Kenta lounged on the grassy patch behind his grandmother's house. The academy had been a mixed bag so far—physical conditioning and taijutsu were his domain, but the endless theory lectures had him itching for something new. Ninjutsu, specifically.
Sure, he'd rather punch someone's face than wave his hands around like a wannabe magician, but the potential of ninjutsu was too good to ignore. He'd already started learning hand signs in class—Tiger, Boar, Ox, the works—and they'd clicked fast.
'Mudras from my old life of certain martial arts,' he mused, smirking. 'Same gestures, different game. Easy.'
Sayaka stood nearby, arms crossed, her paper pouch slung at her hip. She'd agreed to tutor him after he'd pestered her relentlessly—"C'mon, you're my bodyguard, it's your job to make me awesome!"—and now she watched with a faint smirk as he flipped through a beat-up book he'd snagged before leaving the capital: 'Transformation Jutsu: A Master's Guide', by some ex-shinobi turned actor named Kenjiro Taro.
Kenta had picked it up on a whim, figuring it'd be perfect for stirring trouble in Konoha.
'Imagine turning into Shikazo and canceling class. Or Hiruzen, ordering extra dessert rations. It was a Goldmine for creating problems.'
"Alright, Sayaka," Kenta declared, hopping to his feet and tossing the kunai aside. "Transformation Jutsu, let's do this. I'll master it by sundown—watch and weep at my genius!"
Sayaka raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. "Sure, Young Master. Hand signs are Boar, Dog, Ram. Focus your chakra, picture the form, and don't blow yourself up. I'd hate to explain that to your mother."
Kenta scoffed, cracking his knuckles. "Blow myself up? Please, I'm a natural. This'll be cake." He'd seen the third-years fumbling through it in class—some turned into lumpy teachers, others poofed into smoke clouds.
Child's play for someone with his past-life reflexes. He wove the signs—Boar, Dog, Ram—his fingers nimble from years of martial arts mudras, and channeled his chakra. *Piece of—*
*POOF!*
A cloud of smoke engulfed him, and Sayaka coughed, waving it away. When it cleared, she froze, then doubled over laughing. Kenta stood there—or rather, a grotesque parody of Kenta did. His head was bulbous, one eye twice the size of the other, his arms dangled like soggy noodles, and his legs bent backward like a broken chair. "What the—?!" he yelped, his voice a garbled mess, like he'd swallowed a frog.
Sayaka clutched her stomach, tears streaming down her face. "Oh—oh, kami, you're a masterpiece! Look at you, Young Master! A walking nightmare! I can't—" She wheezed, barely getting the words out.
'Serves him right,' she thought gleefully. 'All that smug taijutsu swagger, and now he's a deformed blob! Finally, something I can lord over him!'
Kenta flailed his noodle-arms, glaring—or trying to, with one eye drooping into his cheek. "Stop laughing! This is—urgh—temporary! I'll get it next time!" He released the jutsu with a poof, reverting to normal, his face flushed with indignation. "Stupid ninjutsu… I'm too good for this!"
Sayaka wiped her eyes, still snickering. "Oh, sure, 'too good.' Maybe stick to punching things—this clearly isn't your forte."
He shot her a withering look. "Keep talking, paper girl, and I'll hand you over into Tora's claws." But inwardly, he grimaced. Ninjutsu was a slog—worse than kenjutsu, which he'd abandoned after nearly slicing his own foot off as a kid.
His chakra flowed fine, but molding it into shapes? Disaster. He tried again—Boar, Dog, Ram—focusing harder this time, picturing Shikazo's slouchy frame. *POOF!* The smoke cleared, revealing a Shikazo with three arms, a neck like a giraffe, and a face that looked like it'd melted in the sun.
Sayaka howled. "That's your Sensei?! He's gonna haunt my dreams now! You're a menace, Kenta!"
'Perfect,' she thought, smirking internally. 'The great Kenta Madoka, floundering like a fish on land. I'll milk this for weeks.'
Kenta dispelled it, kicking the grass in frustration. "Why's this so hard?! I'm a prodigy—prodigies don't flop!" He tried a third time—same signs, picturing Minato this time—and *POOF!* Out came a Minato with six fingers on one hand, a torso twisted like a pretzel, and hair spiking in every direction like a porcupine on a bad day.
Sayaka collapsed to her knees, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
"Enough!" Kenta snapped, reverting to himself. "This jutsu's cursed! I'm too awesome for it to handle!"
Sayaka stood, wiping her face, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Oh, poor Young Master. Guess you're not a ninjutsu genius after all. Stick to your fists—less chance of turning into a monster."
Kenta crossed his arms, huffing. "Laugh it up, Sayaka. I'll master this—I just need… time." The admission stung, but he wasn't quitting.
Ninjutsu might not come naturally, but he'd beat it into submission. His taijutsu was already chūnin-level—hell, maybe jōnin if he pushed it—so he could afford to slack there and double down on this.
'Normal shinobi waste years on punches I've already mastered,'he thought, arrogance unshaken. 'I'll use that extra time that I would have used on taijutsu practice to grind through ninjutsu and still come out on top.'
Over the next week, he trained with Sayaka every evening, her snickers a constant soundtrack to his failures.
Day one: a lumpy Ikkyū with elephant ears. Day three: a Shizuka with four legs and a tail. Day five: a Tora so hideous even the real demon cat hissed and fled. But by day seven, he nailed it—*POOF!*—a perfect Minato, down to the spiky hair and earnest smile. Sayaka clapped slowly, unimpressed. "A week for a D-rank jutsu. Bravo, prodigy."
Kenta grinned, undeterred. "A week's nothing—I'm still better than half the academy. And this is just the start." Sayaka rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She estimated a month for a C-rank, three or four for a B-rank, and a year—if ever—for an A-rank. 'He's got the grit, but talent? Not here,' she mused, still savoring his earlier flops.
Kenta, meanwhile, was already scheming. He'd cracked open Kenjiro Taro's book again, its worn pages packed with insights from a shinobi who'd turned Transformation Jutsu into an art form. The guy had ditched ninja life for the stage, using the jutsu to play a dozen roles in one play—soldier, damsel, even a dancing tree. With a scholar ninja's help, he'd written a treatise on it. Kenta skimmed the theory:
"Transformation Jutsu is a Yang-based technique, fueled by physical chakra. Some fools call it genjutsu—nonsense. It's pure ninjutsu, reshaping your form with raw energy."
Kenta nodded, muttering to himself. "Makes sense. If it was genjutsu, Hiruzen and Jiraiya wouldn't fall for Naruto's Sexy Jutsu—pervy old men or not. And Kaguya? No way she'd blink at an illusion that weak." The book went on: "Yang chakra drives the physical shift—size, shape, texture." Kenta's mind raced.
Yang chakra—physical energy.
He paced, Sayaka watching with mild curiosity. "A week for D-rank's fine," he said aloud, "but I'm not stopping here. Taijutsu's my crown—ninjutsu's just a shiny new toy. I'll grind it out, master a handful, and still outclass these scrubs." He flipped the book shut, a wicked grin spreading. "Sayaka, mark my words—I'm not just learning this. I'm gonna twist it into something new."
Sayaka tilted her head, skeptical. "What, another abomination? You've got a talent for those."
"Ha-ha," Kenta shot back, sarcasm thick. "No, genius—I'm talking an original jutsu. If Transformation's Yang chakra, I have something in mind that I want to try out. It'd still be D-rank, C-rank at best, but paired with my skills, Deadly."
-----Author Notes-------
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