Naruto: The White Spider of the Leaf

Hours had passed since Minato and I had met up. We'd spent quite a while on taijutsu techniques and shuriken throwing. I was making slight progress, though not by much. Despite Minato's numerous explanations, I couldn't perfect it yet. But that was fine; shurikens rarely work on anyone important, anyway. Improvement, even minimal, was still improvement, right?

"Haaa!" I fell to the ground, breathing hard and drenched in sweat. The day's activities had exhausted me—from sparring to precision practice, it had been quite the tiring ordeal.

"That's enough for the day, Shiro," Minato commented, sitting under a tree and taking out a book from his bag.

"Ugh..." I grunted, dissatisfied with my limits. "You're probably right. Thanks for the help, as usual, Minato."

"What are friends for? I like helping you anyway. You're fun to be around," he chuckled with a smile.

"I still can't tell if you're mocking me or not sometimes..." I mumbled, unsure about some parts of Minato's character.

"Did you say something?" Minato asked, curiosity in his gaze.

"Nah, it's nothing." I sighed, then grinned. 

Becoming childhood friends with someone like Minato felt pretty awesome. In my previous life, I grew up admiring him in the show. The Yellow Flash of the leaf had the coolest skill set out of everyone! That's how I always thought growing up, not that I grew much after hitting puberty. 

Seriously, how the hell did I die? Did I even die in the first place?

Whatever, I'm here now, so I better make the best of it. I'm definitely not letting Minato die like he did in the original timeline. That's another reason I've got to get stronger.

Noticing the familiar cover of the book Minato had in hand, I spoke up. "You're reading the book by that Jiraiya guy again? Didn't you finish it already?"

"Hehe, well, it's quite an interesting story," Minato said. "And I heard volume two is coming out soon, so I thought a good re-read would make it all the more appealing, you know?"

"Mmm," I mused. "I guess you're right," I said, lying on the grass and looking at the sky. "What do you find most interesting about it?"

"Hmm..." Minato thought, finger on his chin. "Well, it's a comedic action story about a young shinobi named Naruto. The funny moments are great, they always get a chuckle out of me."

"Oh? I thought the fight scenes were rather bland, though," I commented.

"Well, it is the author's first book. There are bound to be some imperfections," Minato defended. "But the rest is really good. The author has potential." He turned another page.

I soon joined Minato with one of my own books, a detailed one about medical ninjutsu that I hoped would both help me with something I had in mind for the future, and also help with my chakra control. That's one thing I really lacked, but future lessons at the academy should fix that in time. I'd only been there for six months, and at eight years old, it was still acceptable. Most other students had a whole two extra years to study and learn to be shinobi. Enrolling late, it was obvious I'd be behind. Still, being made fun of infuriated me to no end.

Children are cruel... 

Turning pages and reading about the art, I found many interesting things about it, such as how to finely control your chakra to create a blade that could be used as precisely as a scalpel, or how to stimulate the regeneration of cells. All of it was great and all, but what I really cared about was doing organ transplants on the fly. Perhaps, during the coming war, I might be able to snatch a Sharingan from one of our fallen allies if I can learn to do it before the time comes. 

As for how I'll hide it from the clan? Well, that's future Shirokumo's problem.

…

A couple of hours later, Minato closed his book and stood up. "Hey, Shiro, I think I'll head off now. I forgot I promised my parents I'd be there to help with some chores this evening." He waved, packing his book away.

"Alright, Minato. I think I'll stick around a bit longer, then do my usual evening routine. See you tomorrow," I waved back.

"Okay, don't stay up too late. You'll end up with permanent eye bags at this rate," Minato said, concerned. He knew what I was all about.

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine. No need to worry," I dismissed it. My unhealthy habits weren't a topic I wanted to dwell on.

Sighing, Minato turned around. "See you tomorrow, Shiro," he said, vanishing from view.

Left alone with my book, I closed it and stood up. But instead of going home, I grinned, ready for some more hardcore training. All the nice stuff we learned at the academy and together with Minato was cool and all, but those generic, traditional methods just wouldn't do it for me. No matter how much my basics improved, and how good of a generic ninja I got to be, I needed something more to set me apart from the competition. Something that could actually, potentially assist me in bridging the gap. 

I put the medical ninjutsu book in my bag and stretched. Walking a ways away to a specially carved tree for target practice, I planned on using it differently.

Taking a deep breath, I took a stance before the tree. Then I punched the trunk, again and again. My fists, weighed down by ten kilogram weights, kept slamming into the wood. I hoped to reforge them into deadly weapons of steel like those of Might Gai and his beloved, bushy browed pupil.

After about an hour, I switched to kicking with my right leg. An hour later, I switched to the other leg. Another hour later, back to my fists. Another hour of punching, until my arms and legs were swollen and hurt like hell. A thousand full-power swings per hour. I knew my limits enough not to go so overboard I couldn't get home. Well into the evening, after thousands of strikes, I ran back home. My last outdoor training before a well-deserved meal. 

My house was small and cozy, but perpetually messy. A worn couch and stacks of books and clothes cluttered the living room, while the kitchen, cramped and functional, was strewn with dirty dishes and the essentials—a few eggs, some bread, and my beloved orange juice in the fridge. A narrow hallway led to my bedroom, where weights and training gear lay scattered across the floor, mingling with clothes. My simple futon bed often stood unmade, and a small desk cluttered with study materials sat by a window that offered a decent view of the street. Despite the mess, the place felt like home, a reflection of my sorta busy life. 

My parents used to stay on the second floor, but since they died I haven't gone up there at all.

Opening the creaky door, I muttered lazily, "I need to clean up a bit..."

Walking to the fridge, I took some eggs to fry and also a carton of orange juice. With that and a handful of bread, it made for decent nourishment. Especially the juice. 

I love orange juice.

"That hit the spot," I patted my stomach after finishing, then walked to my room. "Let's get to it," I said to myself, still exhausted from earlier. 

Without going to the extreme, I won't get out of my poor situation. 

Getting on the mat for my final physical exercises of the day, I began my last twenty-thirty minutes of training the body. One hundred pushups, one hundred squats, one hundred sit-ups. With the run from the park to home, it was at least ten kilometers. I did this every day.

"Saitamaaaaa!" I yelled, finishing the last pushup and falling on the mat, breathing heavily. "Haa... Haaa... Ha... Fuck. I can't sleep yet..."

Barely sitting up, I crawled to the sink and grabbed a balloon from a bag I'd left hanging near it. After filling it with water, I just sat on the floor and held it, circulating chakra through it for hours as the night drew on.

The earlier might've been the last of my physical training, but I had to train the mind too. I had to train the spirit. Most notably, I had to train my chakra control.

I didn't know how to do that effectively. What they taught us at the academy wasn't working for me, I sucked at ninjutsu and the instructor only ever did the bare minimum to assist me, so I stopped asking him for help. Minato obviously helped, but what he could explain was limited. No matter how smart or talented, he was still just a kid trying to teach another kid. He lacked the life experience to truly guide me on the more complicated parts of ninjutsu.

That's not to say that his future self couldn't guide me, though.

The Rasengan is said to require the pinnacle of chakra control to be formed in one's hand. So, as long as I can successfully go through the three steps and master the Rasengan, my chakra control will subsequently also rise to an insane level! Generally speaking, you need to at least be a Special-Jonin to perform an A rank ninjutsu, after all.

But hey, even if I don't master it, as long as I can get the first two steps right, it should lay a solid foundation for any other ninjutsu I try my hands at. 

Or I guess, my hand signs.

With the night dragging on, I finally stood up and threw the balloon in the sink. Another failed attempt, obviously. I'm still a nobody, I never expected to succeed in this step within the months that I've been attempting it. It'll take me years.

Falling face first into my futon, I fell into a deep slumber right in place, all snug and uncomfy. Now I'm just waiting for the alarm clock to force me up for the new day and repeat it all again.

This was my average day: going to the academy, doing poorly, being laughed at. Spending time with Yukino, who was nice to me. Training with Minato, a great source of knowledge. Reading books to learn about shinobi. Extra training at night, late dinners, and final exercises plus Rasengan training before bed. All in all I probably slept like four hours. Some extra Zs during classes also helped, admittedly enough.

Not sure how I'm still alive, but I am, so I'll keep going.

Quite the schedule, wouldn't you say?