for the love of kungfu

Ki, according to the DnD guidebooks, flowed from the Ethereal plane an aspect of the Astral Plane—the imaginary realm where universes are born, and gods go to die.

I'd been skeptical of that bit of lore.

Until I got my first taste of it.

Now I wasn't. Now I was damn sure this was some kind of god juice.

I hadn't slept. Not a wink.

I sat in my living room all night, entranced by the vibrant colors that painted reality. They weren't visible in the traditional sense. I felt them on my skin. Tasted them on my tongue. Shivered as they hummed through my bones.

When the sun finally rose, its golden rays painted the room in warm light, and through my expanded senses, I could feel the sunlight shimmer with the world's Ki. The beauty of it left me breathless and dazed—but I pushed that aside.

I had to act.

I jumped to my feet, seized by inspiration before it slipped away. I rushed to the windowsill and gathered my five potted plants—each one a young sapling clipped from the Hashirama trees of Konoha's forests.

Even in their youth, they were remarkably durable. But that wasn't why I chose them.

No, I chose them for a rarer trait: their ability to conduct chakra.

Hashirama trees, after all, were made with chakra. They were among the most chakra-conductive materials in existence. And that trait was critical for what I intended to create:

A focus.

In nearly every magical system I'd studied—whether in books, games, or old legends—external magic was dangerous, volatile. Power like that demanded discipline and control. Those who reached for it unprepared often met ugly, painful ends.

That's what a focus was for.

A mystical buffer between wielder and nature's wrath, attuned to the user's essence, allowing them to interact with power far beyond their natural capacity. I knew this connection to Ki wouldn't last forever—when the first contact ended, I'd have to train hard to wield it. But before that happened, I could make things easier.

I could craft my first true magical tool.

Of the five pots, one tree was already dead. I had pushed chakra into it recklessly the day before, and it simply died. I felt that death now—not as a void, but as something coiled inward, compressed, waiting for its next step. It was fascinating.

But I had other priorities.

I selected a still-living sapling and began channeling my chakra into the soil, then the roots. I had been doing this for a week now, and the little tree welcomed me like an old friend.

The sapling acted like an antenna, resonating with my chakra sense, extending my range, letting me feel the ambient Ki even more clearly. I poured in more chakra, slowly, gently, until the tree felt like an extension of myself—then I reached outward and drank deeply from the world's free-floating Ki.

It poured into the tree, mixed with my chakra in a heady concoction that felt like sunshine in my veins.

Peace.

Unity.

I could've stayed in that euphoria forever—if not for the sharp crack of crumbling stone.

I looked down. The sapling had petrified. Crystallized. And now it crumbled to dust in my hand. The Ki within it lashed outward, reaching for me. I flung it away just in time, narrowly avoiding the same fate.

The sound of the pot shattering snapped me fully back to reality.

My awareness of Ki began to fade, slipping away like a dream. I grabbed the second sapling, repeating my earlier process—but this time with restraint.

It still died.

The third one followed.

Now, only one sapling remained.

Panic clawed at me, but then I realized what I'd missed. Something basic. Obvious. Stereotypical, even.

Balance.

Of course. It had to be balance.

This time, I reached out through the sapling and sipped—not chugged—the Ki. I let it flow, little by little, my senses razor-sharp, searching for that elusive equilibrium. And then...

I found it.

Somewhere in the flow, my chakra ceased to be chakra. The Ki ceased to be Ki. The two fused into something new. Something powerful. Something strange.

But undeniably mine.

I opened my eyes—eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed—and stared.

The sapling had grown. What had once been a five-inch sprout was now a two-foot young tree. I could feel it—if I kept feeding it, it would keep growing.

I had done it.

Now… How do I go about turning this into a bo staff?

—Scene break—

I skipped to school. 

Like a little girl.

People stared. Adults snickered.

I couldn't give a single fuck. I was on cloud nine.

I did it.

My god, I actually did it.

There were still steps ahead—plenty of them—but the hardest part was behind me. My wizard's staff was finally within reach. Only the last scraps of my dignity kept me from screaming to the heavens about my absolute badassery.

Naruko had been confused all morning, but I was too wrapped up in my thoughts—and the endless possibilities this breakthrough had opened—to stop and explain.

When we got to the academy, I left her with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to fill her in later. That elevated my already euphoric mood even higher.

I carried that energy all the way into class, where I greeted Kuro with a bear hug and a spontaneous pirouette.

She giggled, eyes sparkling, and didn't even ask for an explanation.

She was just happy I was happy. I could feel it.

Though my ability to sense Ki had faded, my chakra sense had grown exponentially more potent. I could now perceive—lacking a better term—colors.

I didn't yet know what those colors meant, exactly, but I was certain they reflected emotions and elements of personality expressed through the spiritual nature of one's chakra.

Kuro, for example, had a warm pink core that pulsed outward into a viscous, blood-red aura—hot, sharp, and searing.

Everyone had their own colors. Watching them shift and dance throughout the day was fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, I barely noticed the hours fly by.

It was during one of the last classes—history—that Kuro tapped me on the shoulder.

Not that history was anything special. Same old academy-level content, now laced with praise for the Daimyō instead of just Konoha's brand of propaganda glorifying the will of fire.

I glanced sideways, distracted. Kuro's chakra was oscillating in beautiful, complex patterns. It was mesmerizing.

I almost missed what she was trying to tell me.

She tapped her forehead, then pointed at me.

It took me a moment to understand.

When I finally got it, I was surprised she wanted to do that here. In class. But the look she gave me—the tiniest pout, full of exaggerated disappointment—shattered my reluctance.

With a familiar flex of chakra, I cast the Mind Meld Jutsu.

Our consciousnesses met. The boundary between our thoughts vanishing.

'Ku-kun~, I have questions!' She sent while doing the mental equivalent of snuggling up to me.

'Ahh… it's hard to explain.' I replied feeling a but nonplussed at how comfortable she was with me in her head.

'Try, please.'

I hesitated. Then, instead of trying to explain… I showed her.

My logic. My theories. My knowledge of chakra.

Everything that had led me to the concept of a natural ambient energy field and the logic of creating a focus to wield it.

I kept anything that hinted at a past life to myself—not because I didn't trust her, but… still.

Kuro, in contrast, didn't hold anything back. No walls. No barriers. Every flicker of emotion, every stray thought—laid bare.

I would reciprocate. Eventually.

'Ku-kun, we're not all prodigies, you know? Just because you show it to me doesn't mean I'll get it.'

Her mental voice carried a pout, even as her physical body sat composed, eyes fixed on the teacher.

Damn, that girl could act.

'Thank you,' she giggled in reply.

'As for me being a prodigy… I don't think so. I've just spent more time on this stuff than most people.'

'So Lee-san is stupid?' she said with a mental eye roll.

'What? No!'

'But no one works harder than Lee-san. And he's definitely spent just as much time trying to learn. He couldn't use jutsu, sure, but he could've figured out fuinjutsu on his own, right? In his apartment. With a cheap, second-hand storage seal. Since you're not a prodigy and all…'

'...'

'Okay, point taken.'

There was a difference between humility and condescension.

Lesson received.

'…I'll work on it.'

'If you want to.' She mentally shrugged. 'I think you're perfect, Ku-kun. Do whatever makes you happy, and I'll be happy.'

Her sincerity was beautiful. And more than a little unhinged. I could tell that 'whatever made me happy' had a lot of leeway.

But by now, that just made it endearing.

Her chakra echoed it. The pink at her center flushed deeper, rippling outward into crimson and smoky black, sharpening as it went.

'You're pretty too, Ku-kun.'

We sat together in comfortable mental silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

Then her thoughts jolted—a memory resurfacing.

'Oh! I forgot! Ku-kun, can I start a business for you?'

'Business?'

'Yes! Remember my presentation about starting a printing press in Konoha? Well…'

She launched into a rapid-fire explanation of the current market climate in Konoha, political dynamics in the Land of Fire, and how both would influence the success of her venture. She even rattled off contingency plans for unforeseen market variables.

I understood maybe a third of it.

…Kuro, just bring the paperwork and I'll sign it.

She pouted at that. I sifted through her thoughts to find the reason.

'I'll also try to be involved in running it.' I promised.

We didn't get to spend much time together outside training. This… this would give us that time.

I didn't know she'd felt neglected.

'I don't.'

Her mental voice was firm. 'I just wanted to do this with you. And for you.'

That warmed something deep in my chest—right up until a stray thought made my brow twitch.

'…You also want the world to know the glories of Arya Stark and Daenerys Targaryen.'

'…Daenerys did nothing wrong…'

I sighed and turned my attention back to the teacher.

But I didn't sever the Mind Meld.

Kuro's content, happy hum at our spiritual closeness told me I'd made the right choice.

—Scene break—

I stared up at the 6'5" monkey man—equal parts awe and justified fear roiling in my gut. His golden eyes glared down at me with molten intensity, and I could feel the weight of his judgment like a boulder pressing down on my chest.

He was massive. As an eleven-year-old, I barely came up to his waist. His white mane bristled as he stared me down, a wild halo that only added to his intimidating presence. But three things truly held my attention hostage: the tiger pelt draped across his mountainous shoulders, those burning golden eyes, and the writing on his forehead protector.

Mt. Huaguo.

Holy shit.

"He's small," the monkey king growled, his voice like distant thunder. From the side, my teacher's clone—the one who had summoned him—chuckled lightly.

"We all start out that way, Enma."

Enma snorted. "Our contractors are not meant to be small and weak, Hiruzen. Especially when you have them sign the contract without consulting me first."

"Izuku is a talented boy. I have no doubt he'll earn your approval."

Enma let out a scoff of clear disdain and turned his glowing gaze back on me. Those golden eyes didn't just look at me—they searched me, seared through me like sunlight through glass. And if he was who I suspected he was, they probably could incinerate me.

I gulped.

That earned me an even deeper look of contempt.

"…We'll see," Enma grunted, and lumbered off to the side.

My sensei sighed, half exasperated, half amused.

"Don't mind him, Izuku-kun. Enma has a prickly disposition, but his loyalty—once earned—is absolute. A feat I have no doubt you'll accomplish."

"Thank you, Sensei," I said, bowing my head.

He nodded in return. "Now then. I trust your discipline, so I'll be providing you with texts on fuinjutsu and chakra theory to study in your own time. If you run into difficulty, come to me for guidance."

I nodded eagerly.

"Your Taijutsu is still basic," he continued. "We'll explore multiple styles and determine what suits you best through practice and performance. Your education in ninjutsu has already begun, and while I'll support that journey, it's one you'll walk largely on your own. But Bukijutsu—specifically, wielding the bō staff, my signature weapon—that's something you're unfamiliar with, correct?"

"Yes, Sensei."

"Then we'll start with the fundamentals. Bring out the staff I gave you and we'll begin."

I brushed my sleeve, triggering the storage seal woven into my coat. With a puff of smoke, a black rod materialized in my hand.

My teacher nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, for the opening stance—"

I raised my hand.

"This isn't a classroom, Izuku-kun. Speak freely," he said warmly.

"Is the staff I train with important?" I asked.

"In what way?"

"I mean... would it be better if I trained with a personal weapon?"

"Yes. But as I told you earlier, the one I gave you is of very high quality."

Instead of replying, I reached into another seal—this one stitched near my heart. A seal meant for precious cargo. Another puff of smoke, and my most cherished creation appeared in my hands.

Sensei looked down at it—what appeared to be an oversized sapling.

And essentially, that's what it was.

Before leaving home that morning, I'd grown my Ki sapling to a full twelve feet. Using a chakra-enhanced kunai, I had cleaved off ten feet, leaving the rest in its pot on my windowsill. Then I stored the main section in my coat for this very moment—to show him.

Then, suddenly, my feet left the ground.

The sapling vanished from my hands.

And I found myself once again staring into the smoldering eyes of Lord Enma.

His voice rumbled with sudden gravity.

"Boy… what do you know about Senjutsu?"

—Scene break—

"Lord Danzō has fallen."

Kabuto blinked in surprise—an emotion he didn't have to fake.

"Come again?"

The masked Root agent didn't repeat themselves. Their blank mask betrayed nothing, and their uniform obscured all hints of gender. The dark garb helped them melt into the shadows of the isolated rooftop where the meeting took place.

"Contingency protocols have been activated. Release orders have been issued. Many Root operatives are to go underground and prepare for our lord's greater plan, which will now be carried out by his most trusted. As an active member among those Who Walk In The Light, you will be instrumental in—"

"How?"

A pause.

"...Pardon?"

"How did he die?"

The agent tensed at the question—a minuscule twitch, barely perceptible, invisible to all but the most seasoned shinobi. But not to Kabuto.

Unlike these drones, Kabuto hadn't been molded merely to suppress emotion. Danzō had sculpted him differently—stripped him of identity, yes, but also taught him to craft masks, to wear personas so thoroughly he became them.

These Root agents were nothing of the sort. To him, they were open books.

And what he saw was—

"Lord third… took exception to our purpose." the drone replied, voice emotionless, but limbs twitching in agitation .

Fear.

The agent's conditioning pushed them forward, mouthing rehearsed lines, but Kabuto could tell—terror had cracked this one. And if this one was broken, chances were the others were too.

Pity.

They might still serve as fodder, but his mistress already had an excess of such disposable tools.

Kabuto vanished in a blur.

In the next instant, two precise taps—one to sever the spine, the other to pierce the brain. The agent dropped, lifeless.

Loose ends. He would need to tie them off.

Fortunately, he had kept meticulous track of every operative within Danzō's ranks who knew his true identity. Kabuto disappeared into the night, navigating the rooftops to his next target.

A busy night lay ahead.