The Tactician: Naruto Fanfiction

[3951 Words]

Yasu sat on the hospital bed, legs crossed, arms resting loosely in his lap. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of voices in the hallway, the occasional shuffle of movement outside the door. 

Across from him, the medic-nin—a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a tired expression—stood flipping through a clipboard, his brow slightly furrowed. Hisao was beside him, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression in place as he listened. 

It had been a few days since the incident. Since he'd tried to mold chakra for the first time and ended up collapsing under the sheer weight of everything. Now, he was back, hoping to hear something useful. 

And from the look on the medic's face, those answers weren't exactly simple. 

"…This isn't something we typically see," the medic admitted at last, his tone edged with cautious curiosity. "I had my suspicions, but after running further diagnostic tests, I can say with confidence—the issue lies in your Yin and Yang chakra balance." 

Yasu blinked. His what? 

The medic continued, either not noticing or ignoring Yasu's confusion. "Chakra is formed by combining two essential energies—Yin, which represents the mind and spiritual energy, and Yang, which represents the body and physical energy. Normally, these develop at the same pace. But in your case, your Yin chakra is… significantly overdeveloped." 

Yasu stared at him. 

Then, slowly, tilted his head. 

"…What does that mean?" 

The medic exhaled through his nose, adjusting his stance. "It means your spiritual energy—your perception, your ability to process chakra—is far beyond what's normal for your age." His gaze sharpened slightly. "But your body—your Yang chakra—hasn't caught up." 

Yasu frowned. His fingers tapped idly against his knee, a habit he hadn't shaken. 

"…And that's bad?" The words just came out and Yasu already felt foolish for saying them. 

The medic gave him a pointed look. "Well, considering you passed out last time you tried to mold chakra? Yes." 

Hisao made a quiet noise in the back of his throat—something between amusement and thoughtful agreement. 

Yasu absorbed that information, his mind turning. Yin and Yang. Spiritual and physical. He understood those concepts separately, but chakra wasn't something that had existed in his previous life. The idea that his body and his mind could be out of sync like this… 

It was strange. 

The medic continued, watching him closely. "It explains why you're such a strong sensor. Your Yin chakra is heightened, meaning your ability to perceive chakra is instinctively stronger than most people's. But because your Yang chakra isn't developed enough to regulate it, the moment you tried molding chakra, your awareness expanded too fast, too wide—and your body couldn't keep up." 

Yasu's fingers stilled. 

Suddenly, things started clicking into place. 

The reincarnation. 

His previous life. 

That had to be it. 

He hadn't just been born with heightened Yin chakra—he had carried it over. The memories, the perception, the way he thought—it all came from another life, another body, another person. His spiritual energy had already been fully formed once before. 

And now it was trapped in a body too young to handle it. 

His grip curled slightly around the fabric of his pants. 

The medic, unaware of the realization settling into Yasu's mind, continued his explanation. "To put it simply, your chakra network isn't balanced. Until your body—your Yang chakra—catches up, you won't be able to mold chakra safely. If you try, the sensory overload will happen again." 

Yasu exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay composed. 

"So… what do I do?" 

The medic hummed. "For now? Physical training. You need to strengthen your body, refine your chakra control. The stronger your Yang chakra becomes, the better it'll be able to balance out your Yin." He folded his arms. "But you also need to learn how to filter your perception. Otherwise, even when your body catches up, your ability will still be unstable." 

Yasu understood that. 

This wasn't something that would be fixed overnight. 

He would have to train his body relentlessly while also refining his ability to control what he sensed. If he failed at either, he'd either burn out his chakra system or end up trapped in an endless flood of information. 

Hisao finally spoke. "Makes sense." 

The medic nodded. "It's not an easy fix, but it's not impossible. It just means your training will have to be… adjusted." 

He watched Yasu carefully, as if expecting a different reaction—maybe frustration, or disappointment. Most kids his age would have whined about how unfair it was, or sulked at the idea of being held back. 

But instead, Yasu just nodded. 

"…That makes sense." 

The medic blinked. 

He hadn't expected that. 

No complaining, no resistance—just understanding. 

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "You're… surprisingly calm about this." 

Yasu glanced down, tapping a single finger against his knee again, deep in thought. 

Of course, he was calm. 

Because now, he had an answer. 

Now, he knew what was wrong. 

And if he knew what was wrong, then he could fix it. 

Finally, he looked up, his gaze steady. "When do we start?" 

Hisao smiled in amusement. 

The medic blinked again, then shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "You're definitely not like other kids." 

Yasu just tilted his head slightly. 

That was probably the truest thing anyone had ever said about him. 

. 

. 

. 

Yasu sat cross-legged on the floor, watching intently as Hisao prepared the sealing brush. 

Hisao carefully traced symbols onto parchment, testing the flow before committing to skin. His movements were methodical, precise—not rushed, not careless. There was something deliberate about every stroke of the brush, like he was handling something far more dangerous than simple ink. 

Yasu was fascinated. 

He had read about sealing before—a silent ability, subtle yet powerful. Unlike flashy jutsu that tore through the battlefield, seals worked beneath the surface. They could bind, strengthen, suppress, store—they could do so much more than just destroy. 

In a way, it was… beautiful. 

"You're enjoying this too much," Hisao muttered without looking up. 

Yasu didn't deny it. 

"Seals are interesting," he admitted, eyes fixed on the delicate lines forming beneath Hisao's brush. "They don't work like normal jutsu. It's not about molding chakra the way people usually think—it's about understanding how to manipulate chakra flows in a completely different way. A well-placed seal can be more dangerous than any technique." 

Hisao huffed. "You sound like a scholar." 

Yasu shrugged, unconcerned. "They get overlooked because they're not as outwardly powerful, but seals affect fundamental aspects of chakra. It's not like throwing fire at someone—it's restructuring how their energy moves. That's… different." 

Hisao's smirk was slight but there. "You're not wrong." 

He reached for Yasu's wrist, gripping it lightly as he angled the boy's arm into place. "Alright, listen up. This isn't permanent. It's just a chakra limiter." 

Yasu's gaze flickered to the ink, already drying in intricate spirals around his forearm. "How does it work?" 

"It restricts how much chakra you can access at once," Hisao explained, dipping the brush again. "Right now, your system pulls in too much the moment you try to mold chakra. This seal will keep it in check, let you build control without the risk of overwhelming yourself." 

Yasu hummed, eyes shining with interest. "Where did you learn about seals?" 

Hisao glanced at him. "You've been doing your research." 

"There aren't many shinobi in Iwa known for sealing techniques," Yasu pointed out, tilting his head slightly. "Which means you either had to seek it out yourself or be taught by someone specific." 

Hisao chuckled, shaking his head. "Smart brat." 

He dipped the brush once more, finishing the final stroke before pulling back slightly, observing his work. "I trained under one of the few sealing specialists in the village. Even then, there's still so much I don't know." 

Yasu's fingers twitched slightly. "Why is that?" 

"Because sealing isn't our specialty," Hisao said simply. "Iwa has always focused on strength, defence, and raw power. Our barriers are strong, our techniques are powerful—but when it comes to sealing, there's only one real authority on the subject." 

Yasu caught the shift in his tone. There was something pointed there, something carefully measured. 

And then Hisao said it. 

"The Uzumaki Clan are the real masters of sealing." 

Yasu blinked. "Uzumaki?" 

He had never heard that name before. 

Hisao exhaled through his nose, rubbing the excess ink from his fingers with a cloth. "They're… complicated. Not on good terms with us." 

Yasu's curiosity sharpened. "Why?" 

Hisao gave him a side glance, clearly debating how much to say. Finally, he sighed. "Because they're allied with Konoha. And we don't exactly have friendly relations with Konoha." 

Yasu processed that. 

So, this Uzumaki Clan—they were skilled enough in sealing that even Hisao acknowledged them as superior. And yet, they were tied to Konoha, the very village that had come out of the First War stronger than anyone else. 

Interesting. 

Yasu looked down at the fresh seal on his arm, fingers lightly tracing the now-dried ink. 

There was more to this than just chakra restriction. There was an entire field of knowledge—an entirely different way of manipulating power that most people ignored in favour of brute strength. 

And Yasu was starting to think he wanted to learn more. 

Hisao set the brush aside, his usual relaxed demeanour shifting into something sharper, heavier—the air around him changed, and Yasu immediately straightened, sensing the shift in mood. 

"This isn't going to be easy." 

Hisao's voice was firm, cutting through the quiet. His arms crossed, and his gaze bore down on Yasu with something intense, unyielding. 

"I'm going to take your training very seriously," he continued, tone absolute. "That means you don't get to slack off. You don't get to complain. And you don't get to waste time." 

Yasu nodded without hesitation. He hadn't planned on doing any of those things anyway. 

Hisao exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I can give you all the training, all the guidance—but at the end of the day, I'm not the one who's going to make you strong. That's on you." His expression hardened. "Nothing changes unless you put in the work. No one is going to hand you anything in this world. You have to take it." 

Yasu's fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his mind already settling into focus. 

"You're already behind," Hisao pressed, watching him carefully. "You can't mold chakra properly. You don't have the luxury of just keeping up with others—you have to work twice as hard just to stand on equal footing." He gestured toward the seal now resting on Yasu's forearm. "That? That's not a solution. That's a tool. A temporary one." 

Hisao leaned forward slightly, voice lowering but no less sharp. 

"The moment you take it off, you're back at square one. And I won't always be there to catch you when that happens." 

Yasu knew that. 

But hearing it—hearing it spoken with such certainty, such weight—made it feel even more real. 

"This road isn't going to be easy," Hisao said, sitting back slightly. "You're going to fail. More than once. You're going to struggle, and you're going to hate how long it takes to get things right." 

He exhaled sharply. 

"But if you keep pushing, if you put in the work—it will pay off." 

Yasu's chest tightened slightly, but not from fear. 

From anticipation. 

This was what he wanted. 

He had never wanted anything more. 

He was fully prepared for the struggle ahead—he had already accepted that this would be difficult, but hearing someone else acknowledge it? Hearing someone tell him outright that this would take more than just natural talent, more than just luck— that it would take effort, endurance, and sheer willpower? 

It made something settle deep inside him. 

Yasu looked up at Hisao, his gaze steady, unwavering. 

"I understand," he said. No hesitation. No doubt. 

Hisao studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smirked. 

"Good," he said. "Then get ready." 

Because starting now? 

This was just the beginning. 

. 

. 

. 

Training wasn't just difficult. 

It was gruelling. 

The days blurred together, an endless cycle of failure, frustration, exhaustion—and then getting back up and doing it all over again. 

. 

. 

. 

"Again." 

Yasu sat cross-legged, eyes shut tight, his hands resting on his knees. Stillness. Focus. Control. 

He could feel everything—the weight of Hisao's presence behind him, the chakra signatures of shinobi passing outside the compound, the faint hum of energy pulsing through the air like an ocean of noise. 

"Filter it out." 

He tried. 

Tried to push away the excess, to focus only on one thing at a time—but it was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands. The moment he grasped at control, his awareness slipped, and suddenly, the world crashed into him all at once. 

Too much. Too loud. 

His breath hitched. His body tensed. 

Then—his chakra flared out of control. 

Pain. 

The overload slammed into his mind like a thousand voices screaming at once. He gasped, clutching his head, body lurching forward. The ground felt like it was tilting, spinning, collapsing under him— 

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him. 

"Breathe." Hisao's voice cut through the chaos, steady, unwavering. 

Yasu forced air into his lungs. 

"Again." 

And so he tried. Again. And again. And again. 

. 

. 

. 

His arms burned as he pushed himself up—muscles trembling, sweat dripping down his face. 

"Ten more." 

His body screamed at him to stop, to collapse, to give in— 

But he didn't. 

He couldn't. 

One push-up. Then another. And another. 

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him, but he grit his teeth and kept moving. 

He had to strengthen his body. He had to make his Yang chakra stronger. He had to catch up. 

Nearby, Hisao watched, arms crossed. He wasn't offering encouragement. He wasn't going to tell Yasu he was doing well. 

Because this was expected. 

If Yasu wanted to be strong, he had to earn it. 

And he wanted this. 

So he pushed. 

He ran until his legs felt like lead. 

He struck the training dummy until his knuckles bled. 

He lifted his body weight over and over until his muscles screamed. 

And when he collapsed from exhaustion? 

"Get up." 

So he did. 

. 

. 

. 

The lake was still. 

Yasu stood at the edge, bare feet digging into the dirt, staring at the impossible challenge before him. 

"Chakra control is balance. Focus. If you lose control for even a second—" 

A loud splash. 

Yasu hit the water hard, sinking instantly. 

He gasped as the cold swallowed him, chakra slipping away, balance shattered. He kicked up, breaking the surface, coughing out lake water as he wiped his face. 

On the shore, Hisao sighed. 

"Again." 

So he crawled out of the water and tried again. And again. 

And again. 

The first time, he sank. 

The second time, he wobbled. 

The third time, he lasted three steps before the water swallowed him again. 

His frustration boiled under his skin. Why couldn't he do this?! 

But he swallowed the anger. He had to master this. 

Hours passed. 

His breaths evened out. His mind settled. His chakra flowed. 

This time, when he stepped forward— 

He didn't sink. 

. 

. 

. 

Hisao moved fast. Too fast. 

Yasu barely dodged the first strike, but the second sent him skidding across the dirt. His ribs ached where Hisao's foot had caught him, but he didn't stop—he rolled, pushed himself up, retaliated. 

A kunai flicked toward Hisao. He knocked it aside effortlessly. 

"Sloppy," Hisao muttered. 

Yasu lunged again, adjusting. His movements were still slower, weaker, but his mind worked faster. 

He analysed. Calculated. 

Hisao favoured counterattacks. He struck hardest when an opponent overextended. 

Yasu faked a stumble. 

Hisao took the bait. 

Yasu's kunai struck, stopping just short of Hisao's chest. 

A pause. 

Then Hisao smirked. "Better." 

. 

. 

. 

Yasu collapsed onto his futon, body screaming, limbs aching. 

He was exhausted. 

Every day was pain. Every day was failure. Every day was a battle against himself. 

But as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his lips curled into the smallest, faintest smile. 

Because he was getting stronger. 

And he wanted more. 

. 

. 

. 

The morning air was crisp, cool against his skin as Yasu moved through the clearing, the weight of a kunai familiar in his grip. His breath was steady, controlled, even as his muscles burned from the effort. 

Five dummies stood before him, worn but sturdy, their surfaces marred with shallow cuts and punctures. They had been his opponents for hours now, silent, unyielding. The world around him was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the sharp sound of metal slicing through air. 

Yasu moved. 

A flicker of motion—he lunged forward, kunai flashing as he slashed across the first dummy's throat. A killing blow. Before his foot even touched the ground, he pivoted sharply, twisting his body as he hurled another kunai at the second target. The blade struck centre mass. Not good enough. The heart was small, easy to miss. He needed precision. 

He dashed forward, retrieving the embedded kunai in one smooth motion. His grip shifted—reverse this time. Another slash, deep across the abdomen, before he ducked low and drove the blade into where the femoral artery would be. Crippled, bleeding out in seconds. He was fast, but not fast enough. 

Again. 

He spun, weaving between the remaining dummies with practiced steps. A feint left, a strike right—his blade cut through empty space, then landed true, sinking into the third target's temple. His free hand moved instinctively, drawing another kunai from his holster, launching it at the fourth. It whistled through the air before embedding itself just shy of the throat. Off by an inch. That was an inch too much. 

Yasu exhaled sharply, frustration curling at the edge of his focus. Hisao's words echoed in his mind. "There's no room for error in a real fight. A mistake isn't just a mistake—it's death." 

He couldn't afford to be careless. 

His grip tightened. He moved again. Faster. 

His body twisted, muscles coiling as he sprang into motion. His breath came in steady beats, his steps light, soundless. One target, then the next—his kunai struck, cut, pierced. A fluid dance of violence, calculated and efficient. 

A downward strike into the chest cavity. A flick of the wrist severing the carotid. A kunai flipping midair, thrown with just enough force to puncture a lung. 

By the time he stopped, the clearing was silent again. 

Yasu stood amidst the dummies, his breath slow and even despite the exertion. Sweat clung to his skin, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. His hands trembled slightly, not from fatigue, but from something deeper—something restless, unsatisfied. 

It wasn't enough. 

He turned to reset the dummies. There was still time before someone came looking for him. There was always more to refine, more to perfect. 

The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps cut through the quiet. 

Yasu didn't startle. He had sensed the presence long before it made itself known. Hisao wasn't trying to hide it. 

"You're getting the hang of it." 

Yasu exhaled, lowering his kunai but not relaxing entirely. He turned, watching as Hisao approached, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression in place. There was something in his gaze, though—something sharp, assessing. 

Not disapproval. 

Something closer to satisfaction. 

"You move better than before," Hisao continued, eyes flickering over the dummies, noting the cuts, the embedded kunai, the deliberate placement of each strike. "Cleaner. More precise." His lips quirked slightly. "You're still hesitating between movements, though. You notice that?" 

Yasu nodded. He had felt it. 

"Tch. Good. Means you can fix it." Hisao's hand came up, ruffling Yasu's hair without warning, fingers briefly tangling in sweat-damp strands. His touch was firm but not rough, and when Yasu looked up, there was a glint in Hisao's eye—faint, fleeting. Pride. 

Then it was gone, and Hisao reached into his cloak, pulling something free. A book. 

Yasu caught it easily when Hisao tossed it to him. The cover was worn but intact, the pages thick with age. His gaze flicked over the title. 

A Beginner's Guide to Sealing Techniques. 

He glanced back up, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Hisao just smirked. 

"Hope you haven't forgotten," he said dryly. "It's your birthday." 

Yasu blinked. 

Oh. 

He had forgotten. 

The realization settled strangely in his chest. Birthdays weren't something he had thought about in years. Before, they had been meaningless—just another day, another year passed. But Hisao had remembered. 

Hisao had brought him something. 

Yasu ran a hand over the cover, tracing the edges, feeling the weight of it in his grip. 

"Figured it was about time you had something to actually study," Hisao said, nodding toward the book. "You've got the right mindset for seals. Now you just need the foundation." 

Yasu tightened his hold on the book. He wasn't sure what to say. 

But it didn't matter. Hisao didn't expect thanks. 

Because just as quickly as he had come, Hisao was already turning away. 

"I've got business to take care of," he said, voice shifting—cooler now, more serious. "Won't be gone long." 

Yasu said nothing, watching as Hisao adjusted his cloak, movements brisk, efficient. This wasn't the first time. There had been moments since staying with Hisao that the man had to leave—sometimes for hours, sometimes for days. He never explained much, never lingered longer than necessary. 

It made sense. Hisao was important. Whatever he was dealing with, it wasn't something Yasu needed to question. 

Hisao paused before stepping away, glancing back one last time. His gaze flickered briefly to the book in Yasu's hands, then to the boy himself. 

"Don't slack off while I'm gone." 

Yasu smirked faintly. "I won't." 

Hisao huffed. "Good." 

And then he was gone, footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Yasu alone once more. 

He looked down at the book. 

A gift. 

He had a feeling it would be more valuable than anything else he could have received. 

And just like that, he had something new to master. 

Yasu exhaled, tucking the book securely under his arm before turning back toward the dummies. 

One more round. 

Then he'd start reading. 

. . . 

. . . 

Yasu lay on the ground, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, exhaustion seeping into his limbs. The day had been long, grueling, but productive. His muscles ached, his body heavy with fatigue, but his mind remained sharp, thoughts drifting as he focused on his breathing. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. 

His fingers twitched against his stomach before absently trailing over his forearm, where faint markings still lingered—the remnants of the seal Hisao had placed on him so long ago. 

It had been a while since Hisao had last adjusted it. 

The man hadn't touched it often, only making changes when he deemed Yasu ready. The first time Hisao had altered the restriction, Yasu had felt the shift immediately—a sudden expansion of chakra, a raw, unfiltered flood of energy pressing against his senses. It had thrown him off at first, his control faltering, his mind struggling to grasp the sudden increase. 

But he had adapted. 

Again and again, he had adjusted. 

Hisao had trusted him to handle it, to refine his control, to learn how to manage the overwhelming sensation without collapsing under it. And he had. 

It wasn't perfect—his chakra still faltered at times, still stretched too wide before he could reel it back—but it was better. 

He was getting better. 

Yasu let his hand fall away, gaze drifting up toward the sky. 

A few more days. 

That was all that remained before he started at the academy. 

A few more days before everything changed. 

He could feel the anticipation curling beneath his skin, something eager, restless. He had worked for this—earned this. 

And for the first time in a long while, he was excited. 

Excited to begin.