Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

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The sandy ground of Training Ground Three shimmered under the brutal afternoon sun, heat waves warping the air.

Roshi stood at the center of the field, his sharp gaze flicking between the two figures before him.

Uchiha Itachi, clad in a dark blue clan uniform, stood straight-backed, sweat trickling down his youthful yet taut cheeks. His dark eyes fixed on his opponent with unwavering intensity. At just eight years old, his slender frame seemed almost too small for the vast training ground.

Opposite him, Anko Mitarashi wore a faded black mesh shirt and shorts. Her purple hair clung to her temples with sweat, her hands shoved casually into her pockets. Her posture was loose, but her sharp glance at Itachi betrayed the readiness of a coiled spring.

”Live combat assessment,” Roshi’s voice cut through the heated air. ”Show me how you cooperate effectively. Rules: stop before causing serious injury. Begin.”

”Whoosh—!”

Itachi moved first. His body blurred into an afterimage, speed ghostlike among his peers. Yet to Anko’s eyes, his path was clear.

Three shuriken whistled through the air with a shriek, aimed not to kill but to disable—her shoulder, her knee, her wrist.

Anko exhaled through her nose in a sharp snort. Her body snapped forward like a released spring, swift and fluid, every motion echoing Orochimaru’s taijutsu drills.

With a single, precise sidestep, the shuriken grazed her clothes and buried themselves deep into the sand.

”Fire Release: Flame Bullet!”

Anko’s seals blurred, faster than a blink. Three condensed fireballs roared forward like cannon shells, closing in on Itachi in a triangular net of heat and flame.

His pupils tightened. His Sharingan had not yet been revealed.

Faced with the searing onslaught, he stomped hard and veered right. The fireballs tore past his arm, the scorching airflow searing his skin and nearly throwing him off balance.

”Hmph!”

Anko pounced on his stumble. From her sleeve, her hand shot forward like a striking viper.

”Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!”

Two venomous snakes burst out with a hiss, scales glinting, striking at Itachi’s ankles where he had just landed.

In that instant, his eyes bled red. Twin tomoe spun to life.

The snakes’ strike slowed in his vision, every muscle twitch clear. He twisted violently, barely grazing free—the cold brush of scales raising the hairs on his legs.

But the awkward dodge sent him staggering.

Anko lunged, a cannonball of speed and killing intent.

In the blink of an eye, Itachi’s tomoe spun faster. He didn’t resist the stumble—he let it carry him backward, his small body bending as though broken.

Anko bore down, fist aimed straight for his ribs—yet her focus wavered.

Harsh lights. Snake eyes, slitted and uncaring, abandoning her without a glance.

A genjutsu.

Her mind froze, terror flooding her vision. Though she snapped herself free an instant later, her body lagged, her attack faltering for just a breath.

And that was enough.

”Bang!”

Her fist struck only wood—the Itachi before her dissolving into a substitution log.

The real Itachi emerged silently in her blind spot, blade pressed cold and steady against the fabric of her back. Not piercing, just a reminder.

Time stopped.

Anko froze mid-strike, every sense alive to the faint breath of Itachi behind her and the bite of steel at her back.

”That’s enough,” Roshi’s voice broke the silence.

The tomoe faded. Itachi stepped back, his small chest rising and falling, his face flushed but calm. He wiped the sweat from his brow, retrieved his water bottle, and drank in small, careful sips.

Anko turned stiffly, as if her body had rusted. Frustration surged like a tide, cold and bitter. She had lost. Lost to an eight-year-old boy.

’Is this… why you left me, Orochimaru-sensei?’

Her pale lips pressed together, her face drained of color. Then, unable to contain it, she spun and drove her fist into a wooden post.

”Bang!”

The post cracked with a sunken imprint of her fist.

Roshi glanced at the two—one calm, one trembling—without comment. He moved to the corner, retrieving a cloth bag. Instead of weapons, it carried neatly wrapped rice balls and a bamboo flask.

”Take a break,” Roshi said evenly, his tone oddly domestic.

He handed one rice ball to Itachi, then held the other out to Anko.

Anko’s shoulders were stiff, trembling.

”Steamed before I left. Chicken filling, teriyaki flavor. Not bad,” Roshi said casually. ”After fighting, you should at least eat.”

”I don’t—” she began hotly, but the rich aroma of warm rice and sweet-savory chicken cut her words short. The scent was worlds apart from her usual stale noodles and cheap dango. It pried at her defenses with gentle insistence.

Roshi didn’t push. He simply kept the rice ball extended, then sat down, unwrapping one for himself. He ate with calm, unhurried bites, poured himself tea, and leaned against the post as if he were in his own backyard.

Itachi ate quietly too, savoring the chicken in small mouthfuls.

Anko stared at the rice ball, then at Roshi’s unshaken profile, then at her own fist print on the post. The warm smell mingled with her exhaustion, dissolving her anger into a dull, heavy fatigue.

She finally snatched the rice ball, biting into it as if to vent her frustration. The burst of teriyaki flavor soothed her more than she wanted to admit.

The three of them ate in silence. The only sounds were chewing, swallowing, and the faint whisper of wind over hot sand.

Roshi made no remarks about the battle, his composure steady as stone. When the food was gone, he quietly packed the wrappers, rose, and brushed the dust from his pants.

Roshi walked to the center of the field, his gaze sweeping briefly over Itachi—who had recovered somewhat—before settling on Anko, who had silently finished her rice ball. Her eyes remained shadowed, dark and complex.

”Feeling better?” Roshi’s tone was steady, probing.

”Good. Next—both of you. Together. Try to attack me.”

He stood there casually, hands at his sides, no stance, no seals. His relaxed posture made it seem less like a fight and more like an idle exercise.

Anko’s head snapped up. Surprise flickered across her eyes, quickly replaced by a rekindled fire—stubborn, hungry, unwilling. She glanced at Itachi, then back at their maddeningly calm captain.

Itachi’s gaze sharpened. Though his Sharingan lay dormant, his focus re-gathered. Their eyes met briefly, silent agreement passing between them.

”Alright!” Anko growled. Her hands blurred. ”Ninja Art: Snake Net Binding!”

Chakra coiled into serpentine shadows, slithering out to constrict Roshi’s flanks and rear, hemming him in like living walls.

Her seals shifted again—”Fire Release: Dragon Fire Jutsu!”—and a spear of flame screamed forward, straight for Roshi’s chest.

At that moment, Itachi’s form melted into shadow. He did not follow Anko’s direct assault but instead circled wide, reading Roshi’s movements with uncanny precision. Shuriken spun from his hands, cutting strange arcs through the air, aimed at Roshi’s ankles, knees, every point of balance.

The timing was flawless—the flame at the front, serpents at the rear, shuriken closing the gaps. A perfect pincer.

Roshi’s face didn’t flicker.

”Water Release: Water Wall.”

A thick surge erupted upward, intercepting the Dragon Fire. Steam hissed violently into the air, blinding the field in a cloud of white mist.

Hidden within it, Roshi shifted half a step, the smallest of movements—just enough. Itachi’s shuriken grazed harmlessly past, thudding into the sand.

At the same time, Roshi’s right hand flicked outward.

”Wind Release: Wind Reversal.”

Air swirled violently, twisting Anko’s Chakra serpents into a vortex. Their hissing cries tore through the mist before they unraveled and dissipated.

”Tch!” Anko’s hands blurred again. ”Ninja Art: Hidden Shadow Multi-Snake Hands!”

This time, eight real serpents exploded outward, scales glinting as they lunged at Roshi from every angle.

Roshi leaned back, unfazed, foot stamping the earth.

”Earth Release: Rock Spikes!”

Stone pillars shot upward, skewering two of the snakes mid-lunge. The rest scattered with furious hisses.

And in that heartbeat of distraction—

Itachi struck.

Kunai gleamed, his Sharingan locking onto every twitch of Roshi’s body. He aimed for the exposed ribs of Roshi’s backward-leaning posture.

But Roshi moved as if he had eyes in his back. His body twisted sideways at an impossible angle, the kunai kissing only air.

He spun with the momentum, hands flashing through seals.

”Wind Release: Wind Cutter Jutsu!”

Invisible blades shrieked through the mist, slashing straight for Itachi’s joints.

Danger flared in Itachi’s chest. His tomoe spun to life. The invisible blades slowed into deadly clarity, forcing him into a desperate backbend and a crossed kunai guard.

”Clang! Clang!”

The clash rattled his arms to the bone. He staggered back, fresh gouges carved into his kunai.

Anko seized her chance. Her fingers blurred, eyes gleaming.

”Fire Release: Serpent’s Fangs Barrage!”

Ten sharp, fang-shaped fireballs erupted from her lips, streaking toward Roshi. Unlike before, these weren’t random blasts—they darted like living predators, arcing in from vicious angles toward his vitals.

Their speed and precision outstripped her earlier jutsu.

Roshi remained calm.

”Earth Release: Earth-Style Wall.”

The ground surged upward, forming a massive stone barrier.

”Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The fireballs struck, exploding into sparks and smoke, the wall holding firm until the barrage faded.

Anko was panting now, sweat dripping down her temples. The strain of chaining jutsu was catching up to her.

”Stop,” Roshi’s voice cut through the haze.

The earth wall crumbled back into sand. Roshi brushed invisible dust from his sleeves, his breathing unchanged, as if all of this had been nothing more than a warm-up.

”I’ve seen enough.” His gaze slid over the two, both visibly winded. ”For the next few days, we’ll continue training here—refining your coordination.”

He raised one finger. ”Of course, this kind of training drains energy.”

Itachi, unsurprised, quietly sipped his water, already knowing what was coming.

”As captain, I’ll take responsibility…” Roshi’s lips curved into the faintest smile. His eyes moved between them.

”With this much chakra spent… how about replenishing with meat? My treat.”

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