A few moments later, Santoryu's father returned with some money and handed it to him.
"Here—take 500 ryō. That should be more than enough, right?"
Santoryu nodded. "Yes, this will be more than enough. Thank you."
With that, he stepped outside, taking his first walk through the streets of Konoha since transmigrating. Though he possessed the memories of this body and knew these roads in his mind, this was the first time he truly experienced them.
He took a moment to look around, letting the sights and sounds of the Hidden Leaf Village wash over him. The chatter of villagers, the scent of fresh food stalls, the distant laughter of children—it all felt surreal. But he didn't linger. Guided by memory, he made his way toward a carpenter's workshop he recalled.
Inside, he found what he needed: a solid, thick wooden log.
"This one should do," he said.
The carpenter nodded and handed it over. "That'll be 100 ryō."
Santoryu handed him the money without hesitation. "Here."
As soon as the log was in his possession, he placed his hand on it—and in the next instant, the log vanished into thin air.
Ding!
"Wooden log acquired," the system's voice rang in his mind. "Crafting wooden swords. Estimated time: 30 minutes."
When the wooden log vanished before his eyes, the carpenter stared in shock.
"W-Where did the log go?" he asked, visibly confused.
Santoryu responded calmly, "I'm a ninja. I just made it disappear."
He didn't wait for the man's reply. That explanation was more than enough for a regular civilian—after all, in their eyes, ninjas were capable of all sorts of strange and miraculous things.
Without another word, Santoryu left the carpenter's shop and stepped back onto the street.
His next task was to gather the herbs listed by the system. He asked around for directions, and after nearly fifteen minutes of wandering and inquiries, he finally located a small herb shop tucked between a tailor and a tea house.
At the herb shop, Santoryu purchased all the ingredients listed by the system. The total came to around 50 ryo. While it seemed inexpensive, he knew these herbs would become part of his daily regimen—meaning the cost would quickly add up over time. Still, it was a small price to pay. If he could truly become a ninja, he would not only earn back every ryo but also elevate his family's status within the village.
After securing everything he needed, Santoryu didn't head home right away. He waited until the system completed crafting the three wooden swords. Returning empty-handed without the log might raise too many questions—and he didn't want to lie more than necessary.
By the time he walked through the gate of his house, both his parents were home. In one hand, Santoryu carried three neatly crafted wooden swords. In the other, a small cloth bag bulging with herbs. The faint earthy aroma of the plants drifted into the room.
His father eyed him curiously. "Did you manage to get everything you needed?"
Santoryu nodded. "Yes, I got everything I needed. These three wooden swords cost me 100 ryo, and the herbs were another 50. But Father, I'll need to buy these herbs every day. And since I'm going to be training my body, I'll need to eat more meat too."
His father nodded. "Don't worry. We can afford that much. Just focus on your training—and remember your promise."
His mother added, "Yes, you don't need to worry about anything. Just concentrate on your training and leave the rest to us."
Santoryu nodded again, clearly grateful. His father's income averaged between 60,000 and 70,000 ryo a year—about 5,000 ryo a month. With Santoryu's growing needs, their expenses would rise significantly, making it hard to save. Still, they would manage. They would live a good life. And once Santoryu succeeded in becoming a ninja, his own income would rise sharply.
For now, all he needed to do was train—just as his parents said.
Santoryu gave a firm nod, a quiet gesture of resolve. He set the herb carefully on a shelf in the room then picked up his three wooden swords, each one a simple but essential stand-in for the real thing. Without another word, he turned and stepped into the open courtyard of his home. The sky above was pale and cloudless, and the breeze carried a faint whisper of dust.
The moment he entered, the voice of the system echoed in his mind:
"Alright, Host. We'll begin with basic grip and sword handling. Hold the swords exactly as you remember from Zoro's stance."
Santoryu took a slow breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, conjuring the familiar image burned into his memory—Zoro's unique, three-sword style, the precise posture. Santoryu stepped forward and mirrored the stance as best he could.
One sword gripped tightly in his right hand.
Another in his left.
And the third—held between his teeth, the wooden hilt pressed firmly into his jaw.
The hand grips were easy, almost natural. But the sword in his mouth was another matter. His jaw strained from the pressure, muscles trembling slightly. It felt unnatural, awkward, and uncomfortable, but he didn't give in. He forced himself to hold the pose, to endure the discomfort. Sweat gathered at his brow. His arms began to shake under the tension of holding the swords just right. The wood bit into the corners of his mouth.
Minutes passed like hours.
He held the stance for nearly 20 minutes, his entire body locked in place, the pain growing sharper with every second. Eventually, the ache in his jaw grew unbearable. With a sharp breath, he opened his mouth, and the sword dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Almost immediately, the system's voice returned.
"Alright, Host. Disengage from the stance. Now begin physical training. Start with basic bodyweight exercises."
Panting, Santoryu loosened his muscles and dropped to the ground. He didn't need further instruction—he began at once. Push-ups, squats, sit-ups, lunges—repetitions stacked on repetitions, each one burning deeper into his muscles. There was no equipment to assist him, no weights, no bars, no mats. Just his body and the open space around him.
Each movement felt like a test, a reminder of how far he still had to go. Still, he powered through, sweat rolling down his back, breath growing heavier with each set. And somewhere in the middle of the workout, it hit him.
I need proper tools. If I'm going to train seriously, I need to buy actual equipment. This won't be enough forever.
But for now, this was all he had. And he was determined to make every second count.
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