Sora's body heaved violently, sweat soaking his clothes and plastering them to his skin.
His chakra was nearly drained dry.
With the Top-tier Uzumaki Physique fused with Wood Release source energy, his total chakra reserves already far exceeded those of his peers—and even most adult ninjas.
But it still wasn't enough.
Before him lay a grotesque assortment of wooden creations: jagged stakes jutting from the ground, tangled vines, and several teetering, structurally failed wooden houses.
This was merely the most basic shape manipulation.
It was still far from the First Hokage's "divine power" that could reshape landscapes and summon entire forests.
The essence of Wood Release was creating life.
It wasn't just chakra consumption—it was an immense drain on life force itself.
Each time he grew trees, he felt vitality being pulled from his body, only to be replenished by even greater regenerative power.
A cycle.
A painful process of refining life energy, with himself as the furnace.
He tried forming a few more seals.
The ground barely bulged—no seedling emerged.
Truly, not a drop left.
Sora collapsed backward onto the hard rocks, gasping heavily.
Exhaustion flooded every corner of his body like a tide.
But excitement gleamed in his amber eyes.
This feeling of pushing himself to the absolute limit—it was exhilarating.
He could clearly sense it: each time he depleted his chakra and recovered, both his total reserves and physical resilience grew, however slightly.
This was the most solid way to grow stronger.
He closed his eyes and rested for about ten minutes, regaining some mental clarity.
[Replicate and play: Flying Thunder God Technique]
Space shifted.
In the next instant, he was back in his dim apartment.
Almost simultaneously with his appearance, the shadow clone snoring on the bed poofed into white smoke and vanished.
A massive flood of memories surged into his mind.
Having "slept" a full day and night—exhaustion gone, spirit refreshed.
Perfect cover.
Sora shook his head, dispelling the false fullness from the clone.
Physical fatigue and mental weariness couldn't be faked.
He sniffed himself—a mix of sweat and salty sea breeze.
Time for a bath.
Konoha Village, public bathhouse.
In an era without private bathrooms, this was the best place for common ninjas to unwind.
Steam rose thickly in the massive pool, blurring vision.
Sora sank his entire body into the scalding water; the night's accumulated fatigue seemed to seep out through his pores.
Comfortable.
He leaned against the edge, savoring the rare peace.
The bathhouse wasn't crowded—just clusters of ninjas and villagers chatting quietly about everyday matters.
This was peace.
The very thing he wanted to protect—and control.
Just as he was drifting toward sleep in bliss, an extremely faint yet distinctly out-of-place chakra fluctuation caught his attention.
It came from the thick wooden wall separating the men's and women's sides.
Very subtle—nearly blending into the surroundings.
But after devouring multiple bloodlines, Sora's perception had long transcended human limits.
Someone was peeping.
And a master at it.
Controlling chakra to this degree was no ordinary feat.
Sora's heart remained calm—he even felt like laughing.
In Konoha, someone capable of this with such strength? Process of elimination pointed to one person.
He subtly shifted position for a better angle and quietly observed the wall.
Sure enough.
High on the wall, an inconspicuous knot in the wood was slightly more translucent than normal.
A sleazy gaze peered through it toward the women's side.
At the same time, a chakra presence—powerful enough to chill the soul, yet deliberately restrained—lurked behind the wall.
No mistake.
One of the Legendary Sannin, the Perverted Sage—Jiraiya.
How amusing.
A ninja this strong—a living legend of the ninja world—was crouched like a street thug, peeping into the women's bath.
And his concealment technique was utterly primitive.
Purely relying on terrifying control to minimize his presence.
No advanced invisibility or barrier jutsu.
Blatantly open peeping.
Sora suddenly found this world far more interesting than he'd imagined.
The strong weren't always lofty gods—they had all sorts of desires and quirks, some downright base.
This world was full of absurd delights.
Sora sank deeper into the water, leaving only his head above.
Jiraiya.
One of the Three Sannin, a top Kage-level powerhouse, teacher to the Fourth Hokage, future guide to the Seventh.
A living legend—currently satisfying his basest hobby in the most primitive way.
What precious intel.
What a comical scene.
A perfect script aligned with his "little sun" persona instantly formed in Sora's mind.
He suddenly stood from the water, splashing everywhere.
One hand over his mouth, the other pointing at the wall—he struck a pose of utter shock.
Then, with all his lung power, he unleashed a scream that echoed through the entire bathhouse, brimming with youthful righteousness.
"There's a pervert peeping into the women's bath!"
The shout was full-throated and piercing.
The bathhouse fell silent for one second.
Then exploded.
"What?"
"Where?"
"Outrageous!"
In the men's side, the relaxed ninjas and villagers surged with indignation, rising from the water to hunt the brazen intruder.
From the women's side came even louder screams and curses.
Chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Sora saw the sleazy gaze vanish from the knot.
The chakra fluctuation flickered and rapidly retreated.
He escaped.
Sora sank back into the water, satisfied—merit hidden, name unsung.
He was just a village-loving, justice-driven ordinary Chunin doing what any conscientious Konoha citizen would.
Any trouble it caused the legendary Sannin wasn't his concern.
Amid the uproar, he leisurely finished bathing, dried off, and changed into clean clothes.
Leaving the bathhouse, he could still hear the chaotic discussions and stern questioning from arriving Konoha Military Police.
The air buzzed with lively energy.
Barbecue restaurant—boisterous and packed.
"Sora! You jerk—going to the bathhouse alone without us!"
Surviving Chunin Mori grumbled indistinctly around a mouthful of grilled meat.
"Hahaha, I was just too wiped from the mission! Reeked all over!"
Sora raised a large mug of barley tea, beaming. "Come on, Mori-senpai—my toast to you! For making it back alive!"
"Well said! Cheers!"
"For Konoha!"
"Cheers!"
Mugs clinked crisply.
The survivors vented pent-up emotions in the most direct way.
Sora became the table's center.
He enthusiastically poured for everyone, animatedly recounting his "good luck" on the mission—attributing every heart-pounding battle to "coincidence" and "fluke."
"…Then I just casually threw a fireball forward—who knew the Kumogakure guy would run right into it! Hahaha, lucky, right?"
"And that Wind Release—I meant to clear some branches, but ended up slicing the guy! Scared myself!"
His vivid storytelling, mixed with lingering fear and embarrassment, drew roars of laughter.
"Kid, your luck is insane!"
"Next mission, I'm sticking with you—gonna rub off some of that fortune!"
No one doubted him.
His expressions were too sincere, his smile too infectious.
To them, Akashi Sora was a lucky star who somehow created miracles in clutch moments.
A reliable, slightly airheaded, lovable junior.
Sora clinked mugs with everyone, amber eyes sparkling under the lights.
A flawless social disguise.
The next day.
Sora arrived punctually at the Anbu underground base.
Unlike the sunny Konoha above, this place was eternally cold and oppressive.
The air carried disinfectant and faint blood.
Everyone wore cold masks, addressed by codenames.
Sora skillfully retrieved his mask and donned it—his aura shifting instantly.
The "little sun" energy and cheer vanished.
Replaced by the silence and detachment unique to Anbu.
He entered the captain's private office.
Kakashi sat behind the desk, flipping through an orange-covered book.
"Captain."
"You're here."
Kakashi set the book down, his dead-fish eye turning to Sora.
"Good report."
"Yes."
"I've submitted the Jonin promotion recommendation."
"Thank you, Captain." Sora's reply was flat.
"But the Hokage says further evaluation is needed," Kakashi added. "So don't cause any trouble."
"Understood."
The conversation was as bland as discussing the weather.
But Sora knew—this was Kakashi both warning and protecting him.
"Alright, come with me."
Kakashi stood and headed to the outdoor training ground.
Sora followed silently.
On the field, the rest of the squad was already present.
Yamanaka Kaede was there too. Masked, she merely nodded slightly as Sora and Kakashi approached.
That night of fighting side-by-side felt like ancient history.
In Anbu, emotions beyond missions were extraneous.
Besides the squad, one extra person stood on the field.
A boy.
He wore standard Anbu uniform but no mask.
He stood quietly, as if blending into the surrounding darkness.
The boy appeared about Sora's age—expression calm, almost indifferent.
Most striking: the deep lines running from the corners of his eyes to his nose.
Nasolabial folds.
They lent his youthful face a maturity and gravity far beyond his years.
Sora's heart skipped a beat.
Uchiha Itachi.
In Konoha, that name represented an unreplicable legend.
Graduated academy at seven, awakened Sharingan at eight, Chunin at ten.
A true prodigy favored by the gods.
And a walking, top-tier "Sharingan source energy material library."
Compared to Sasuke's undeveloped potential, the Itachi before him was a rich mine already partially excavated—and of supreme quality!
Kakashi stepped to the front of the group.
He pointed to the silent boy.
"Introducing our squad's new member."
All eyes focused on Uchiha Itachi.
"Codename: Crow."
Kakashi's words landed.
"From today, he's our comrade. Welcome him."