It was another ordinary evening.
Sato Fan stood up from the open space behind the warehouse and patted the dust off his pants.
The setting sun had already dropped behind the perimeter wall, leaving only a final smear of orange light hanging in the western sky.
His Shadow Clone had just vanished with a “poof,” and the residual fatigue surged into his body like a tide—his arms were sore, his legs were weak, and the muscles in his back throbbed faintly.
He had practiced four sets of Taijutsu today.
The Shadow Clone had helped him shoulder half the load, but the fatigue still returned to him.
However, he was already used to this level of exhaustion; he would be fine after resting for a few minutes.
He picked up the water bottle sitting on the steps and took two large gulps.
The water was lukewarm, having been baked by the sun all day, and it tasted slightly of rust.
More than half a month had passed since he learned the Shadow Clone Technique.
He practiced every day during his lunch break and before clocking out, never missing a session.
Old Tanaka had gone from occasionally checking in on him to completely ignoring him—as long as Sato got his work done, it was fine.
Sato Fan screwed the cap of the water bottle tight and leaned against the wall, looking up at the gradually darkening sky.
His mind began to review his current strength.
First was the Chakra volume.
He had been an ordinary person in his previous life, and he hadn’t received any heaven-sent cheats after transmigrating.
His Chakra volume had indeed started at only the “average level of the Ninja Academy.” But that was already six years ago.
In those six years, although he hadn’t trained himself to death like Guy and Rock Lee, he had never been lazy.
He woke up at six every morning, did a set of physical training before school, and continued practicing after school until dark.
He didn’t rest on weekends either, either going to the library to research information or going to the small woods to practice Ninjutsu.
More importantly, Chakra is composed of “Physical Energy” plus “Spiritual Energy.” While his physical energy was only average, his spiritual energy—the soul of an adult who had lived in the Naruto world for twelve years, plus over twenty years from his previous life—far exceeded that of his peers.
This was a natural advantage that didn’t require cultivation; it just kept growing as long as he was alive.
With the two types of energy combined, his current Chakra volume was already a cut above civilian Ninjas of the same age.
He closed his eyes and felt the Chakra within his body.
Compared to when he had just graduated, it was at least thirty percent higher.
It wasn’t a qualitative leap, but it was enough for him to do things he couldn’t do before—like maintaining a Shadow Clone for forty minutes, or performing the Substitution Technique three times in a row without getting winded.
Compared to a Jinchuriki like Naruto?
He was far off.
Compared to a genius like Sasuke?
Also far off.
But compared to a Ninja from an ordinary civilian background, he was definitely considered excellent.
Next was Ninjutsu.
He had already practiced the Three Basic Jutsu taught at the Ninja Academy—Clone Technique, Transformation Technique, and Substitution Technique—to the point where he could use them “without even thinking.”
The Clone Technique, E-rank, creates an intangible illusion.
He had used this for six years, going from wobbly at the start to being able to pass for the real thing now, purely through sheer repetition.
His Clone Technique now featured fluid movements and natural expressions; ordinary people couldn’t tell the difference at all.
The Transformation Technique, E-rank, allows one to take on the appearance of others.
This was the one he practiced the most—because it was the best form of disguise.
He could complete the transformation within two seconds, turning into any classmate in his grade.
The Substitution Technique, E-rank, uses a log or another object to take an attack in one’s place.
This was for life-saving, and he practiced it most earnestly.
Now, his Substitution Technique could be activated “the instant before being hit.” While this was a god-tier skill, it required a replacement object.
For example, in the Land of Waves, the two Demon Brothers used a snow rabbit as a substitute.
In an open area without objects, the substitution can’t be used.
Furthermore, one has to react before the attack lands.
So in the later stages, those who can react would rather just charge in directly instead of using a Substitution Technique.
Finally, the Shadow Clone.
A B-rank Ninjutsu, it took him nearly two months to truly master it.
He had compressed his hand seal speed from three seconds down to one, extended the clone’s duration from two seconds to forty minutes, and the quality of the clone had evolved from “a blurry human figure” into a “solid clone capable of working independently.”
While at work, the Shadow Clone could help him move boxes and take inventory; while training, it could help him share the workload; and in the future, if he encountered danger, the Shadow Clone could buy him time to escape.
This was his current Ninjutsu arsenal: three E-ranks and one B-rank.
He couldn’t compare to those clan geniuses who knew Great Fireball, Eight Trigrams Palms, or Insect Jamming, but he was at least a bit stronger than those civilian Genin who only knew the Three Basic Jutsu.
Taijutsu was his weakest link.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to practice; his talent was simply limited.
His reaction speed, explosive power, and flexibility were all at the level of an ordinary person.
To hide his true abilities, he couldn’t show off normally.
Taijutsu was truly something that only yielded rewards through relentless practice, and since he hadn’t been in many fights, six years of cultivation had only moved him from “very poor” to “barely passing.”
But he had found a path that suited him—not pursuing fancy moves, but only practicing the basics.
Punches, kicks, dodges, and blocks; every movement was practiced repeatedly until it became muscle memory.
Looking at it comprehensively, what was his current level?
Sato Fan gave himself a score in his mind.
Chakra volume: Higher than civilian Ninjas of the same age, approaching the threshold of a Chunin.
Ninjutsu: Proficient in the Three Basic Jutsu, beginner at Shadow Clone.
Taijutsu: Passing.
Combat experience: Zero.
Tactical awareness: Good (after all, he was older and not as reckless as the youngsters).
If he were to rank the thirty Genin who graduated in the year Konoha 67, he would probably be around the top ten.
This sounded a bit unbelievable—how could someone who hid his strength every day and intentionally scored at the passing line be ranked in the top ten?
But that was the truth.
Because the overall level of this year’s graduates was lower than he had imagined.
Out of the thirty people, the only ones who could truly fight were those few: Sasuke, Naruto (when the Nine-Tailed went berserk), Shikamaru (relying on his brain), Kiba, Hinata, Shino, Choji, Ino (after obtaining their clan Ninjutsu), and Sakura (rich in theoretical knowledge, average in actual combat).
The remaining twenty-plus civilian students were mostly at the level he “displayed”—barely passing the Three Basic Jutsu, mediocre Taijutsu, inaccurate shuriken throwing, and a total mess of Chakra control.
And his “true level” was a large step above those civilian students.
Six years of Chakra control training hadn’t been for nothing.
Tree Climbing, Water Walking, and Leaf Sticking—he had done these basic exercises countless times in secret.
His Chakra control precision was even stronger than some Chunin.
It was just that no one knew.
He stood up, hung the water bottle on his belt, and walked toward the warehouse.
Old Tanaka had already left, and the warehouse was empty, leaving only the neatly arranged Ninja tools on the shelves.
Sato Fan picked up the ledger on the desk, flipped through it, and put it back down.
Today’s accounts were already done; the records of incoming and outgoing stock were clear, and the damage reports were written explicitly.
He leaned back in his chair and began to think about the future.
The direction of his cultivation was also clear: first, improve his Taijutsu, at least to the point where his physical fitness and basic movements wouldn’t hold him back.
Then, learn some practical Ninjutsu—not the A-rank or S-rank ones, which he couldn’t learn anyway.
He had actually fantasized that since he had transmigrated, he might have a talent for Space-Time Ninjutsu, but civilians with talent couldn’t get their hands on such techniques, and without access, he wouldn’t know if he had the talent.
Oh well, he’d worry about that later.
Instead, he focused on things that were truly useful in actual combat: like Earth Release: Headhunter Technique (pulling people into the ground), Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique (area attack), or Water Release: Hiding in Mist Technique (creating mist to escape).
Although these things were low-rank, they were practical.
And he didn’t need to be a master at them; being competent was enough.
As for equipment…
he was currently in charge of the weapons warehouse, so he had more opportunities to access supplies than anyone.
But he wasn’t in a hurry to act.
Old Tanaka was still there, and Yamada would occasionally visit.
He needed to figure out all the rules first, knowing which things could be “moved” and which were “absolutely untouchable.”
What he needed was a long-term plan.
He still had time—four years, until the Fourth Shinobi World War broke out.
Four years was enough time for him to grow from a “barely passing Genin” into a “Chunin with the ability to protect himself.”
Of course, provided he didn’t slack off.
He put the ledger back on the desk, stood up, and locked the warehouse door.
When he walked out of the Logistics Area, it was already completely dark.
The streetlights flickered on one by one, and the aroma from the ramen shop wafted out of the alley.
Sato Fan walked toward home along the familiar path.
As he passed Ichiraku Ramen, he saw Naruto’s back through the curtain.
That kid was currently devouring noodles with his cheeks bulging.
His eating manners were as terrible as ever, but with Sasuke and Sakura there beside him, the kid wasn’t alone anymore.
Sato Fan didn’t go in.
He didn’t want to eat ramen right now; he just wanted to go home, eat dinner, take a bath, and then sleep.
He still had to work tomorrow, still had to cultivate, and still had to keep getting stronger.
When he got home, Sato Umeko had already prepared dinner.
Today’s dish was beef stew with potatoes and carrots, and the aroma filled the entire house.
Sato Michi was sitting at the dining table, having already poured two cups of tea—one for himself and one for his son.
“You’re back?
Wash your hands and eat,” Sato Umeko said.
“Okay.”
Sato Fan washed his hands and sat down at the dining table.
Sato Michi pushed the teacup over and glanced at him.
“Why so late today?”
“I worked some overtime.”
“Overtime right after starting the job?” Sato Michi frowned.
“Don’t push yourself too hard; your health is important.”
“I’m fine.”
Sato Fan picked up his bowl and put a piece of beef into his mouth.
The beef was stewed until it was very tender, melting in his mouth.
His mother’s cooking was still as good as ever.
As he ate, his mind was still on his cultivation.
What should he do after finishing dinner?
First, take a bath, then practice hand seals for a while.
He didn’t need to release any Ninjutsu; he would just practice the hand signs until the six seals were ingrained in his muscle memory.
Before going to sleep, he would review tomorrow’s plan in his head once more: run to the warehouse in the morning, practicing Chakra control on the way; practice Shadow Clones during the lunch break; and practice Taijutsu after work.
After finishing dinner, Sato Fan helped his mother clear the dishes and then returned to his room.
He hung the jacket he wore today on the back of the chair, sat on the edge of the bed, and raised both hands.
The movements of his fingers were already so fast that he could complete them without thinking.
He held the hand signs, closed his eyes, and felt the Chakra flowing within his body.
It rose from his abdomen, followed his arms to his fingertips, and then gathered at the tips, ready to be released at any moment.
He didn’t release it; he just felt it.
Once, twice, three times.
He only stopped when his fingers felt sore.
Then he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Four years!
In four years, whether he liked it or not, the Fourth Shinobi World War would break out.
An army of a hundred thousand White Zetsu, each with the strength of a Chunin.
At that time, the entire Ninja World would become a battlefield, and there would be no absolutely safe place.
He had to ensure that before then, he had the ability to kill a White Zetsu and escape from a Jonin.