Naruto : Infinite Buff

The mist curled through the treetops, thick as ghosts, swallowing the last traces of sunlight. A lone figure emerged from the depths of the forest, his golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Ryojin.

He moved lazily, as if returning from a stroll rather than a hunt, hands tucked into his torn sleeves, his posture relaxed. Yet, his crimson-streaked hair was damp with sweat, and faint scratches marred his exposed arms. The scent of blood clung to him, fresh yet faint.

A waiting sentry stiffened at the sight of him before turning sharply, vanishing into the camp.

Minutes later, measured footsteps sounded against the dirt.

Joji.

He stepped through the camp's entrance, his expression unreadable beneath the dim torchlight. A thin mist curled at his feet, but his gaze was sharp—cold, calculating. He stopped a few paces from Ryojin, arms folded behind his back.

"You're late." His voice carried no accusation, only expectation. "How was the hunt?"

Ryojin exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "A nightmare. The whole forest was a damned deathtrap."

Joji's gaze flickered, calculating the truth in his words. "And the others?"

Ryojin let the question hang for a beat too long, then sighed. "Dead." His tone was almost casual, but something lurked beneath it. "Killed mercilessly. We walked right into hell."

Joji's eyes narrowed.

Four jōnin. Dead. Just like that.

No signs of battle, no distant explosions, no tremors in the earth. If a clash of that scale had occurred, the land would bear its scars. And yet—nothing.

Too clean. Too silent.

His suspicion sharpened. He knew Ryojin's strength—formidable, unpredictable, deadly. For his entire squad to fall, without even a whisper of their struggle reaching the camp?

Unlikely.

His gaze lingered on Ryojin, dissecting him piece by piece. Blood on his clothes, but not enough. His breathing steady. No signs of chakra depletion, no exhaustion from an extended fight.

"Strange," Joji murmured, his tone neutral. "For four jōnin to die, yet you return without a single real wound."

Ryojin met his gaze, unreadable. "Lucky, I guess." A smirk curled at his lips, lazy and sharp. "Or maybe I was just better than them."

Joji said nothing, his mind turning.

Not once did suspicion of betrayal cross his thoughts—Ryojin wasn't the type. He was self-serving, reckless, but treason? No.

And yet… something felt off.

Joji's gaze hardened. "And the target?"

Ryojin clicked his tongue, feigning irritation. "Got him good. Bastard's injured, but he slipped away." He spat to the side. "I'd bet he's dragging himself through the mud somewhere, bleeding out."

Joji didn't respond immediately. He simply watched.

Ryojin's smile didn't falter, but Joji could feel it—something lurking beneath the surface. A shift, a calculation. A story that didn't quite fit.

But he let it go. For now.

The silence stretched. The mist thickened.

Then Joji turned. "Understood. Report to the others. We move later. Take some rest then prepare"

Without another word, he strode back into the camp, his figure vanishing beyond the torches.

Ryojin lingered a moment longer, then exhaled through his nose, his smirk widening just a fraction.

"Close one," he muttered to himself. Then, stretching lazily, he followed after Joji, his golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

---

A tattered scroll lay before him, its edges frayed from time, but its contents untouched.

He unrolled it. His sharp eyes flickered across the inked characters, dissecting each line with the precision of a scalpel.

Body Flicker Technique.

His expression remained unreadable, but his mind was already calculating.

A movement technique. Speed-based. Chakra-intensive.

It wasn't an attack. It wouldn't increase his lethality in direct combat. But it was useful. And right now, anything that increased his survival was valuable.

Amatsu's fingers tightened slightly around the parchment. This was the only thing in his possession that could improve his strength. There was nothing else. No better weapon. No secret treasure. No hidden advantage.

Just this.

His breathing was steady, but he could feel the weight pressing down—as if a blade rested against his throat.

There is no choice. I have to learn this.

Higanbana stirred beside him, shifting slightly in her sleep. Her breathing was slow, even—completely trusting.

He closed his eyes for half a second. Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed everything else away.

Focus. No distractions. No doubts.

Amatsu's mind absorbed the theory quickly.

The Body Flicker Technique wasn't simply about speed—it was about instantaneous acceleration. A precise burst of chakra, condensed and released in a fraction of a second, launching the user across the battlefield.

The key component? Chakra control.

That was where most people failed. An unstable burst, and you'd either barely move or overshoot wildly. Too much chakra, and you'd waste energy. Too little, and you'd be sluggish.

I have an advantage.

His chakra control was already precise—razor-sharp. Not only had he refined it through necessity, but his system-enhanced control further amplified his efficiency.

That meant his starting line was higher than most.

But reading was one thing. Execution was another.

He had no time. Not weeks. Not days. Not even half a night.

Two hours.

That was all he had.

Amatsu exhaled slowly, rising to his feet. His body was tense, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.

He turned to Higanbana, his voice calm. "Stay here. I'll return soon."

She blinked up at him sleepily but nodded.

Stepping outside, the cold air rushed against his skin. The ground was uneven, thick with roots and damp leaves. The wind howled through the trees—an omen of the hunt that would soon begin.

No time. Begin now.

His feet planted firmly.

His hands formed a seal.

Chakra surged.

He focused, directing it into his legs—compressed, controlled—then released.

His body blurred.

A sharp impact. His shoulder slammed into a tree.

Tch.

He had moved—but not correctly. His balance was off, his direction unstable. It wasn't just about releasing chakra, it was about proper timing.

Again.

Hands flashed. Chakra surged.

This time, he adjusted mid-motion—too much chakra. He overshot, staggering as he landed too far, miscalculating his stop.

His heartbeat remained steady. There was no frustration, no irritation—only adjustments.

Mistakes are information. Information is progress.

One hour passed.

Amatsu's breath came in slow, controlled exhales, but sweat traced down his back. His muscles burned from exertion. His control was improving—his movements becoming sharper.

But not enough.

The battlefield is unforgiving. If I can't execute this perfectly, I am dead.

The pressure carved into him like a blade. He could already picture it.

There was no time for failure.

Amatsu forced his body forward.

He pushed beyond hesitation.

Each failed step was met with correction. Each inefficient movement was refined.

He pushed his muscles harder, till the pain dulled.

He forced his chakra control sharper, till he could feel the shifts in his own flow.

Again.

Faster.

Again.

Sharper.

The moment it clicked, Amatsu knew.

His body moved, not as a fragmented attempt—but as an extension of thought.

His chakra surged perfectly. His control seamless.

He flickered.

No wasted motion. No imbalance. No flaw.

He reappeared, standing exactly where he intended.

Mastery.

His chest rose and fell steadily. He could feel the technique rooted in his body now. No longer just theory—it was his.

The system pulsed in response, confirming his mastery.

---

[Buff Detected: Chakra Control Buff]

Effect: +30% Chakra Control (Locked) (Permanent)

[Buff Detected: Speed Buff]

Effect: +50% Speed and Movement (Locked) (Permanent)

[Buff Detected: Reflex Buff]

Effect: +20% Reaction speed increased (Locked) (Permanent)

---

Amatsu locked the buff in place. Not through the system's mechanics, but through his own thoughts.

Had he relied only on talent, this would have taken weeks.

But he had no time for weakness.

Amatsu exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. His body screamed for rest. Every muscle ached. His chakra reserves had been pushed to the edge.

But his mind remained razor-sharp.

The training was over.

The fight had not yet begun.

He turned back toward the tree, stepping forward without hesitation. The night was still thick, and the shadows still deep.

Higanbana's fire flickered faintly ahead.

Two hours remain.

Hanzo was making his move.

And Amatsu?

He would be ready.