The morning air in Konohagakure was crisp, carrying the scent of dew and pine from the surrounding forests. I stood in a secluded clearing just beyond the village's outskirts, my cloak discarded on a nearby rock. My four eyes—two normal, two smaller beneath them—scanned the area for any signs of intrusion. Privacy was essential for what I was about to do. At twelve, I was already stronger than most my age, my chakra-enhanced muscles capable of feats that would raise eyebrows in the Ninja Academy. But raw power wasn't enough. To achieve my goals—total control, unyielding freedom—I needed a foundation as solid as stone. That meant mastering every tool available, even those I'd initially dismissed.
Genjutsu, the art of illusion, was one such tool. I'd overlooked it at first, favoring the visceral precision of my Dismantle and Cleave techniques. Dismantle sent invisible chakra blades to shred anything in their path, while Cleave, requiring physical contact, adjusted to a target's durability for a perfect cut. But genjutsu offered something different: subtlety, deception, the ability to control a battlefield without drawing a single drop of blood. In a world of shinobi, where perception could mean the difference between victory and death, it was a skill I couldn't afford to ignore.
The Academy had introduced basic genjutsu the previous week. Iruka's lessons were rudimentary—simple techniques like the Demonic Illusion: False Surroundings, meant to alter a target's perception of their environment. Most of my classmates struggled, their chakra control too sloppy to maintain even a basic illusion. I'd watched, silent, as Naruto flailed and Sasuke smirked, his own attempt passable but uninspired. Sakura had potential, her precision notable, but she lacked the creativity to make her illusions convincing.
I wasn't here to mimic their efforts. I was here to master genjutsu, to weave illusions so seamless they'd trap even the sharpest minds. The clearing was my training ground, a place where I could experiment without the village's prying eyes. I started with the basics, forming hand seals and channeling chakra to my eyes and mind. The first step was understanding how genjutsu worked: it manipulated a target's chakra flow through their senses, creating false realities. My extra eyes gave me an edge—my perception was sharper, my ability to sense chakra fluctuations almost instinctive.
I began with a simple exercise: altering the appearance of a nearby tree. Focusing my chakra, I projected an illusion that turned its bark red, its leaves shimmering gold. The effect was crude at first, the colors flickering like a bad dream, but I adjusted, refining the flow of chakra until the tree looked as if it had been painted by a god. I walked around it, testing the illusion from every angle. It held, solid and convincing.
Satisfied, I moved to a more complex technique: the Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique. This one required tapping into a target's fears, conjuring images that would shake them to their core. Lacking a real target, I used a stray dog that had wandered into the clearing, its ribs visible beneath matted fur. I locked eyes with it, channeling chakra through my gaze. The dog froze, its eyes wide as it whimpered, seeing whatever nightmare my illusion had conjured. I released the technique after a moment, and the dog bolted, tail tucked.
It was a start, but I needed more. Genjutsu wasn't just about parlor tricks—it was about control. I spent hours practicing, layering illusions to create complex scenes: a forest fire that felt real enough to burn, a phantom shinobi that moved as if alive, a false moon that hung low in the sky. Each attempt drained my chakra, but I pushed through, using my medical ninjutsu to restore my stamina. By cycling chakra through my muscles, I could maintain my focus for hours, my body refusing to tire.
The Academy provided structure, but it was too slow, too safe. I supplemented my training with scrolls I'd "borrowed" from the village library—texts on chakra control, sensory manipulation, and advanced genjutsu theory. One scroll detailed the Mist Servant Technique, a genjutsu that created illusory clones to confuse enemies. It was perfect for my style: deceptive, efficient, and devastating when paired with my physical strength and techniques like Cleave.
I practiced the Mist Servant Technique in the clearing, summoning chakra clones that mimicked my movements. Unlike Naruto's Shadow Clones, these were intangible, mere illusions, but they moved with lifelike precision. I made them circle me, their forms flickering as I refined the technique. By dawn, I could summon a dozen illusory clones, each indistinguishable from me until they passed through an object. The trick was maintaining the illusion under pressure—a skill I'd need in real combat.
Physical training was just as crucial. My body was already stronger than it should be, my muscles honed by chakra and relentless exercise. I could lift logs twice my weight, leap to the tops of trees, and sprint faster than most Academy students could track. But strength without control was reckless. I incorporated taijutsu drills into my routine, focusing on precision and economy of movement. Every punch, every kick, was calculated, designed to maximize impact while conserving energy. When I sparred in the Academy, I held back, letting my classmates think I was merely talented, not superhuman.
Medical ninjutsu remained a cornerstone of my training. I'd mastered basic healing—closing wounds, mending bruises—but I was pushing further. In the clearing, I tested a new application: numbing pain receptors to fight through injuries. I made a shallow cut on my forearm, then used chakra to dull the nerves around it. The pain vanished, leaving only a faint pressure. It wasn't perfect, but it would let me keep fighting even if wounded—an edge that could turn the tide in a real battle.
Days turned into weeks, and my progress was undeniable. At the Academy, I began incorporating genjutsu into sparring matches, subtly at first. During a match with Kiba Inuzuka, I used a faint illusion to make him think I was attacking from the left, then struck from the right with a restrained kick. He hit the ground, cursing, while Akamaru barked furiously. Iruka raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. I was careful not to overplay my hand—too much skill too soon would draw suspicion.
Naruto, predictably, noticed. "Hey, Archon, you're getting sneakier!" he said after class, grinning as he slurped ramen at Ichiraku's. I'd joined him, not out of friendship but because blending in kept the village off my back. "That trick you pulled on Kiba—what was that?"
"Just a distraction," I said, sipping my tea. "You'd do better if you stopped charging in like an idiot."
He laughed, undeterred. "Yeah, yeah, but I'm gonna be Hokage someday! Gotta keep up with guys like you!"
I didn't respond, but his words lingered. Naruto was a fool, but his determination was infectious. He was a reminder that power wasn't just about strength—it was about will. Mine was unbreakable, forged in the ashes of my old life and tempered by my goals: to rise above this world, to carve my own path, free from anyone's control.
That night, back in my shack, I sat under the stars, practicing a new genjutsu: the Ephemeral Technique, one that induced sleep by overwhelming a target's senses. It was advanced, far beyond the Academy's scope, but I'd pieced it together from scrolls and experimentation. I tested it on a bird perched nearby, its eyes glazing over as it slumped into a deep slumber. The technique was subtle, precise, and perfect for disabling enemies without a fight.
My foundation was growing stronger. Genjutsu, medical ninjutsu, physical prowess—they were all pieces of a larger puzzle. Dismantle and Cleave were my blades, but these new skills were my armor, my shield. The world of shinobi was a battlefield, and I intended to be untouchable.
As I lay back, staring at the hole in my shack's roof, I felt a quiet confidence. Konoha was a stepping stone, a place to hone my skills before I faced the wider world—tailed beasts, rogue ninobi, entire nations. I wasn't here to play hero or villain. I was Archon, the orphan with four eyes and a will to dominate. And this was only the beginning.