"A-a-a-gh! Dammit! I just need all of it!" I barely managed to keep myself from clutching my head in the middle of the hall. My eyes darted feverishly across the list, and my hand instinctively tightened around my notebook. Even after ruthlessly crossing out everything non-essential, the numbers refused to align.
I recalculated one more time: 170 points. My balance was only 164. Six miserable points stood between me and the perfect set, but in Konoha, debts are never forgiven—especially when it comes to the archives.
"Okay, calm down, Kotetsu... Analyze," I forced myself to exhale deeply, suppressing my greed. "I'll have to drop the Theory of Spatial Manipulation for now. Ten points is a tempting price, but let's be honest—I can't implement it yet anyway. That's work for years down the line, and I just need to survive this week."
Having made that difficult decision, I struck the spatial theory from the list and headed to the registration desk. A bored-looking Chunin sat behind the counter, looking as if he hated every second of his job. I laid my list before him.
"That will be 160 points," he said dryly without looking up. His fingers danced habitually across the ledger, deducting the amount from my account. My final haul of knowledge looked impressive:
Elemental Decomposition (Earth) — 30 pts. (I chose Earth because, logically, I have offensive capabilities but lack defense. I considered Water, but it's too finicky. Without a nearby body of water, I'd waste colossal amounts of chakra creating it from nothing. In a war of attrition, that's a death sentence given my chakra levels. Earth, however... is always under my feet.)
Technique Development Methodology — 20 pts.
Stealth Potential — 15 pts. (In wartime, knowing how to keep your chakra from "shining" is a matter of life and death.)
Hidden Body Strength — 25 pts. (My insurance against the side effects of "heavy" chakra. These instructions on strengthening Tenketsu channels ensure they don't burst under serious strain.)
Fuinjutsu as a Primary Style — 70 pts. (The most expensive purchase. A massive array of information on sealing formulas. Fuinjutsu has immense potential, and since there aren't many masters left by the Boruto era, I might as well occupy this niche now.)
I scooped up the heavy bundle of scrolls, feeling the pleasant chill of the parchment through the fabric. Inside, everything was singing with delight. I had spent nearly every cent in my pocket and every point in my file, but I wasn't holding mere waste paper. This was a precisely calculated path—my personal blueprint.
"Sign here. Remember, the originals must be returned to the archives in one day," the ninja-librarian barked, sliding a tracking sheet toward me.
Copy it, memorize it, absorb it, return it, I thought, scribbling a sweeping signature and practically bolting out of the building.
Once home, I locked every bolt and drew the curtains. Silence. Only my heavy breathing and the scent of old paper filled the room. I tossed my flak jacket onto a chair and spread the scrolls across the table in one motion.
I wanted to open them all at once—to devour the Earth style analysis or flip through the Tenketsu strengthening methods. But my gaze was pulled like a magnet to the thickest, heaviest tube. The one that cost me 70 points—nearly half my fortune.
The Fuinjutsu Scroll.
"Well, let's see what I traded a quiet life for," I whispered, snapping the wax seal. I expected dry tables and boring formulas, but the text began with a direct address from the author in a bold, confident hand:
"If you are reading this, it means you have purchased my collection of everything I've gathered throughout my career as a shinobi. My experience, my developments, and my theories—this is what I wish to pass to the next generation. Remember: a seal is not a drawing; it is frozen will."
I involuntarily straightened my back. Reading the notes of someone who laid their life on the altar of Fuinjutsu felt like talking to a master's ghost. But the next lines made my eyes widen.
"Along with my research, I am passing down a technique. Though it is not of a high rank, it is my personal development. Technique: The Empty Shell Seal. The name reveals little, but to master it, you must study everything in this scroll. Only by understanding the basics can you activate it."
I greedily dove into the description. The concept was genius in its simplicity: a specific contour is applied to the body. This seal slowly, drop by drop, absorbs the user's excess chakra while they are resting. In battle, with a snap of the fingers, the seal "breaks," releasing the accumulated impulse. This provides a sudden, explosive acceleration to the limb.
"Whoa..." I whispered. "It's like Tsunade's technique, though hers is much more complex regarding chakra accumulation and regeneration."
The author honestly admitted he only reached the stage of 1–2 bursts and rated the technique as D-rank. But my analytical mind was already connecting the dots. A D-rank for free? No, this smells like something much more serious, I thought, rubbing my chin. "Alright, author. Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."
Two days later, I sat at my desk, staring into space. My eyes burned from insomnia, and my ink-stained fingers were trembling. Rabbit hole, I recalled my optimistic thought. Yeah, right. This isn't a hole; it's a damn abandoned mine shaft, and I've been buried under tons of kanji.
I had been dead wrong about the D-rank. The author must have been a modest genius. In practice, it was ten times more difficult. Basic sealing involves inanimate objects—holding a thing, not energy. Sealing living chakra directly into a human body is a different level entirely.
Problem #1: Automation. Calibrating the seal so chakra flows out of your channels automatically while you sleep or eat is peak performance. I had to create a "parasitic" funnel that siphons energy without damaging the circulation system. One millimeter off, and the seal could suck you dry at the worst moment.
Problem #2: The Living Vessel. Skin isn't paper. It sweats, it stretches, and your own chakra is constantly circulating through it. Keeping the structure from blurring or detonating from a random spark of emotion required concentration that nearly gave me a nosebleed.
Problem #3: Compatibility. The author wrote for "normal" shinobi. My chakra control in these delicate formulas was like a bull in a china shop. My chakra was too dense; it literally "corroded" the weaker contours of the seal. I had to recalculate the resistance of every symbol to hold my energy weight.
The hardest part was the psychological barrier. Chakra is the union of spiritual and physical energy. For the "Shell" to work automatically, I had to set the synthesis to happen without my conscious intervention. Imagine trying to force your heart to beat in a different rhythm without thinking about it.
The chakra had to separate from the main flow, mix in the right proportions, and settle in the seal on its own. The moment I tried to control it, the seal overflowed. The moment I got distracted, the flow died. Getting that "natural" separation was incredibly difficult.
"This isn't D-rank..." I croaked, rubbing my temples. "This is B-rank at minimum based on the control required, if not higher."
The essence of the "Empty Shell" was deeper than mere speed. It was an external battery. If I can make it work, I don't just get a "burst"—I get a massive accumulation of potential. A strike that starts at zero velocity and hits maximum speed in a fraction of a second.
"Two hundred and thirty-seven corrections," I muttered, looking at my scribbled-over drafts. "If this works, I'm not calling it a 'Shell.' I'm calling it the 'Beast's Cage'."