"It's time to resume training in Nanto Seiken!"
Now that they had plenty of money, it was time to put it to use.
For Hinata, the whole point of earning all this cash was to "whale" her way to power far beyond the reach of ordinary people. Sasuke and Naruto probably didn't even know what "whaling" meant, but their goal was the same.
One word: strength.
Using the most brutal and painful methods to forcibly unlock their physical potential, then repairing and reinforcing their damaged bodies with rare and expensive herbs—that was Hinata's method.
Technically, it was effective. The only problems were:
1. The sheer pain and burden it placed on the body, which required extreme willpower to endure.
2. The massive cost of the medicinal herbs and equipment required.
"We've all passed the first trial of Nanto Seiken, but only we each know how much we've actually improved. So now, I'll keep my promise—we begin training for the second trial."
Hinata furrowed her brow at the setup in front of her, assembled using nearly 50,000 ryo worth of gear scavenged from the marketplace. It looked simple enough.
"Pots...? And... is that iron sand?"
Naruto circled the three massive iron pots curiously. These were heavy-duty cooking pots meant for industrial-scale food prep—big enough to stew Naruto himself in chunks.
Now, however, they were filled not with stew, but with black iron sand. The fine grains shimmered with the dense weight unique to metal.
"Nanto Seiken combines taijutsu and ninjutsu. At this stage, it's still focused on physical training. This iron sand is to further temper our fists."
She reached into one pot and grabbed a handful, nodding in satisfaction. Being rich really made things easier—the fine quality of the iron sand would maximize the training's effectiveness.
"But can punching inanimate stuff really make you stronger?"
Sasuke frowned skeptically. He wasn't convinced by the iron pots, though his earlier electric-chair training had indeed improved his chakra control, making his ninjutsu more efficient. So he withheld judgment.
"Don't underestimate it. The scroll's clear: if you can punch into the iron sand without injuring your hands, it means you've gained enough power to kill with a single blow. And besides..."
Hinata stepped back and pointed to the mechanisms beneath each pot. "These aren't just any pots of sand. Each is modified based on your chakra nature."
Indeed, beneath each pot sat a different device.
The center pot had a small oil tank below it. When ignited, it would rapidly heat the pot and its contents to searing, bone-charring temperatures.
The left pot was hooked up to a simple diesel generator—once activated, it would electrify the iron sand with a 1000-watt current.
The right pot was rigged to a cement mixer. The mixer's blades, buried at the bottom of the pot, would churn the sand into a constant whirlwind.
"You're not just punching into iron sand—you're punching into iron sand that's actively enhanced by elemental force. For me and Enshakuken, it's the red-hot sand."
"For Sasuke and Raizanken, it's electrified sand. For Naruto and Fūjunkuken, it's swirling sand mimicking violent wind."
Even Hinata herself wasn't entirely confident.
The logic behind this was sound. In traditional iron-palm training, martial artists hit iron sand to strengthen their hands for stone-shattering power.
In the ninja world, chakra allowed her to take this a step further. She could already press her hands into burning coals without being burned thanks to chakra shielding. So heating the sand would deepen the effect. Sasuke and Naruto's setups followed the same logic.
Sasuke had survived 500 volts in a homemade electric chair. That meant his body had learned how to channel chakra to resist electrical currents.
Naruto had leapt across a 20-meter waterfall—proof that he'd instinctively learned to distribute chakra across his body to manipulate airflow.
Now, this next stage would force them to concentrate chakra into their hands, to enhance their offensive power.
Of course, just because the idea was correct didn't mean it wasn't absolutely insane.
Despite being called "sand," iron sand was metallic—tough and sharp. Punching into it would require explosive power and extreme physical resilience.
Not to mention, the modifications were downright sadistic.
Take Hinata's pot: the heated sand could easily roast raw chicken. Once heated, it could cling to the skin and cause sustained burns. Without perfectly focused chakra shielding, one touch would melt skin and bone.
Sasuke's electrified pot was just as dangerous. Even without prolonged exposure, one touch would paralyze limbs, robbing the user of the strength needed to punch through the sand—unless he could completely ignore the high voltage.
Naruto's swirling pot looked harmless but was arguably the most insidious. The rotating sand could slice and grind skin and muscle, gradually pulverizing an arm if contact was prolonged. And the damage would be subtle—slow and unnoticed until it was too late.
Burns, paralysis, shredding—these were the raw aspects of fire, lightning, and wind. Hinata knew full well: this training level was exponentially harder than the first.
"So this is the forbidden training method, huh... no wonder it's so insane."
Sasuke's eyes gleamed with rare excitement—clearly, this Uchiha heir had no fear, or maybe that electric chair fried a few brain cells.
"Eh~? This doesn't look hard at all. You just punch into the sand, right? What's the big deal?"
Naruto scratched his cheek with a clueless expression. Obviously, he hadn't figured out how insane this actually was.
"Hmph... easy or not, I don't care what you think. You only pass Stage Two once you can punch deep into the sand. Good luck."
Hinata stretched her wrists and lit the oil tank beneath her pot. Flames roared to life, licking the bottom of the iron pot. Within ten minutes, the sand darkened ominously—it looked harmless, but was now hot enough to cook bones.
"Tch."
Sasuke scoffed at her smugness and flipped his own power switch. Whatever the challenge, he'd face it head-on.
Naruto sighed as he looked at his pot. This kind of training felt boring, but since Hinata and Sasuke were already fired up, he had no choice but to join in.
Whatever—he'd probably finish it quickly, right?
He turned on his mixer.
---
[If it doesn't strike you dead, it leaves a scar—
Not every storm breaks bones, but all leave marks.
Pain is the price for lessons unearned,
And even mercy comes with a burn.]
The sun rose over Konoha's second morning. Villagers went about their routines. At the Ninja Academy, students gathered once more—but today was different. Their teacher Iruka stood at the classroom door, fuming.
"Finally caught you all! If you'd skipped again today, I'd have hunted you down myself!"
He glared at the five students lined up in front of him.
"Hinata! Sasuke! Naruto! Shikamaru! Choji! What do you have to say for yourselves?!"
"Jeez, Iruka-sensei is so naggy~ But we're here now, aren't we?"
Naruto answered casually, which made Iruka fume even harder.
"Fine! Then you're all on hallway duty! Stand there till class ends—then I'll tutor you personally!"
He slammed the door, leaving the five of them staring at one another.
"Knew this was coming..."
Shikamaru yawned. His panda-eyed, pineapple-haired look now made him resemble his future brother-in-law Gaara. Clearly, he'd pulled an all-nighter again.
"Ugh... barbecue... maybe it wasn't such a good idea..."
Choji clutched his stomach and groaned.
Shikamaru shot him a side glance and sighed, "Barbecue's fine... but you ate twenty kilograms of it. You're lucky you're still alive."
No doubt, Choji had splurged on a feast after getting paid yesterday. But scarfing down that much meat had landed him in Konoha Hospital overnight on an IV drip.
End.
---
TL: Here's something I had in store.
---
"The Things That Don't Kill"
They say, what doesn't kill you makes you strong,
But they don't march through nights so long.
They don't feel shrapnel in their sleep,
Or wake from dreams too dark, too deep.
It didn't kill me—that is true,
But left a limp, a twisted view.
My brother screamed, then made no sound.
I walked away. He stayed the ground.
They say I'm stronger. I just bend.
Each battle breaks me bit by end.
Not all wounds bleed, not all are seen—
Some carve their names on what's between.
So when they toast the ones who stand,
And speak of courage, bold and grand—
Remember this: I still survive,
But parts of me were left alive
In mud, in fire, in eyes gone wide—
The me that lived before has died.