Konoha’s Five-Element Ninja

Chapter Two: The All-Powerful Chakra

After finishing the paperwork without incident, Hayama left the office amidst the strange looks from the desk ninjas. He couldn't help but feel helpless. His initial plan was to fight alongside his comrades as a genin, but instead, he was met with disdain. Left with no choice, he decided to stop pretending and just admit it—he was now a chūnin, a high-level cannon fodder, so to speak.

After a day of running around, Hayama was exhausted. Still, he made his way to the training ground to begin his routine exercises. In this world filled with skilled chakra users, even as a chūnin, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

After a brief warm-up, Hayama began his physical training. Unlike the world-shaking jutsu often portrayed in stories, most ninjas on the battlefield relied on excellent taijutsu. Simply put, while mastering taijutsu didn't guarantee a jōnin rank, every jōnin had mastered it.

Two hours later, feeling he'd reached his physical limit, Hayama slowed his pace. Without the aid of chakra, his physical abilities weren't particularly outstanding compared to other ninjas his age. Those born into powerful clans carried more than just secret techniques; they also possessed superior raw physical potential. That was the tragedy of commoner ninjas—no matter how hard they trained or how many hours they poured into honing their skills, they could never fully overcome the limits of their bloodline.

However, chakra was the great equalizer. It offered unlimited possibilities to any ninja who wielded it, becoming the most versatile tool of a shinobi. Chakra was formed by combining the body's physical energy, drawn from trillions of cells, with mental energy gained through experience and training. The more determined and focused a ninja was, the greater their mental energy and chakra reserves. Thanks to his mature soul, Hayama's chakra capacity far exceeded that of his peers—approximately one karat's worth.

"Earth Release: Earth Spike Spear!"

Three sharp earthen spikes suddenly shot up from the ground in a triangular formation, piercing the air. Not done yet, Hayama changed his hand signs and released another jutsu.

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"

Channeling fire chakra into his chest, Hayama unleashed a massive fireball that roared into the air, exploding above the earthen spikes.

Boom!

The blast's heat made Hayama squint slightly, a satisfied expression crossing his otherwise plain face. As a cautious ninja, he naturally didn't report all his chakra nature affinities. Better to play it safe. And as for whether the village would find out—of course they wouldn't. Everyone had their secrets, after all.

This combination of jutsu wasn't as simple as it appeared. It required not only precise timing but also rapid hand seals. With years of single life and plenty of practice behind him, Hayama was modest enough to admit it wasn't exactly easy, but he managed. This combo, along with another offensive jutsu, formed the extent of his combat repertoire. Yet it had proven deadly enough to raise plenty of enemy shinobi's grave markers.

After practicing his combo a few more times, Hayama moved on to real-world scenarios to ensure he could efficiently eliminate any enemy who fell into his trap. Before he knew it, the blazing sun had set, leaving him utterly drained. His chakra reserves empty, he returned to the hospital.

...

The brief rest period ended quickly, and it was time for Hayama to return to the battlefield. That was the fate of a commoner ninja—constant trips between the village and the front lines, until they either died or were rendered unfit for duty.

At Konoha's eastern gate, Hayama stood wearing his standard ninja attire: a green combat vest over a lightweight steel plate, two fully stocked pouches at his waist, and two rectangular shuriken holsters strapped to his right thigh. His appearance was entirely unremarkable, indistinguishable from the thousands of other Konoha ninjas. At this early hour, the air was heavy with moisture, adding a slight chill to the summer heat and a somber weight to the atmosphere as the ninja prepared to deploy.

At exactly six o'clock, the gates opened. With the command to "move out," the team set off toward the Land of Rain and the harsher battles awaiting them.

...

"Orders!"

"Hayama Shirakumo, Yamashiro Tatsu, Yamanaka Yura: proceed to sector C-33 to patrol. Mission rank: A. Report any intruders immediately!"

"Yes, sir!"

After receiving their orders, Hayama's squad departed the temporary command post. Only once they were out of earshot did Tatsu speak up.

"Captain, this mission feels off."

Hayama nodded slightly. "It does seem suspicious. Patrols are typically B-rank missions. This one is A-rank. Being told to report intruders rather than engage means they expect powerful enemies—likely all chūnin-level or higher."

He paused and turned to Tatsu. "How many explosive tags did we get?"

Tatsu grimaced. "Just five."

Hayama fell silent. After two years of war, even wealthy Konoha was running low on supplies. At the start, every ninja received at least five tags, but now the allocation had dwindled.

Shaking off the raindrops, Hayama glanced skyward. The thick, oppressive clouds blotted out the sun, and the unrelenting rain cast a shadow over his heart.

This cursed war, and this damned rain.

The three of them donned black rain cloaks and slipped into the forest, moving like silent bats searching for prey.

Sector C-33 was a sunken area, perpetually flooded with over a meter of water. The constant rain created logistical challenges for Hayama's team. They had to eat and sleep perched on tree trunks and branches, maintaining chakra on the soles of their feet to avoid slipping into the water. Though the chakra expenditure was minimal, the sustained mental strain left them exhausted.

As night fell, C-33 became pitch black, save for the ceaseless sound of falling rain. Hayama crouched on a thick branch, his chakra keeping him balanced, and couldn't help but marvel once again at the versatility of chakra. It was as if chakra defied the laws of physics themselves.

A faint whizzing sound reached his ears, but Hayama didn't move. Sure enough, Tatsu appeared moments later to switch shifts.

"Captain, time to switch."

"Sure. Stay sharp. The early morning hours are prime time for enemy infiltrations."

Tatsu didn't respond immediately. He popped a military ration pill into his mouth before speaking. "Captain, is a commoner ninja's fate just to die?"

Hayama hesitated, then laughed softly. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

"With your cautious nature, you must have noticed. Almost all the ninjas stationed here are commoners."

Hayama remained silent. His meticulous nature had made him aware of this reality long ago. Even during their academy days, disparities were obvious. Clan ninjas were assigned prominent jōnin instructors, while commoners were taught by no-name chūnin. Hayama's luck had been particularly bad—his instructor had died before teaching him even basic traps. He'd survived thus far on sheer caution, while countless commoner teammates came and went. On the battlefield, the divide was even starker. Commoner ninjas took on the most dangerous missions, with a survival rate of less than a third. Clan ninjas, protected by jōnin, faced comparatively safer, less critical tasks. The injustice was glaring.

But what could be done? The ninja code was clear: disobedience on the battlefield meant death. Every ruling class protects its own interests. Konoha wasn't a village of commoner ninjas—it was a village ruled by clans. To maintain the clans' privileges, the system sacrificed the commoners' lives. Behind this harsh reality lay the blood and tears of countless ordinary shinobi.

Maybe one day, if he reached the rank of jōnin, he might finally be considered a true "comrade."

The tree branch was silent, save for the pattering rain.

Hayama clapped a hand on Tatsu's shoulder and said softly, "Just stay alive."

With that, he turned and left. Looking back, all he saw was darkness.

Returning to their makeshift shelter—a hollowed-out tree trunk camouflaged with bark—he prepared to rest. Such natural shelters were ideal for the rainforest battlefield, providing safe, hidden places to sleep.

Inside, Hayama removed his rain cloak, took out a ration bar from his pouch, and slowly ate. The bar was Konoha's standard field ration: a mix of flour and salt, like a compressed biscuit. Its taste was uneven—mostly bland with overly salty patches. After finishing, Hayama drank some water, ate just enough to feel about 70% full, and got ready to rest.

As for the water on his clothes, while chakra could easily dry it, he chose not to waste his reserves. Every bit of chakra was a lifeline on the battlefield.

Closing his eyes, Hayama found that, despite his years as a ninja, he couldn't fall asleep tonight. Tatsu's words echoed in his ears like a curse. He recalled that when the mission was issued, there wasn't a single Byakugan user among the 50-odd squads. This was no mere patrol—it was a front-line combat assignment. If they had even one Byakugan user, any traps or chakra-bearing objects would be revealed instantly. But there were none. Not only that, there were barely any sensory ninjas either. A hundred ninja patrolling with no sensory capabilities? That was not how the academy taught them to handle patrols.

The squads were like strands of a fishing net, woven together over this vast area. They were waiting for the enemy to blunder in, so the net could be pulled tight. Konoha prided itself on being a village of "comrades," but how many of those comrades came from the clans? Where were the Hokage's sons? Where were the Uchiha, Hyuga, and Shimura clans? The fish would die, and so would the net—but Konoha would always win. After all, the fish were big, and the village had plenty of nets.

In this cold, ruthless world, the only thing Hayama could truly rely on was the all-powerful chakra.