Ever since learning the Rasengan, Linbei’s entire demeanor had brightened considerably.
The change wasn’t intentional, but rather a sense of relaxation that seeped from his very bones.
Before, when he walked through the Ninja Academy, his shoulders were always slightly hunched and his gaze habitually lowered, like a snail ready to retreat into its shell at any moment.
Now, things were different—his shoulders were square, his stride was longer, and he occasionally even took the initiative to greet his classmates.
“Linbei-kun, you seem to have changed lately,” Izumi said to him in class one day, tilting her head as she studied his face.
“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you just feel…
a lot happier.”
“Do I?” Linbei smiled.
“Maybe it’s because the food has been better lately.”
He glanced down at Tom, who was crouched on the desk.
Tom was holding an onigiri with his paws, nibbling on it in tiny bites.
Hearing Linbei’s words, the cat looked up with an expression that clearly said, “That’s right, it’s all thanks to me.”
Izumi laughed and reached out to pat Tom on the head.
“Then, can I come over to your place for dinner sometime too?”
“Sure,” Linbei agreed without a second thought.
Izumi’s face flushed slightly.
She looked down at her textbook and didn’t say anything more.
Linbei didn’t notice the change in Izumi’s expression.
His attention had been captured by something outside the window—on the distant training ground, several Genin were practicing shurikenjutsu.
Their Kunai traced silver arcs through the air, hitting the bullseyes with precision.
His fingers tapped twice against his knee.
It was a gesture of longing.
He craved to become stronger.
It wasn’t the desperate urgency of “having to become stronger to survive,” but a purer, more intrinsic desire.
He wanted to know where his limits were.
He wanted to know what else he could learn after the Rasengan.
He wanted to know if that feeling of total control—the moment Chakra condensed into a blue sphere in his palm—could become even more powerful.
“Training after school,” Linbei told himself.
At 4:30 PM, the Ninja Academy bell rang right on time.
Linbei was practically the first one to burst out of the classroom.
Carrying Tom, he crossed the playground, circled the teaching building, and jogged along Konoha’s main road before turning into the woods on the edge of the village.
This forest was located in the northeast corner of Konoha, near the perimeter wall, and few people ever came here.
The trees were dense, the ground was covered in a thick layer of fallen leaves, and sunlight filtered through the canopy in dappled patches.
Linbei set Tom down under a large tree, walked to a clearing in the center of the woods, and began his warm-up.
Leg stretches, reaching, push-ups, sit-ups.
Once he finished the routine, his body was slightly warm, his blood was pumping, and the Chakra in his pathways felt active.
“Taijutsu first.” Linbei fell into a stance and threw a series of punches at the air.
Straight punches, hooks, swings, side kicks, roundhouse kicks.
Every move carried the sound of rushing wind as his limbs traced sharp trajectories through the air.
His movements weren’t quite fluid yet, but they were vastly improved compared to a month ago—at the very least, he no longer lost his balance when punching or struggled to pull back after a kick.
After finishing the set, he switched to a different exercise.
Shuriken.
Linbei took six practice shuriken from his pouch and stood ten meters from the target.
The targets were six circles he had drawn on a tree, each about the size of a palm and scattered at different heights.
He took a deep breath, gripped three shuriken in his right hand and three in his left, and threw them simultaneously.
The six shuriken whistled through the air, tracing six distinct arcs.
*Clang, clang, clang—*
Three hits.
The other three grazed the bark and embedded themselves in the trunk behind the target.
Three out of six.
A fifty-percent hit rate.
Linbei frowned.
This performance was above average at the Ninja Academy, but it was a far cry from his goal.
Itachi could already achieve a perfect hundred-percent accuracy at this age—not just because of his talent, but because he had practiced shuriken every day since he was three, rain or shine.
“Again.”
Linbei walked over, pulled the shuriken from the tree, returned to his position, and threw them again.
Four hits.
Two misses.
Third time, four hits.
Fourth time, five hits.
By the tenth round, he could consistently hit four out of six.
But the fifth and sixth always fell short—either the angle was off, the force was insufficient, or they were affected by the flight path of the preceding shuriken.
Linbei stopped and flexed his aching fingers.
“Tom, come here.”
Tom stood up from under the tree and strolled over, a fishing rod dangling from his mouth—he had been fishing by the river just now.
“Help me take a look.” Linbei handed a shuriken to Tom.
Tom took the shuriken, pinched it with his claws, and tilted his head to examine it.
Then he placed the shuriken on the ground and pulled out a small blackboard to write a few lines:
[The grip is fine.
The problem is the power delivery.
You’re using the strength of your arm, not your wrist.]
Linbei looked at the words, lost in thought.
He picked up a shuriken again and tried throwing it using only the flick of his wrist.
The shuriken flew out, wobbled through a few rotations, and stuck into the edge of the target.
“Like this?”
Tom shook his head and wrote again:
[Your wrist needs to be relaxed.
You’re using too much force.]
Linbei tried a second time.
This time, his wrist was more relaxed.
The trajectory of the shuriken was much more stable than before, and it hit the bullseye.
Third time.
Fourth time.
Fifth time.
Tom stood by, occasionally writing a few words on the blackboard to correct his movements.
By the thirtieth attempt, Linbei could consistently land five out of six shuriken.
“Almost a perfect set.” Linbei wiped away his sweat, a trace of a smile on his lips.
“Meow.” Tom let out a cry and held up one claw.
The meaning was clear: *Still a long way to go.*
Linbei rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
He knew Tom was right.
There were no shortcuts in shurikenjutsu; it required day after day of practice.
Itachi had practiced for three years to reach his current level; how many days had Linbei been at it?
“I’ll continue tomorrow.” Linbei packed the shuriken back into his pouch and walked deeper into the forest.
Next was Ninjutsu training.
He had achieved a basic mastery of the Rasengan, but he was still a long way from “total control.” Jiraiya’s Rasengan could shatter boulders, and Naruto’s could blast through walls.
His Rasengan could only break a small tree the thickness of a bowl—its power was still lacking.
Linbei stood before a tree thicker than the one from yesterday and began condensing Chakra in his right palm.
Blue light flickered, rotated, expanded, and solidified.
A fist-sized blue sphere hovered above his palm, spinning at high speeds and emitting a low, vibrating hum.
He thrust the Rasengan forward, striking the trunk.
*BOOM—*
The trunk shook violently.
Bark shattered, and wood chips sprayed in every direction.
A bowl-sized indentation appeared on the trunk, about three centimeters deep, with the wood fibers at the edges shredded into a pulp by the rotational force.
But the tree didn’t break.
Linbei withdrew his hand and frowned at the indentation.
“The power still isn’t enough,” he muttered to himself.
“Naruto’s Rasengan can blast through a trunk, but mine only leaves a crater.
What’s the difference?”
He closed his eyes, recalling every detail of yesterday’s practice.
The amount of Chakra?
That was sufficient.
The rotation speed?
Also enough.
The compression density?
That must be it—the reason Naruto’s Rasengan was so powerful was that he compressed a massive amount of Chakra into an extremely small space, creating a high-density rotating sphere.
His own current Rasengan, while not small in volume, lacked density.
It was like a fluffy snowball that shattered upon hitting the tree.
“I need more compression.”
Linbei condensed his Chakra again.
This time, he deliberately reduced the volume of the sphere, squeezing more Chakra into a smaller space.
The blue light sphere shrunk from the size of a fist to the size of an egg, but its brightness was more than twice as intense as before, and the Chakra flow lines on the surface were much denser.
He thrust the Rasengan into the same tree.
*BOOM—*
The sound was much louder this time.
A hole ten centimeters in diameter and over five centimeters deep appeared in the trunk.
The wooden fibers at the edges were completely pulverized, and the debris flew out, rustling against the nearby leaves.
Linbei looked at the hole, his lips curling slightly.
“Progress.”
But he wasn’t satisfied.
He continued practicing, condensing, compressing, and releasing over and over again.
The Chakra flowed repeatedly through his palm.
The skin of his right hand was scorched red and began to ache, but he didn’t stop.
The twentieth time.
The thirtieth time.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the tree trunk was covered in craters.
The largest one was over ten centimeters deep, nearly piercing halfway through the trunk.
Linbei stood before the tree, gasping for breath.
Most of his Chakra was spent, the skin on his palm was red-hot, and his fingers were trembling slightly.
But his eyes were bright.
Because he had found the feeling—the sensation of compressing Chakra to the absolute limit, forming a miniature typhoon in his palm.
“I’ll switch to a new tree tomorrow.” He patted the trunk and turned toward Tom.
Tom wasn’t in his original spot.
Linbei looked around and found Tom perched on a rock by the river.
In front of him was a row of prepared fish—scaled, gutted, and deboned.
Each piece of fish was sliced neatly and uniformly.
Next to him was a simple grill made of stones, with charcoal burning brightly.
Seeing Linbei approach, Tom pointed a claw at the grill, then at the row of fish, and made a “wait a moment” gesture.
Then he pulled a small jar from behind him—filled with seasonings he had prepared at some unknown time—and sprinkled them over the fish before placing the meat onto the grill.
*Sizzle—*
The moment the fish touched the charcoal, the oils were rendered out, making an enticing sound.
The aroma wafted out with the smoke, filling the entire forest.
Linbei’s stomach growled.
He sat down next to Tom, watching the fish slowly turn golden-brown.
The skin became slightly charred and crispy, while the inside remained tender and juicy.
“When did you learn to grill fish?” Linbei asked.
Tom tilted his head, thought for a moment, and wrote on the blackboard: [Just now.]
“Just now?”
[I saw a fish swimming in the water and thought its swimming posture was very elegant.
Then I wanted to know what it would taste like roasted.]
Linbei was silent for three seconds.
“…I actually can’t argue with that logic.”
Tom handed him the first piece of grilled fish.
Linbei took it, blew on it, and took a bite.
Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and bursting with flavor.
The saltiness of the seasoning and the sweetness of the fish blended perfectly on his tongue.
“Delicious,” Linbei said indistinctly, his mouth full of fish.
Tom nodded with a nonchalant expression.
He took a piece for himself and nibbled on it, his tail wagging happily behind him.
The boy and the cat sat by the river, eating grilled fish and watching the sunset slowly sink behind the mountains.
The light on the river changed from gold to orange-red, and then from orange-red to deep purple.
The distant lights of Konoha began to twinkle, and the statues on the Hokage Rock became black silhouettes in the twilight.
“Tom.” Linbei finished the last piece of fish and wiped the grease from his fingers onto his pants.
“Meow.”
“Tell me, how should I practice Genjutsu?”
Tom tilted his head in thought, then wrote on the blackboard:
[Sharingan.
Keep practicing.
Awaken the two-tomoe.]
Linbei looked at the words and remained silent for a while.
“Once I awaken the two-tomoe, I’ll be able to copy the enemy’s Ninjutsu and Genjutsu?”
[Copying is just the foundation.
The key is understanding the principles of Genjutsu—disrupting the enemy’s Chakra flow and controlling the five senses.]
Linbei burned these words into his memory.
He knew Tom was right.
The essence of Genjutsu was Chakra control and interference with the enemy’s spiritual energy.
The Sharingan was an excellent tool for casting Genjutsu, but the prerequisite was that he needed a stronger Sharingan, more Chakra, and finer control.
“Then I’ll just keep practicing.” Linbei stood up and brushed the dust off his pants.
“Taijutsu, Ninjutsu, Genjutsu—I can’t let any of them fall behind.”
He looked down at Tom, and Tom looked back up at him.
“Even though I haven’t learned Genjutsu yet,” Linbei’s gaze fell toward the Hokage Rock in the distance, his voice quiet but firm, “as long as I keep practicing, the Sharingan will evolve.
If one tomoe isn’t enough, then two.
If two isn’t enough, then three.”
He paused, his lips curving into a slight smile.
“And beyond the three-tomoe, there is the Mangekyo.”
Tom stood up, jumped onto his shoulder, and brushed the back of Linbei’s head with his tail.
“Meow,” Tom chirped.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it carried an inexplicable sense of “I believe in you.”
Linbei smiled and turned to walk home.
The figures of the boy and the cat disappeared into the twilight.