The sun filtered softly through the slatted windows of the Hokage building, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Inside the office, Jiraiya stood with his arms folded, a rare seriousness on his usually grinning face.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, glanced up from a scroll and nodded. "So, how did they do?"
Jiraiya leaned back slightly, eyes thoughtful. "They passed. Each in their own way."
He began to pace slowly.
"Kushina's got spirit. She rushed in headfirst, all fire and instinct—hot-headed as ever, but there's no doubt she's got potential. She just needs direction."
A puff of smoke from the Hokage's pipe curled toward the ceiling. "And Minato?"
Jiraiya gave a small grin. "Sharp. He analyzes situations fast, has natural battle instincts. He's not just good—he's going to be scary good."
Sarutobi nodded, expecting no less. "And Ryousuke?"
That name made Jiraiya pause. "Calm. Collected. Like a man walking through fire who's already accepted the burn. His strength's at least near chūnin level, maybe just under—but it's his control and awareness that stand out. He doesn't waste energy. But…"
"But?" the Hokage prompted, watching him carefully.
"He's distant," Jiraiya said quietly. "Doesn't open up. There's a wall around him, and I don't know what's on the other side. He listens, but I'm not sure he hears. Still, he's disciplined. More than most."
Sarutobi tapped ash from his pipe, remembering what Mito-sama said about him,"Keep an eye on him. He's not the most satisfied with how things went with the land of whirlpools."
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Absolutely! Here's a system prompt styled consistently with the previous ones, triggered just after Shikaku finishes the book and reflects on it:
---
[System Prompt]
Your words have crossed another mind.
+1 Empathy
> Reward: +50 Chakra
Bonus: +1% increase to Genjutsu resistance (Emotional clarity reinforces mental defense.)
Ryousuke dragged his feet slightly as the system's prompt sounded in his mind, his book seemed to be making the rounds since a day ago, after all, he had already lost count of how many times he heard it.
The team walked back from a D-rank mission—this one involving a very aggressive rooster and an angry merchant who insisted on it being treated like royalty.
Kushina was ranting again, arms flailing in the air.
"Arghh, Can't we do some better missions? I swear, if I have to chase one more damn chicken, I'll roast it myself!"
Minato just laughed, calm as ever. "It's not that bad. At least we're getting used to moving together."
Jiraiya strolled ahead with his hands behind his head, yawning. "Part of the journey, kids. Everyone starts from the bottom."
Ryousuke stayed a step behind them, his hands in his pockets, eyes wandering lazily across the village street. It was then, his eyes noted something.
On a bench near the dango shop, a man was flipping through a small, familiar-looking book.
A few steps later, he saw another one—this time a chuunin, leaning against a wall in the shade, eyes narrowed at a page.
His breath caught for just a moment.
They're actually reading it.
Of Mice and Men.
He hadn't expected it to be this fast. Maybe a few curious readers at best. The publisher barely knew what to make of it—some teen with a strange pen name and a somber manuscript.
Yet here it was. Out in the world. Being read.
He didn't let his expression change, but a small grin graced his lips.
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Inoichi Yamanaka was leaning behind the counter, absently toying with a petal as Shikaku Nara leaned in with his usual disinterested stare.
"You're bored," Inoichi said flatly.
Shikaku gave a small shrug. "What gave it away?"
"I've got something interesting for you here." Inoichi said, smirking. He reached below the counter and pulled out a worn copy of Of Mice and Men.
Shikaku raised an eyebrow. "A book? You know I don't read books too much, they are very boring and predictable."
"This one's different," Inoichi said, flipping it open with care. "It's about longing. About the kind of dream people have when they don't have anything else left. It's... a heavy one."
Shikaku gave him a skeptical look.
Inoichi didn't push. Just gently placed the book in front of him.
"Read a few pages. If you don't like it, I'll buy you dango."
The Nara gave an exaggerated sigh and flipped it open.
"…Fine. But if this is boring then, I'm making you do my reports next week."
Inoichi smirked, watching as Shikaku's eyes started scanning the first paragraph.
He knew the hook would land soon enough.
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The sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting lazy stripes across the floor. Shikaku leaned back on the wooden stool, arms crossed, the book resting on his knee.
He had intended to skim it—just enough to get Inoichi off his back. But five pages in, his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned the page without thinking.
'George and Lennie, huh…?'
He read silently, the sound of rustling pages almost the only movement in the shop. Inoichi had disappeared into the back, leaving him alone with the story.
As George spoke about the dream of owning land, and Lennie listened with that childlike hope in his eyes, Shikaku found himself staring at the words longer than necessary.
'Peace, Security. Control over your life. It's rare… too rare for people outside the village walls.'
A few more pages turned. The story wasn't flashy, but it stuck. Every character felt raw, like people Shikaku might have walked past in the streets of a ruined town.
And when Curley's wife came into focus—restless, bitter, lonely—he paused.
She wasn't even evil. Just... tired. Like a bird stuck in a cage too long.
And then the ending came. Sudden. Brutal. Inevitable.
He stared at the last page for a long time, sighing lightly.
'This one was indeed different.'
He slowly closed the book, holding it in his hands like it might fall apart.
When Inoichi came back into the room, he expected some sarcastic remark.
Instead, Shikaku said quietly, "You were right."
Inoichi blinked. "What, you finished it already? That's quick!"
He nodded. "Didn't think I'd like it. But... it's good. Heavy."
Inoichi leaned on the counter. "Makes you think, huh?"
Shikaku looked toward the window, where a group of genin chased a cat through the street, laughing. He didn't smile.
"It's the kind of story that hurts quietly. I get why you like it."
Then he stood, handed the book back gently, and added, "The person that wrote this—whoever it is, he's seen a lot and he's able to represent it really deeply. It was satisfying to read a complete book, any time, I read a book, it always felt incomplete to me, as if something's missing, but this one satisfied me."
What began as a casual recommendation between two friends turned into the quiet spark that lit a fire. Inoichi hadn't thought much of it when he handed the book to Shikaku, but the Nara's thoughtful endorsement held unexpected weight.
Within days, whispers started spreading among the chunin and jonin ranks—about a strange, poignant little book that didn't feel like fiction. It passed from hand to hand in break rooms, over mission prep, and during late-night patrols, until even the higher-ups began to take notice. Ryousuke's story, once tucked into a quiet shelf, had begun its climb.