Chapter 21 | In Naruto With An Achievement System

Chapter 21

The steam from the bath curled around me, filling the small bathroom with a warmth that finally chased away the lingering feelings of the Land of Grass. It wasn't only the physical grime of the road I was washing off, it was the atmosphere of that base. The smell of antiseptic, the hollow eyes of the soldiers, the oppressive weight of waiting for death, it all seemed to cling to my skin like a film.

I stepped out of the tub and dried off with a rough towel. I pulled on a fresh set of clothes, loose pants and a simple shirt, relishing the feeling of clean fabric. It had been late when we finally passed through the Konoha gates. We hadn't bothered with a debriefing or a team dinner. The moment we were dismissed, Anko and Asuma had vanished toward their respective homes with barely a wave, desperate for their own beds.

Only Orochimaru-sensei hadn't headed for rest. He had peeled off toward the Hokage Tower, presumably to file the mission report and argue with the officers about the safety of that camp. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Sannin or not, apparently no one escaped the paperwork.

I sat down on the edge of my futon, the silence of my apartment wrapping around me. It was a comfortable silence, unlike the heavy, suffocating dread of the mess hall.

Before I could sink back into brooding over the war camp's atmosphere, the air in front of me shimmered.

[Achievement Unlocked: Survive & Learn An Important Lesson]
[Rank: LOW]

I stared at the text, letting out a dry chuckle. The System certainly had a way of rubbing salt in the wound. I hadn't expected a reward for nearly getting killed due to an illusion, but I wasn't going to turn it down.

The truth was, I’d neglected Genjutsu defense because actual Genjutsu users were rare. It was a subtle art requiring precise chakra control that most shinobi simply didn't have the patience for. I had bet on the odds, and I had lost.

"Lesson learned," I muttered. I had a few days off. I'd need to find a way to shore up that weakness later. For now, though, a reward was waiting.

"Roll."

The text on the screen settled, revealing the details of my reward.

[Mutation Infusion] [A Will Eternal] (Mystic)
Exposing normal mundane plants to your spiritual energies will slowly mutate them over the months and years. The next generation of that plant will have slight spiritual properties. Constant exposure over the generations of plant life will start to produce proper spiritual plants, like the kind that sects partake in. A plant whose family has been exposed to your energies for hundreds of generations would be truly impressive indeed. Post-jump this can also apply for other supernatural energies you may expose to the plants.

This was... an interesting perk.

On the surface, it seemed slow, a generational project meant for cultivators with centuries to spare. But combined with my existing capabilities, it had potential.

My [Living Disaster] perk, derived from Hanami’s abilities, had been adapted by the System to function within this world's rules. It manifested as a mutation of the standard Wood Release, which I theorised due to gaining my high affinities for Water and Earth. Until now, I had mostly focused on the physical applications of the ability such as wood spikes, roots, and barriers. I had deliberately avoided the other aspect of Hanami’s power, the ability to absorb life energy from plants. In this world, absorbing external energy from nature was the basis of Senjutsu. Hashirama might have bullshitted his way into a perfect Sage Mode, but for anyone else, messing with Natural Energy without perfect control was a one-way ticket to turning into a stone statue. I wasn't touching that until I was absolutely sure I wouldn't petrify myself.

However, Hanami had another signature technique I had neglected, a field of flowers that pacified opponents, sapping their will to fight. This meant that Hanami can grow or at least conjure plants.

If I combined that with this new perk, the synergy could be amazing. [Mutation Infusion] required generations of exposure to evolve a plant into a spiritual resource. Normally, that would take decades, if not centuries considering the ability came from a Cultivation world. But with my Nature Release, I could force a seed to germinate, bloom, wither, and produce new seeds in a matter of seconds. I could cycle through hundreds of generations of plant life in an afternoon, constantly flooding them with my chakra.

If I could turn mundane weeds into high-potency chakra herbs... What could someone like Tsunade do with that? The medical and political value alone would be astronomical.

First, I needed to verify that I can even force plants to grow quicker, though from what I understand, I should be able to.

Having set what I needed to, I recalled that the Yamanaka had a Flower Shop for some reason, so I'd try to find it.

It didn't take long to find someone to ask. I flagged down a Chunin passing by who looked familiar, one of the shurikenjutsu instructors from the Academy, though he hadn't taught my class directly.

"Excuse me," I called out.

He stopped, turning with a professional air. "Ah, can I help you..." He paused, his eyes flicking to my forehead protector, then my face. Recognition dawned, likely recalling any recent gossip or the Bingo Book entry. "Kagurazaka?"

"Yes, sir," I replied politely. "I was looking for the Yamanaka Flower Shop."

"Yamanaka's? It's down the main thoroughfare," he said, pointing down the street. "Take a left at the dango shop, you can't miss it. Since you're active duty now, you can access their back catalog, medicinal herbs and the like. Just show your Shinobi ID."

"Thank you."

"Of course." He gave a short nod and moved on.

I followed his directions, finding the shop nestled between a bakery and a tea house. A purple awning shaded the front window, which was bursting with colorful displays of seasonal flowers.

I pushed the door open, a small bell chiming overhead. The scent hit me instantly, a dense, sweet perfume of blooming flora that completely masked the smell of the village streets.

Behind the counter stood a woman who looked to be in her early sixties. Her hair was white, though it still held stubborn streaks of the signature Yamanaka platinum blonde, tied back in a loose, elegant bun. She was trimming the stems of a bouquet with practiced, snipping motions.

She looked up as I entered, her pale green eyes sharp despite the gentle smile she wore.

"Welcome," she said, her voice raspy but warm. "Looking for something special, or normal flowers?"

"I'm looking for seeds," I replied, walking up to the wooden counter. "But I'm not sure what to start with. Do you have any recommendations for medicinal plants?"

She set down her shears. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave me an appraising look. "Depends on how much patience you have. Are you looking for something quick, or are you looking for an investment?"

"Both, actually," I said. "Something that grows fast for practice. And something that takes a long time but is worth the effort."

She nodded slowly and turned to the shelves behind her. "For beginners, Chamomile is best. It grows like a weed if you let it, and it's good for calming the nerves. A lot of shinobi drink it."

She pulled down a glass jar and scooped a small amount of tiny seeds into a paper packet. Then she reached for a jar on the top shelf, handling it with a bit more care.

"This is Ginseng," she said, filling a second packet. "This is your investment."

"How long does it take?" I asked.

"To get a root worth selling? Six years," she said bluntly. "Maybe seven. It is picky about soil and hates direct sunlight. Most people kill it before the first year is up."

Six years. That was perfect. If I could accelerate a plant that demanded a seven-year cycle, I would know the technique was viable.

"I'll take them," I said.

"That will be five hundred ryo with the pots and the soil."

I dug the coins out of my pouch and placed them on the wood. She counted them quickly, then slid a bag towards me. They felt light, almost empty, but I knew the potential inside was massive.

"Good luck," she said. "Don't drown the Chamomile. And keep the Ginseng shaded."

"I'll remember that," I said.

I left the shop, the bell chiming behind me. I stepped back into the dusty street, my hand closing around the seeds in my pocket. If my theory was right, I wouldn't need six years. Time to see if I can cheat nature.

I arrived back at my apartment and set the bag on the small table near the window. I didn't waste time. I pulled out the small clay pot and the bag of soil.

I filled the pot, packing the dark earth down lightly with my fingers. I made a small indentation in the center, dropped a single Ginseng seed into it, and covered it up.

Now for the test.

I placed my hands on either side of the pot. I closed my eyes and focused. I needed to do two things at once. First, I had to use my Nature Release to accelerate the biological life cycle of the seed. Second, I had to use the knowledge from the [Mutation Infusion] perk to flood it with my energy, forcing it to adapt and evolve.

I pushed my chakra into the soil.

It felt intuitive. My chakra sought out the tiny spark of life buried in the dirt. I willed it to wake up. I willed it to grow.

The soil shifted.

A tiny green shoot broke the surface. It didn't stop there. It stretched upward, thickening and branching out in a matter of seconds. Leaves unfurled, dark green and jagged at the edges, spreading out to catch the light coming through the window. It reached its full height, about a foot tall, and stopped.

I opened my eyes and looked at the plant. It looked like a normal, healthy Ginseng plant.

I reached out and touched one of the leaves. I focused on sensing the energy inside it.

It was there. Just barely.

If I hadn't been looking for it, if I hadn't known exactly what I was doing, I would have missed it entirely. There was a faint, almost microscopic thrum of chakra within the plant's veins. It wasn't just a plant anymore. It was the first generation of a spiritual herb.

It worked.

I checked my own reserves. The cost had been laughable. I estimated I had used maybe 0.01% of my total chakra to force six years of growth into ten seconds. At this rate, I could grow a forest without breaking a sweat.

But this was just the first generation. The chakra inside the plant was negligible. To make something useful, something that could actually affect a shinobi's physiology, I would need to repeat this process. Harvest the seeds, plant them, grow them, and infuse them again. Over and over.

I plucked the small cluster of red berries that had formed at the center of the leaves. These held the seeds for the next generation.

I cleared the soil, removing the old root, it was just a normal root, barely altered, and planted one of the fresh seeds.

Time for round two.

I buried the fresh seed from the first generation and started again.

Grow. Harvest. Replant. Infuse.

The second generation looked almost identical to the first. The third showed a slightly deeper shade of green in the leaves. By the fifth, the red berries were vibrant, almost shining in the dim light of my apartment.

It became a rhythm. My hands moved in a steady pace, turning the soil, placing the seed, and flooding it with life.

But as I progressed, I noticed a change. The chakra cost wasn't staying static.

Generations six through nine required more focus. The plant was becoming... denser. Not physically, but spiritually. It felt heavier to push through its life cycle, like wading through water that was slowly turning into syrup. The resistance and the amount of "time" needed for it to grow was increasing.

I reached the tenth generation.

I placed the seed in the soil and pushed. This time, the drain was distinct. I felt a sharp tug in my gut as my reserves dipped. It took a solid 1% of my total chakra to force this single plant to maturity. That was a hundred times more expensive than the first attempt.

"Needy little thing," I muttered, but I didn't stop.

I pushed on. Eleventh. Twelfth. Thirteenth.

The cost ramped up exponentially. The plant was fighting the acceleration now, its internal structure becoming too complex, too potent, and the natural time of growth for the plant was increasing. By the fourteenth generation, sweat was beading on my forehead.

I reached the fifteenth generation.

I poured my chakra in, feeling the resistance, forcing the seed to crack and spiral upward. The stalk that emerged was thick, the leaves a lustrous, dark emerald that seemed to shimmer even without direct sunlight. The berries were a deep, blood-red.

I let the plant wither and die, the final step of the cycle, and dug up the root.

It sat in my palm, heavy and gnarled. It didn't look like a normal ginseng root anymore. The skin was a pale, translucent gold, and faint veins of blue energy seemed to pulse beneath the surface if I squinted. I could feel the chakra radiating from it, a steady, humming warmth.

I inspected it closely, turning it over in my hand.

"That's it?" I sighed.

I mean, sure, it was definitely magical. It had a distinct chakra signature, probably potent enough to give a civilian a heart attack or give a genin a decent energy boost. But after fifteen cycles of focused evolution and a significant chunk of my own reserves?

It felt... underwhelming. It was just a chakra-infused root. I had expected something more dramatic. Maybe the roots gaining sentience or a hum of power that shook the room. Instead, I had a very expensive vegetable.

I set the golden ginseng root aside and picked up the second packet. Chamomile.

Unlike the ginseng, which was a lesson in patience, chamomile was a weed. It grew fast, bloomed early, and died young. The cycle was months, not years.

I poured the soil, planted the seed, and pushed.

It was ridiculously easy compared to the ginseng. The sprout shot up, branched out with feathery leaves, and burst into tiny, white-and-yellow daisy-like flowers in the blink of an eye. I harvested the seeds from the dried flower heads and went again.

First generation. Fifth. Tenth. Fifteenth.

I breezed past the point where the ginseng had started to fight me. Because the base growth time was so much shorter, the chakra cost to accelerate it was significantly lower. I didn't hit a real wall until the twentieth generation. By then, the plants had changed. The stems were thicker, fibrous like wire. The petals weren't just a normal white anymore, they had a pearlescent sheen, and the yellow centers pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light. The scent was potent, a heavy, drowsy perfume that made my eyelids droop just inhaling it as I flooded myself with chakra.

I pushed on to the twenty-fifth generation.

That was the limit. My chakra flared, the drain becoming a visible strain, sweat trickling down my back as I forced the final seed to maturity. The resulting plant was beautiful and strange, its pollen drifting like glowing dust.

I sat back, catching my breath, and analyzed the resistance I’d felt.

It wasn't just about volume. There were two factors at play here.

First, the complexity. As I infused my chakra into them over generations, that energy I provided became the plant's own. It wasn't just holding my chakra anymore, rather, it was becoming something more. When I tried to force it to grow, the complexity of the plant and the chakra that was naturally inside of it seemed to fight against me.

Second, and more problematic, was the time. As the plants became more complex, their natural growth cycle seemed to extend. A normal chamomile plant took a few months to mature. These mutated versions, if left alone, might take a year or more to reach the same state naturally.

By accelerating them, with each generation I had to account for the complexity of the plant and fight off its own internal energy from trying to stop me from accelerating its growth while I still had to use [Mutation Infusion] to make the next generation of the plant better.

I carefully harvested the seeds and flowers from generations twenty through twenty-five of the chamomile, sealing them in small paper envelopes. I did the same for the ginseng roots from generations ten through fifteen.

I needed an expert opinion. And I knew exactly who to ask.

I packed the samples into a small sealing scroll I purchased a while back and headed out. My destination wasn't the Hokage Tower, but the hospital.

After the Kyuubi incident, Tsunade had given me carte blanche to visit her office whenever I needed.

She was gruff, abrasive, and had a temper that could shatter walls, but beneath that... she cared. She checked on me. She worried. For someone who had spent most of this life feeling like an outsider or a man who needed to constantly hide, that clumsy, poorly hidden affection made me feel... lighter.

I stepped out into the street, adjusting my headband. Time to see what the world’s best medic in the world thought of my gardening experiment.

— Tsunade Senju —

When she heard from her secretary that Yuuki Kagurazaka had come to visit her office, Tsunade felt a sharp jolt of worry. It was a gut reaction, immediate and visceral, and she grimaced at the feeling. She had promised herself after Dan’s death in the last war that she would close herself off. That she was done with the fear of loss.

The only reason she was still here in the village, carrying the weight of the village still, was because of her younger brother Nawaki, the stubborn insistence of her teammates, and the few remaining Senju who looked to her for leadership. In that order.

Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the mud and the copper scent of that day. Since Dan’s death, a distance had settled between her and sensei. They had been on the same front, but their unit had been stretched too thin. They had specifically requested reinforcements, support that never came because the village’s resources were needed elsewhere.

She remembered the frantic sprint to reach him. The way his blood coated her hands, slippery and warm, when she finally got there. The way her medical ninjutsu, usually so potent, felt useless against the sheer volume of life pouring out of him. She had stitched the wounds, pouring every ounce of chakra she had into him, but she couldn't replace the blood fast enough. He had died in her arms, his skin turning gray while she screamed for help that wasn't there.

Logically, she knew it wasn't Hiruzen's fault. He was the Hokage, he had to allocate resources where they were needed most, and he couldn't predict every ambush. But logic didn't care for grief. Logic didn't help when she closed her eyes and saw the red staining her skin, the light fading from his eyes—

"—Ma’am? S-Should I tell him to visit another time?"

The secretary's stammering voice snapped Tsunade out of the trance. She blinked, the office coming back into focus. She let out a long, heavy sigh. She’d be paying the bars a visit tonight. Again.

"Send the brat in," she said, her voice rougher than she intended. She paused, the medic in her overriding the grieving woman. "Was he injured?"

"Not visibly," the secretary said, looking relieved that Tsunade wasn't shouting. "But he was carrying a storage scroll with him. Said he had something to show you."

Tsunade rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the headache that was starting to form behind her eyes. "Fine. Bring him in."

Yuuki came into view, wearing loose, baggy white pants and a sleeveless gray tank top that showed off the lean muscle he’d built over the last year. His brown hair was tied back in his usual spiky bun. Tsunade looked over every visible part of him in a split second, analyzing his gait, his posture, the clarity of his eyes. He was relaxed. Breathing even. No favoring of limbs.

Nothing seemed amiss.

"You aren't injured," she stated, her voice tight with a flicker of annoyance. She didn't handle general patients often anymore, preferring to coordinate the medical corps from a distance, so an interruption usually meant a crisis. "Why are you here?"

He gave her a small, reassuring grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Can't I visit my favorite medic-nin? Didn't you say to visit any time if I needed to?"

Tsunade’s eye twitched. The kid had certainly learned to mouth off to her during his recovery. "That was meant for medical emergencies, brat. Not social calls."

"It kind of is an emergency," he admitted, his posture shifting. The relaxed facade dropped, replaced by a subtle tension.

Tsunade straightened in her chair, the annoyance evaporating instantly. "What the hell did you do this time?"

"Ahaha..." Yuuki scratched his cheek awkwardly, a small, strained smile pulling at his lips.

Tsunade’s heart gave a painful, treacherous squeeze. For a fraction of a second, the boy in front of her vanished, replaced by the image of a man with long hair and armor, laughing sheepishly after losing all his money gambling. Grandfather.

She clamped down on the thought ruthlessly, burning it to ash in her mind. She was seeing ghosts where there were none. She needed a drink.

"So, uh, I kinda figured out something I could do with... the you-know-what," Yuuki said, his voice dropping. "Is this room secured for a private conversation?"

Tsunade frowned. She pulsed her chakra, activating the privacy seals etched into the doorframe and walls. The hum of the busy hospital outside vanished, replaced by a heavy silence.

"It is now," she said simply. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. "Again. What did you do?"

She watched as he took a breath, composing himself. His smile vanished, replaced by a seriousness that seemed too heavy for his face. She had noted this before, his emotional control was unnatural. Most “prodigies” were arrogant or emotionally stunted, but Yuuki possessed a weary maturity that unnerved her.

"I found a new facet of my Nature Release," he revealed hesitantly.

Tsunade raised an eyebrow. She knew he had initially hidden his ability to physically shift his attributes, though he had been forthcoming about the Nature Release once he realized he couldn't hide it. But to discover a new facet now? Hashirama had possessed his abilities from the start, they hadn't changed, only grown in scale.

"What is it?" she questioned, her tone sharp.

"I can grow plants, right? I... learned how to infuse them with my chakra to make them grow into... well, mutated versions of themselves. Better versions."

What?

Tsunade stared at him. Everything he did, barring the attribute shifting and that dangerous transformation state Orochimaru and her had witnessed usually fell within the realm of physical manipulation. This was different.

"Elaborate," she glared.

"Well, I had a day off and I wanted to experiment a bit," he said sheepishly. "The constructs I make using Nature Release are usually made from my own chakra. But I wanted to see if I could accelerate natural growth. It could be useful for herbs, poisons... mostly because Anko has developed a fascination with them and I wanted to help."

He gestured with his hands. "So I went to the Yamanaka shop and bought some medicinal seeds. Chamomile and Ginseng, to be specific."

Tsunade nodded slowly. Good choices. Chamomile was a weed that grew aggressively fast, perfect for testing. Ginseng was the opposite, stubborn, fragile, and requiring years to mature.

"And I was able to make them grow," he continued. "That part was easy."

"And the infusion?" she pressed.

"I was getting to it. During the experimentation, I tried to... well, I don't really know how to describe it. It felt like an instinct. Something I just knew to do." He looked lost for words, struggling to articulate the sensation.

Tsunade frowned, her mind racing back to conversations she’d had with Orochimaru and Hiruzen. They had theorized about the nature of the boy's power. She didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was mounting that Yuuki Kagurazaka might possess a bloodline that was actively evolving.

In the Elemental Nations, only one clan was known for abilities that fundamentally shifted and evolved over a lifetime: the Uchiha and their cursed eyes. Yuuki had none of their traits, nor did he look like a Senju, though the Senju were a melting pot of appearances. If his bloodline was adapting to his needs... that was a terrifying prospect.

"So I infused my chakra the way I felt I should," Yuuki said.

Goddamn reckless kid, Tsunade thought, her eye twitching again.

"At first I didn't really feel anything until I checked the seeds. It had a part of my chakra in it, an extremely teeny tiny amount, but... it wasn't my chakra anymore," he explained, his hands moving as he tried to shape the concept. "It was the plant's own chakra. But since the amount was low, I repeated the process. Harvested, replanted, infused. I did it fifteen times for the Ginseng and twenty-five times for the Chamomile."

Tsunade blinked. "You... cycled twenty-five generations of plant life? In an afternoon?"

"Er, yes. The effects are more obvious on the Chamomile," he said. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small storage scroll.

He unsealed it on her desk.

A small, dried bundle of flowers appeared. They looked like chamomile, but the petals had a strange, pearlescent sheen, and the yellow centers seemed to pulse faintly.

The scent hit her instantly.

It wasn't just a light smell, it was a physical weight. A heavy, sweet perfume rolled over her, and for a second, the edges of her vision blurred. Her eyelids felt suddenly heavy, a wave of profound relaxation washing over her senses.

Genjutsu? Poison?

No. It was just the plant.

Tsunade immediately flared her chakra, flooding her system to wake herself up. The drowsiness receded, but the scent lingered, potent and heavy.

"This is the effect the Chamomile had after twenty-five generations," Yuuki said quietly, watching her reaction closely. "I don't know about the Ginseng yet, but I think it has an equal or greater boost."

Tsunade stared at the flowers. If a simple calming herb like Chamomile could be potentiated to the point where it acted like a high-grade sedative simply by smelling it...

Her mind raced to the Ginseng. Ginseng was a vital component in blood-replenishing pills and soldier pills. It was a staple of medical chakra recovery. If that could be enhanced by a factor of twenty...

The kid looked like he barely understood what he'd done. He was treating it like a gardening experiment, but he had essentially stumbled upon a way to revolutionize medical logistics.

"Come back in a few hours," she grunted, her voice low and serious. She was in no mood for light talk now. Her focus had narrowed entirely to the plants on her desk. "Leave the scrolls here, brat."

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Yuuki nodded wisely. "Understood. I'll be back later."

He slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Tsunade stared at the pearlescent flowers, her hands already glowing with green diagnostic chakra.

Let's get to work, she thought, a spark of something she hadn't felt in a long time igniting in her chest. This… this could save a lot of lives.

— Hiruzen Sarutobi (Third Hokage) —

Hiruzen let out a long, heavy sigh as Tsunade finished her preliminary verbal report. At this rate, the stress of the office would kill him long before any enemy shinobi got the chance. He glanced at the clock on the wall, he was going to be late for dinner again. Biwako would have that disappointed, pursed-lip expression waiting for him, she knew the duty that came with the Hat and would understand his need to stay. 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't leave. Not with this on his desk. This was an opportunity. A massive one.

"Give me the bottom line, Tsunade," he said, tapping his pipe against the ashtray. "How effective are these 'mutated' plants?"

"Extremely," she replied, her voice serious. "Usually, raw herbs need to be dried, ground, and compounded with medical chakra to have any real medicinal jutsu effect. These act independently. The base properties have been elevated to an absurd degree. The Chamomile alone acts like a high-grade relaxing sedative just from the scent."

Hiruzen took a slow puff from his pipe, the smoke curling around his face. A stray, wistful thought crossed his mind, I wonder if Yuuki-kun could apply this technique to tobacco leaves? Surely, for the sake of his Hokage's sanity, that is the least he could do.

He pushed the thought aside. "And the Ginseng?"

"We synthesized a Soldier Pill using the fifteenth-generation root and included some extract from the Chamomile," Tsunade explained, leaning back in her chair. "A Chunin volunteer agreed to the test. The results were... unexpected."

She paused, organizing her thoughts. "First, despite the subject's previous fatigue, his body and mind relaxed instantly. That's the Chamomile. But more importantly, minor lacerations on his arms, training injuries, began to knit together. They didn't heal fully, but the bleeding stopped immediately. In the field, that creates a seal strong enough to keep a shinobi fighting until a medic can reach them."

Hiruzen noticed the slight catch in her voice, the way her eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second. She was thinking of Dan. Of blood loss that couldn't be stopped in time. He chose not to comment on it.

"And the chakra recovery?" he pressed.

"Significant," she said, regaining her clinical composure. "It replenishes chakra and stamina equivalent to a Low Chunin's total reserves. The duration of the boost seems to be shorter than a standard pill, only about twenty-four hours compared to the usual three days."

"That is a drawback," Hiruzen noted.

"Is it?" Tsunade countered. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk. "Standard Soldier Pills work by forcing the body to burn its own resources prematurely. When they wear off, the user crashes. Hard. Taking two in succession is often fatal because the body simply gives out."

She tapped the report. "Our diagnostic jutsu shows no strain on the subject's internal organs and chakra system. When this pill wears off, there is no crash. No exhaustion recoil. Theoretically, a shinobi could take another one immediately after the first wears off with zero risk of heart failure."

Hiruzen took a sharp inhale, the smoke catching in his throat.

That changed everything.

The primary limitation of the Soldier Pill was the risk of death. It was a last-resort item. But a pill that provided chakra and healing without the lethal recoil? A soldier pill that wasn't a desperate measure? It meant squads could operate longer, fight harder, and survive wounds that would normally take them out of action, all without risking their own lives to the medicine itself.

He looked down at the file, at the photo of the young boy who had unknowingly handed them a key to potentially turning the tide of the war.

"It seems," Hiruzen murmured, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "that we will have more to talk about than just his promotion."

Author's Note: I sort of regret this chapter? Not in the sense that I think it's particularly bad per-se, in the sense that it was slow. 

This chapter was supposed to have this Chunin Promotion and a roll for that, but the Spiritual Infusion derailed all the plans that I had for this chapter. If you think the pace is too slow, I apologise but I kind of got lost in the theory-crafting and exploring Tsunade’s thoughts as surface level as they really were. 

Like the chapter, and comment your thoughts on it, it really helps out a lot more than you think, thank you.

While I'd have loved to include the promotion, the talk with Hiruzen and the next Mid-Level roll, the chapter has become a bit too long. 

This can either lead to, some experimentions with Orochimaru (more Snake-dad bonding) and Tsunade as well. Or, we can pivot because I had this thought of the plants in the world already have Nature Chakra, so maybe their absorption of it has been affected? Like, in your typical Cultivation world plants absorb Qi passively. And this way we can introduce Jiraya into the story.

So yeah, lots of plot bunnies for me, which is good, lol. 

If by the way this wasn't interesting to you, I'll try to do better next time so let me know. 

Oh yeah, I know a lot of people are new here, so uh, I'm a person who sometimes doesn't update a week, try not to, and I'll for sure try to update since I already skipped last week.

A Happy New Year to all of you, wish y'all nothing but success and happiness this year.