Reborn as a Yamanaka Genius

Chapter 36: The Weight We Carry



Well, today had been quite... bizarre. I really couldn't find a better way to put it.

I was taken out to train by Daiki, who beat me black and blue.

Then I woke up at Akira's, where Tsunade just happened to visit-which was actually a pleasant surprise-asking me a hundred and one medical questions out of nowhere.

I didn't even have time to fully process what had happened earlier. I just had to perform. It felt like a fever dream-like a figment of my imagination.

Everything was just so... abrupt.

After leaving Akira's, I returned home to the comfort of my studio and entered my Mind Palace.

Seated in a mental movie theater, remote in hand, I replayed the spar with Daiki over and over and over again.

Slowing down key moments, I focused on getting a complete picture of what had happened. As usual, I had started the spar with a shadow clone.

The fighting style I was developing prioritized deception and misdirection through genjutsu.

For safety, I used shadow clones as a primary means of attack, incorporating genjutsu to make them invisible and their strikes untraceable.

If I fought someone stronger than me, I used exploding clones to deal damage. I also amped up their smoke production to hide my movements.

Its loud and destructive nature wasn't my preferred method, but it was a tool I could add to my repertoire.

Wind jutsu came into play as a supplementary tactic, either as a direct attack or as a distraction for a follow-up move.

And if necessary, I used Yamanaka techniques-either Mind Transfer to control my opponent directly or Mind Body Disturbance, which was a safer option.

I clicked the replay button again, watching as Daiki blocked my genjutsu-laced strike. He said my genjutsu worked, but since he could sense my killing intent, it was ineffective.

With practice, I should be able to mask that entirely-or, better yet, weaponize it as a decoy to confuse my opponent.

Over the past year, I'd drilled genjutsu into the ground.

Controlling someone's five senses-taste, touch, sight, hearing, and smell-through sound- laced genjutsu felt like second nature.

But I was so focused on the five senses that I overlooked a critical aspect. Experienced shinobi, like Daiki, have a sixth sense-an ability to detect killing intent or attacks from their blind spots.

That alone highlighted just how much more I had to grow.

Letting the spar play on, I saw myself jumping and locking my legs around Daiki's neck. I would never make such a dangerous move with my real body-not in that scenario, at least. That's why I preferred to use clones in hand-to-hand combat.

It was probably an affliction from my previous life, but I liked to stay as far away from danger as possible. Clones-regular, exploding, whatever worked-let me do that.

I sped past our conversation and paused the playback just before the first strike hit my body.

Backing up slightly, I slowed the footage to 0.25x speed, examining how my wind sensing was countered.

I mentally activated the physical relay, allowing myself to feel everything I experienced during that moment.

Sitting in the theater as the scene unfolded, I noticed the almost imperceptible shift in my chakra the instant Daiki stomped my clone's heart into the ground.

My brow furrowed in understanding as I leaned back in my seat and crossed my legs. Daiki had cast the genjutsu through the tremor in the earth when his foot slammed down. He must have sent a pulse of chakra through the ground, targeting me even though I was hidden. I hummed in amazement.

I hadn't expected him to use a genjutsu so subtly and with such finesse. Every time I cast genjutsu, it was through sound-speech, footsteps, rustling leaves, even the wind itself.

Perfecting that method took countless hours, figuring out how to project chakra outward and attach it to a specific sound. Activating a genjutsu from there was even harder.

Ultimately, it meant Daiki had trapped me in a genjutsu without my knowledge, rendering my wind sensing useless-another weakness exposed.

I needed to figure out how to become immune to genjutsu-or at least develop a way to detect it before it compromised me.

I also needed to build my sixth sense while improving my chakra-sensing abilities and maybe combining them with my wind sensing.

The video continued playing.

I winced as I felt the sharp pang in my side when Daiki struck me, sending me flying across the field-another mistake.

Even though I thought we had paused the spar, I should have remained vigilant. I should have stayed invisible or made the genjutsu place me elsewhere entirely.

I let out a stream of air between my teeth from his uppercut to my ribs, watching three

familiar explosions erupt below, obscuring the battlefield.

An invisible clone caught me mid-air and whisked me away to the cover of the trees.

The playback showed my invisible clones encircling him and then shooting out a wind jutsu. Daiki blocked it with an earth wall.

I rewound the scene.

My primary goal with that jutsu had been to catch him off guard so I could use the Mind Transfer jutsu and end the spar. But why didn't I try to end it sooner? Why did I draw it out?

That moment revealed another weakness of mine: I over-planned.

During spars, I created intricate step-by-step plans and fixated on executing them perfectly. I wasn't adapting; I was following a script.

That rigidity (and the fact that I was five) cost me the spar.

Then there was the Mind Transfer jutsu-my biggest mistake. I transferred into Daiki's mind, assuming he couldn't break my control.

I was wrong.

Instead of the Mind Transfer, I should've used the Mind Body Disturbance jutsu.

Transferring into someone's mind was too risky. Any damage their body received would be reflected on my own. That was unacceptable.

I stopped the recording, spawned a bag of buttery popcorn in my lap, and took a bite. This experience reinforced my need to find a workaround for the Mind Transfer jutsu.

I'd been theorizing about creating Yin Clones-clones made of pure yin chakra that could perform the technique in my place. But I had quite a bit of questions about their potential. Once the clones transferred into someone's mind, would their body disappear? If not, what would happen if the clone were destroyed while inside someone else?

Would Yin Clones basically be suicide bombers, latching onto someone's mind and forcing

them to kill themselves? Would there be any side effects?

Those were some things to consider as I began developing-

"Satoshi," a voice called softly, pulling me from the depths of my Mind Palace.

I paused the film playing in my head, letting it dissolve into stillness.

Slowly, I opened my eyes to find Mom and Dad standing in my studio. Their eyes roved over me, scanning me from head to toe. Once. Twice. A third time.

"Hey, guys," I greeted, uncrossing my legs on the couch. "Did you need something?"

Mom didn't answer right away. She just... watched me.

Her eyes were softer than I'd seen in a long time-not since that day I painted her.

"We need to talk," Dad said. His eyes were clearer than Mom's, but there was darkness

beneath them.

I raised an eyebrow as they moved closer.

Mom sat down beside me, her movements slow, while Dad pulled up a chair and settled in

front of me.

Their gaze never left me, as if they were searching for something they couldn't name.

For a long moment, silence filled the space between us, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, Dad sliced through it. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," I replied honestly. "A little sore, but other than that, I'm fine."

Come to find out, my body's natural healing was the culprit for my rapid recovery-not

Akira's healing jutsu.

Another boon of Limit Breaker, which took countless hours of blood, sweat and tears, and reaching my body's physical limit time after time to get to this point.

I had limitless potential in literally everything.

The less I slept, the more my body would adjust to not needing sleep. If I didn't eat, my body

would slowly adjust to not needing food.

The more I tried to learn something, after reaching my limit of understanding, Limit Breaker would activate, and I would gain a sliver of understanding. Every facet of myself was

limitless.

The caveat was that for Limit Breaker to activate, I had to reach my limit in whatever aspect I

wanted to grow.

So, every day, I made a conscious choice to destroy and overwork my mind and body. It was grueling, and it was more than painful and uncomfortable, but the results were obvious. That was one of the reasons I pushed myself day in and day out-never taking a break, never sleeping, always grinding.

Mom shifted slightly in her seat beside me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her gaze

flicked to Dad.

Another beat of silence passed.

"Can you tell us what happened this morning?" Mom asked, her voice quieter than usual.

"Daiki took me out to train," I answered simply.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"And what happened during your training session?" she pressed.

"We sparred," I said as if that explained everything. "Satoshi," Dad began but paused when Mom looked at him.

He softened his tone. "We know you sparred. But we need to know what happened. How did

you end up with three broken ribs, internal bleeding, and unconscious for almost three hours? Do you remember?"

My gaze trailed between them. They both sat patiently, awaiting my response.

I exhaled slowly. "The broken ribs and internal bleeding were from a couple of punches," I explained, my tone matter-of-fact. "And I probably passed out from a myriad of factors. My guess is that after unsuccessfully trying to enter Daiki's mind, he knocked me out."

Mom's finger twitched against her leg. Dad remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable.

"And do you know why he did that to you?" Dad asked after a pause.

"Well," I began, choosing my words carefully, "because I've become complacent."

"Is that what he said," Dad asked. "Or is that what you think?"

"Both," I replied without hesitation. "He said it, and I agree."

Mom pulled a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Why do you agree?"

"Because," I said analytically, "I could be working harder and doing more to improve. And I don't have much time until I have to go off to-" "Satoshi," Mom cut me off, her tone sharp but breaking at the edges.

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but she faltered, her gaze dropping momentarily.

"You..." she trailed off.

Dad leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped tightly. "We need to be clear

about something."

He glanced at Mom and then back to me. "What happened to you today-what Daiki did to

you-was wrong. Completely wrong. It doesn't matter what mistakes you made or how much you think you deserved it. You didn't."

His words hung heavy in the air, a stillness settling between us.

I blinked, processing. Yes, Daiki was heavy-handed in his approach, but in my opinion, he was

right. I could push myself harder. I need to be pushed harder.

"But-"I started.

"No buts," Mom interjected. Her tone was firm, but her hand that found mine was soft. "No teacher, no elder, no anyone has the right to hurt you like that. Ever."

Her hand tightened slightly, her fingers cool against mine as if to find an anchor. When she spoke again, her voice softened, almost breaking. "You're five years old, Satoshi.

Five. You shouldn't even know what it feels like to break a rib, let alone three. Or what it feels like for your mind to almost..." She blinked, trailing off again.

Her words sank in, but they didn't quite settle. "I know I'm young, but I'm also a shinobi. And

if I can't handle-"

"You're not a shinobi yet." Dad's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Not yet. And even if you were, there's a difference between training... and what he did."

I looked down; Mom's fingers twitched under my own. "I still think he had a point. I should be

"Satoshi." Mom's voice was trembling now. Her fingers tightened further. "Do you even hear yourself? You've been pushing yourself harder than anyone at any age should. You're constantly training, constantly studying, constantly fighting something. Why?"

Her question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. My mind

reeled, cataloging answers, weighing how much I could reveal versus how much they could understand.

I glanced at Dad, but his expression mirrored Mom's: concerned, searching, and... heavy.

"I have to push myself," I said finally. My tone was pragmatic, stripped of emotion. "I have to

be better."

"Why?" Dad pressed. "Why do you think you're not enough?"

My lips parted, but I couldn't say the truth-not fully.

I couldn't tell them about Madara, still lurking like a shadow in history. I couldn't mention

Black Zetsu or the cataclysmic return of his mother that he was plotting. I couldn't explain the forces far greater than this village, this war, this moment.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of leaves outside the open window

above.

Finally, I said, "Because if I don't, I'll fail. And people will get hurt."

Mom exhaled sharply, the sound more like a release of tension than relief. "Who told you

that? Who put that weight on your shoulders? Was it Daiki?"

"No." I shook my head. "No one had to," I admitted, my voice still calm, though, for some

reason, my chest began tightening. "It's just true. The war-"

"Stop." Dad's voice broke through, sharp but not loud. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand tightening under his thigh. He sighed deeply before looking at me again. "You're five. You don't need to carry the war on your back. You don't even have to go to war,

Satoshi. Do you understand that?"

I blinked at him. "I—"

"If you don't want to fight, you don't have to," he continued, cutting me off. "Your mom and

I will make sure of that. We'll keep you safe."

For some reason, his words struck something deep within me. Something raw and

unexamined. Something I hadn't even realized was there.

Fear. Not of the war or of getting in trouble, but fear of failure. Fear of not being ready-of

not being strong enough when it mattered most. Fear of falling short when the world needed

me.

Fear of... their death.

Mom's eyes glistened. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Satoshi. Not to Daiki, not to the rest of the elders, and certainly not to us."

"I..." I hesitated, searching for the logical response. "I can't be weak." Otherwise... Dad's lips curved into a sad smile. "You're not weak, son. You've already proven that a

hundred times over. But strength isn't just about how hard you train or how much pain you

can endure. It's also knowing when to stop." Mom nodded. "And letting yourself be a kid."

I looked at both of them, their concern etched into every line of their faces, and for the first

time, I truly saw them. The exhaustion in their eyes. The way their shoulders sagged under a

weight they couldn't put down. This situation-my actions-had left its mark on them.

How many nights had they stayed awake, listening to the sounds of their son training long

after he should've been asleep?

How many times had they watched me push myself to the brink-working out until I

vomited, until I bled, until my hands were raw?

How many days had they silently endured as I buried myself in books and plans, chipping

away at whatever was left of my childhood?

I thought I was doing what I had to. But looking at them now, I realized the cost hadn't just

been mine to bear.

"Okay," I said. "I'll try."

"That's all we ask," Mom said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Just try."

Dad stood, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. "And if anyone tries to hurt you like that

again, you tell us. No matter what."

I nodded, and for the first time since they walked in, the tension in the room began to lift.

The conversation wasn't over-there was still so much unsaid-but for now, it was enough.

===

[A/N] This was a nuanced scene to write, and unfortunately, I don't have the skills to write it

as well as I would prefer -- to be emotionally and thematically sufficient. Hopefully, it was

bearable.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for the break. Life happened.