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The moment Yoshiro prepared the clone technique and in the interim between touching his fingers together for the seal, and releasing the cast, Shinsei slapped his palms together in a heavy motion that resounded throughout the room; in an instant, the clone technique forged was transformed into something else -- a tall potted plant with bamboo stalks extending outward as a set of thick green spires.

Shinsei nodded gleefully; it was not only created, but it was perfect in its creation. The "korabo" was complete, though already he could hear one of the girls yapping about having completed it first. Of course. Shinsei didn't really care who did what first -- he only wanted to learn everything right, and that meant being cautious and careful at times. Jutsu were precarious things, not mastered by blindly running into them with the intention of speed alone.

"Didn't mess up, did I?" he asked, rhetorically. "Anyway -- I'm not done with the six techniques yet. Two more to go. Then we can show these little girls who really completed everything first."

Ironically, Yoshiro had completed everything before anyone else had. But he supposed being young and eager had its perks, along with its dangers. He didn't want to lag too far behind, though, and he didn't really want a ten year old rival, either. He needed to learn the six techniques and graduate as quickly as he could.

Shinsei needed a squad. He needed missions. He needed money, and opportunity, and other things that adults had. He was lagging behind his peers by years, and that was more than enough.

The man pressed his palms together and focused, settling chakra at his feet and maintaining a smooth, even balance among the surface of the floor. Then, stepping forward with his eyes narrowed and palms still kept together to focus his chakra wholly, he took his first step against the wall . . . and then his second, climbing forward and upward at the same time, in what felt like an inverted world, changing the axis of movement to the vertical rather than the horizontal. The same premise, he was certain, applied to water.

For that, he only needed a bucket, and to balance his foot atop it... which he did, eagerly and easily. The two had the same real premise, and even to shift paradigms between the two felt seamless and easy. The chakra utilization, too, was minimal. It seemed he'd learned it all.

[Suimen Hokou no Waza [ Act of Water Surface Walking ] Learned]
[Kinobori no Waza [ Act of Tree Climbing ] Learned]

But, that wasn't all he felt he would need to learn, in order to classify himself as a proper Genin. Shinsei would learn many more jutsu over time, and particularly today. That would begin with several lower-level Doton and Genjutsu, balancing himself out before he would inevitably focus primarily on his Kekkei Genkai techniques. With the scrolls within the Academy, he had compiled a long list of techniques that he would learn between the increments, as the children jeered and yapped as they often did.

The first was the Earth Clone Skill, which he imagined to be fairly similar in creation to the Bunshin technique, but with a genuine and solid body. Considering any spars with other Students would likely involve a lot of physical combat, he knew immediately that doling out hordes of Earth Clones would likely be key to any victory.

So, he clapped his palms together and created the technique, focusing on the rigidity of the clone, as well as the texture and material utilized for its creation. With his chakra, he had legitimately bound stone to that of a life-like entity, one that mirrored him in appearance. He touched it, and the surface felt like that of a smooth stone.

He utilized a similar concept around his arms, creating the same rigidity, and the results were both quick and exceptional.

Doton Bunshin no Jutsu [ Earth Clone Skill ] Learned
Ishi Yoroi no Ude [ Stone Bracers ] Learned

The next technique that he read about was one he'd seen in action, through his father. One quickly dove into the ground and, essentially, burrowed at high speeds through rock and dirt. They would then arrive elsewhere in a stunning motion, one that could be followed by an attack or reprisal. This time, Shinsei stomped his feet against the ground, before immediately disappearing into the stone of the Academy floor, and arriving outside of the room of the class. He followed the same motion to return to his initial point, before restoring the schism upon the ground, with Swift Earth.

Tsuchi Gunjikoudou no Jutsu [ Earth Military Movement Technique ] Learned
Tsuchi Tou Tou [ Swift Earth ] Learned

The last technique he was interested in learning, for now, was the Chameleon Skin jutsu, as described in the readings. Since he was mostly preparing his arsenal for amateur fights -- as he was unlikely to be assigned to a truly dangerous mission -- he decided to learn tricks and tactics capable of defeating foes with a limited perception, much like himself. The Chameleon Skin was a technique that melded him with his environment, essentially making him nigh-invisible to untrained eyes. He clapped his palms together and focused slivers of his chakra throughout the whole of his form, taking on an illusory guise that projected the color and appearance of the environment behind him onto his skin and attire.

For as long as the technique lasted, he would remain sightless and obscured to his fellow students, though quickly he dispelled his own genjutsu so as to not confuse or bewilder his surrounding shinobi.

[Hada no Kamereon [ Chameleon Skin ] Learned

"Chie-sensei," Shinsei called her, his fingers tangled together at his back, as his messy black hair covered bits of his vision in his left eye. "I believe we've done it. Guess I'm going to clean the Academy for extra credit."

The Academy was dirty. That meant it needed to be cleaned. That, and he really wanted extra credit, which was a direct consequence of making a clean Academy. Shinsei immediately found himself leaving the room, searching the halls for a bucket and a... sponge. Or something to that effect.

Chie had her own business to handle, and the other students were passively waiting for her. He didn't intend to disrespect the woman, but he also knew that one of the missions given to the students present was cleaning, and so clean he would. He had been advised before coming that the best way to expedite graduation was by performing copious amounts of Academy missions, and so, he would.

That began with the thick, soft sponge in his hands. And, of course, the bucket of water that was infused with something more generous than the great Fabuloso. A substance made for the heavens, with Shinsei its bearer. He would clean the Academy well, and that began with one room in particular -- one that seemed to have fallen out of use, that he noticed even whilst walking toward his room from the exterior of the building.

The pleasant grass outside was mired by it, and so too was the relatively sleek - if dusty - interior of the building. Of course, Shinsei planned to mend the issue at hand, with the classroom his final objective.

He scrubbed and pressed the brunt of the spongey object against the panels of the windows, and cleared the dust one particle at a time. Following that motion, he moved to the walls themselves, though they were an object with a pure vertical slope. Thus, they did not accrue nearly as much dust and grime, and only required single swipes of the sponge across each inch of their surface.

What followed from there was the desks, each individually. One desk had one notable issue. Most of them had gum or some other infantile object left underneath, a mark of the undisciplined nature of the young shinobi that came. Shinsei didn't particularly judge, however, as he was one of those children. Always immature, always mocking and scorning the teacher. His 'sensei' back then had admired him and treated him well, but he found any opportunity to mock him, and was mocked by said teacher in return.

It was a positive relationship.

But that teacher had died. He remembered that. It was, in fact, the reason he left the Academy . . . not just laziness, or a loss of motivation, but the loss of a dear friend who represented much of his desire to learn. To advance.

He knew none but that one man, standing tall before him, proudly observing as he learned each individual technique with vigor; with furor. He was a young and easily distracted thing, but he was the star in that man's sky. For a long time.

This was his classroom, fallen out of use. It was sad to see it this way. But from his mourning was equally a happiness, a reminiscent series of thoughts that recalled the white-haired man who died heroically for his village . . . through all of the conflict. He was the reason that as of yet, Shinsei had not left himself, though he often wanted to.

This village was a sad thing. There was so much sorrow and death, and martyrdom for ideals that he could no longer even recall. What did Uzushiogakure even stand for? His family was not from here originally, and they likely wouldn't die here. They'd come from Konoha, and only fled here for refuge in the land occupied by friends and kin. The Uzumaki had always meant something to his family, and so too did their village.

But not to him. None of them, none of this, had ever meant anything to the despondent child that was Shinsei. He only wanted a friend and a meaning, a future of his own, rather than a peerless and abstract view of the past. One that his family offered. An offer he had always rejected, their words in futility.

His sister had already gone, hadn't she? Every day, he remembered her. Falsa. The one who was always too perfect for him, always too wise and beautiful and exceptional -- unlike the shivering, wilted abomination that he had always been. But he loved her, and she him... and she didn't love this village, just like him. She had always wanted to extend far past the limitations of the mortal form. A village itself was a cage to her; constrained, binding her within.

Shinsei thought deeply on her as he cleaned, and performed menial tasks. He had honed his water chakra within his throat, and had taken to using Fish Spit as a way to expedite the cleaning, far faster than a bucket and sponge. Water Mirror was used within the cleaning to closely examine his surrounding surfaces, and view missed spots as he cleaned with his spits, before stepping forward to dry each surface with his mirror at his back, a reminder of any junctions of unclean surfaces.

Uo Tsuba [ Fish Spit ] Learned
Mizu Kagami no Jutsu [ Water Mirror Technique ] Learned

Trick of water was equally useful, as Shinsei flicked dense and viscous jets of water onto surfaces, only to rapidly swipe and clean at them with his towel. Each stroke cleared more dust and grime, and placing the flicks of water on said surfaces reminded him of forgotten spots through all of his vigorous cleaning. He noted that he was an incredibly efficient cleaner, with Suiton involved.

Mizu no Waruasobi [ Trick of Water ] Learned

But learning jutsu wasn't really the purpose of his abrupt exit. Even cleaning wasn't why he'd gone, though the distraction was welcome. In truth, this was a break from the crowding of that room, and all the many shinobi. He felt awfully sorry for Chie, and her perpetual position as the nanny of so many wild and hopeful children. They all wanted their own deaths as weapons for a Kage, and even sometimes a Daimyo.

Martyrdom was every shinobi's Nindo. Why did they fight for such pointless glories? Why did he? There was no real reason for these wars to continue. It was soulless power-mongering by a select few elite. The involvement of their 'lessers' was through subversion, into a societal contract that had no bearing. None of the social dynamics they had built justified dying gruesomely for false ideals. Ones that were parroted only to distort and lie.

Shinsei was uncertain. And... conflicted. He did not know why he followed this path, the Village way -- as if it really meant anything at all. He could've accomplished equally great things no matter where he went, under the guidance of far more cynical and pragmatic beings.

He knew of the wanderers. Of the rogues. One had even just wandered into his classroom, under the ire of his instructor, who labeled his kind as selfish. Perhaps she was right. Shinsei didn't want to be a shinobi because it meant dying for nothing, when he had always imagined his life to be for a greater purpose. It was all about him, and what he wanted and expected. He had thought little of others.

This... was difficult. Though his hands vigorously chopped away at all of the dirt and grime before him, his mind was puzzled on so many levels, reflecting the complexity of the issue he'd peered into. To leave. Not to leave. It was an infinitely challenging duality and he wasn't certain what it meant. But the fact that he'd come here, to the Academy, with the intention to leave in the first place was... truly a reminder of Chie's words. Maybe he was selfish.

And maybe he was just rationalizing it all too much. Maybe his initial instinct was all that needed to be trusted, and anything and everything else was... village brainwashing. He'd spun this narrative over and over in his mind, even for longer than today; some time, in fact. Ever since his original sensei had died, and he'd let his duties and obligations fall to the wayside.

No one would want him here, anyway, when they saw his Mokuton. He looked and felt like an outsider to them, so messy. A shrike among red jays and blue birds. He was not meant for this life.

--or so he thought, again, only to parry and parley that assertion. This was so difficult, especially for one with an untrained, infantile mind, with no true motivation or ideology to speak of. The words and thoughts tired him.

The classroom had been expunged of all dirt and mire, restored to the state it was in so long ago, when he was naught but a friendly child. It was a beautiful thing to see - so much so that it nearly brought tears to his wallowing eyes, enchanted as he reminded himself of all the many things that he had lost. So many people, to the scourge of war. They all died for people like him . . . to selfishly consider deserting, for his own sake and his own life.

All of it hurt, so much. The small, streaming tears were for more than just his fallen comrade . . . but also for himself, and his own failures. So many, they were. He had to wipe his own face down some to recover, as he steeled his heart to what had to follow; graduation, hopefully. He would need to ask his sensei when he came back -- in truth, many of these techniques, he had touched upon before. He was ready to graduate back then, was he not?

Now, he was only reminding himself. But he didn't need to be this... student. He could wear the mark of the whirlpool upon his head, and perhaps he wouldn't even scratch it out. Those were all things to think upon, and no more rationalizations or ethical misgivings could truly make that decision for him.

He returned to the classroom, and cleaned it just as vigorously as he did the other, an action that soothed the confused mind he bore just as well as any other. He was still highly uncertain, but at least he had a concept in his head. Selfishness versus liberation. Risk versus long-life. He had to weigh these things heavily, before he made his decision . . . whenever that was. And if he left, perhaps he could do so amicably.

Maybe the village wouldn't hunt him down, and realize his fears far sooner, and more directly.

[Clean the Classroom Complete, 8 Times - 800 AC]

"Okay, looks good," he said to himself . . . and perhaps the others around him. "Could I have my graduation examination, Chie? I have no more concepts to realize at this stage. I want to move forward."

The Senju rolled his eyes. Follow the rules, like . . . everyone else. Right. The rules that didn't really ever get underlined, for him or probably - really - anyone else either. But that was fine. He supposed he'd rather be ready as a Genin instead of all the many fresh-out-of-the-Academy shinobi he'd seen wandering around with dismembered limbs, unprepared for the world that awaited them.

At least Chie was... principled. Though all of her banter and her clones made him feel disoriented - like the whole training experience was surreal. Again, he would be happy to go somewhere else, the Dojo or not. They would learn many things there, too, and would spar with one another. That was, supposedly, one of the final pre-requisites to their graduation. Hopefully, at least.

"Alright," he responded simply. He was not excited nor down -- just hoping to follow the path towards the rank seamlessly. And so, with even less bustle than when he'd first arrived, he gathered his bearings and left the Academy room immediately . . . before heading down the hallway to the forlorn classroom he'd only just cleaned. It was charming in here. The loneliness. The memories.

So many things. He opened his eyes and stared out through the window, peering into the quiet. He'd already begun to scribble copies of the scrolls and books available, hoping to reflect on them when he returned home, like pieces of notes for the long trek.

Standing here, in the quiet serenity of his thoughts, he took one enchanted breath as he inhaled the nostalgic air through his nostrils. It felt... so surreal to be here again. And to think, he would have many more experiences like this, following the path of a shinobi. He would meet so many more people that brought him such curious fulfillment, merely with their character and mannerisms.

And then, over time, they would fade. It was such a sorrowful thing. He had almost allowed himself to forget.

Someone followed him. He was no great shinobi, nor a master of perception . . . but it was no difficult thing to notice when he was being pursued by another, particularly when one entered the same lonely classroom as he. The blonde-haired man stepped quietly into the room - wordlessly - without . . . anything in particular to say; just a peculiar, ominous pose of standing and observing.

Shinsei's brows lowered, and his eyes narrowed. A look of irritation, though it was only visible once he'd turned to view the other man.

"You're that rogue that was riling up Chie, aren't you?" he inquired. It was odd to see a rogue freely poking around in the Academy -- not even watched by another. He supposed, in a way, he was to be the observer of the other man. He only hoped that he would not be robbed of his life as a response to that risk.

"Why did you follow me?" he asked, bluntly. There was clearly a reason, and already in his mind was one in particular: recruitment, for something. A member. A spy. It didn't matter what he wanted -- he wanted to be served, somehow and in some way. That was how shinobi worked. They... created utilities, agents that swallowed the risk for them.

How did Shinsei become so cynical? Observation. A wallflower only knew how to observe and determine. He'd always been fit to be a spy, because it was so easy for him to understand what other people wanted.

Or so he thought. For now, he remained quiet. It was best not to place his cynicism forward -- the man could only then rebuke it. He would keep his thoughts quietly to himself, and allow the creature before him to weave his tale . . . whatever that was.