Chapter 13 | In Naruto With An Achievement System

Chapter 13

The next morning, I woke up to the rare luxury of a day off. Yesterday, I’d been too tired to roll, but now? I was actually looking forward to seeing what I’d get.

The familiar blue screen shimmered into existence at my mental command.

[Rolling for Mid-Level Reward…]
[Result: (Wo)man on Mission — Street Fighter]

[(Wo)man on Mission] [Street Fighter] (Refinement Chapter)
"There's no stopping you once you've made up your mind. Not the threat of losing your job or life, not insurmountable odds and certainly as hell nothing like the word 'impossible'." Upon purchase, you acquire an incredible boost to both determination and willpower that allows you to push through even the longest, most drawn-out and terrifying, monotonous or sickening tasks if that is what you so desire. Not only that, but when you have a specific goal in mind that you're working towards, probability has a way of giving you small encouragement here and there to increase your chances of success. The villain might think today is a good day to monologue just a bit longer than usual which allows your backup to arrive. You might get a spontaneous lead on an old cold case through a series of coincidences. It's nothing you can actively control, and you might not even notice it working for you half the time, but it's a lot of little things that build into something more over time. Of course, there are limits to what you can endure and odds too large to actually challenge, so staying smart would help you out too.

I knew, with absolute clarity, that if I set my mind to something, I would see it through. No matter how long it took. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how impossible it looked from the outside.

It wasn’t some flashy combat upgrade, but it was the kind of thing that could decide whether I survived the long game. The determination boost alone was worth it — the rest was a quiet survival bonus I’d probably only notice in hindsight. Small things. A delay here, a lucky break there. The kind of coincidences you didn’t notice until you looked back and realized they’d all lined up just right.

[Rolling for Low-Level Reward…]
[Result: Martyr — Kill Six Billion Demons]

[Martyr] [Kill Six Billion Demons] (Destruction Chapter)
So many people die without getting anywhere. Most people die expecting something great, only to be let down and alone in their last moments. But at least you can bring them down with you. If you were to die, you would kill the person who killed you. No matter what protection a person has, if you die, they die. However, this only works when you are killed by another sentient being: jumping off a cliff, nor slitting your own wrists, will work.

It wasn’t comforting, exactly. But it was… reassuring, in a grim sort of way. A final, guaranteed fuck you to whoever managed to take me down. Of course, it wouldn’t help if I was captured, or if my death came from something impersonal like a trap or a fall. But if the day ever came when I was staring down my killer, I’d make sure to die fighting — and take them with me.

Two more tools in the arsenal. Not game-changers like Attribute Distribution or Hanami’s power, but still valuable. One would keep me moving forward no matter what, the other would make sure that if I ever fell, I’d make it count.

I dressed, ate something light, and decided I wasn’t going to waste a day off sitting in my apartment staring at a wall. It had been months since I’d had time to properly catch up with anyone outside my team. Morning sessions with sensei, afternoon sessions with the Hokage and Orochimaru testing and stretching the limits of my Nature Release — the schedule didn’t leave much room for anything else.

So I headed toward the Academy.

By the time I reached the familiar grounds, the last class of the day was just letting out. The low hum of chatter spilled into the courtyard as students filtered through the doors in clusters, some dragging their feet, others still having plenty of energy and making plans. I caught myself whistling under my breath, a quiet, aimless tune that didn’t belong to any song in particular.

Midori-sensei stood near the steps, arms folded loosely, giving parting instructions to a couple of kids who looked determined not to forget them and would anyway. Her gaze slid over the crowd, then landed on me. Her eyes widened a fraction — surprise, maybe, then something cooler. She straightened slightly.

My thoughts about her were… complicated. During one of my talks with the Hokage, he’d mentioned it plainly: it was Midori who brought her observations about me to him. The “ratted me out” phrasing was mine; his version was more diplomatic. I had been offended at first. But if I reversed it — a teacher noticing an unusually talented kid hiding something big out of fear — reporting it to the Hokage made sense. It was the responsible thing to do. Still, responsible or not, that decision could have almost shoved me into a very bad end. With even a year of more training, my chances of survival could have been much better, even if I likely wouldn't have Nature Release and thus I wasn’t very grateful.

Which was fine. She didn’t matter anymore.

Even if she did, I could probably fold her in half with ease now.

“Yuuki,” Midori called, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd, a teacher’s voice that expected obedience.

I didn’t break stride. I glanced once, expression neutral, then looked past her and kept walking, sliding through the flow of students until I spotted who I’d come for. Yugao emerged from the doorway with a notebook tucked under her arm, Hayate beside her, hands in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be asleep.

I lifted a hand in greeting as I approached. “Hey, you two.”

Hayate looked me up and down, then put on his best deadpan. “Well, if it ain't the big guy ending up gracing us with his presence.”

Yugao let out a theatrical gasp, one hand to her chest. “A Sannin’s student is visiting us,” she whispered, then added a very fake squeal and a small grin. “We’re not worthy.”

I pressed a hand to my heart. “Indeed, I have graced you with my presence, and am inviting you to lunch.” I played along.

Hayate coughed lightly into his fist, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Magnanimous. Truly, the Will of Fire lives on.”

“Bold of you to assume we’ll be seen with you in public,” Yugao said, voice flat, eyes amused.

“Free food,” I countered.

She nodded immediately. “We accept.”

Hayate sighed like a man burdened by fate. “Tragic, how easily we can be bought.”

“Good,” I said, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “I was starting to worry I’d eat alone and have to pretend to enjoy it.”

We drifted toward the academy gates with the flow of students. Outside, Anko was mid-sentence, hands moving as she talked animatedly to Kurenai, who wore her usual calm, patient look, nodding at just the right places.

I lifted a hand. “Mitarashi! Yuhi!”

Anko’s head snapped around. “Huh? Oh. Kagurazaka.” Her expression shifted from suspicious to interested in a heartbeat. “What’s up?”

“Lunch,” I said. “My treat.” 

Kurenai’s lips curved, polite and faintly amused. “That sounds nice.”

Anko squared her shoulders like she’d just been issued a challenge. “Heck yeah. Let’s go before pretty boy changes his mind.”

“I’m not a pretty boy,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Yes, you are, just look at that long hair.” 

Yugao and Kurenai giggled lightly, and Hayate threw me a dry smirk, I decided not to dignify that with a response. We fell into step together and headed off, the chatter settling into an easy rhythm that felt familiar in a way I hadn’t realized I’d missed.

We found a small restaurant tucked away on a side street, the kind of place that smelled like home cooking. It was clean and simple, with dark wooden tables and the low murmur of other patrons. We managed to push two smaller tables together to fit all five of us, a slightly clumsy arrangement that felt fitting for our group.

A server came over, and we ordered. Katsudon for me, a large bowl of miso ramen for Anko, who ordered like she was fueling up for another fight. The others got various plates of grilled fish and rice. The conversation started easily, picking up where we left off.

"So," I began, looking at Hayate and Yugao. "What have you two been up to? Still stuck in the same old classes?"

Yugao shook her head, a small, proud smile touching her lips. "Not exactly. We were moved up after the last assessment. We're in Class A now." Kurenai gave a small nod, confirming she was with them.

"That's great," I said, and I meant it. "Congratulations." It felt like a lifetime ago that class placements had mattered so much to me.

Anko let out a small, unimpressed grunt. "Big deal. You're still just students."

Hayate ignored her, his tired eyes looking at me with genuine curiosity. "What about you? You must have been on a dozen missions by now."

"Just one, actually," Anko said before I could. She leaned forward, eager to share the story. "We just got back from our first one yesterday."

It was Yugao's turn to look surprised. "Your first? But you graduated months ago. What have you been doing?"

"Training," I said simply. "Our sensei is… thorough. He said taking us on missions outside the village would be too dangerous until we were ready." I didn’t need to elaborate on why. Being a Sannin’s student painted a target on your back, and we were the bait.

"It was a C-Rank escort," Anko continued, picking up the thread. "Some merchant with medical supplies. We got ambushed on the road. A bunch of sloppy bandits and a couple of rogue chunin." She puffed her chest out a bit. "I took care of the bandits. It was easy."

Indeed she had, I had been pleasantly surprised.

"And the chunin?" Kurenai asked, her expression serious.

My hand paused over my bowl of rice. I remembered the sickening crack of bone, the blank stare of the man I had killed. I pushed the memory down. "We handled them," I said, my voice even. I didn't mention the part about killing a man and feeling nothing. "It was a bit of a fight, but there were no real complications."

Hayate and Yugao exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the gap that had opened between us. They were practicing stances and learning theory in a classroom. We were fighting rogue shinobi in a forest. The food arrived then, the steam and savory smells breaking the sudden tension. We ate, the conversation turning to lighter things. Complaints about instructors, speculation about the war, the usual chatter of people our age. It felt normal, and for a little while, I let myself believe it was.

The next day, we stood before the Hokage's desk. The air in the office was thick with the faint scent of old paper and pipe tobacco. Anko and I bowed deeply, a formal gesture of respect. Asuma, beside us, offered a short, clipped nod.

Hiruzen offered a small, tired smile in return, his eyes assessing us. "Your last mission required strength and decisive action," he began, his voice calm and steady. "You succeeded. But a shinobi is more than just a weapon. The mission I have for you today will test your discretion and subtlety."

He pushed a thin folder across the desk. "Kagerou Town, a small trade hub near the border with the Land of Earth. We have a suspected informant there, a pottery shop owner named Jiro. Our agents report he has been subtly inquiring about any shinobi passing through. Your objective is to confirm his activities, secure irrefutable proof, and capture him for extraction. Silently."

He leaned forward, his expression hardening. "Kagerou Town is part of the Land of Fire that borders the Land of Earth. We cannot simply eliminate a citizen, even a traitor, without cause. To the people of the town, Jiro must simply vanish. Our diplomats will handle the official explanation to the town's leadership later, but only if you provide them with undeniable evidence of his treason. Any public connection between his disappearance and Konoha without sufficent proof will be considered a mission failure. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lord Hokage," we answered in unison.

An hour later, we gathered at the main gate. Orochimaru stood a short distance away, his arms clasped behind his back, observing us with his usual unnerving stillness. 

"So, what's the plan?" Anko questioned, "I hope it won't be too boring. Can't we just grab him silently and bring him back here for T&I to handle?"

"No," Asuma said immediately, shaking his head. "He disappears, and three shinobi were just seen in town? They'll connect it. We'd make the town hostile. We can't be seen as shinobi at all." He looked at us, his gaze firm. "We use the Transformation Jutsu. We go in as civilians. A couple of merchant kids, maybe a traveler looking for work. We blend in completely."

Anko let out an exasperated sigh. "So we're going to be sitting around in disguises all day? Ugh. Fine. But this is going to be boring." She understood the logic, but clearly disliked the lack of action.

"We don't just wait," Asuma continued, ignoring her complaint as he fleshed out the strategy. "We force his hand. One of us makes a 'mistake', flashes a headband for just a second where he can see. We become the intel he needs to report. Then we watch him, find out how he sends his message, and intercept it. That's our proof."

It was a sharp, well-reasoned plan that followed the Hokage's strict parameters perfectly.

"That's a good plan, Asuma," I said, giving him a nod.

Asuma looked momentarily surprised by the direct praise before his expression settled back into one of focus.

Orochimaru stepped forward, his movements silent. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "A sound strategy," he said, his voice a low hiss. "Your first test is to see if you can execute it. I will observe silently as usual."

And with that, he was gone, vanishing in a swirl of leaves, leaving the three of us to our mission.

Kagerou Town was a dusty, wind-blown place where no one looked twice at strangers, as long as they had coin. We entered not as a shinobi team, but as separate pieces of the scenery. Using the Transformation Jutsu, Asuma and I became a pair of scruffy merchant apprentices, our headbands replaced with dirty linen cloths. Anko took the guise of a sullen, wandering teenager looking for work, her vibrant personality hidden under a layer of practiced indifference. We took separate rooms at the same rundown inn and met only after dark to coordinate.

The next afternoon, the plan went into motion. Asuma walked past Jiro’s pottery shop. As he drew level with the open doorway, he stumbled, dropping the bundle he was carrying. For a single, calculated second, the cloth around his head slipped, revealing the gleaming metal and carved leaf of his Konoha headband. He quickly adjusted it, gathered his things with a flustered look, and hurried away. I was watching from a tea house across the street. Jiro’s eyes, which had been lazily watching the street, sharpened instantly. He lingered at his doorway for a moment longer than usual, his gaze following Asuma down the road. The bait was taken.

Anko was perfect for the role of shadow. She spent the rest of the day moving through the town, her path seeming aimless, but always keeping Jiro's shop within her line of sight while Asuma and I monitored the main roads out of town. It was nearly sunset when she found us, her expression tight with focus.

"The old well, south of the market," she said, her voice a low whisper. "He slipped a small scroll behind a loose brick. I saw him do it."

That was it. The proof.

We waited for the streets to empty before moving. Under the cover of darkness, Anko led us to the well. She and Asuma stood watch, their senses alert for any approaching patrols, while I reached into the gap behind the loose brick. My fingers brushed against not one, but several tightly rolled scrolls. This wasn't his first time. He’d been doing this for a while.

We retreated to the shadows of an alley to examine them. Unrolling the first, we found a simple message written in plain language, detailing Asuma’s "accidental" reveal earlier that day. The other scrolls contained similar reports, noting the movements of other shinobi who had passed through Kagerou Town over the last few weeks. His guilt was undeniable.

"His house is on the west side of town. He lives alone," Asuma said, his voice all business. "Anko, you're the quietest. You go in through a window, take him down before he can make a sound. We'll be at the front and back doors."

We moved as one, our roles clear. Jiro’s house was small and dark. Anko scaled the wall and slipped through a second-story window without a sound. A moment later, a faint tap on the inside of the front door was our signal. We entered. Jiro was already on the floor of his bedroom, unconscious from a single, precise strike to the neck.

Asuma pulled a large scroll from his pack, one our sensei had provided. "Shinobi have too much chakra to be sealed like this, even when they're out cold," he explained quietly as he unrolled it. "But for a civilian..."

He performed the sequence of hand seals. The complex ink patterns on the scroll glowed faintly. He laid it over Jiro's unconscious body, and with a soft hum, the man’s form was absorbed into the paper, leaving only an intricate drawing where he had been that quickly faded.

We did a final sweep of the house, leaving everything exactly as we had found it. We slipped back out of the town and headed for Konoha, the captured informant sealed away, the mission a complete success.

The days that followed our second mission were a relentless cycle of training. Our previous mission was a test of subtlety. Our third, a week later, was a test of coordination.

It was a moonless night when we approached the smugglers' depot. Asuma, crouched beside me in the undergrowth, gave a single, sharp nod. That was the signal. Across the compound, Anko moved, a whisper of motion as she scaled the perimeter fence. We saw the lone sentry stiffen, then slump to the ground, a silent takedown. My role was the diversion. I formed the seals, gathering my wind-natured chakra, and unleashed a focused, sharp gust. It wasn't a destructive attack, just a controlled burst of force that slammed into a tall stack of empty metal barrels a hundred yards away.

The resulting crash echoed through the quiet night, loud and jarring. Two guards burst from the main building, weapons drawn, and sprinted toward the sound. That was our opening. Asuma and I moved, low and fast, slipping through the now-unwatched entrance. We worked with practiced efficiency, placing the explosive tags on the main support beams of the warehouse as Anko kept watch. We were out and back in the trees before the guards had even finished inspecting the fallen barrels. From the safety of the ridge, we watched the depot go up in a silent flash of orange light, the sound of the explosion rolling over us a moment later.

Clean successes bred confidence, and confidence was dangerous.

Our fourth mission was supposed to be easy. A C-Rank bandit suppression. We tracked them to a makeshift camp in a dense forest clearing. The fight was swift and brutal. Anko, a blur of motion, had already begun a wide flanking maneuver to cut off their escape route while Asuma and I engaged the main force head-on. They were disorganized thugs, not shinobi, and they fell quickly.

Soon, only two were left standing in the center of the clearing: the leader, a big, scarred man with a cruel glint in his eye, and his last subordinate.

"I'll take the leader," Asuma said, his voice tight with focus. He saw a clear line, a direct path to ending the fight. He charged.

The bandit leader wasn't a skilled fighter, but he was a desperate one. Seeing Asuma bearing down on him, he did something utterly savage. He grabbed his own subordinate by the collar and, with a guttural roar, shoved the man directly into Asuma's path.

Asuma was committed to his charge, his momentum carrying him forward. He couldn't stop. He crashed into the unwilling human shield. For a chaotic second, the two were tangled, Asuma's focus completely broken as he dealt with the unexpected obstacle. He dispatched the man with a sharp, efficient elbow strike to the jaw, sending him to the ground.

But that second was all the leader needed.

He didn't run. He moved. While Asuma was occupied, the leader darted around the brief scuffle. Asuma spun around, senses screaming, but the bandit was already on him. A thick arm hooked around Asuma’s neck, dragging him back. The rough, chipped edge of a kunai pressed hard against his throat.

"Stay back!" the bandit screamed, his eyes wild with panic as he faced me. "All of you, or this fucking brat dies!"

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my mind went cold and clear, the determination perk letting me stay focused. I stood my ground, twenty feet away, making no aggressive moves. Asuma was locked in the bandit's grip, his face a thunderous mask of shame and fury at being caught so foolishly.

I raised my hands slowly, palms open. "Easy now," I said, my voice steady, projecting a calm I did not feel. "You've lost. There's nowhere to run."

"I don't care! I'll take him with me!" The kunai dug deeper, drawing a thin line of blood.

I knew Anko was out there, somewhere in the trees behind them, having completed her flank. The bandit didn't. His world had narrowed to me, the only visible threat. I needed to keep it that way.

"Let's just all calm down," I said, taking a single, slow step to my left. It was a small, non-threatening movement, a slight shift of position. But it changed the angle just enough. For a split second, through a gap in the foliage behind the bandit, I saw a flicker of purple hair. Anko was in position.

I held the bandit's gaze. "You let him go," I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I let you walk out of here. My word."

He and I both knew that the word of a Shinobi didn't matter, but his desperation made him want to believe it. His eyes darted around, considering the impossible offer. His focus was entirely on me.

• I gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
  

Anko moved.

She was a ghost. The bandit leader didn't even have time to register a new threat. One moment, he was locked in a standoff with me; the next, a shadow erupted from the trees behind him. There was a sharp, precise thwack as Anko’s hand chopped down on the back of his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

We stood in the sudden, heavy silence of the forest. Asuma shoved himself away from the fallen bandit, rubbing the red mark on his throat. He looked from the unconscious form on the ground, to Anko as she calmly retrieved her kunai, then finally to me. He wouldn't meet my eyes.  The lesson was brutal. A simple mistake, a moment of tunnel vision, had almost cost him his life.

That lesson was still fresh in our minds when we took our fifth mission a few days later. It was our first official B-Rank, and the tension was a palpable thing in the air. The task was to escort a diplomat from a small, allied nation through a stretch of forest known for its contested patrol routes. This time, there was no overconfidence. As we walked, flanking the nervous diplomat, my mind was focused, my body coiled. I kept a significant portion of my points shifted into "Guard," a default state of coiled density that made me feel solid and grounded.

The attack came without warning, a sharp whistle from the trees followed by a blur of steel.

"Contact!" Asuma yelled, his hands already a blur of motion as he formed the seals.

Three figures dropped from the canopy, their Iwa headbands scratched but clear. They weren't missing-nin; they were active-duty chunin on a mission of sabotage. 

Anko was a flash of motion, instantly placing herself between the attackers and the dignitary, her kunai a spinning shield that deflected the initial volley of shuriken. "Wind Style: Great Breakthrough!" Asuma roared. A powerful torrent of wind erupted from his position, kicking up a massive screen of leaves and dirt that momentarily obscured the enemy's advance.

One of the chunin, faster than the others, powered through the gale, his form a dark shape in the swirling debris. His target was clear: the diplomat.

There was no time to think. I dropped "Guard," pouring every ounce of potential into "Swift." The world seemed to slow, the individual leaves in Asuma's jutsu spinning in perfect clarity. I moved, a grey streak closing the distance, and slammed a palm into the chunin's chest, sending him staggering back. I had saved the client.

But I had fallen for their trap.

From my left, the second chunin lunged. He had been waiting for that exact opening, his kunai a silver arc aimed at my exposed leg. He was close enough that even if I moved, I'd still get hit. My instincts, honed by Orochimaru's torturous drills, screamed. Even as he moved, my mind was already shifting, pulling the points from "Swift" and dumping them back into "Guard."

The sensation of hardening flooded my body. But it wasn't quite instantaneous.

I saw the kunai coming. I felt the defense solidify. The tip of the blade met my thigh a fraction of a second before the "Guard" was fully formed enough to stop the blade from ever piercing my skin. There was no deep, tearing wound. Instead of sinking into flesh, the blade scraped against something impossibly hard with a high-pitched shriek of metal on stone. But the timing was off just enough. It bit in, a shallow but searing gash, and the pain was a white-hot line drawn across my leg.

A flare of gratitude, cold and strange, cut through the pain. Orochimaru. This was his training. The endless, brutal drills, the attacks aimed at that precise moment of transition. Without them, that kunai would have gone straight to the bone.

The Iwa-nin's eyes widened in shock at his blade failing to pierce deeper. In that moment of hesitation, my anger boiled over, cold and focused. I moved forward, ignoring the searing pain, and grabbed his wrist, as I sent some my Defense into my strength. He screamed as the bone cracked under my grip. I finished it with a single, brutal punch to the temple.

As I took down my opponent, I glanced over at my teammates. The third chunin was clearly a taijutsu specialist, and he had Anko on the defensive. She was a flurry of flashing steel, parrying and weaving, her movements quick and agile. But the chunin was stronger, more experienced. He forced her back step by step, his own attacks relentless. She was skilled, managing to land a series of shallow cuts on his arms and shoulder, but she was losing ground.

Asuma wasn't standing idle. He was a short distance away, his hands going through several seals at an impressive speed, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was gathering chakra, preparing a decisive blow.

Anko saw her opening. She parried a heavy blow that sent her stumbling back, creating a precious few feet of distance. "Now, Asuma!" she yelled.

Asuma's hands snapped open. "Wind Style: Wind Cutter Jutsu!" A blade of pure, compressed wind, almost invisible save for the distortion it created in the air, hissed from his position. It moved with incredible speed, slicing through the space where the chunin stood. The man tried to leap back, but he was too slow. The jutsu caught him across the chest, carving a deep, debilitating gash. He cried out, staggering, his offense completely broken.

It was all the opening Anko needed. She shot forward, her previous retreat forgotten, and delivered a powerful, precise kick to the side of his head. He dropped like a stone, out cold.

The forest was suddenly quiet. Two chunin down. The first one I had intercepted, seeing both his comrades taken down in seconds by a genin squad that fought with monstrous power, made a tactical choice. A flicker of motion I'd caught in the corner of my eye was him, vanishing with a Body Flicker jutsu. He was gone.

One escaped. 

We couldn't pursue; our priority was the diplomat. We patched my leg, and the rest of the mission went as well as could be expected. The journey was a tense, hurried affair. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, but no further attack came. We delivered the dignitary to his destination, his profuse thanks feeling hollow against the weight of our exhaustion. The walk back was just as quiet, just as tense.

The exhaustion didn't truly hit until the familiar, massive gates of Konoha came into view, a welcome sight that signaled safety and the end of the mission. As I stepped past the chunin guards and officially onto village soil, the world in front of me shimmered.

A soft pop, and the familiar transparent blue screen materialized.

White text scrolled across it.

[Achievement Accomplished!]
[First B-Rank Mission]
[Achievement Rank: MID]

Before I could even process that, more text appeared immediately below it.

[Achievement Accomplished!]
[Complete Five Succesful Missions]
[Achievement Rank: LOW]

I waved off the notification last night, too exhausted to care. But the next morning, waking up sore and tired with my leg throbbing a dull, persistent rhythm, the curiosity was too much to ignore. I focused my mind, and the familiar blue screen shimmered into existence.

[Rolling for Mid-Level Reward…]
[Result: Martial Arts Prodigy — One Punch Man]

[Martial Arts Prodigy] [One Punch Man] (Talent)
Garou is known for his unparalleled ability to learn and master any martial art in record time, and now, so are you. Your mind is a vast reservoir of fighting knowledge, allowing you to analyze and replicate martial techniques simply by observing them. You can take bits and pieces from various styles, seamlessly blending them together into your own unique and devastating approach. In combat, you are a tactical genius, able to exploit weaknesses in even the most seasoned fighter’s techniques, and within minutes, you can develop strategies to counter any opponent. There is no technique you cannot master, no fighting style you cannot surpass. [Lesser due to Mid-Rank Achievement].

The influx was not a surge of energy, but of understanding. It was like a complex blueprint I’d been trying to read my whole life had suddenly been translated into my native language. I'd certainly have to hide this sudden talent. I wasn't bad at Taijutsu before, but now? I could feel it. The way I fought, the entire foundation of my style, was no longer a flawed system of extremes. The transition from "Swift" to "Might" wasn't a weakness anymore; it was just an incomplete sequence. I just needed to build the bridge. My mind was already coming up with hundreds of different stances, subtle shifts in weight and posture to make my movements more refined, smoother, faster. Thinking back to the Striking Serpent Style our sensei personally used, I could see its vulnerabilities now, the fractional imbalances in his posture that could be exploited. I could even see the flaws in the Hokage's seemingly perfect form. This was a skill that would allow me to be a beast.

[Rolling for Low-Level Reward…]
[Result: Demon-Slaying Tunes — Demon Slayer]

[Demon-Slaying Tunes] [Demon Slayer] (Mystic)
Every superhero needs their theme music...but you aren't a superhero. Instead, you're an epic swordsman or powerful demon, and as such, your music reflects that, as well as the power of anime music teams. You have a personal soundtrack, including your favourite Demon Slayer songs and some custom tracks in the same style, that you can toggle on and off at-will. Oh, you already have soundtrack perks, you say? Well, no problem - just add these tunes into your playlist whenever you want!

Well… that was unexpected. As long as the music wasn't distracting in a battle, which I had to assume it wouldn't be, that's a relatively good addition. A personal soundtrack for fights seemed absurd, but I wasn't going to complain about a harmless bonus.

AN: This chapter was meant to show the routine of Shinobi Life - I find it sort-of unrealistic when MCs immediately get thrown on the front lines, plus I wanted Yuuki to get himself some rolls because that’s something that has been lacking in this story. I hope that it was a somewhat enjoyable read even if I’m not fully satisfied with it.

Hello, hello, folks! I’m sorry for skipping the previous week, I wanted to ask you all about the pace of the story, honestly, I’ve been struggling to write recently and I really appreciate you folks sticking with me here on Patreon even with my bad update schedule, it means the world to me, but if anyone thinks it’s been unfair, drop me DM and I’ll send you a week extra for free or something.

Another thing, other stories will be started - frankly, if I keep writing just one story, I start to struggle with it and that’s starting with this. I’ve been thinking about a Chaos Gacha story as an Ame Orphan wink wink, let me know what you think of that!