Jogendra's POV:
The clan meeting's echoes still buzzed in my ears—whispers of hope, curses against the Senju, and the weight of a competition I'd just signed up for. I'd barely caught my breath from announcing my role in the Fire Country Annual Youth Ninja Competition when a jolt of inspiration hit me like a misfiled form begging to be sorted. It wasn't just the adrenaline of My Father Madara's pride or My Grandfather Tajima's gloating over the Senju—it was something deeper, a spark from my old Hyderabad days where chaos demanded order. I turned to my grandfather, Tajima, my mind racing faster than a rickshaw in rush hour.
"Grandfather," I said, urgency sharpening my voice, "can you get me an empty small scroll, a medium scroll, and a super-large one?"
My Father Madara, My Grandfather Tajima, and My uncle Izuna froze, exchanging looks that danced between confusion and suspicion. My Father Madara's brow arched, his Sharingan eyes narrowing like he was auditing my sanity. "What do you need scrolls for, Jogendra?"
I straightened, channeling the confidence I'd used to face down irate taxpayers. "I've developed some techniques—four ninjutsu and six taijutsu. I want to share them with the clan."
"WHAT?!"
Their collective shout rattled the room, a trio of disbelief so loud it could've woken a coma patient. My Grandfather Tajima's jaw dropped, My Uncle Izuna's eyes bugged out, and My Father Madara's stoic mask cracked just enough to show shock. It was almost comical—like I'd told them I'd invented chai that brewed itself.
"You've *developed* techniques?" My Grandfather Tajima sputtered, his voice climbing an octave. "At *ten*?"
"Yeah," I said with a shrug, keeping it casual despite the absurdity. "Is that an issue?"
They gaped at me, mouths hanging open like clerks caught napping on the job. After a beat of stunned silence, My Grandfather Tajima snapped to a nearby shinobi, his tone all clan-head authority. "Fetch scrolls from the warehouse—small, medium, super-large. Move!"
Fifteen minutes later, the ninja returned, panting, and laid the scrolls at my feet. I plopped down cross-legged, grabbed a brush, and got to work. My hands flew across the parchment, ink flowing as I transcribed the techniques that had crystallized in my mind—gifts from Truck-kun's wild generosity, fused with my own tweaks. The small scroll got the basics, the medium one the details, and the super-large one a full training plan. When I finished, I handed them to My father Madara, who unrolled them with a mix of caution and hunger, his eyes widening as he read.
Their reactions were a show worth watching—shock, awe, and a dash of "what the hell is this kid on?"
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The Scrolls' Contents:
**Rokushiki – The Six Styles:**
- *Soru (Shave):* Blink-and-you-miss-it speed, perfect for dodging or striking first.
- *Geppo (Moonwalk):* Kick the air to leap skyward—flight without wings.
- *Rankyaku (Tempest Kick):* Slashes of wind from a single kick, sharp enough to split steel.
- *Shigan (Finger Pistol):* A finger jab that punches through flesh like a blade.
- *Kami-e (Paper Art):* Bend like paper, flowing around attacks with eerie grace.
- *Tekkai (Iron Body):* Harden your body into a living shield, unyielding as stone.
**Haki – The Power of Will:**
- *Observation Haki (Kenbunshoku):* A sixth sense—feel presences, predict moves, read intent.
- *Armament Haki (Busoshoku):* Invisible armor of will, boosting strikes and blocking blows.
- *Conqueror's Haki (Haoshoku):* A king's aura—crush weaker minds, rattle the strong.
**Haki Explained:**
Observation and Armament can be trained, but Conqueror's is rare—one in millions, a born gift tied to a ruler's spirit. Parents with it boost the odds, but it's still a cosmic lottery.
**Flame Master Technique:**
Fire bends to your imagination—neo-green flames heal, sky-blue ones freeze, or propel you aloft with blasts from your feet. Mastery demands fire chakra finesse and ironclad control.
**Training Plan:**
- *Phase 1 (Weeks 1–4):* Build stamina (weighted runs), sharpen chakra (tree-walking), hone focus (meditation).
- *Phase 2 (Weeks 5–12):* Drill each Style—*Soru* with Shunshin, *Geppo* with chakra bursts, *Tekkai* against impacts.
- *Phase 3 (Weeks 13–24):* Awaken Haki—blind sparring for Observation, steel strikes for Armament, willpower tests for Conqueror's.
- *Phase 4 (Weeks 25–52):* Merge it all—*Soru* plus Flicker for teleportation, *Tekkai* with Armament for unbreakable defense.
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My Father Madara finished first, his fists clenching as ambition flared in his eyes. My Uncle Izuna's jaw stayed slack, while My Grandfather Tajima… Tajima erupted into laughter, a booming roar that shook the walls. I flinched, glancing at My Father Madara and My Uncle Izuna. "Uh… Grandfather? You good?"
He wiped a tear, still chuckling, his grin wild. "Jogendra, you genius! These techniques—they're a Senju nightmare! Their brute strength? Useless against *Soru*'s speed or *Tekkai*'s toughness. Uzumaki seals? Can't catch what they can't hit. And the Hyuga's Gentle Fist?" He cackled, eyes glinting. "*Kami-e* and Observation Haki'll dance circles around them!"
My Father Madara's head snapped up, realization dawning. "He's right. And the Flame Master Technique—paired with our fire jutsu—it's unstoppable."
My Uncle Izuna finally found his voice, staring at me like I'd grown a second head. "Jogendra… that pressure you hit those five shinobi with—was that *Conqueror's Haki*?"
"Yep," I said, nodding calmly, though my heart raced at their reactions.
My Father Madara's gaze burned into me, a mix of pride and hunger. "This changes everything."
Before I could bask in the moment, a thunderous knock shattered the air, followed by frantic footsteps. A guard burst in, breathless, his face pale as a ghost. "Clan Head! Lord Madara! There's… something outside!"
My Grandfather Tajima's laughter cut off, his voice snapping to command. "What is it?"
The guard swallowed hard, eyes darting to me. "A giant creature. It's… waiting for Jogendra."
My stomach dropped, a chill racing up my spine. My Father Madara's hand twitched toward his kunai, My Uncle Izuna tensed, and My Grandfather Tajima's glare could've melted steel. We exchanged looks—worry, confusion, a shared "what now?"—and one thing was clear: my day was about to get a lot weirder.
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