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NYP Ch. 03
🕑 Added 2025-10-20 18:07:49 +0000 UTCSome months passed.
Kenji's right arm trembled as he pushed off the floor one final time. His body came down from the one-armed handstand, landing heavily on the wooden boards. Sweat dripped from his temple, soaking the hair plastered to his forehead. He sucked in deep breaths.
Handstand pushups were his new morning routine.
The original Kenji had let his body atrophy during recovery, and now he was paying for it. If he wanted to be a ninja again, he needed to rebuild his physical foundation from scratch. One arm meant working twice as hard for half the results, but he'd take what he could get.
Between grueling training sessions, he spent most of his time immersed in the theory of puppet prosthetics. He studied how chakra threads could serve as nerves, how carved joints might mimic muscle and tendon, and how different woods responded to chakra flow. He learned what he would need: lightweight timber that wouldn't splinter under strain, sealing arrays to stabilize motion, and fittings delicate enough to move at the command of his will.
When theory wasn't enough, he began building a prototype. It was rough and uneven, meant only for learning. He wouldn't use the prototype as his new limbs. Carving with a single hand was slow work; every slip of the blade reminded him of what he'd lost. Yet each notch brought him a little closer to walking again.
Today, though, he finally felt confident enough to begin work on a true prototype.
His fingers twitched. Five nearly invisible chakra threads shot out, wrapping around the wheelchair a few feet away. With a thought, the chair glided over smoothly. He grabbed the armrest and pulled himself up, settling into the seat with a grunt.
Time to wash up and rest before Ikkaku showed up with breakfast.
He'd just started wheeling toward the bathroom when a knock came at the door.
Knock knock!
"Kenji, I'm coming in!"
Well. Speak of the devil.
"Yeah, come in."
The door opened and Ikkaku stepped inside, carrying a wrapped food container. Morning sunlight spilled through the doorway behind him, highlighting his messy blond hair. He wore a casual gray outfit and had his usual honest expression, along with a folded piece of wax paper in one hand.
"Morning! Brought you breakfast. I stopped by the sweets shop on the way and grabbed some dango. You mentioned wanting it last week."
He closed the door and headed straight for the dining table, setting down the container. He turned around, probably planning to help push the wheelchair like he always did.
Then he froze.
Kenji was already rolling out of the bathroom. The wheelchair moved on its own, gliding smoothly across the floor before stopping beside the table.
"What? How is your chair moving by itself?!" Ikkaku's eyes went wide, pointing at the wheelchair with his mouth hanging open.
"We're ninjas. Doing stuff normal people can't is kind of the whole point. Making a wheelchair roll isn't that impressive."
Kenji tried to sound casual, but couldn't quite keep the smirk off his face. Showing off new skills to a friend his own age? Yeah, that felt pretty good.
"That's so cool! You used chakra, right? Man, that's awesome!"
Ikkaku's enthusiasm was genuine.
The praise washed away some of Kenji's exhaustion from the morning workout.
"Let's eat before it gets cold," he said, rolling up to the table. "I'm starving."
Ikkaku snapped out and started unpacking the food. A bowl of steaming white rice. Grilled salmon with a golden-brown finish. Miso soup with green onions floating on top. A side of blanched spinach with sesame dressing. And a small plate of dango, three colors per skewer, still slightly warm and wrapped in wax paper.
"Dig in. The salmon's best when it's hot."
He handed him chopsticks, and Kenji didn't waste time. He'd been training since dawn and his stomach had been growling for the past hour. The meat was tender, with a faint charcoal flavor.
While they ate, Ikkaku launched into his usual morning gossip routine.
"Did you hear about the Sato kid? He got first place in the Academy assessment this month. Apparently someone from the Hokage's office even complimented him. Oh, and that ramen stand on the corner, there was this huge argument yesterday because they forgot to add pork to someone's bowl. The owner had to give the guy two extra servings to shut him up."
Most of it was neighborhood drama. Small stuff, the kind of stories that made a village feel alive. Ikkaku only had access to surface-level ninja information anyway. He handled clan logistics, not missions or combat operations.
But then his tone shifted, becoming more serious.
"Hey, so... I heard from my parents last night that the village got more casualty reports. There's going to be a memorial service at the Stone in a few days. Everyone's supposed to wear black." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "Do you have something to wear? If not, I've got an extra set at home I can bring over."
Kenji's chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth.
He wasn't surprised. This was the Second Great Ninja War. Konoha ninjas died constantly. The village couldn't hold individual funerals for every casualty, so they held group memorial services instead.
This one would probably include his two dead teammates. And their jonin leader.
"I've got clothes. Don't worry about it."
The black outfit from his parents' funeral. He'd worn it once already for the original Kenji's mother and father. Now he'd wear it again for the teammates who'd died alongside him.
And in a way, for the original Kenji himself.
The kid had held it together after his parents died, staying on the frontlines and avoiding the empty house waiting in Konoha. But when his whole team got wiped out and he ended up crippled? That had been the breaking point. The original Kenji had killed himself rather than face life as a disabled ninja.
That's when the transmigration happened. When Adam became Kenji.
I'll go to the memorial, he thought. It was the least he could do. A final goodbye to the person whose life he'd inherited.
"I'll come by and we can go together!" Ikkaku said, brightening up. "My parents are going too. We can all walk over as a group. It'll be better than going alone."
Warmth spread through Kenji's chest.
Since arriving in this world, Ikkaku had been there every single day. Three meals delivered on time, help with laundry and shopping, always cheerful and never treating him differently because of his missing limbs. Sure, the clan probably assigned him to help. But the genuine care? That was all Ikkaku.
It gave Kenji his first real sense of belonging in the Yamanaka clan.
He'd wondered before why the major clans still lived in their own compounds despite Konoha being a unified village. Now he understood. In a world as dangerous as this, a clan wasn't just a shared name. It was a support network. People who'd watch your back when things went to hell.
Not everyone got that, though.
Kenji's mind flashed briefly to Itachi. The guy who'd slaughtered his entire clan for "the greater good of Konoha." Hard to imagine someone like that understanding the value of family bonds.
He pushed the thought aside.
"Yeah, sounds good," he said, managing a small smile. "I appreciate it."
Ikkaku grinned and immediately started talking about logistics. "We should head over early. I heard they're setting up flowers around the Memorial Stone beforehand. Maybe we can help out."
He waited until Kenji set down his chopsticks. Then he began clearing the table and stacking the empty dishes into the container. He picked up the container and turned to leave, pausing at the door.
"I'll be back at noon with lunch. If you get hungry before then, there's still dango on the table."
"Wait. Ikkaku."
Ikkaku stopped and turned around. "Yeah? Need something else?"
Kenji reached into the storage pouch attached to his wheelchair and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a heavy coin purse. "Can you pick up some materials for me? Here's the list. The money should cover everything."
The purse contained funds from his parents' death benefits and his own disability compensation. More than enough for what he needed.
Ikkaku unfolded the paper and scanned the items. Wood, metal components, leather strips, preservative solutions. Nothing exotic. Then he saw the coin purse and immediately waved his hands, taking a step back.
"Don't worry about the money. I know where to get this stuff. My family's shop has about half of it already, and I can grab the rest from the tool shop next door. Won't cost much. I've got my own money."
"Take it," Kenji said firmly, pushing the purse into Ikkaku's hands. "I'm still a ninja. I've got plenty left from mission pay and compensation. Can't let you spend your own pocket money when you're already doing me a favor."
It wasn't a lie. His parents had both been jonin, and their death benefits had been substantial. Combined with his disability pay and their savings, he had a decent amount stashed away. Ninjas seemed poor because they constantly burned through consumables, like kunai, explosive tags, wire, smoke bombs. But he wasn't on active duty anymore, so his expenses had dropped to almost nothing.
Though he knew that would change once he started building more puppets. Quality materials cost money. Eventually he'd need to take missions again to fund his work.
Seeing Kenji's stubborn expression, Ikkaku stopped arguing. He pocketed the money and waved the list.
"Alright, I've got this. I'll bring it all back at noon."
"No rush," Kenji added. "If you can't find something, don't stress about it. We can look again later."
The items on the list were common enough, but they were still specialized materials for puppet construction. Not many people outside of ninjas and craftsmen bought this stuff regularly. Some shops might not stock everything. He didn't want Ikkaku running all over the village just to complete the list.
Honestly, if he could make the trip himself, he would. But even with chakra threads controlling his wheelchair, the wooden wheels wouldn't hold up over long distances. And his chakra reserves couldn't sustain that kind of extended use. Not yet, anyway.
"Don't worry," Ikkaku said with a grin. Then he left, the door closing behind him.
Kenji sat there for a moment, staring at the empty breakfast dishes. Then he wheeled himself over to the scroll he'd been studying and started reviewing the puppet construction techniques again. Repetition was key. He needed every detail burned into his memory before he started working with materials.
---
Time passed. The morning sunlight shifted across the floor as Kenji studied, occasionally practicing chakra thread manipulation to keep his control sharp. He made the wheelchair roll in circles, lifted small objects, tested his precision by threading chakra through increasingly narrow gaps.
Then, around noon, a knock came from outside.
"Kenji! I'm back! Got everything you asked for. Brought lunch too. Oh, and I asked my dad to help carry the heavy stuff."
Ikkaku called out and the door opened. He entered carrying the lunch container, followed by a stocky middle-aged man, Kuni, Ikkaku's father. The guy ran the hardware store on Konoha's commercial street. Kenji had vague memories of seeing him sitting outside the shop, greeting customers with a warm smile.
Made sense that Ikkaku would recruit him to help haul materials.
"Thanks for the help," Kenji said, nodding to Kuni.
The older man waved it off with a laugh. "Don't mention it. You're one of the people who fought for this village. Helping you carry a few things is nothing." He set down a heavy cloth bag. "Ikkaku said you're working on some kind of project. If you need more materials later, just let him know. My shop stocks plenty of this stuff."
Together, Ikkaku and his father unloaded everything into the corner of the living room. Cloth bags, wooden boxes, sealed bottles of chemical solutions. Every item from the list, perfectly matched.
After Kuni left, Kenji looked over at Ikkaku. The kid's forehead was dotted with sweat. He dusted off his hands.
"Got everything. And that preservative you wanted? I asked the shopkeeper to throw in an extra bottle. He said it'll make the wood last way longer."
Kenji couldn't help but smile. He raised his right hand and gave a thumbs up.
"Impressive work. You actually found everything, and even thought to get extra."
"It was nothing. I'm on good terms with the tool shop owner. He buys nails from my family's store all the time. Getting an extra bottle wasn't a big deal." He pointed to the lunch container. "Come on, let's eat. My mom made extra fried pork cutlet. Said you need to keep your strength up."
Then curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at the pile of materials in the corner.
"So what are you making with all this? Fixing your wheelchair or building something else?"
Kenji smiled. "That's a secret. Maybe you'll see tonight if I finish in time."
He wanted to keep it a surprise. This would be his first real creation in the Naruto world. The person who'd helped him should be the first to see the results.
"Alright! I'll bring extra food tonight then. Can't wait to see what you come up with."
Ikkaku didn't push for details. He'd find out soon enough anyway.
They ate lunch while he talked about his morning errands and the people he'd encountered while shopping. Eventually he packed up the empty containers and left, leaving the house quiet again.
Kenji immediately wheeled himself over to the materials.
He closed his eyes and went through the scroll's instructions one more time. Puppet limb construction process. Joint connection methods. Chemical treatment ratios. Sealing technique application.
When he opened his eyes, he reached for a block of wood and let chakra flow through his fingertips, probing the grain. Smooth, even, no cracks or weak points. Good quality material.
His plan was to model his work after Chiyo's puppet prosthetics. Start with basic replacements for his missing left arm and both legs.
The first step was shaping.
He gripped a carving knife in his right hand and channeled chakra into the blade, making it sharper. Having only one hand made this harder than it should be, but chakra helped compensate. The knife moved across the wood's surface, gradually carving out the shape of a left arm.
The process required constant attention. He worked slowly, letting muscle memory from his previous life guide his hands. He'd done plenty of detailed work in his old job. Different context, same principles.
After about an hour, he had the basic arm shape roughed out. Now for the fine details. Fingers, wrist articulation, elbow joint housing. Each element needed precise dimensions or the whole thing wouldn't function properly.
The legs were even more complex. He had to account for knee joint angles, ankle flexibility, weight distribution. The human body was a masterpiece of engineering, and replicating even basic functionality with wood and metal was a massive challenge.
Two hours later, he finally finished carving all the wooden frameworks. He laid them out on the floor. One left arm. Two legs. They looked like puppet limbs because that's exactly what they were.
Now for the joints.
He selected thin sheets of metal and leather from the materials Ikkaku had brought. The metal needed to be shaped into pivot shafts that would allow smooth rotation. The leather would wrap around the wooden frames at connection points, reducing friction and preventing the wood from splintering under stress.
Kenji used chakra-enhanced tools to cut and shape the metal. Heating it slightly with chakra manipulation, bending it into the correct forms, letting it cool. His right hand cramped from gripping the tools so tightly. Sweat dripped down his forehead. His back ached from hunching over the work. But he kept going.
After another hour, all the joint components were ready. Now came material treatment.
He opened the bottles of preservative solution Ikkaku had bought. The sharp smell hit him immediately.
Following the scroll's recipe, he mixed several compounds together in a shallow bowl. The liquid turned a murky brown color and thickened slightly. He dipped a cloth into the mixture and began applying it to the wooden components, working the solution into the grain.
This step required chakra infusion. He had to push small amounts of energy into the wood along with the preservative, forcing the liquid to penetrate deep into the cellular structure. It was slow, exhausting work that drained his reserves steadily.
By the time he finished treating all the components, his chakra was down to maybe forty percent. His head throbbed. But he was almost done.
Finally came the most crucial step, assembly and sealing.
He started with the left arm, fitting the metal joints into the wooden framework, wrapping everything with leather, making sure each piece locked together properly. The mechanical assembly was straightforward enough. The real challenge came next.
Sealing techniques.
Human joints moved with a complexity that simple machinery couldn't replicate. He needed to inscribe sealing formulae that would allow chakra to flow through the entire structure, coordinating movement and providing structural reinforcement.
He took a deep breath and prepared to form the hand seals.
Then realized the problem.
He only had one hand.
"Shit."
The sealing technique required a specific sequence of hand signs. You needed both hands to form them correctly. And the original Kenji had never practiced one-handed seals. Why would he? He'd had both arms before the ambush.
"Guess I'm doing this the hard way."
He closed his eyes and focused his mental energy to an absolute point. He'd have to brute-force this, use pure willpower and chakra control to guide the sealing formula into place without the proper hand signs.
It was technically possible. Seals were just structured chakra patterns, and hand signs were just a framework to help you visualize and stabilize those patterns. If your control was good enough, you could theoretically bypass the signs entirely.
Theoretically.
Nobody actually did it because it was incredibly difficult and had a high failure rate.
But he didn't have a choice.
He gathered chakra in his right hand, visualizing the seal structure in perfect detail. The pattern had to be exact. One mistake and the whole thing would collapse.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hand trembled slightly from the strain. The chakra churned inside him, fighting against his control like a wild animal.
"Come on," he muttered. "Just... hold together. Seal!"
He pressed his palm against the puppet arm.
The chakra surged outward.
For a second, he thought it was going to fail. The energy pattern wavered, threatening to disperse completely.
Then it stabilized.
Pale blue light spread across the wooden surface. Countless seal symbols emerged from his palm, writhing across the puppet's exterior before sinking into the material and vanishing.
He slumped back in his wheelchair, gasping for breath. His right hand burned from the chakra discharge. His head felt like someone was driving nails into his skull, and his vision swam slightly.
But it had worked.
