
“How did nobody notice this before?” Tobirama answered calmly.
“He’s an orphan.” “He only had access to basic training.” “No one paid attention to him.” “And advanced techniques were completely out of reach.” No resources.
No mentors.
No opportunities.
Hashirama fell silent for a moment before asking quietly: “Could he become the future of the Senju Clan?” Tobirama shook his head immediately.
“Too early to say.” His voice remained cold and pragmatic.
“A dead genius has no value.” “Only a genius who survives deserves to be called a genius.” Hashirama groaned.
It felt like holding a priceless artifact that might crack apart at any moment.
“So what do we do?” He sighed heavily.
“Protect him?” “Or temper him?” “Temper him,” Tobirama answered without hesitation.
A dangerous sharpness flashed through his eyes.
“If pressure breaks him, then he was never worthy of carrying the clan’s future to begin with.” Hashirama narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“…Easy for you to say now.” “But if something really happens to him, are you honestly telling me you won’t regret it?” Tobirama fell silent briefly.
Regret?
Of course he would.
He had never seen talent like Ethan’s before.
If the boy died, Tobirama would probably wake up furious about it for years.
But even so— he still answered firmly.
“A blade that’s never tempered remains fragile.” “If he spends his life protected by the clan and never faces real danger…” “He’ll never become someone capable of standing alone.” Hashirama sighed deeply.
“Fine.” “But keep him close.” Then he pointed directly at his younger brother.
“And when I say temper him…” “I mean appropriately.” The two brothers immediately fell into another long discussion about Ethan’s future.
Meanwhile, back in his own residence, Ethan had become obsessed with something entirely different.
Haki.
More specifically— the interaction between Haki and Wood Release.
The compatibility felt incredible.
Even basic Armament Haki dramatically reinforced the durability and striking power of Wood Release constructs.
The problem was scale.
His Haki reserves were still tiny.
Maintaining full-body Armament coating was already difficult.
Applying Haki to massive Wood Release techniques?
Impossible for now.
So how could he strengthen Haki faster?
Ninjutsu improved through Chakra refinement, hand seals, and control.
But Haki didn’t operate like that at all.
At its core, Haki felt more like manifested spiritual force.
Once awakened, anyone could theoretically use it.
The difference came from mastery, intensity, and willpower.
Trying to study Haki through traditional ninjutsu theory would lead nowhere.
The systems fundamentally worked differently.
If anything— Haki resembled genjutsu more than ninjutsu.
Both dealt heavily with the spiritual and mental domains.
That realization sparked something instantly.
“…What if genjutsu could temper Haki?” Ethan sat upright.
If genjutsu directly pressured the mind… couldn’t that strengthen spiritual force the same way physical combat strengthened the body?
The idea excited him immediately.
So the next morning, Ethan began asking around the compound.
“Who’s the strongest genjutsu user in the Senju Clan?” The reactions turned awkward almost immediately.
“Genjutsu?” “Honestly, the Senju aren’t especially good at it.” “That’s more the Uchiha’s specialty.” “One of the main reasons we take casualties is because of Sharingan genjutsu.” Then someone casually added: “If you really want to study it, check the prison.” “There are still a few captured Uchiha alive down there.” Ethan’s eyes lit up instantly.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, he headed straight toward the Senju prison.
At nearly the same time, Tobirama received word about Ethan’s latest activities.
His expression immediately twisted in confusion.
“…What is this brat doing now?” He rubbed his forehead.
“Why is he suddenly researching genjutsu instead of focusing on ninjutsu and taijutsu?” Then another realization struck him.
“…Can geniuses really do whatever they want?” A second later, Tobirama abruptly stood up.
“Wait.” His expression darkened.
“Why is he going to the prison?” The captured Uchiha held there weren’t ordinary prisoners.
The weak ones had already died on the battlefield.
Anyone still alive possessed either significant strength— or significant value.
Tobirama immediately headed toward the prison himself.