The blueprint for the Puppet Core was sitting on the corner of my workbench, mocking me. I had the logic. I had the math. I had the "software" ready to go. But turning that paper into a physical device was becoming a budget nightmare.
The Production Department only stocked the standard stuff bulk wood, basic gears, and low-grade conductive wire. The materials I needed for the conversion core high-purity chakra-conductive alloys and rare crystals for energy modulation carried price tags that made my eyes water. On a Genin's tiny stipend, I'd be eighty years old before I could afford a single resonance node.
I was an engineer in a world with no venture capital. If I wanted to build my dream, I had to find a way to monetize my skills.
I looked at the "Spider" sitting on my desk. Over the last few weeks, I'd refined the design. It was smoother, the leg-gait was more efficient, and the signal feedback was crisper. It was a solid piece of tech. And in a village where information was literally life or death, it was a marketable asset.
One evening, when my dad was home on a short leave from the front lines, I decided to make my pitch. After dinner, I didn't head straight to my room to hide in my scrolls. I set the Spider on the table between us.
"Dad, I want to show you something," I said. I twitched my finger, and a nearly invisible chakra thread linked to the bot.
Sharyu looked at me, confused, then watched the table.
Under my control, the Spider scuttled across the tabletop. It hopped over his bowl, navigated the obstacle course of teacups, and then gently tapped his index finger with a wooden foreleg.
I saw Sharyu's eyes widen. As a veteran puppeteer, he didn't see a toy; he saw the "specs." He saw the miniaturization, the silent movement, and the stability.
"You built this?" he asked, his voice low. "Alone?"
"Yeah," I said, cutting the connection. "I call it the Spider. It's for reconnaissance and setting small perimeter traps. It's low-power, so even someone with my chakra levels can run it for an hour."
I watched him process that. "Dad, I'm working on a new energy core design, but I can't afford the materials. I was thinking... maybe I could sell a few of these 'Spiders' to people who need them. Maybe some of your old buddies in Logistics have kids who just graduated? Or even some of my classmates?"
I didn't mention the Body Tempering Furnace. That was way too "mad scientist" for a dinner conversation. I just stuck to the "new energy core" story.
Sharyu stayed silent for a long time. He looked at the little wooden bot, then at me. I think he finally realized I wasn't just "messing around" in the shop anymore. I was serious.
"It's an impressive piece of work, Sayo," he said finally. "Most low-grade puppets are bulky and loud. For a Genin squad on a scouting mission, this could be a lifesaver."
He rubbed his chin, thinking through the logistics. "Setting up a shop is a no-go you're too young and you'd get buried in red tape. But private sales? Word-of-mouth? I can talk to some people in the Logistics wing. There are always parents looking to give their kids an edge before their first real mission."
My heart jumped. "Thanks, Dad."
"But," he added, his voice turning stern, "don't get greedy. Price them fairly. And if this starts interfering with your actual work at the factory or your studies, we're shutting it down. Understood?"
"Loud and clear."
The "Spider" business took off faster than I expected. Sharyu's old colleagues were the first customers veteran ninjas who knew the value of a silent scout. Tota at the workshop was the second; he bought one for his younger cousin and started acting as my unofficial marketing agent.
Even my old classmates got in on it. Ren, who'd been on a few missions and realized that "running into an ambush" sucked, quietly asked to reserve one. Ami, now in the Medical Reserve, wanted one for delivering small vials of medicine across "hot" zones.
I kept it small and discreet. I scavenged scrap from the workshop in my spare time and spent my nights assembling the units. I didn't charge a fortune just enough to cover the materials and a "labor fee" that went straight into my research fund.
For the first time, I had a real budget.
I started buying the rare metals and the modulation crystals I'd been dreaming about. I even bought a set of high-precision engraving needles that were way better than the ones in the workshop.
The clink of my hammer wasn't just about making "Spiders" anymore. I was building the foundation. Every sale brought me one step closer to the Puppet Core and one step closer to fixing the glitch in my own body.
I was carving out my own path, one gear at a time.