"For ordinary people, reading such a massive amount of material would be pure torture. But if Shiraishi truly is a studious child, then he will inevitably become immersed in the atmosphere of learning."
Chiyo could never quite understand Ebizō's obsession with knowledge and exploration. Compared to abstract theories and books, she valued family more, and she valued Sunagakure's future even more.
Improving the village's harsh, barren reality was the lifelong pursuit of her generation.
Her younger brother, however, was different.
Perhaps because Ebizō was too intelligent, too clear-headed, he cared little for such matters. He lived almost entirely within his own intellectual world.
Inside the study, Shiraishi worked in complete focus.
Using his glasses to retrieve information, he linked a single concept to related explanations scattered across several books. After reading through one volume, he would reorganize its contents in his mind, then distill everything into concise bullet points written down one by one.
By the end of the first day alone, he had recorded more than a thousand key points.
Observing quietly from the shadows, Ebizō nodded in silent approval.
Chiyo, on the other hand, wiped sweat from her brow in relief—her respect for her brother's methods growing yet again.
That evening, when Shiraishi took his leave, he deliberately left his notebook behind.
Daytime was for studying.
Nighttime was for training.
Taijutsu.
Psychic control.
Refinement and precision.
The complexity of further developing Psychic techniques far exceeded Shiraishi's expectations. Beyond being categorized under genjutsu, a large portion of psychic abilities required coordination with Yin Release.
In theory, Shiraishi understood Yin–Yang Release well enough.
In practice, it was a completely different matter.
He lacked real familiarity—only abstract concepts.
Ebizō's study was an invaluable opportunity. After a simple search, Shiraishi compiled all materials related to Yin–Yang Release. Even so, it wasn't enough. He needed more references.
Next time, I really need to push Arakawa to hand over that library pass…
Back in the Oasis Ring, Ebizō opened the notebook Shiraishi had left behind.
The more he read, the happier he became.
"A child who loves learning like this—how could he possibly be a spy?" Ebizō said with a chuckle. "If any other village had found such a seedling, they would've protected him long ago."
A person's notes revealed everything.
This was how Ebizō liked to see through people—and his fondness for talent only deepened.
"All right, all right. Stop rambling in my ear."
Seeing her brother so pleased, Chiyo's own mood lifted as well. Even her earlier coldness toward Shiraishi softened.
Before long, Ebizō began annotating the notebook himself—marking overlooked details, pointing out misunderstandings, and correcting flawed interpretations.
Second day.
Third day.
Through this ongoing exchange—questions, notes, replies—Ebizō gradually sensed something amiss.
"Strange," he muttered. "This child's understanding of the ninjutsu system feels… fragmented."
At first, Ebizō had merely been impressed by Shiraishi's wild ideas.
For example, the notion that compressing and refining telekinetic force could lead to a technique capable of manipulating one's own gravity.
Unlike old-fashioned conservatives, Ebizō didn't dismiss such thinking. In fact, he often left encouraging remarks beside those ideas.
But as the days passed and their written exchanges deepened, concern crept in.
Was Shiraishi investing too much effort into an illusory, self-created system?
Was he trying to carve out an entirely new framework of power?
The shinobi world's ninjutsu systems had evolved over countless generations. Attempting to create a completely new path was unrealistic.
After all—
He was not the Sage of Six Paths.
He was not a god.
By day, Ebizō left annotations in the notebook.
By night, he read and reflected on them.
Despite the vast gap in age and experience, the two communicated through learning itself.
Ebizō tried several times to steer Shiraishi back—but failed.
In some areas, he even found himself gradually persuaded.
And while this intellectual tug-of-war continued, on the fourth night, Shiraishi received an unexpected visitor.
"Teacher Pakura? You're back?"
Standing outside his home was Pakura, dust still clinging to her clothes. She looked as though she had rushed straight back from Kikyō Mountain without rest.
"I heard about what happened in Quicksand Valley," Pakura said. "So I came back to see you. But I already know you're fine now."
She paused, then smiled faintly.
"Sunagakure's genius. Favored by Elder Ebizō. You did well this time."
Her emotions had clearly settled. The anxiety that drove her back had proven unnecessary. Relief washed over her—and pride followed.
This child shone too brightly.
He didn't know how to hide or protect himself, and such brilliance often invited disaster. Pakura understood the darkness within Sunagakure's upper ranks all too well—that was why she avoided internal power struggles.
But now that Shiraishi's status as a genius had been firmly established…
Perhaps that reputation itself had become a form of protection.
"I told you already—he's fine."
From the shadows, Karura, wife of the Fourth Kazekage, looked at her former classmate with mild exasperation. Pakura's temper hadn't changed at all—still impulsive, still reckless.
Pakura's unauthorized return from Kikyō Mountain had infuriated Rasa.
Even though it was done out of concern for her student, it only deepened his resentment toward her.
Karura herself was already some months pregnant—her first child with Rasa. Even the baby's name had been decided.
"You're pregnant," Pakura said helplessly. "Stop running around. Go back and rest."
No matter how domineering she was elsewhere, Pakura could never be harsh with Karura. They had been close friends since their academy days.
"Thank you, Teacher."
After seeing Karura off, Shiraishi bowed sincerely.
Pakura waved her hand dismissively.
"As your teacher—and your commander—looking after you is only natural. I haven't seen Maki in a long time, either. I'll take my leave."
Watching Pakura's figure fade into the distance, Shiraishi felt warmth settle in his chest.
And with it, his resolve to grow stronger only deepened.
"Stone… are you really going to use this?"
The next day, inside the Jogaki family workshop, Jogaki Shikasa stared at Shiraishi with unease.
The vial in his hand contained a violently unstable energy solution. Injecting it into Shiraishi's arm could easily lead to catastrophic consequences—at the very least, massive cellular necrosis.
"Relax," Shiraishi replied calmly. "I've calculated everything. I'm not stupid enough to gamble with my own arm."
He added lightly, "After all, I still need to use the Deep-Sea Mithril weapon your father forged for me."
Talking to Shikasa was intentional—it helped divert his focus.
The moment the agent was injected, a violent, explosive pain surged through Shiraishi's entire body.
"Are you okay, Stone?!"
"I'm fine…" Shiraishi hissed through clenched teeth.
"I can endure it…"
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