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[NNSS] Chapter : 10
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 18:04:03 +0000 UTCThe next morning, the sun rose over the village.
Grandma Momoka, always an early riser, had already laid out breakfast: glistening white rice, pan-fried saury crisped to perfection, moon-shaped slices of pickled radish, and a steaming bowl of soup.
With no missions assigned, Roshi stretched in the grove beside the house, mind already turning toward the training plan he needed to forge.
He knew the script of this world.
Akatsuki. Madara. The God Tree. Ōtsutsuki.
Each name hung over him like a blade suspended by a single thread.
Even though Roshi had a love for life’s simple pleasures, he understood one truth: in this world, strength wasn’t a luxury—it was survival.
The shinobi’s path to power had always been clear:
Temper the body. Squeeze out potential. Hone Taijutsu.
Refine skills. Master ninja tools. Adapt to all change.
Study Ninjutsu. Expand one’s methods. Bend to the environment.
Among these, Ninjutsu brought the fastest results, but the foundation always lay in the body.
Tempering the body was forging physical energy, and every time he pushed past pain, his will sharpened. Physical strength and mental fortitude fed into one another, nurturing chakra until both reached the peak of his natural limit. Only then was a shinobi ready to pour himself fully into ninjutsu.
In truth, aside from chakra and the staggering potential hidden within the 130 trillion cells of this world’s humans, the logic of growth wasn’t so different from Earth.
As a descendant of the Senju, Roshi already possessed greater chakra reserves and a sturdier foundation than most. Now, with the perfect fusion of Hashirama’s cells, his ceiling soared far above ordinary shinobi.
But even that was not enough. Kage-level strength might match the Akatsuki—but beyond them loomed a calamity that only those at the Sage of Six Paths’ level could endure.
There were only two known roads to such heights: the Ōtsutsuki system and the Sage Art system.
The Ōtsutsuki—the very source of chakra—were a race of star-born marauders who devoured life-force, converting it into power. The Senju, Uchiha, Uzumaki, and Hyūga all bore traces of their bloodline, strengthening themselves through chakra.
The Uchiha path, as shown in the original tale, was clear: fuse Hashirama cells, gain powerful Yang chakra, blend it with their own Yin, awaken the Rinnegan, seize the Ten-Tails, and ascend to an Ōtsutsuki-like state.
The Senju’s method was never made explicit. Perhaps it required a Sharingan—or something equally impossible to grasp.
But Roshi noted a crucial detail often overlooked.
Madara, who awakened the Rinnegan, was the reincarnation of Indra, son of Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki. Hashirama was the reincarnation of Asura, Indra’s brother. Both carried fragments of Hagoromo’s power, once the Ten-Tails’ jinchūriki.
That meant the Rinnegan’s awakening required not just the fusion of Yin and Yang, but also an inherited spark from the Ten-Tails itself.
For Roshi, that path was still shrouded in mist. For now, he set it aside.
The Sage Art system, on the other hand, offered something closer—yet still daunting. Its peak was below the Ōtsutsuki, but far above the limits of ordinary shinobi. The strongest known Sage was Hagoromo himself, with Hashirama standing just beneath him, a living god of his era.
The first step was the hardest: developing the ability to feel natural energy itself. From there, one had to absorb it, balance it with physical and spiritual energy, and refine it into Sage chakra.
For most, the obstacle was ignorance—they had to first believe in natural energy before they could sense it. Roshi, however, had no such blind spot. He knew it existed.
And natural energy was everywhere.
He even suspected it was the reason humans in this world were stronger than Earth’s, why giant beasts walked freely—the land itself had been steeped in that power for generations.
He had already tried once, when first adjusting to his body, but his attempts to sense it ended in nothing.
This time, however, he would not fail.
Upon returning from the mission, Roshi re-evaluated his path forward.
There were two well-known Sage regions in the shinobi world: Mount Myōboku’s Toad Sage Arts and Ryūchi Cave’s Snake Sage Arts.
The Toad method was patient and progressive—disciples coated themselves in the sacred Toad oil to awaken sensitivity to natural energy. Those who succeeded bore the toad-like eye markings and shadows of Sage Mode.
The snake method, by contrast, was brutal. The White Snake Sage forced natural energy directly into the body. Survive, and you succeed. Fail, and you die.
Different approaches, same essence—forcing the practitioner into direct contact with raw, untamed natural energy.
But Roshi wondered: were there other ways?
Yes. The God Tree.
The Ōtsutsuki planted it to drain planets dry, siphoning natural energy into a chakra fruit. One such tree had already risen in this world, its fruit harvested once before. If it could digest natural energy, then perhaps its echoes lingered still.
And then there was Wood Release. Hashirama Senju’s secret art could suppress even Tailed Beasts, absorbing chakra at its root. Roshi hypothesized that Hashirama, through his bloodline and Asura’s chakra, had instinctively mirrored the God Tree’s nature itself.
If so, then Roshi’s path wasn’t simply to master Wood Release jutsu. It was to pierce its core, to draw out the true essence of that bloodline power.
“Wood Release: Verdant Growth Jutsu!”
His voice was low, steady. The ground trembled.
From the soil, a tender sapling pushed upward, unfurling at a visible rate. Sunlight caught on its young bark, and leaves whispered as they stretched wide.
When the tree reached shoulder height, Roshi deliberately slowed his chakra flow, keeping only the faintest thread of connection.
“Keep growing,” he murmured.
He extended his senses, weaving invisible threads of perception into the sapling’s spiritual core.
The tree responded with startling vitality. Roots stabbed deep into the earth, spreading like a predator hunting prey. The soil swelled and churned.
More unsettling were the branches. Tender twigs hardened in the light, twisting unnaturally. They swayed, then froze—every one of them aimed directly at him.
The craving hit him like a wave. The tree was hungry, a raw, primal thirst for chakra.
A sharp sting raced across his skin. Sweat slid down his temple.
“Calm down…” he whispered, hands flashing into the Snake seal.
The branches halted an inch from his face, writhing with frustration.
Roshi pushed, redirecting the tree’s focus. Guiding. Urging it toward that unseen current. Toward Natural Energy.
And then—it shifted. Fury softened into confusion, and confusion gave way to something else.
The sapling caught it. That elusive, omnipresent force Roshi himself had failed to sense now pulsed faintly through its being.
Just as hope surged within him, the change came.
The tree shot upward again, trunk groaning, branches stretching—and then twisting into grotesque forms. Bark blackened with flowing, unnatural patterns.
Roshi stepped back instinctively.
From the roots upward, a pallid gray spread like wildfire. Death in purest form.
Wherever the color passed, life vanished. Bark, leaves, even the trembling tips of branches—all fossilized in moments.
In three heartbeats, the living sapling became a flawless stone sculpture.
Roshi stood frozen, chest heaving, forehead slick with sweat.
He had failed.
And this failure had been perilously close to killing him.
Wood Release constructs, even supported by his chakra, were fragile. They lacked the foundation to endure raw natural energy. Against its flood, they collapsed like sandcastles before the tide.
And yet, amidst ruin, there was discovery.
At the very instant the Wood Release brushed against Natural Energy, the air itself had rippled—small, subtle waves, like a pebble cast into still water.
That ripple was everything.
For the first time, Roshi, who could not naturally perceive Natural Energy, had brushed against its aura—faint, fleeting, but real.
In the quiet of the forest, he closed his eyes.
Replay the ripple. Memorize it. Feel it again.
This was the beginning.
