Two weeks had passed.
A lot had changed.
Tokasu, calm and calculating as ever, had taken to Fire Release like a natural. It turned out he had a high affinity for it—perhaps unnaturally so. Even now, he was refining his first couple of fire techniques, carefully blending them with his shadow manipulation. Watching him work was like watching a chessmaster set pieces on fire. Strategic. Lethal. Purposeful. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary flair. Every flick of his wrist, every hand seal was part of a broader strategy—like he was always ten steps ahead of his opponent, even when there wasn't one.
Sayaka was a different story. She didn't talk much about her progress, but the ground told the truth. She trained out back, beyond the garden wall, where the Hokage's estate had more breathing room. Every few hours, a thunderous boom would echo through the area, followed by a gust of wind or a scorch mark on the stone. Sometimes the windows shook. Yuki had stopped worrying after the third time. She was fine. If anything, she seemed to thrive in that chaos. Each explosion was followed by laughter or a defiant yell—sometimes frustration, sometimes triumph. She was building something volatile, wild, and beautiful in its destruction.
As for Yuki himself, things were finally clicking.
He had begun to truly grasp water release—not just in theory, but in feel. He could sense the moisture in the air, the dew in the grass, the hidden traces within his own chakra network. Slowly but surely, he was learning to mold it. It felt like waking up a part of himself that had always been there, silent, patient, waiting.
And with that awakening, his bloodline felt closer than ever—no longer just a dormant trait, but a living part of his ninjutsu. His control was improving. His instincts were sharpening. And most importantly, his imagination had found fertile ground.
He had a concept. A battlefield technique. One that would allow him to manipulate the terrain itself to favor his ice release. The idea was simple in essence but complex in execution: saturate the surrounding area with water chakra, spreading it as a fine mist or film across the environment. This would not only obscure vision and dull enemy movement—it would provide him with a constant, omnipresent source of water from which to draw ice. Wherever he stepped, he'd have material. Wherever his enemies fled, they'd be within his reach.
He imagined shifting walls of ice forming behind him, spears erupting beneath his enemy's feet, traps forming in the blink of an eye, all while the opponent struggled to see through the fog.
In essence, it was like a domain of his own.
He had come across an idea similar to this once—during the early episodes of Naruto. The Hiding in Mist Technique. But Yuki never mentioned that part. When he described it to Hiruzen, he framed it as his own invention. A unique twist. Something intuitive and self-taught.
"I want to create a zone," he'd said. "One where I can spread water chakra in all directions—so thin it's like mist or vapor. From there, I can freeze it at will, at any location. It's like setting traps everywhere at once. Or creating armor, weapons, walls—on demand. I'll make my own battlefield."
Hiruzen had paused, clearly intrigued. Then he nodded slowly.
"A fascinating idea. Ambitious—but practical," the Hokage had said. "If you can manage the chakra control to maintain such a field… it could become a cornerstone of your style. Let's begin working on it."
And so they had. Not as master and pupil, but as collaborators testing the limits of chakra manipulation. Yuki knew the work ahead would be grueling. But every drop of effort moved him one step closer to making the battlefield his.
"I'll help you develop it," Hiruzen had said.
And just like that, the work began.
...
Far above them, in the Hokage's council chamber, a different kind of decision was being made.
A small assembly had gathered—Hiruzen, two of his advisors, and four veteran jonin. The room was dim but quiet, thick with the scent of incense and age. All eyes were on the man standing before them.
"Takeshi Kanzaki has been selected as the sensei of the trio," Hiruzen announced, voice calm but firm.
Takeshi stood straight-backed, his arms folded behind him, dressed in a deep gray flak jacket, custom-tailored with sleek steel shoulder plates. His black hair was streaked with silver at the temples, tied loosely behind him in a warrior's tail. A short scar cut through his left eyebrow—clean, precise, but long healed. His eyes were sharp, amber with a hard-earned calm. There was no arrogance in his stance, only certainty.
He had once been a prime candidate for the Fourth Hokage seat—until Minato Namikaze was chosen instead. And while that chapter had closed, Takeshi never stopped. He had led the most successful missions of his generation. Mastered every basic chakra nature. Delved into Yin and Yang Release. There were few in the village who matched his reputation—fewer still who could match his results.
Some said he was the ghost of the Hokage that could have been—others believed he was the iron backbone of the village, holding firm where others faltered.
"He's the strongest applicant," one advisor had said. "Not just in strength, but judgment. The kids will learn more from him than anyone else."
"He's not just a teacher," another added. "He's the kind of man you'd want beside you on the battlefield."
Hiruzen had agreed. The Sannin Project would demand not only talent, but stability. Someone the children could both respect and fear, someone who could sharpen them into legends.
Takeshi Kanzaki was perfect.
The decision was made.