Four Years Old
The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting shimmering patches of light on the lake's surface below. The birds chirped in rhythm, but I was too engrossed in my book to pay attention to their song.
My legs dangled over the edge of the engawa, toes just skimming the water, sending ripples across the surface. The book in my hand was titled [Chakra Control Made Easy: A Beginner's Guide for Young Shinobi.]
A picture book—barely worth my time, but it was all I could get.
I sighed. I had to make do.
The Yamanaka clan had an extensive library, but it was frustratingly out of reach. The first floor only became accessible once you turned five—something I was still painfully waiting for.
The upper levels housed all the secret knowledge: secret jutsu, clan secrets, and the like. But in their wisdom—or paranoia—the elders had decided to teach patience, self-control, and mindfulness before anything else.
It made sense, I supposed.
The Yamanaka delt with the mind. One slip-up, one rogue member without discipline, and the consequences could be catastrophic. I recalled the story about a cocky clan member who'd used the Mind Transfer jutsu on a Hyuga woman who had rejected him. Needless to say, it ended in disaster—his specifically.
The clan paid for it dearly, though perhaps not as dearly as they should've. The Hyuga had been… lenient. It was only a branch member, after all.
That was why the five-year-old rule was in place. I understood it, even respected it. But for someone like me, an old man trapped in a four-year-old's body, it was just an annoying delay.
If I were a Uchiha, they'd already have me locked in a room with scrolls and instructors, force-feeding me knowledge. But the Yamanaka? They were more concerned with raising their children like delicate flowers.
"Patience and mindlessness first", they said. Well, they had no idea what I was capable of. What I needed was information, not life lessons on how to keep my cool.
I flipped the page of my book and skimmed the simple diagrams showing the leaf concentration exercise. Stick a leaf to your forehead, control your chakra to keep it there, don't let it fall off. Basic.
My feet submerged in the cool lake below, and I sent a stream of chakra to my toes, imagining them as lily pads rising to the surface. I'd long since learned that visualization was key to chakra control. If you could see it in your mind, feel it, smell it, you could manifest it in reality.
As my feet lifted above the water, I pressed down gently, testing my control. My soles hovered just above the surface, not a single ripple breaking the stillness. A smile tugged at my lips.
The way they taught this to academy students—walking across the water and falling repeatedly—was horribly inefficient. Why drown yourself when you could simply sit and build control incrementally?
Sometimes, I wonder how anyone got anywhere with the methods they used.
I let my feet lower back into the lake, the cool water surrounding my ankles again. I'd spent the past few years experimenting in my MP training chakra control while practicing mundane things like painting or cooking with nothing but chakra strings.
No one used chakra strings properly, in my opinion. Puppetry was just the surface; there was far more potential there, but most lacked imagination. I didn't.
The sliding shoji door behind me opened, followed by soft footsteps and a familiar voice.
"I keep telling you how important sleep is, but you never listen. Why is that?"
I sighed, pulling my feet from the water. "Three hours is enough to maintain basic bodily functions, Mom."
Mom's brow furrowed, her arms crossing as she leaned against the doorframe. "Sufficient doesn't mean optimal, Satoshi. Where did you even learn that?"
"In one of the books Aunt Kojima gave me," I replied, gesturing to the book in my lap. "It was in the section about shinobi physiology."
It wasn't exactly a lie. My aunt, Taro's mom, had gifted me a couple of books on chakra, and I did read somewhere that shinobi could survive on little sleep—though the specifics varied.
Though, of course, she didn't know the truth. I hadn't needed sleep in years, not since I realized my MP allowed me to practice while in a 'resting' state. The benefits of reincarnating with an old mind and soul, I supposed.
She sighed, but her expression softened. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
"I've been told that," I said, closing the book. "Many times."
Mom shook her head with that familiar look of half-amusement, half-exasperation she reserved just for me. "Well, you're not going to win any arguments with that excuse. You still need proper rest."
I didn't respond. We both knew this conversation wouldn't go anywhere.
She was about to turn back inside when a thought hit me—a way to finally get into the library. My lips curled into a smile. "Mom, do you think we could go shopping today?"
She paused, turning back with curiosity. "Shopping? For what?"
"I was thinking of picking up some paints, brushes, a canvas, and an easel." I paused thoughtfully. "And plant seeds, too."
Mom's brow rose, clearly surprised. "You want to grow plants and start painting?"
"It might be a good hobby. Something different."
She blinked, her expression shifting from suspicion to pure joy. I could practically see the gears turning in her head—her ninja-obsessed son, the one who barely cared about anything outside of jutsu, was showing an interest in art and plants.
To her, this was a breakthrough. To me, it was step one of my plan.
"Well then!" she said, her voice brightening. "Let me change, and we'll go! Give me ten minutes!"
With that, she practically skipped back inside. I stood up from the engawa, tapping my feet on the wooden floor as I suppressed a grin.
Perfect.
Operation Gain Access to the Library was officially a go.
###
AIKO YAMANAKA
The late afternoon sun bathed the garden in golden light, casting long shadows across the vibrant flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The cicadas hummed, a constant chorus to the rustling of the leaves.
I sat there, cradling a cup of tea, watching my son as he eagerly set up his painting supplies. I'd been in my garden countless times, but today, it felt different. Satoshi had asked me to sit for a portrait—something so… normal, so unlike the request that usually tumbled out of his mouth.
If I knew he was going to paint me, I would've worn something a bit nicer. I glanced down at my simple yukata, the pale pink fabric dusted with the colors of spring flowers.
"If I knew you were going to paint me, I would have put on something prettier," I said, smiling at him.
"You look perfect, Mom," he replied, not even glancing up from his easel, his small hands working the brushes with surprising skill for a child his age.
I sipped my tea to hide the chuckle that threatened to escape. He knew how to charm, my Satoshi. Although only four years old, he spoke with the composure of someone far older.
It was hard to believe sometimes, looking at him—his small frame barely visible behind the canvas—that he wasn't like other children. His dusty grey eyes, so sharp and aware, saw the world in a way that unnerved me at times.
He was my miracle, my peace. I'd waited so long for him—so long after that… loss that shattered me. When I lost… I—I thought the world had closed its doors on me. I'd never felt that kind of pain before, a pain that eats at your insides, leaving nothing but emptiness.
I'd questioned everything—whether I was fit to be a mother, whether I even wanted to bring a child into this brutal world. But life doesn't stop. Not when you're the wife of the clan head. There were expectations, duties—there was no room for a woman to be broken for long.
When Satoshi was born, it felt like fate had given me a second chance. But the joy I felt was matched by a terror I couldn't shake.
And now, that terror sat at the garden's edge, quietly mixing paints, plotting his next move as if this were all some carefully crafted strategy. In a way, it probably was.
"You look perfect, Mom," he had said.
If only he knew how imperfect this world was.
###
He worked with an intense focus, his tiny hands moving quickly as he dipped his brush into vibrant paints—blues, pinks, yellows.
His concentration reminded me of his father—Inoichi had the same look when he worked late into the night, his brow furrowed as he poured over mission scrolls. Exhausted. Haunted.
So many nights, I had seen that weight on Inoichi, the heavy burden of being a shinobi. Of the memories he saw. The second and now third Ninja War had taken its toll on us all, but on him, it was especially brutal.
He rarely came home, and when he did, he was a ghost of the man I married—exhausted, worn down, carrying the village's survival on his back.
I don't want that for Satoshi.
I've seen what the village does to its geniuses—its so-called "prodigies."
It takes their brilliance and turns it into a weapon. They become soldiers, tools for Konoha's wars, their lives sacrificed for the greater good. My father, my brother…, and so many others, bright flames snuffed out far too soon.
And here was my son—a boy who learned to walk at four months, to read complex scrolls by age two, and who, at four, was already more advanced than children twice his age.
I was proud of him, of course. What mother wouldn't be? But that pride was tempered with fear. The fear that the village would one day take him from me, push him onto the battlefield, and never return him.
That's why I had always held him back, kept him from the rigorous training that other clans pushed on their children. I refused to let him become a tool before his time.
I wanted him to be a child, to live, to breath in the world without the weight of a kunai at his hip.
But today, something had shifted.
###
Satoshi glanced at me from behind his easel, a gleam in his eyes that always meant he had something up his sleeve. "Care to make a bet, Mom?"
I raised an eyebrow, sipping my tea. "A bet? About what?"
"If my painting is the best you've ever seen, you'll let me access the clan library's first floor."
My brow furrowed instantly. So this is what this is about. "Is this the real reason you wanted to shop for painting supplies?" I waved a hand towards the canvas, my voice hardening.
"Not because you wanted to paint, but because you wanted to get access to the library?"
His face remained calm, too calm for someone so young. "It's not the only reason," he said smoothly. "I do want to paint. I just thought it would be more interesting if we made a bet for fun."
"Fun?" I repeated, not believing him for a second.
He hummed in agreement, still focused on mixing his colors. But now, his tone became matter-of-fact. "I'm wasting my potential, Mom. You and I both know it. My peers are stacking blocks while I'm reading books on physiology. Don't you think it's time I started learning more—something that could actually help me grow?"
The truth in his words stung, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
I didn't need him to spell it out; I knew how advanced he was. I'd watched him breeze through tasks other children struggled with for months. But the idea of giving him access to the library, to that knowledge—it terrified me.
If he started down that path, there was no turning back.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "But it's up to you, of course. If I paint something subpar, we can forget the whole thing."
I stared at him, wondering how a four-year-old could look so… composed. It wasn't normal. None of this was. My Satoshi was different in every possible way.
I had known it from the moment he was born, when he didn't cry like other babies. He just looked at us with those ancient, knowing eyes, like he already understood the world.
I sighed, setting my tea down on the small table beside me. I had been keeping him from growing far too long. I knew that. Inoichi had told me as much—"He's ready," he'd said. "You can't protect him forever." But that didn't stop the fear from gnawing at my heart.
And yet, maybe Inoichi was right. Maybe it was time to let Satoshi move forward. There was an unwritten rule that if a child was deemed mature enough and demonstrated the traits of a morally just Yamanaka, they could access the clan's library early—Satoshi surpassed the requirements tenfold.
I could guide him, teach him how to survive in this world, but I couldn't keep him in the garden forever. He wanted more, and I owed it to him to let him have it.
I took a deep breath, the scent of cherry blossoms from the flowers surrounding me filling the air and grounding me.
"Okay."
Satoshi paused, his eyes widening slightly. "Huh?"
"If your painting truly impresses me, I'll give you access to the library's first floor. But," I held up a finger, "I'll have someone monitor what you're reading, and you'll need to prove that you're using the knowledge wisely. Understood?"
He blinked, surprised but clearly pleased. A bright smile spread across his face, one that reminded me he was still, in many ways, just a little boy.
"Oh, um..." He said, then cleared his throat, as if shocked I agreed to his little game. "You won't regret this, Mom."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "You're acting like you've already won. You'd better finish painting before it gets dark."
"Right, right..." he said, picking up a brush and dipping it into the paint with steady hands.
As I watched him begin, I felt a shift in my heart.
Letting him take this step was terrifying, but it was time. My job now was to make sure that when he left the safety of our home, he had every tool he needed to survive—no, thrive.
My son would be the greatest Yamanaka the clan had ever seen.
I would see to it.
===
[A/N] Who's money is on Satoshi winning the bet?