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He gazed up at the tube, raising it high over his head so the light from above could shine through the crimson liquid. He squinted, closing one eye as he meticulously twisted the valve, inspecting every aspect of the liquid's texture and movement within the confines of the glass.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he carefully placed the tube into a rack alongside an array of other colorful fluids, all housed within neatly arranged tubes. Peeling off the blue gloves from his hands, he moved to a thick book lying on a table cluttered with chemical tubes, scattered notes, and scribbled formulas.
Frustration etched across his face, he scratched the back of his head and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. "I just can't get it right," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion and a tinge of despair.
He was a biologist, a microbiologist to be specific. He'd always had a passion for biology in general, delving into questions about the limits of human potential and understanding how creatures, from the smallest microbes to the largest animals, functioned.
Initially, he never imagined he'd pursue a career in biology. As a child, he dreamed of becoming a famous movie star or owning a successful business. However, one day while watching anime, seeing goku level a mountain, something clicked within him—why can't humans do that?
He knew, of course, that anime was fiction, and the superpowers depicted were far from reality. Yet, something about the idea wouldn't let go. It wasn't just about wanting to defy gravity or shoot beams from his hands; it was the deeper curiosity about what limited human strength, endurance, and resilience.
As he grew older, this curiosity transformed into a burning resolve. He began researching human biology and realized that, in a way, humans were born with inherent weaknesses—fragile bodies, limited lifespans, and vulnerabilities to diseases. It frustrated him to no end. But instead of despairing, he saw this as a challenge. What if science could rewrite the rules? What if the frailty of humans wasn't a permanent condition but something that could be overcome?
These questions fueled his studies and his determination to push the boundaries of biology. The idea of unlocking human potential wasn't just a dream for him anymore; it became his life's work.
He was striving to achieve immortality—or perhaps to spark the next step in human evolution by creating the ultimate being. A drug that could enhance every facet of existence: granting unparalleled longevity, superhuman strength, speed, endurance, and intellect.
He dreamed of creating it all.
. . . .
Jotting the notes down in his notebook, he observed yet another failure. The chemical was far too unstable. When examined under a microscope, he discovered that when mixed with blood, the compound annihilated every individual cell, dissolving them completely.
Injecting this chemical into any living being would result in instant death. It was akin to injecting a potent acid, one that burned and destroyed from the inside out.
His earlier experiments, while less catastrophic, were still flawed. Instead of killing cells outright, the chemical caused an uncontrolled multiplication of individual cells. If injected, this rapid cell growth would lead to severe swelling and inflammation, grotesquely deforming the body in the process.
He had dedicated ten years of his life to this research, only for it to end in complete failure every single time.
Shaking his head in frustration, he rose from the stool, stretching his arms overhead as he let out a yawn. "Guess I'll get some coffee," he muttered, his voice tinged with weariness. He hadn't slept in two days, relying solely on cup after cup of bitter coffee to keep himself going.
"This is pointless..." he sighed heavily, had he wasted an entire decade chasing a dream that was inherently unattainable? The irony gnawed at him—was his quest to create the "perfect" human merely a reflection of his own imperfect ambition?
He was trying to create something he didn't yet fully understand. He didn't know what the "perfect" human truly looked like or even what perfection meant, beyond the abstract idea of being simply "perfect."
Perhaps the idea of an immortal human was inherently flawed. After all, the entire concept of immortality itself was fraught with imperfection.
To be immortal meant enduring the endless passage of time, watching as the world changed, decayed, and as everyone you loved died over and over again. Such an existence could hardly be called "perfect." But what if he could make everyone immortal? If all the people he cared for were granted eternal life alongside him, would that finally achieve perfection?
But then that would make life completely meaningless as a whole, since you wouldn't be able to cherish the things around you and accept them as they were. Perhaps the existence of death was what made life so perfect, forcing people to appreciate the little things and moments they might otherwise overlook.
He shrugged, the possibilities were endless.
He headed out of the lab, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other reached into his chest pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. He was a smoker; it helped ease the stress—not because of the properties of the cigarette itself but because having something in his mouth while working was comforting. It was his little tick, a habit he'd developed over the years.
He walked down the hallway until he came across a vending machine. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and fed it into the machine. After pressing a few buttons, he selected a can of coffee and a bag of chips, the familiar mechanical whirring breaking the quiet as his snacks dropped into the tray below.
He reached into the vending machine's tray and retrieved his items. Popping open the coffee can, he tilted his head back to take a long sip before tearing open the bag of chips.
"You're not allowed to smoke on the job..."
He froze for a moment before turning his head to see a black-haired woman standing behind him. She wore a long white coat over a pink shirt and skirt, paired with tall boots.
"I'm going to have to write you up," she said, her tone calm but firm as she jotted something down on her clipboard.
He groaned, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding it between his fingers. Taking one last puff, he exhaled slowly. "That won't be necessary..."
Her eyes shot up to meet his. "And why not? I have to report y—"
"I quit," he cut her off bluntly, making her freeze and raise a brow at him.
"Wh-Why would you want to quit?" she stammered, clearly confused. He simply took another puff of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Because I wanna quit. Not much to say, really." He knew the real reason, but he didn't want to tell her. She didn't seem like the type who'd listen—not with her head so far up her boss's ass.
Even if she was willing to listen, he still wouldn't tell her...She wouldn't understand anyway.
"Well, if that's the case, you'll have to send a report to the boss if you wan—"
He cut her off again. "Nah... I don't have time for that," he said, turning and walking away. The girl stood there, stunned for a moment, but he didn't care. To him, it was pointless working for a company that cared only about profit and not about genuinely solving the world's problems.
In truth, he guessed most things in the world couldn't be solved, no matter how hard you tried. It was just the way things were. If his goal was entirely pointless, why was he wasting his time working toward someone else's ambitions when he could strive for his own? That's what separated a winner from a loser.
A loser willingly spent their entire life chasing someone else's dream, while a winner made the loser work toward their own goals, using their efforts to climb to the top and reach where they wanted to be.
That's simply how nature worked...
He decided to head home...he hadn't slept in days, and some real rest would do him good.He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, pushing the door open to reveal a house that was both spacious and eerily quiet. The rooms were furnished, but they still felt empty—a kind of emptiness that came not from a lack of things, but from a lack of people.
He had spent most of his younger years chasing his ambitions, so much so that he never found time to make friends. Yet, he didn't mind; the silence and solitude offered a kind of solace he had come to appreciate.
Now, with nothing pressing on his time, he decided to relax and head to bed. His eyes felt as heavy as concrete, his eyelids threatening to close at any moment. The drive home had been a battle to stay awake, with his eyes shutting involuntarily every so often.
Even the coffee he drank had barely helped...
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He'd finally done it.
It had taken him five grueling days, but at last, he managed to succeed.
He had finally learned the tree-climbing technique.
Tree walking turned out to be far more complicated than Kaito initially thought. Balancing chakra on the soles of his feet while maintaining steady movement required an incredible amount of control and focus. The effort had been frustrating, but he pushed through, step by wobbly step. By the fifth day, his hard work had paid off.
He couldn't remember exactly how long it had taken Naruto and Sasuke to complete the exercise, but he knew one thing—Sakura had done it perfectly on her first try. That fact lingered in his mind, now, standing atop the tree, he finally felt a sense of pride in his achievement.
Was her chakra control just that good, or was it simply because her chakra reserve was that small? Did a smaller amount of chakra help you control chakra easier?
Controlling a small river was undeniably easier than trying to control a vast ocean. People often dismissed Naruto as anything but a prodigy, yet that couldn't be further from the truth.
The real reason Naruto struggled with chakra control wasn't a lack of talent—it was because he had far too much chakra. That overwhelming surplus was the very reason he faced difficulty performing jutsu at the academy in the first place.
He had Kurama's chakra, which mind you already places him at the top when it came down to chakra reserves. Combined with the fact that he was half Uzumaki and half Namikaze. This gave him more chakra than most Jonin or even hokage hoped to have. At just twelve years old, he was already capable of performing the Multiple Shadow Clone Jutsu—a feat even most Jonin's couldn't do or outright avoided using since it would drain them completely.Yet naruto was able to perform that technique multiple times in a fight.
And he somehow managed to control all that chakra. And people still dared to say he wasn't a prodigy? They were just pulling random ideas out of their asses at this point.
Hanging from the side of the tree, sweat dripped from Kaito's forehead, sliding off and splattering onto the ground below. He glanced at the river ahead. Having finally learned the tree-walking technique, it was time to tackle the next challenge...water walking.
Guess he was about to pull a Jesus and walk on water.
But that would have to wait for another day. His chakra was nearly depleted, and he was exhausted after hours of training. On top of that, he needed a job. His food supplies were dwindling, his wallet was empty, and rent was due soon.
He could feel himself so becoming a bum, and if he didn't find a job soon, he feared he'd hit rock bottom soon.
With a heavy sigh, Kaito pushed himself to his feet and started walking home. Training could wait—his priority now was finding a way to keep a roof over his head.
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