Konoha’s White Fang Shines

Chapter 1: Shiranui Genma

Some September in Konoha, right after the Ninja Academy exams had ended.

A brown-haired boy stood leisurely on the training field, moving into a stance and slowly practicing a form of boxing.

If this were a park in the early morning back in China, it would surely raise some eyebrows among the elderly folks.

Though he was still young, every punch he threw seemed precise and methodical; there was even a hint of an effortless, natural rhythm to it. It was truly awe-inspiring.

However, the children of the same grade didn't see it that way.

"That's the only repeat student in our year, right? He actually failed and had to repeat, and he's still out here practicing…whatever that boxing style is."

"Heh heh, exactly! I say that style looks so soft and flimsy—no wonder he can't pass the exams. He should call it Turtle Boxing or something~"

"Cough, but the Hyūga Clan's Gentle Fist style looks soft too, sort of like his. Maybe it's stronger than we think?"

"Hah~ The Hyūga are a mighty clan; there's no way they'd have a repeat student. You must not know—this kid's already failed twice! He's still in first grade. If he fails again, he'll never graduate~"

"Heh, so he really is worthless. Nothing to see here. Let's go!"

Those kids, who had been pointing and whispering about the brown-haired boy, quickly lost interest and scattered to play elsewhere.

No one knew how much time passed before the boy exhaled deeply, finishing the final move of his boxing routine.

"Didn't realize it was already almost evening… Taijiquan must be cursed—it nearly made me forget the time. All this precious youth just slipped away… Ugh, and maybe I've been poisoned by something else too."

Over the past few years, the boy's strange behavior, poor performance, and overall mediocrity left him isolated with no real friends, so he often mumbled to himself.

But he had a secret no one knew: he didn't originally belong to this world. To him, this world was only an anime series—one he happened to love deeply. Yet, ironically, that anime had now become his entire reality.

Even the Taijiquan he had just performed was something he had discovered through two years of "tactical" grade-repetition. Back in his previous life, he'd still been quite young and had never practiced any martial arts.

Although he succeeded in crossing over, his situation was completely out of his control. For example, here in this world, his name was Shiranui Genma.

It sounded pretty cool, and it matched a certain background character in the original anime. But he was well aware that he was just some lowly extra.

After all that trouble coming into this world, would he really become an insignificant nobody?

Of course, Shiranui Genma refused to accept that fate.

His biggest problem, though, was that even after five whole years of living here—despite a few minor gains—he had found no real opportunity to become a "main character."

Everyone knows how it usually goes with people who transmigrate: out of the countless thousands, the vast majority land in the protagonist's seat and go on to enjoy a charmed life. They usually come with some sort of "cheat," and not just any cheat, but a game-breaking one at that.

In this world, just to achieve any significant success, you need a good family background—namely, an excellent bloodline.

As for Shiranui Genma, in the original story, he was just an ordinary ninja. A few years back, when he finally awakened chakra, they tested him and found that he had two elemental affinities: Fire and Earth.

Sure, that's better than some random nobody, but at best, that sets him up for a slightly above-average future.

And as for the other "golden finger" cheat that most transmigrators rely on—a system—he'd never gotten so much as a whiff of one.

He kept ignoring wave after wave of chirping but adorable girls, always waiting for that fabled system to speak to him. Yet five years had passed—five whole years—and despite bracing for disappointment, he was shocked that the heavens were so merciless.

No special bloodline to speak of, and not a single trace of a system.

It was all so…frustrating!

But how could he be content with that?

Eventually, racking his brains and pestering his father for ages, he unearthed a long-lost family inheritance—some sort of ancient sage technique, passed down within his clan.

Unfortunately, that sage technique had long since fallen into obscurity, with very few learning it and even fewer mastering it. The clan considered it useless. Anyone who wanted to learn it was allowed to, but that person would be barred from running for clan head and would have to act like a complete loser in daily life.

Hence the shenanigans of repeating classes for two years—and breaking the hearts of pretty girls along the way.

He recalled those pretty, skirt-wearing girls who'd mustered their courage to confess to him on graduation day, only to find out how hopeless he was. It had made them so furious they practically gnashed their teeth at him.

Gone was their usual dignity and gentleness. But oh, how those skirts swished and swayed! If only he could chase after them…what a lovely sight that would be.

"Sigh, maybe that's my lost youth right there. Wait, no, no—there should still be plenty of time left for my youth!"

His habit of constantly going on about "youth," sulking for a moment, and then instantly regaining his confidence was not something innate.

Right from the start of his transmigration, he had decided that if no cheat presented itself and he couldn't afford to pay-to-win, then he would grind his way to the top, chasing youth with unrelenting effort!

In the earliest years, he would wake up before dawn each day to train, running through every training ground in Konoha. That was how he came to know the current "Embodiment of Youth," Might Duy.

But after a new opportunity arose, he no longer trained under Might Duy.

Now, having regained his resolve, Genma went to a nearby evergreen tree, took out a sword from his backpack, and got ready to practice.

After all, if this was truly an ancient inheritance, Taijiquan wouldn't be all there was.

That somewhat un-immortal-like master of his had also taught him a basic eight-form sword technique in addition to Taijiquan.

Over the past two years, he hadn't fully mastered the swordsmanship, but now he was on the final move.

Basic Sword Technique, Form Eight: "Wiping Cut."

The blade tips to either side, drawing an arc from front to left or right at about chest or abdomen height, delivering force through the blade. For a rotating "Wiping Cut," you must spin at least one full circle or more.

Recalling the key points of "Wiping Cut," Genma began to practice.

Previously, before he had tried practicing on his own, that strange master always refused to teach him one-on-one. Because of such rules, Genma usually had only a vague understanding—he had the form but not the proper way to generate force.

Today was his third day practicing "Wiping Cut" solo, and it felt different from before.

One slash followed another, gradually causing him to lose himself in the flow; his breathing soon synchronized with each swing of the blade.

With every slash, he would replay the whole process in his mind, comparing it to the previous forms, slowly making adjustments.

Sometimes, looks can be deceiving—you can't tell if a technique is correct just by appearances; you have to feel it.

Remembering his master's words about the true feeling of a real "Wiping Cut," Genma grew ever more certain of the move's accuracy.

Yet, as he immersed himself in the training, someone in the evergreen tree was quietly observing him.

This kid is really something. Strange as he is, his sword practice seems to have real substance, and he's constantly improving. Whose child is he?

A silver-haired middle-aged man sat casually on a branch. He tucked the small book in his hand into his ninja tool pouch and focused on Genma's training.

When Genma finally finished, the man flashed down from the tree, taking a few steps before appearing in front of him.

"Hey there, sorry to bother you, kid. I was watching you practice those sword moves for quite a while. Mind telling me which clan you're from?"

Genma wasn't surprised by a ninja's sudden appearance, but this time, he didn't recognize the man, putting him somewhat on guard.

Sensing Genma's tension and silence, the silver-haired man smiled gently.

"I didn't mean to spy on you or anything. It's just that all the other trees around here are barren, and this is the only one with leaves. If you must know, I got here even earlier than you."

Genma didn't really care about that explanation. His initial tension had passed, and by now, his mind was already churning.

"Uh, Uncle, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours? My dad always says that if you want to get to know someone, the first step is to share your own name. That's basic sincerity."

(Of course, his dad never actually said that, but it was a good enough line to use.)

After all, the man's tone was perfectly polite, and he seemed easygoing enough.

"I see… Well then, hmm… My name is Hatake Sakumo—I'm a swordsmanship enthusiast."

Genma had already guessed this from the man's white hair, but hearing the name "Sakumo" still filled him with excitement.

"You're—Uncle Sakumo?! Oh wow, you're the Konoha White Fang! My name is Shiranui Genma, and I'm actually a huge fan of yours!"

Getting recognized immediately—and by a young fan, no less—made Hatake Sakumo a bit embarrassed. He scratched his head and squatted down.

"A kid from the Shiranui clan practicing swordsmanship… You're the first I've seen."

"Mhm! Mhm!"

Genma didn't really care if Sakumo had some hidden meaning; he just nodded so enthusiastically he looked like a pecking chick.

At first, Sakumo had thought Genma was a weird kid, but now, seeing him so fervent, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I can tell you really love swords. From your practice just now, I can see your determination. But training on your own without guidance can be risky. If you don't mind, could you show me the other forms, too?"

By now, Genma had calmed down a bit. Thinking it through, he realized exactly what Sakumo was aiming at.

"Uncle, you're worried I might be practicing the other forms incorrectly, right? Well, no worries. My master purposely makes me figure them out on my own first before correcting me. Still, I won't miss the chance to show off in front of my idol!"

With that, Genma backed up a few steps, not even giving Sakumo time to respond, and started swinging his blade. He went from the first form all the way through the eighth.

Sakumo had no chance to refuse Genma's enthusiasm, so he watched all eight sword forms carefully. When Genma finished, Sakumo's eyes were filled with surprise and a bit of admiration.

Compared to the still-rough eighth form, the first seven were already quite practiced and fluid—honestly impressive. Sakumo stepped forward, patted Genma on the shoulder, and spoke earnestly:

"I didn't expect your swordsmanship to be this solid. Your master must be quite remarkable. Make sure you keep at it."

Genma sheathed his blade and looked at Sakumo with joy.

"Aside from my master, you're the only person I know who approves of me practicing the sword. And you're my idol! That makes me want to work even harder so I don't let you down."

Seeing Genma's bright, unwavering gaze, Sakumo felt as if he were seeing his own younger self.

In contrast to his earlier dismissive attitude toward Genma, Sakumo now placed a hand on the boy's head and spoke with serious conviction:

"On the path of swordsmanship, never get cocky or impatient. I believe in your talent and in your determination. I hope that, in the end, I'll see you standing at the pinnacle of swordsmanship."

With those words, a breeze brushed against Genma's eyes. By the time he blinked, Sakumo was gone without a trace.