Once they left the Academy, Kurenai gradually returned to her usual self and started chattering away, either threatening to beat up that little chubby kid next time or venting about Guy’s bizarre antics.
The two arrived at the entrance of Yamashiro Hotpot.
The restaurant was as bustling as ever, already half full even though it wasn’t peak dinner time yet.
They stepped inside, greeted the staff with practiced familiarity, and found a secluded corner table to sit down.
Aoba smiled.
“Uncle Kitano, the usual for me.”
“I’ll have the tomato broth today, please,” Kurenai added.
“Coming right up!
Just a moment.”
Uncle Kitano set down utensils before them with a warm smile, then headed off to prep the ingredients.
Before long, plate after plate of Cloud Valley beef was placed in front of Aoba.
Aoba deftly picked up a few slices with his chopsticks and swished them in the boiling broth, relying on his chip’s precise countdown before popping them into his mouth.
Eating it like this not only preserved the beef’s prime texture, but more importantly, optimized digestion and nutrient absorption.
Funny enough, Aoba had originally opened the hotpot restaurant just to achieve unlimited beef freedom.
Cloud Valley beef was a specialty of the Land of Lightning.
Only cattle raised in its perpetual thunderstorms developed that distinct flavor and texture.
Though Aoba cared a lot about good food, he wasn’t someone prone to lavish extravagance.
The truth was, the chip’s analysis had revealed that a beef-rich diet accelerated physical growth—especially Cloud Valley beef from the Land of Lightning, whose rich profile of proteins and amino acids not only boosted development but also strengthened his constitution.
Buying it on his own would have bankrupted him within a year given his personal finances.
That was what sparked the idea to open a hotpot shop: bulk wholesale orders would slash costs to the absolute minimum, and he would secure endless beef in the process.
What he hadn’t anticipated was how severely he’d underestimated Chinese cuisine from his previous life.
A single hotpot dish had become an overnight sensation—and ended up blowing his cover right in front of the Third Hokage.
That night.
Aoba scanned and cataloged ninjutsu data from the scrolls as usual while reviewing the events of the day.
On the first day of school, the Academy teachers would undoubtedly report a general overview of the new students to the Hokage.
As for his altercation with that chubby kid, it had almost certainly unfolded under the watchful eyes of the staff.
Compared to facing endless harassment later on, making a display of strength to establish deterrence was far more effective.
Otherwise, what was the point of his special recruitment?
Rather than getting passively exposed down the line and continually inviting trouble, taking the initiative to show his hand was the smarter move.
Nor did this conflict with his established behavioral pattern.
He had simply wanted to keep a low profile before.
Because both of his parents had died in the line of duty as shinobi, he hadn’t wanted to become a ninja himself—which had no direct bearing on acquiring strength.
Besides, teaching himself using nothing more than his parents’ chakra extraction techniques and the scrolls for the Basic Three Jutsu only proved he was a prodigy.
A much more detailed dossier detailing his daily habits and behavior had surely been delivered to the Third Hokage’s desk by now.
Ever since awakening his past-life memories, Aoba had never viewed himself as a child.
As he rapidly adapted to the social etiquette and customs of the ninja world, he naturally stopped acting like one.
As for why such a drastic change occurred?
In the ninja world, losing both parents at once caused drastic personality shifts all the time.
Maturing and shouldering responsibility were considered positive developments.
It was infinitely better than turning bitter, radical, or anti-village.
After all, that was precisely how vengeful, rogue ninja were born.
Camouflage and infiltration were mandatory Academy courses, and intelligence analysis was a core testing subject.
Those transmigration novels where the protagonist constantly played dumb and acted like a toddler were practically rubbing everyone else’s intelligence in the dirt.
For an amateur with zero acting experience to try acting cute before a room full of seasoned veterans?
What a joke.
Even award-winning movie stars would fall flat on their faces here.
Body language, micro-expressions—sure, maybe you could fool a few children or fresh genin.
But trying to pull the wool over the eyes of jonin who had crawled their way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood was nothing short of suicidal.
He was a Konoha native born and bred, the scion of fallen heroes, gifted with great potential, and backed by a respected jonin.
He was practically guaranteed to become a future pillar of the village.
If he wanted to accomplish something, displaying it openly and proudly was the way to go.
Skulking around and hiding things would only make him look like a clown.
Even if he did manage to conceal it, once it eventually came to light, people wouldn’t admire him—they’d suspect he harbored ulterior motives.
One month later.
Hokage’s Office.
“Oh?
So he cheated on the exam using genjutsu?”
“Yes, it has been confirmed, Lord Hokage!”
Upon hearing the Anbu’s report, Hiruzen Sarutobi picked up the pipe resting beside him and took a long drag, exhaling a swirling plume of smoke.
The Third Hokage then fell into thought as he gazed down at the two exam papers on his desk, their answers nearly identical.
He knew Araki’s capabilities well.
Pulling off a cheating scheme right under his nose was an accomplishment in its own right.
Pulling off genjutsu to cheat was impressive enough, but on a theory exam, copying an interpretation of the Will of Fire almost word-for-word?
It was as if they were terrified people wouldn’t realize they had cheated.
“Owl.
Kurenai Yuhi should have returned to the village by now.
Have him report here.”
“Yes, Lord Hokage!”
…
“I’m home—huh?
Father?”
The moment Kurenai opened the front door, she was pleasantly surprised to see her father back.
Slipping off her shoes, she started running over.
Trailing behind her, Aoba was just about to greet him and step inside when he suddenly sensed something terribly wrong in the atmosphere.
He pivoted on a dime.
“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I need to handle at the shop!
I’ll take my leave!”
Aoba spun around swiftly, but before he could even take a second step, Uncle Shinku’s low, repressed voice drifted from behind.
“Halt.”
At that exact moment, Aoba found himself completely paralyzed.
*Damn it!*
[Genjutsu: Paralysis Technique]
Although the genjutsu scroll Uncle Shinku had provided didn’t contain the hand signs or formula for this technique, it detailed the victim’s reactions and its effects.
Having long since analyzed the scroll from top to bottom, Aoba realized in an instant that he was caught in a genjutsu.
The Paralysis Technique was a D-rank jutsu, the most fundamental among genjutsu.
Its efficacy varied depending on the caster’s prowess and mastery—the stronger the user, the more potent it became.
It was particularly devastating when used by a superior shinobi against a weaker opponent, leading Aoba to mockingly dub it the ultimate noob-crusher technique.
Who would have thought that before he even got around to learning it, he’d end up on the receiving end?
*System!*
Aoba fired off a rapid command in his mind.
The chip seized partial control of his motor functions while coordinating with his consciousness to disperse the foreign chakra.
[Genjutsu: Release]
“Huh?”
A soft gasp of surprise echoed from inside the room.
Yet no sooner had Aoba dispelled the illusion and taken two strides than a heavy palm clamped onto his shoulder, weighing down like a thousand pounds and pinning him in place.
A bead of cold sweat instantly dripped down his forehead.
Aoba turned his head stiffly, forcing a smile that looked more miserable than crying.
“U-Uncle Shinku, l-long time no see.”
“Yes, it has been quite a while.
Seems you haven’t been slacking off in my absence, Aoba.
Your genjutsu is quite something—and so is your dispel.”
“You flatter me, you flatter me!
It’s all thanks to your wonderful guidance, Uncle Shinku.”
“Oh?
I don’t recall ever teaching you.”
Kurenai Yuhi offered an “amiable” smile.
“The scrolls!
The scrolls!
Your notes and insights were just so thorough, Uncle Shinku…”
“Fine.
Then step inside and explain to me in detail—how exactly did you use genjutsu to cheat on your exam?!”
Kurenai Yuhi sat stiffly on the couch with a grim expression, his jonin flak jacket and pouch still on, sternly glaring at the two kids kneeling on the floor before him.
Upon hearing their “defense,” Shinku’s mouth twitched, his composure nearly cracking.
“‘What do you mean next time you’ll rephrase the sentences and not copy word-for-word?!
Is *that* what I was asking?!'”
…