Chapter 11: Training From Hell | In Naruto With an Achievement System

Chapter 11: Training From Hell

The air in Training Ground Three was cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth. Anko was already in motion, a bundle of barely contained energy throwing sharp punches at the air. On the far side of the clearing, Asuma leaned against a tree, his arms crossed in a picture of bored confidence. I just stood there, watching them both, the knot of tension in my stomach from yesterday refusing to loosen.

One moment, the space in the center of the clearing was empty. Next, Orochimaru was there. It wasn't a Body Flicker I could track, not without Swift at least. He simply existed where he hadn’t a second before. His sudden appearance silenced the morning. Anko froze mid-punch. Asuma pushed himself off the tree, his casual posture gone.

“It seems you are all punctual,” Orochimaru’s voice was smooth, carrying it easily in the quiet. “Good. Before we begin, you should understand the nature of our arrangement. As my team, you will not be taking missions outside the village for some time.”

He let his eyes drift from one of us to the other. His gaze felt heavy, analytical. “As one of the Sannin, I am a prominent target. Any excursion beyond Konoha’s walls invites the possibility of ambush from reckless shinobi seeking a name for themselves. As you are now,” he paused, letting the implication sink in, “you are liabilities in such a scenario. You will be made strong here, first. Understood?”

I gave a short, stiff nod. Anko and Asuma did the same.

“Excellent,” he continued, taking a slow step into the center of our triangle. “Let us begin with a review of your performance yesterday. You all performed admirably, for recently graduated genin. Your teamwork, once established, was sound. The strategy to use yourselves as a diversion while Yuuki-kun was about to be overwhelmed was a good idea."

His hands came together in front of his chest. The movement was a blur of pale fingers, the seals formed too quickly for my eyes to properly follow. With a soft poof of smoke, two perfect copies of him appeared at his sides. They clearly weren't the illusory clones from the Academy. 

“However,” the Orochimaru in the middle said, his voice flatly informative, “it is a strategy easily countered by experience. These clones, while weaker than the original, would be more than sufficient to handle you individually.” The two Shadow Clones dissipated into smoke as quickly as they had appeared. The demonstration was simple and left a cold feeling in my gut.

He turned to face me. “Yuuki-kun. Your Taijutsu is a powerful but predictable tool. The standard Academy style is ill-suited for the unique nature of your ability. Your primary weakness is a lack of experience integrating this talent into fluid combat as well as a lack of mid and long range techniques.”

The word just hung there in the air. I felt my shoulders tense.

“Ability?” Anko’s voice was sharp and loud. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “What ability?! You holding out on us, Kagurazaka?”

Asuma didn't speak, but his gaze was just as intense.

I looked at Orochimaru, my heart hammering against my ribs. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. He was giving me permission. He wanted them to know. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I can shift my body’s focus,” I said, my voice coming out more level than I felt. “I can move the focus from my strength to my speed, or from my speed to my defense. It changes my physical state.”

Anko stared, her mouth opening then closing again as she processed it. The look on her face was a clear mix of shock and betrayal. “You could do that the whole time? And you never told us?” By us she likely meant during our time in the Academy with Hayate, Yugao and Kurenai.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. Orochimaru’s attention had already moved on. “Anko,” he said, his voice cutting cleanly through her outburst. “You are too eager to rush into conflict and you are easily taunted. This is a fatal flaw in a shinobi. You must learn to control your impulses.”

He shifted his gaze to the Hokage’s son. “Asuma. Your initial antagonism towards your own teammates was foolish and inefficient. And your combat style lacks versatile, ranged options.”

He let the critiques settle between us. There was no cruelty in his tone, just the finality of a researcher stating facts. I could feel the weight of his assessment, the sheer accuracy of it. This was a man who saw everything.

“These are the weaknesses we will begin to correct today,” he announced. “Your real training starts now.”

— Asuma Sarutobi —

The clone of his new sensei stood perfectly still, its expression as neutral and unreadable as the original’s. Its hands moved, a fluid, precise motion forming a sequence of seals. “Wind Release: Air Bullets,” the clone’s voice was a flat echo of Orochimaru’s. “A C-Rank technique. You will practice the seals until they are second nature. Then you will attempt the jutsu. Begin.”

Asuma set his jaw and began. His fingers moved through the seals, his mind clear on the sequence. He brought his hands to his mouth, pushed his chakra forward, and… nothing. A weak puff of air, barely strong enough to stir the dust at his feet, was all he produced.

He tried again. And again. For half an hour, the sun climbed higher in the sky, that was the only result. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, born not just from effort but from a hot, creeping frustration. This was his natural affinity. Wind was supposed to be as intuitive to him as Fire was to his clan. Yet here he was, failing.

His mind, straying from the task, kept replaying the events of yesterday. He remembered the suffocating pressure of Orochimaru’s killing intent, a weight that had frozen him solid, turning him into a useless statue. But Yuuki… Yuuki had broken free of it. Not only had he broken free, he’d had the presence of mind to grab both him and Anko and drag them physically out of danger. The thought stung.

Then came the casual reveal of the ability. A power to just become stronger, or faster, at will. He remembered the blur of motion as Yuuki had charged, the impossible strength that had sent a Sannin — Orochimaru — sliding backward across the dirt.

And here he was, Asuma Sarutobi, son of the Third Hokage, unable to perform a single C-Rank jutsu that should have been his birthright. The frustration tasted bitter in his mouth. It was envious, cold and sharp.

“You are distracted, Asuma-kun.”

The clone’s voice cut through his thoughts. It hadn’t moved, its gaze still fixed on him.

“Focus,” the clone continued, its tone perfectly level. “Your chakra is scattered because your mind is elsewhere. Take a deep breath. Clear your thoughts. Attempt it again.”

The assessment was startlingly accurate. Asuma grit his teeth, forcing the images of his teammates from his mind. He took a deep, steadying breath, just as the clone had instructed. He focused only on the feel of the air, the flow of his chakra.

He brought his hands up. The seals felt smoother this time. His first attempt after the correction was another failure, but it was a better failure. He felt the chakra almost catch. The next try was the same. On the third, something clicked.

He pushed his chakra forward and this time, it was met with a sharp, hissing sound. Five small, compressed bullets of wind shot from his lips, slamming into a nearby tree trunk. They didn't have much power, leaving only shallow gouges in the bark, but they were real. It worked.

He was panting slightly, looking from the tree back to the clone. The clone’s expression was unchanged, but its voice held a note of faint approval.

“A small success,” it stated. “Your focus improved. That is a start.”

The praise felt more rewarding than it should have. He shot the clone of his sensei with a grin of triumph.

“Again,” the clone commanded.

Asuma took another breath and began the hand seals once more. He'd get stronger, when the time came, he wouldn't freeze again.

— Anko Mitarashi —

“Anko.”

Orochimaru’s voice was soft, but it cut through the air like a kunai. He pointed a long, pale finger at a circle he’d drawn in the dirt with his sandal. It wasn’t large, maybe ten feet across.

“This circle is your world,” he stated simply. “You will not leave it. The clone in the trees will throw shuriken at you. You will deflect them. These two,” he gestured to the clones of him transformed as Yuuki and Asuma, “will talk to you. To help you focus, I will place you in a light genjutsu. You will know they are not real, but their words will feel more… persuasive.”

Before she could protest, he made a single hand seal. The world shimmered for a second, like a heat haze, then settled. Everything looked the same, but the air felt heavier. The smiling faces of the two fake teammates seemed sharper, more real.

“Begin,” Orochimaru said, and then he was gone, moving to another part of the training ground to oversee Yuuki.

Anko smirked, pulling out her kunai. This seemed easy enough. Stay in a circle? Deflect some toys? She could do this all day.

“Still so confident,” the fake Asuma drawled, his voice a perfect, condescending imitation. “You’d think you’d have learned some humility by now.”

The first blunt shuriken whistled out of the trees. Anko deflected it with a sharp clang.

“Learned from what? A pretty boy who coasts on his dad’s name?” she shot back.

“He means from your spar,” the fake Yuuki said, his voice quiet and analytical. It was a chillingly accurate impression. “Remember, Anko? In the Academy? You couldn’t even touch me.”

The words hit like a physical blow. The genjutsu made the memory flare in her mind: the frustration, the other students watching, the quiet, almost bored way Yuuki had evaded her every move before defeating her. It felt hot, shameful.

Anger flared through her. “Shut up!” she yelled, taking a single, impulsive step forward, her kunai pointed at the fake Yuuki.

She’d left the circle.

The transformed clone of Yuuki didn’t even change expression. It simply blurred. The world twisted, and a sharp, powerful kick slammed into her ribs. She was lifted off her feet and sent tumbling back into the center of the circle, landing hard in the dirt with the wind knocked out of her. The clone was once again standing outside the line, looking exactly like Yuuki.

She gasped for breath, glaring. Another volley of shuriken came from the trees. She scrambled to deflect them, getting hit in the arm by one. It stung, leaving a red welt.

For the next hour, it was a cycle of pure frustration. The hidden clone’s attacks were relentless, forcing her to stay alert. But the real torture came from the two clones she could see.

“My dad’s the Hokage,” the Asuma clone said with a smirk. “Who are you? Just some girl with a loud mouth. No special clan. No power.”

“At least Kagurazaka has his ability,” Asuma continued, then the Yuuki clone added. “A real power. What have you got, Anko? Nothing.”

They were right. And that’s what made her so angry. Asuma was the Hokage’s son. Yuuki had this insane new bloodline. What was she? Just… Anko. Strong, sure. Fast, yeah. But not special. Every time the thought surfaced, her anger spiked. A few more times, she lunged out of the circle in a blind rage, only to be kicked back into the dirt for her trouble.

Then the Yuuki clone’s taunts changed, and the anger twisted into something colder, something that hurt more.

“You know, I thought of you as a friend,” the clone said, tilting its head. The genjutsu made the words feel genuine, like a confession. “Like Yugao and Hayate. We fought all the time, but it was fun. But why would I tell a reckless loud mouth my biggest secret?”

Anko flinched, another shuriken slipping past her guard and thudding against her shoulder. It was true. She’d hated him sometimes, but she’d respected him. Their sparring matches were the highlight of her week. She thought… she thought they were friends. The idea that he’d been hiding something so big from her, from Hayate and Yugao… it felt like a betrayal.

“A friend I can’t trust,” the clone continued, its voice laced with fake pity. “You’re too loud, Anko. Too reckless. Too weak.”

“I’m not weak!” she screamed, lunging one last time.

The kick was just as fast, just as hard. She landed on her back, the air exploding from her lungs. She lay there for a second, staring at the sky, her body aching, her throat raw. The anger was still there, a hot coal in her stomach, but beneath it was the cold sting of being left out, of being seen as lesser by someone she’d considered an equal. A friend.

She pushed herself up slowly. Her breath was ragged. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her kunai. But she didn’t lunge. She didn’t yell. Another volley of shuriken whistled towards her.

She took a breath, letting it out slowly. She ignored the clones’ voices. She ignored the ache in her ribs and the stinging welts on her arms. She listened. Not to the taunts, but to the sharp whistle of the incoming steel.

Her arm moved. Clang. Clang. Clang. She deflected every single one.

She stood in the center of the circle, her whole body trembling with rage she refused to unleash. Her eyes were locked forward, narrowed and burning. She was still angry. But she was standing. She was learning and she wouldn't be the weak link.

— Yuuki Kagurazaka —

While the clones put my teammates through their own personal hells, I stood alone with the real Orochimaru. He circled me once, his movements silent and fluid, his golden eyes taking in every detail. It was the gaze of a master craftsman inspecting a piece of raw, flawed material. I took a deep, steadying breath, pushing down the instinct to flinch away from his attention. This man was a would-be monster, yes, but he was also a genius. He was my sensei. To ignore his words would be a colossal waste of an opportunity and I wasn't eager to ignore it.

“Your current method of combat is, for someone of your potential, remarkably inefficient,” he began, stopping in front of me. His tone wasn't insulting; it was a simple statement of fact. “You rely on overwhelming an opponent with one of two extremes. Pure speed, or pure strength. You have no middle ground, no subtlety.”

He raised a single finger. “Your greatest weakness, however, is the transition. When you shift from your ‘Swift’ state to your ‘Might’ state, there is a fraction of a second — a single breath — where your body’s momentum and mass are in flux. An opponent with sufficient experience will see this opening. It is a flaw large enough to kill you.”

I absorbed the information, I was already somewhat aware of these flaws, but the accuracy of it sent a chill through me. He had seen it all in a single, short fight.

“Most shinobi spend a lifetime mastering a single form that complements their natural abilities,” he continued, his voice taking on a lecturing quality. “You do not have that luxury. Your very nature is fluid, so your fighting style must be as well. You will not master one form. You will learn several and attempt to make them one."

For the next hour, there was no sparring. There was only instruction. He started by demonstrating the fundamentals of what he called the "Striking Serpent Style," it was as he told me, his own personal way of fighting, I wouldn't learn the whole style, just aspects of it. It was a fluid, precise art. He moved through the stances himself, his body coiling and uncoiling. The guards were low, the posture designed for explosive, short-range movements. The strikes were not fists, but open-hand jabs with stiffened fingers, or sharp, whip-like elbow strikes. He made me mirror him, walking around me and physically adjusting my posture with a light but firm touch.

"The power does not come from your shoulder, Yuuki-kun," he corrected, his cool fingers pressing into the muscles of my back. "It comes from the rotation of your hips. The strike is merely the final point of a kinetic chain."

Then he moved on to the second style, one he simply called the "Unbreakable Fist." The stances were the opposite: wide, low to the ground, and solid. The movements were less about flow and more about generating immense, focused power. He showed me how to use my entire body weight in a charge, how to channel the force into a block that could shatter bone, and simple, brutal holds designed to use an opponent’s momentum against them. It was exhausting just practicing the forms.

“These are the foundations,” he said after the hour was up, his expression unchanged. “Your challenge is not to perfect them individually. It is to master the transition between them. To flow from a Serpent jab into an Unbreakable block, to use the momentum of a grappling throw to seamlessly create distance for a swift counter. You must become adaptable.”

The theory was sound. It was brilliant. It was also incredibly difficult.

“This brings us to another flaw,” Orochimaru said. “Range. What do you do when an opponent is at a distance?”

“I’ve been practicing Kenjutsu,” I offered.

A flicker of interest crossed his face. “Kenjutsu? I did read that in your file. It is a possibility. It might work for mid-range engagements, particularly if you were to learn a few Sword Ninjutsu techniques. Though that depends on your elemental affinity, which we will test at a later date. For now, let us refine your main way of combat.”

He settled into a low, relaxed stance. “Theory is useless without practice. Sparring is the fastest way to gain the experience you so desperately lack. Attack me, Yuuki-kun. Show me you were paying attention.”

I took a breath and moved. I didn't activate my ability yet. I flowed into the Serpent Style stance he had just taught me, my body feeling clumsy and new with the unfamiliar posture. I lunged, aiming a stiff-fingered jab for his shoulder as he had demonstrated.

He didn't block or dodge. He simply moved with me, his own hand coming up to gently redirect my arm, his movements economical and impossibly precise. He broke my posture with a simple twist of his wrist. "You are thinking too much. Your body must learn the forms so your mind is free to think of strategy. Again."

We sparred lightly for what felt like an eternity. Each time I tried to apply one of the new techniques, he would point out the flaw. "You are dropping your guard when you strike." "You are relying on your eyes, not on the feel of your opponent's balance." "Your footwork is sloppy."

He wasn't trying to hurt me, but he was deconstructing my every move. He was breaking down my flawed, self-taught style and forcing me to build something new, something better, from the ground up. It was exhausting. It was frustrating. But I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that it was working, that I was improving. 

— INwAS —

My back hit the dirt, the impact jarring through my already aching bones. I lay there, gasping, my lungs burning for air that felt too thick to breathe. Every muscle screamed in protest. The morning was long gone. The sun was high and hot overhead, beating down on the training ground.

It had been hours. The cycle was relentlessly simple. I would spar with Orochimaru, and he would systematically dismantle my every attempt, his critiques sharp and precise. Then, without a word, he would vanish in a flicker of movement. I would be granted a few precious minutes to collapse, to let my muscles stop trembling, only for him to reappear just as suddenly, his golden eyes expectant. And the training would begin again.

He reappeared now, his form resolving from a blur by the edge of the clearing. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and forced myself to move, scraping my hands on the rough earth as I pushed into a sitting position, ready for the next round of instruction, the next deconstruction of my flawed technique.

— Orochimaru —

He appeared beside the boy in a silent flicker. The training was concluded for the day. He saw the exhaustion in the genin’s frame, the sheer physical depletion. But he saw something else, too. As his shadow fell over him, Yuuki flinched. It was a minuscule thing, a bare tightening of the shoulders, an instinctual recoil that was suppressed almost as soon as it began. But Orochimaru saw it.

It was a problem.

He knew he wasn't a good man. The concept was largely irrelevant to him. But he remembered the way his sensei taught, the earnest attempts to get close that he had rebuffed even as a child. He understood the principle. A student who feared their master on a primal level could not learn effectively. Fear compromised focus. It clouded judgment. It made a potentially flawless tool into a damaged one. To properly study and mold this fascinating specimen, the specimen’s debilitating fear had to be… calibrated.

“Training is over for today, Yuuki-kun,” he said, his voice smooth. “However, before you go, I have a question for you.”

The boy looked up, his face smudged with dirt and sweat, his expression wary.

Orochimaru tilted his head, a gesture of mild curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, a deliberate, slow movement. “What about me,” he asked, his voice a soft hiss, “scares you so?”

He watched, fascinated, as the boy’s mind raced. The answer, when it came, was a fumbled, panicked rush of honesty.

“You’re strong,” Yuuki blurted out, avoiding his gaze. “Monstrously so. Yesterday… the killing intent. I felt it. Even before I met you, I’d heard the stories of the Sannin and other strong Shinobi. It… it puts me on edge. Knowing that you… that I could die at any moment.”

Orochimaru processed the information. It was not a personal distrust. It was not a judgment of his character or his methods. It was a simple, rational fear of overwhelming power. A fear of death. Understandable. And, more importantly, manageable.

He knelt, a motion that brought him down to the boy’s eye level, changing the dynamic of the conversation. He was no longer the towering sensei, but a simple instructor.

“A fear of death is what keeps a shinobi sharp, Yuuki-kun,” he said, his voice taking on a kind, reassuring tone. It was an easy thing to fake. “But you have no need to fear me. So long as you are a shinobi of Konoha, you are under its protection. And mine. There is a reason, after all, that Lord Hokage assigned me to be your sensei.”

He saw the tension ease slightly in the boy’s shoulders. The method was effective. He stood up, the moment of contrived intimacy over.

“Now, go home, Yuuki-kun. Freshen up,” he commanded. “Your training is not over. Meet me at the Hokage Monument in two hours.”

He saw the confusion on the boy's face.

“We have yet to examine your other ability.” His eager sharp smile seems to have back-tracked the progress that he'd just made but they had time. 

— Yuuki Kagurazaka —

I walked away from the training ground, my steps feeling heavier than they should. My mind was replaying the conversation with Orochimaru on a loop. I had blurted out the truth in a panic, worried that he would sense my fear of him as a person. Thankfully, I’d had the presence of mind to frame it as a rational fear of his power, a genin’s awe and terror before a legend. It seemed to have worked. He’d accepted it.

The training itself had been grueling, but undeniably helpful. He had stripped my self-taught methods down to their flawed foundations and started to build something new. The way I thought about fighting had already changed. It wasn't just "Kick, Punch, Dodge" anymore. He'd introduced concepts, styles focused on a purpose beyond raw power. I wasn't good at them yet—my body still felt awkward with the new stances—but I could see the path. It would take a long, long time to actually get competent.

Still, that speech of his, the way he feigned care and understanding, made my skin crawl. And the small, eager smile that touched his lips when he mentioned my "other ability" did nothing to help. The man was a snake, and I was in his cage. For now, though, I was a valuable specimen, not a meal. I had to learn to calm down, to at least try and relax.

Just as I reached the archway leading out of the training grounds, a figure blocked my path. It was Anko. She was hunched over slightly, her breathing still ragged from her own session. I could see angry red welts dotting her arms which were likely present from her own training. Her face was flushed, and she marched right up to me, jabbing a finger hard into my chest.

“What was up with you hiding your ‘ability’ from us, huh? Didn't trust us!?” she demanded, her voice tight with anger. I could see the faintest shimmer of tears in her eyes, born not of sadness, but of pure, boiling frustration.

I held up my hands, a placating gesture. “It isn’t that I didn’t trust you guys,” I admitted, and it was the truth. “It was that I was scared.”

That seemed to make her even angrier. “Scared of what, huh? That I'd tell everyone?!”

“Woah, where’s that coming from?” Her reaction caught me off guard. I had expected a confrontation, but not one this personal. “Of course not. If it was just about you, I would have told Hayate and Yugao by now. They don’t know either.”

That stopped her short. Her accusation, built on the idea that she had been singled out and excluded, suddenly had no foundation. The fiery momentum she’d carried into the conversation sputtered out, leaving her looking uncertain.

I saw the opening and took it, my stomach giving a convenient and loud rumble. “Look, you look exhausted. I’m starving. Let’s go get some lunch. My treat.” I was an adult and the best way that I'd learnt to deal with angry women was to shove food in their mouth.

She stared at me for a long moment, then gave a sharp, jerky nod, still not quite meeting my eyes.

— INwAS —

An hour later, I was back in my apartment, after I’d showered away the grime of the day, I tossed my purse up and caught it. It felt significantly lighter than it had this morning. A small, almost comical sigh of regret escaped me. Still, a small price to pay for… what? A temporary truce? Progress?

I shook my head and sat on my futon. The day wasn't over. I had to prepare, mentally, for whatever Orochimaru had planned. He would want to see my other ability. The knock-off Wood Release. But that wasn’t right. The name didn't fit the feeling. It wasn’t just about wood; it was about the life force within things, the potential for growth. Nature Release? That felt closer. Plant Release, maybe. That felt more accurate. I’d have to figure it out later. For now, all I could do was get ready for the serpent's next test.

The remaining one hour passed in a blur of anxious waiting and mental preparation. After changing into a clean set of clothes, I walked the familiar path towards the Hokage Monument. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the village. The air was warm, but a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature clung to my skin.

I found the small, secluded clearing deep in the woods that grew atop the massive cliff, just as instructed. They were already there. Hiruzen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the setting sun glinting off the kanji on his Hokage hat. Orochimaru leaned against a tree nearby, his posture relaxed, almost casual, but I knew better. His attention was absolute.

I was caught between the two most powerful shinobi in the village, here to put my most dangerous secret on display. The thought that I had regretted the choice of taking this ability flickered in my mind, but it was too late. Hiding anything from them would be beyond stupid. All I could do was move forward. I steeled my nerves and walked into the clearing.

I came to a stop a respectful distance away and performed a formal bow, my head low. “Hokage-sama, sensei.”

“Ah, Yuuki-kun.” Hiruzen’s voice held a note of weary apology. He gestured for me to stand straight. “You look tired. I did inform your sensei to go easy on the first day, especially when I knew we would be meeting afterwards.”

A sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a quiet hiss escaped Orochimaru’s lips. He pushed himself off the tree, looking slightly disgruntled by the Hokage's remark.

“I did go easy on them, sensei,” he said quietly.

A cold sweat trickled down my back as I recalled the events of the day. I remembered the hours of learning the new forms, of being repeatedly and effortlessly smacked down again and again. I remembered my muscles screaming, my lungs burning, the feeling of complete and utter physical exhaustion.

That was him going easy

“Now, Yuuki-kun,” Hiruzen said, his voice level and commanding. “Show us what you showed me yesterday.” He gestured for me to continue, and I felt Orochimaru’s gaze sharpen to a point.

“Indeed,” Orochimaru purred, the sound of a low hiss that sent a fresh wave of apprehension through me.

I took another deep breath to steel my nerves. Closing my eyes for a second, I reached for the new, humming sense within me. It felt like a dormant part of my own body, waiting to be commanded. I pushed my chakra outwards, not into a physical form, but into the idea of growth itself. The skin on the back of my hand tingled, then stretched taut. A smooth, dark brown spike of wood, sharp as a kunai, emerged silently from my knuckles.

“Fascinating,” Orochimaru murmured. He took a step closer, his clinical curiosity completely overriding any personal space. He traced the edge of the spike with a single, pale finger, his touch feather-light. It felt deeply unnerving. “The wood appears to be an extension of your own body. Can you retract it?”

“Yes,” I replied, focusing and letting the wood recede back into my hand, my skin sealing over as if it had never been there.

The tests went on like that for some time. At Orochimaru's request, I drove my hands into the dirt, channeling my chakra into the ground. Roots, thick as my arm, erupted from the earth around me, binding a large boulder.

“Contort them,” Orochimaru commanded.

I focused, and the roots writhed like living snakes, tightening their grip until cracks began to form on the boulder's surface.

“Your control over the ability is remarkable for a novice,” the Hokage commented, his arms crossed as he observed.

“With some practice, you should be able to utilize it effectively in combat,” Orochimaru added, his smile thin. Then came the familiar caveat from the Third. “Not that you will use this in front of anyone unless you are on the verge of death.”

Next, they tested its durability. I produced two extremely thick roots from the ground. Predictably, fire was the chosen method. Orochimaru performed the hand seals for the Great Fireball Technique. The resulting C-Rank inferno washed over the roots, but when the flames cleared, they were merely scorched, not truly damaged. A B-Rank jutsu from Orochimaru managed to char them significantly, but I found I could reinforce them by pushing more chakra through, causing the wood to rapidly regenerate.

Then the Hokage stepped forward. The sheer volume of chakra he gathered made the air feel thick and heavy. This was a glimpse of the power that had earned him the title ‘God of Shinobi’. His A-Rank fire jutsu wasn’t just a ball of flame; it was a roaring torrent of white-hot plasma that vaporized the first root and badly burned through the second before I could fully reinforce it. The difference in power was immense. It showed me just how far I still had to go.

Finally, Orochimaru gestured to the remaining, smoking root. "Make it move."

I commanded it to lash out. It swung with incredible speed, a blur of motion that whipped through the air, reacting instantly to my will.

“Your ‘Swift’ state,” Orochimaru observed, his head tilted. “You slow down your own perception of time. This would, presumably, allow you to command these creations with far greater speed and precision than a normal user.” It was a chillingly accurate deduction.

“Do you know why the Wood Release of the First was so terrifying, Yuuki-kun?” the Hokage asked, his expression grave. I had a rough idea from what I'd chosen in the system, but my academy education would have included none of it, so I shook my head.

“A property often overlooked in favor of its destructive power is its ability to suppress chakra,” he explained.

“Suppress chakra?” I asked.

“Indeed,” Hiruzen said, holding out his hand. “Attempt to take it from me.”

“F-From you, Hokage-sama?” I stammered, feeling my stomach churn.

He just waited, his hand outstretched. Reluctantly, I wrapped one of my newly formed vines around his forearm. The knowledge implanted by the system was clear. I couldn’t suppress his chakra, but I could do something else. I focused, letting the technique flow through the vine. A small, ugly-looking bud sprouted from the wood, latching onto his skin.

Hiruzen frowned slightly. “I can feel my chakra draining… not suppressed, but absorbed.”

“Interesting,” Orochimarut commented, leaning in to examine the bud with unnerving focus.

“Sir,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I believe there may be more to it.” There was no way I was going to let the Third Hokage get hurt by a test subject, but I couldn’t reveal that I already knew what came next. "Please… try to use a bit of your own chakra. Just a small amount.”

He complied, a questioning look on his face. A faint blue aura shimmered around him for an instant. The effect was immediate. The vines tightened, and the bud seemed to dig deeper into his arm. His eyes widened in sudden, complete understanding.

“The more chakra is expended, the tighter the grip,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “And the rate of absorption… it is increasing exponentially.”

“Fascinating,” Orochimaru repeated, his voice laced with an almost manic curiosity. “Not suppression, but parasitic absorption. Is this some sort of mutation?”

Before I could answer a question I didn’t have the answer to, the Hokage carefully detached the bud. He looked from his arm to me, his expression unreadable, a thousand calculations happening behind his eyes. He had a new piece on the board, and he was still trying to figure out what it was worth, and what it might cost him.

“I think that we should end today’s session for now,” Hiruzen said, his voice heavy with thought. He looked from me to Orochimaru, a silent command passing between them. The tests were over.

The walk back to my apartment was a quiet, solitary affair. My mind was racing, processing everything I had learned about my new ability.

The biggest limiting factor was, as always, chakra. While I’d gotten a considerable boost from the [Living Disaster] perk, my reserves were still finite. I couldn't create a massive, city-destroying wood golem like the First Hokage. Not yet, anyway.

There were things I hadn't revealed. The flower field that sapped an opponent's will to fight, for instance. There had been no reason to show them that, and I intended to keep it as a trump card for as long as possible.

Then there was the other, more subtle aspect of the ability: I could absorb energy directly from plants. At first, it hadn't seemed like a big deal. But then I considered it in the context of this world. Everything here, from the trees to the grass, was saturated with Nature Energy. Absorbing that energy was the very foundation of Sage Mode, the source of Hashirama's god-like power. They hadn't brought it up, and frankly, I was too worried about the risk of improperly absorbing it and turning into a stone statue to even consider trying it. That was a path to be explored with extreme caution, if at all.

For now, I had enough to work with. And enough to worry about.

AN

I hope the other POVs were fun, let me know what you thought of them or if I should stick strictly to Yuuki’s POV only. I know I promised a longer chapter but I was starting to experience some burn-out  at the end and I’d rather not delay it much longer.