An Uchiha’s grimoire guide to winning: chapter 10: the Genin’s experience

This must be hell.

I let myself fall into the grass, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The ground was cool against my back, damp from the morning dew that hadn't quite burned off yet, and for a moment I just lay there, staring up at the sky through the leaves of the training ground's trees. My lungs burned. My arms felt like jelly. There was a particularly nasty bruise forming on my ribs where aunt Fumiko's kick had landed, the kind that would turn spectacular shades of purple and yellow over the next few days.

The teasing voice of my aunt Fumiko drifted down from somewhere above me. "Ain't what you expected the life of a genin to be, huh?"

I groaned, not even bothering to lift my head to look at her. "Yes."

Sure, I had known that most genin began with D-rank missions. Missions that were essentially chores, glorified civilian work that somehow required shinobi intervention. Catching cats that had escaped from their owners, tending to gardens for people too old or too lazy to do it themselves, babysitting screaming children while their parents went out for the evening, painting fences, cleaning up trash, delivering groceries. The grunt work of the village, the bottom of the barrel, the stuff that made you question why you'd spent years training to be a killer when you were instead playing gardener for the fifth time this week.

I had known it would be tedious. The manga had made that clear enough, showing Team 7's frustrated faces as they dealt with Tora the demon cat or weeded some old lady's vegetable patch. But I hadn't known it would be that tedious. Hadn't understood the soul-crushing monotony of it, the way each mission blurred into the next until you couldn't remember if you'd caught three cats or thirty, if you'd painted two fences or twenty.

I was supposed to become someone so strong that even Hashirama and Madara would look like nothing in comparison, someone who could reshape the shinobi world, who possessed abilities that broke all the established rules. Not babysitting babies and toddlers who screamed and cried and somehow always needed diaper changes at the worst possible moments. Not playing the role of a gardener, pulling weeds under the hot sun while some civilian lectured me about proper soil pH levels as if I hadn't spent years learning to manipulate chakra.

If it was only that, if it was just the D-rank missions, it would have been bearable. Annoying, sure, but bearable. Something I could grit my teeth through while keeping my eyes on the bigger picture, the real missions that would come eventually.

But since I had become a genin, each of my days were separated into two distinct phases of suffering. Before noon, I was the bitch of the village through D-rank missions, running around at the beck and call of civilians who saw shinobi as convenient servants rather than trained killers. And after noon, I was the bitch of my aunt through training that had somehow gotten even more intense than before, if that was even possible.

Don't get me wrong, I was happy that my theory had been right. Happy that my aunt was much stronger than before, that my pink slime had been enough to, from what I'd heard whispered in the compound through the help of my abilities, give her chakra reserves at the low end rivaling those of Madara Uchiha himself. The Madara, the legend, the ghost that hung over every Uchiha's head as the standard we could never quite reach. And Fumiko had reached it, had grasped that level of power through my ability rather than through decades of combat and loss.

She'd been able to skip through all the steps to unlock the Mangekyō and the Eternal Mangekyō, bypassing the traditional requirements of trauma and eye transplants. No death required, no blindness to fear, just evolution granted through consumption of that pink substance. Happy that it meant my aunt would be safer now, that she could be said to be the equal in raw power to someone like Hashirama, who was considered the God of Shinobi, whose name was spoken with reverence even by people who'd never met him.

I was happy that it had allowed her to reach, to unlock the Blaze Release. The flames of Amaterasu, black fire that burned hotter than anything else in the world, that couldn't be extinguished by normal means, that Sasuke and Itachi had wielded in the manga. Amongst many other things, abilities she was still discovering, still learning to control as her new eyes revealed capabilities she'd never imagined possessing.

What I kind of regretted, even if I knew the necessity of it, even if I understood why it had to be this way, was how much harsher and longer our training sessions had become, especially after I had become a genin.

I didn't know how it exactly happened, whatever political maneuvering the clan had done to make it possible, but all of a sudden, I had at ten years old graduated from the Academy. And the Jonin sensei who had been assigned to me, and only me, which made it more of an apprenticeship than the traditional three-man cell, which while it had happened before was rare enough to raise eyebrows, said Jonin was my aunt.

It smelled like blatant interference and nepotism. Reeked of it, actually. The kind of thing that should have caused a massive scandal, that should have had other clans crying foul, that should have made Tobirama personally intervene to shut it down. And I truly wondered how the clan head, how Uncle Arashi, had been able to plan and execute this with Tobirama actively hating our clan, with the Hokage looking for any excuse to curtail Uchiha influence and power.

The political capital it must have cost, the favors called in, the compromises made, I couldn't even begin to imagine. But somehow they'd pulled it off, had arranged for me to have personal instruction from a Jonin-level shinobi who also happened to be family, who knew my abilities and could train me specifically for them.

My aunt's voice interrupted my brooding, warm and teasing. "Cheer up, you know that's for a good cause."

I forced myself to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles and that spectacular bruise on my ribs. "Yeah, I know. Doesn't stop it from making it annoying though."

My aunt had told me, back when I'd first started the D-rank grind and complained loudly about the apparent waste of time and talent, that these missions existed for two important reasons even if they didn't seem important at first glance.

The first thing was that it created an illusion of closeness, of humanity, to the civilian population who was indeed the main source of said missions. The people who hired genin to catch their cats or weed their gardens or watch their children, they got to see us as people rather than weapons. Got to chat with us, to learn our names, to watch us struggle with mundane tasks just like they did. It made us approachable, relatable, human in a way that was easy to forget when you only saw shinobi as the masked figures who appeared and disappeared in the night.

This was so that they would not be seen by the population as the killers we were, the people they ought to be scared of because we could end their lives with casual ease, but as protectors, as friends, as neighbors who just happened to have extraordinary abilities. It built trust, created bonds between the shinobi population and the civilian one, made the village feel like an actual community rather than two separate castes tolerating each other's existence.

The second reason was because it disciplined us. It showed that the shinobi accomplishing these tedious, often degrading tasks had the capacity to listen, to obey, to do things they might not like or find ridiculous, to be ready to debase themselves as long as it was for the benefit of the mission. Because if you couldn't handle the humiliation of chasing a cat around for an hour, if you couldn't swallow your pride enough to take orders from civilians who knew nothing about combat, then how could you be trusted with actual important missions? How could your superiors rely on you to follow orders in enemy territory, to maintain cover even when it was uncomfortable, to do what was necessary rather than what was easy?

This was why you needed, on average, at least fifteen of those D-rank missions when you had a sensei to be even considered for a higher-tier mission as a genin, something like a C-rank that involved actual travel outside the village. Apparently, it took at least five times that amount, seventy-five completed D-ranks, when the genin didn't have a Jonin sensei guiding them. The three-man cells without proper supervision had to prove themselves more thoroughly, had to demonstrate competence and discipline over a longer period.

I'd been doing D-ranks for what felt like forever but was probably only a few months. Fifteen missions of pure tedium, of biting my tongue and smiling and pretending that yes, catching your cat was absolutely a worthy use of my training and abilities. Fifteen missions of slowly losing my will to live while maintaining the cheerful genin facade.

My aunt's voice took on a different quality, something almost sing-song. "This is why I think you're really going to like what I am going to say~"

I looked at her properly for the first time since collapsing, taking in her expression. She was smiling, that particular smile that meant she knew something I didn't, that she was about to drop information that would change things. Hope, dangerous and desperate, flared in my chest.

"Tell me you're not joking," I said slowly, sitting up fully and ignoring my body's protests, "or I swear on the unrequited love between Madara and Hashirama, I'll find a way to give you a fate worse than death, Auntie."

Her smile widened, genuine amusement dancing in her eyes. "Woah, woah, firstly, I see that you are becoming a young man of culture. Finally caved and read some of the novels I shared with you, huh?" She leaned back against the tree, crossing her arms. "And secondly, it was not unrequited! It's just Mito with her evil ways who came and cucked Hashirama from Madara. Classic love triangle tragedy."

I felt my face heat slightly, embarrassment warring with indignation. "You threw those books at me after a training session where I couldn't even move my legs. It was either read that or die from boredom, and that was the slightly less worse version." I paused, genuine curiosity overcoming embarrassment. "Also, I wanted to ask, who was crazy enough to write such... filth?"

The novels in question were romance stories, or what passed for romance in this world. Lurid, dramatic tales of forbidden love and passionate encounters and emotional devastation. The one I'd been forced to read due to immobility and lack of other options had focused on Hashirama and Madara, casting them as tragic lovers separated by duty and circumstance and political reality. In other words, it was a Shinobi Yaoi story.

It was... not what I'd expected from shinobi literature.

My aunt's expression turned thoughtful, almost analytical. "Said filth that you liked, that is also very popular amongst noble civilians, civilians who can read, and shinobi alike." She paused, and when she spoke again there was something darker in her tone. "And it probably was Tobirama."

I blinked. "Don't believe you. Why would he write something like this about his own brother and someone like Madara who we all knew he hated?"

Fumiko's smile faded, replaced by something more serious, more calculating. The shift was immediate and jarring

"Ren, when the average person today thinks of Madara Uchiha, who do you think they imagine first? The ghost of the Uchiha clan? The equal of Hashirama? A genius who redefined what was possible?" She shook her head slowly. "No. For the average person, because of those books, Madara is someone who loved obsessively for the worst, who was self-destructive, who lost the love of the most important person in his life and in the end amounted to nothing. A tragic figure, yes, but ultimately a failure defined by his inability to move on."

She pushed off from the tree, her voice taking on an edge. "Even shinobi who should know otherwise, who should remember Madara as the warrior who could level mountains, would still have a part of this image in their head when they think of him. The lovesick fool, the man who couldn't let go, the cautionary tale about letting personal feelings override duty."

Understanding, cold and unpleasant, settled into my gut. "Tobirama did it because by doing so, he spat on the legacy, on the weight of the name Madara."

"Exactly." Fumiko nodded, looking pleased that I'd grasped it. "Character assassination, but subtle. He didn't write propaganda calling Madara a monster or a traitor. That would have been obvious. Instead, he made Madara sympathetic, tragic, human. Made people pity him rather than fear him. And pity is so much more effective at diminishing someone's legacy than hatred could ever be."

Could Tobirama create an erotica book about his brother and Madara just so that he could try to spite and spit on the legacy and image of the man forever? Yeah, that was something I could actually believe the man would do. It was clever, insidious, the kind of long-term thinking that I could see Tobirama capable of. You couldn't fight an image that had been carefully constructed over years, couldn't argue against emotions that had been subtly implanted through fiction.

My aunt's expression shifted again, back to playfulness, the serious moment passing as quickly as it had come. "Secondly, we've done enough D-rank missions, which means that if you think you're ready for it, we can try to see if a C-rank is available. Watching you suffer and be annoyed going through D-ranks is not as funny as it was at the beginning."

The words took a moment to process, my brain still stuck on the Tobirama revelation. Then they hit me properly. C-rank. Actual mission. Outside the village. No more cats or gardens or screaming children.

"You found it funny," I said, grabbing a kunai from my pouch and throwing it at her face in one smooth motion.

She leaned her head slightly to the side, barely moving, letting the kunai pass by her ear without any concern. It was effortless, casual, the kind of reaction that came from having perception and reflexes far beyond human norm. "Oh, don't be like that, little Renny. You'll understand when you're older. You have to find your amusement as much as you can in this life."

I grumbled something unflattering under my breath, pushing myself to my feet despite my body's protests. The soreness would fade, it always did, my recovery speed enhanced by my unusual constitution. "Let's go."

We made our way through the village toward the Hokage Tower, that massive structure that dominated Konoha's skyline. The afternoon sun was warm on my face, the streets busy with the usual traffic of civilians and shinobi going about their business. People nodded to us as we passed, recognizing the Uchiha clan symbol, some with respect and others with the wariness that had become depressingly common.

The Hokage Tower's mission room was less crowded than I'd expected, just a few other shinobi browsing the available assignments posted on the walls. Fumiko moved toward the C-rank section with purpose, her eyes scanning the various scrolls and papers that detailed missions available for genin with Jonin supervision.

I watched her inspect them, taking her time, occasionally pulling one down to read more carefully before replacing it. She was looking for something specific, I realized, not just grabbing the first available C-rank. Whatever criteria she had in mind, most of these missions weren't meeting them.

Finally, after what felt like forever but was probably only ten minutes, she selected one, pulling the scroll from the board and taking it with what seemed like a nod of satisfaction.

She gave it to a secretary stationed at the desk, a chunin who would handle the administrative side of accepting the mission. The woman took it, made a note in what looked like a ledger, and nodded back. Official now. We were committed.

Fumiko walked back to me, and I could see she was pleased with her choice. "A simple escort mission. The client shall be informed that we've accepted, so when they're ready to depart, favorably tomorrow if everything goes smoothly, they'll meet up with us first thing in the morning."

I felt excitement bubble up, tempered by caution. An escort mission could mean anything from babysitting a merchant to protecting a noble. The details mattered. "Is there anything special about it that made you choose it instead of the others?"

Her expression became thoughtful, almost careful in a way that made my instincts prickle. "Well, first, it's in the Land of Rain, which means a nice trip between Aunty and nephew and the possibility for you to see things beyond Konoha while things are relatively peaceful. Many people around my age only were able to discover the world outside of Konoha while said outside was actively trying to kill us all, and that kind of thing gives you a warped sense of the world that's hard to dissociate away from."

Her voice softened, carrying a weight of experiences I didn't fully understand. "I don't want this for you, Ren. I want your first exposure to the other nations to be in a time when you can actually appreciate what you're seeing, can understand different cultures and landscapes without associating everything with death and combat."

The sentiment was touching, protective in a way that made my chest tight. Before I could respond, she continued.

"The second thing is, while we're supposed to protect the client, we will not be the only protection. If things happen the way they should, even if there were a threat to the client, it should be one minor enough that we don't have to intervene. Multiple layers of security, low risk, perfect for a first C-rank."

That made sense. Ease me into actual missions rather than throwing me into something dangerous right off the bat. Smart, responsible, exactly what I'd expect from someone who actually cared about my development rather than just seeing me as a resource.

Then her expression shifted, becoming almost mischievous, and I felt my relief evaporate. "The third reason is that, according to reliable sources, men from the Land of Rain are very pretty, affectionate, and easy to get with when you show that you can take all that sadness and misery in their heart and channel it into something more positive."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache building. "Your books are your reliable source, aren't they, Auntie?"

She straightened, looking affronted, as if I'd accused her of something heinous. "And also what I heard and was told by female shinobi who went there in the past. Multiple independent confirmations."

I gave her my best deadpan expression, the one I'd perfected over months of dealing with her nonsense. "So, in other words, gossip."

I sighed, long and suffering, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of having to deal with a grown woman who sometimes acted like she was twelve. "Life isn't a book, you know, Auntie. It's pathetic at this point, but it's okay. Like I told you once, there will be a little place in my heart and my home for you when you become an old, bitter, lonely spinster with a lot of cats."

Fumiko reacted as if I'd physically stabbed her, her hand clutching her chest dramatically, eyes wide with exaggerated betrayal. The performance was Oscar-worthy, really.

She pouted, actually pouted, her lower lip sticking out in a way that would have been adorable if she wasn't a grown woman capable of incinerating city blocks. "Ruthless as always."

I felt a smile tug at my lips despite myself. "You're a grown-ass woman. Stop pouting like a child. It doesn't work."

She whispered under her breath, but loud enough that I could definitely hear, "It works though."

Before I could respond to that, before I could point out that yes, it absolutely did work and that was exactly why she shouldn't be allowed to do it, she continued speaking, her tone shifting back to something more serious. "Anyways, the fourth reason is about who this mission came from."

I felt my attention sharpen, instincts honed by training recognizing that shift in her demeanor. "Who it came from?"

She smiled, but it wasn't the playful expression from before. This one was different, carrying weight and significance. "Indeed, this is the most important reason. It comes from an Uzumaki."

The way she said it, the way a shadow passed over her face and seriousness erased any trace of playfulness from her expression, made the word sound both like a good and ominous thing. Her entire presence changed, posture straightening, eyes focusing in a way that reminded me she was a Jonin, a warrior who'd seen things I couldn't yet imagine.

Uzumaki. The clan that had been allied with Konoha since its founding. Mito's clan. The people known for their incredible life force, their sealing techniques that were considered the best in the world, their distinctive red hair and chakra chains. One of the two clans with the Senju descending of Asura, the youngest of the sage of the six path. The clan from which Ninja Jesus, Naruto, the Protagonist will come from. A clan that, if I remembered the manga correctly, would eventually be destroyed, scattered, nearly wiped out in the wars to come.

But right now they were still a power, still had their village of Uzushiogakure, still maintained their alliance with Konoha.

"Why does that matter?" I asked carefully, watching her face for clues. "I mean, they're allies, right? Isn't it normal for allies to hire Konoha shinobi for escort missions?"

Fumiko's expression remained serious, and when she spoke her voice carried layers of meaning I was still learning to parse. "The Uzumaki don't hire just anyone for their escorts, Ren. They have their own shinobi, their own security. When they specifically request Konoha assistance, it means something. It means the situation is delicate enough that they want the visible presence of their alliance on display, or it means they're testing something for the best and probably the worst.”

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Failed roll :

Cinderella [200 - Peter Pan] A makeshift boat-carriage with a small cottage attached. It was based roughly on fairy tales such as Cinderella, and is powered by an old-fashioned sewing machine. It uses sails to travel both on land and sea, and it can also travel through the air using a magic stone inside the carriage. Could feasibly be combined with The Little House.

Luna Ball [400 - Sailor Moon] You now have a Luna Ball! Which is like a magical swiss army knife, but on steroids. This can hypnotize people and get them to believe anything within reason (Such as you being a married couple’s niece or nephew who has come over to stay for an indefinite amount of time, letting you mooch off them), can turn into a (nonlethal) gun that looks like an actual gun indistinguishable from the real deal, a parasol, and other assorted items.

300CP banked ( not an error. Ren only gained 200 CP after failing the cinderellla roll.