Capítulo 323: 319
The Hokage sat alone in his dimly lit office, fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed the fresh report on Haruto. Afternoon light slipped through the blinds, casting bands of shadow across the papers scattered on his desk. Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane—his oldest advisors—had accompanied a skilled medical ninja and an ANBU agent to assess the boy. Naturally, the elders had lobbied for a more invasive evaluation, wanting to scrutinize Haruto down to the last detail, as though he were some rare specimen rather than a young shinobi. But thanks to Kushina and Tsunade's strong advocacy, the Hokage had managed to keep the assessment simple and straightforward.
The Hokage couldn't ignore how fortunate it was for Haruto to have such powerful allies in his corner. Kushina and Tsunade each held sway in their own ways, formidable women with keen senses for village politics. They reminded him of how Minato, early in his journey, had been protected by Kushina and her mother—a form of clan-like support that so many shinobi without bloodline ties, like Haruto, often lacked. It was a crucial advantage, one that provided a buffer from the harsher scrutiny that could otherwise stifle a young shinobi's growth. He knew all too well how fragile that growth could be without support; those without it, especially the clanless, often faced obstacles that were more ruthless, more unyielding.
Was the system perfect? Certainly not. In a world that demanded strength above all, perfection was an unattainable ideal. The Hokage could only do so much to shield promising young shinobi. Those who endured, who made it through unbroken, became stronger as a result. But as the Hokage scanned the report, it was clear that Haruto had already withstood more than most. And with each line, he realized that Haruto was full of unexpected strengths—and perhaps, unexpected mysteries as well.
The Hokage leaned back in his chair, the late afternoon light casting a warm yet uneven glow across his office as he sifted through each section of the report. The findings were enough to make him pause, his eyebrows knitting together as he considered the implications.
The first surprise had been Haruto's weight. Despite his lean, agile build that stood just under six feet—a typical physique for a shinobi—Haruto weighed almost 150% more than one would expect for his size. When questioned, Haruto had offered no explanation, leaving the medics to speculate in bafflement. They theorized that his muscles, bones, tendons—everything about him—had somehow been reinforced to give him an unnatural density, allowing him to endure and deliver force at levels beyond the ordinary. "Like iron wrapped in silk," one medic had murmured in awe. The Hokage's mind raced as he thought of what hidden practices or treatments could produce such a build. Clearly, the boy was holding back more than anyone realized.
Next, the sparring session itself had started almost routinely, with Haruto squaring off against a seasoned ANBU jōnin—a veteran who likely expected to set a straightforward baseline for Haruto's abilities. But as soon as their fists met, it was clear Haruto was anything but typical. Each punch he threw landed with a force that nearly defied expectation, his strikes leaving faint bruises on the jōnin's arms where he'd blocked, as if Haruto's frame held far more power than it should. His movements were precise and deceptively fast, each step fluid, each pivot sharp, conveying a degree of control that belied his youth. The ANBU's initial ease quickly gave way to alertness as his stance shifted, his body tense, realizing that Haruto's raw strength and speed demanded more caution and respect than he'd anticipated.
But the true test came when the elders asked Haruto to use "that technique." They only had a vague understanding of it, having heard bits of Duy's account of Haruto's encounter with the Mist swordsmen. Duy had described the technique as something that seemed to ignite the user from within, like they were struck by lightning, filling them with an almost supernatural energy.
Haruto considered their request but simply shrugged and gave a nod.
At the elders' urging, he activated the technique, and instantly, the air around him grew dense with a charged, almost suffocating tension. To those watching, Haruto's body appeared to resonate with latent power, a faint blue glow pulsing just beneath his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles and veins, as though his body were lit from within by a hidden current. The effect was subtle yet unmistakable, like embers smoldering under the surface—alive, potent, yet carefully restrained.
Every muscle in his form coiled with purpose, his entire body seeming to vibrate with energy barely held in check. His aura took on a ghostly quality, the soft blue light flickering in sync with his heartbeat, casting a rhythmic pulse that seemed to draw the eye and command attention. The display transformed him into something more than a shinobi—a figure charged with concentrated, raw power waiting to be unleashed.
Then, in a blur, he moved.
One moment, Haruto had been standing directly in front of the ANBU jōnin; in the next, he'd vanished, leaving only a ripple of disturbed air in his wake. He reappeared behind the ANBU in the blink of an eye, his speed so sudden that it caught even the veteran operative off-guard. The ANBU spun instinctively, relying on honed reflexes to intercept Haruto's strike, but even though it was a simple open-handed slap, the impact behind it was anything but.
The ANBU jōnin was flung backward, his body driven with such force that he had to twist midair to regain his balance, landing in a crouch a good distance away. A faint, branching crack spread across the stone floor from where Haruto had initially launched, subtle yet undeniable, marking the sheer force he had unleashed in that single movement.
The medics and elders stood in stunned silence, watching as Haruto's "lightning technique" gradually faded, the blue glow ebbing away from his skin, leaving him as unassuming as before. But they all knew better. They'd seen the raw potential in his movements, the terrifying power even in the simplest of attacks. And some, speaking in low, wary murmurs, speculated that he might be capable of even more.
The Hokage rubbed his temples as he read, the weight of Haruto's potential settling heavily on his mind. The boy's power was incredible—a rare, invaluable asset, but also a potential risk if left unchecked. If he had already reached this level of skill, what might he become as he grew stronger?
He would need someone vigilant, powerful, and perceptive to keep tabs on Haruto—someone capable of watching, understanding, and, if necessary, handling the boy's unique abilities.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
litrpgfanfic
litrpgfanfic so a new game came out. starts with p and ends with mon a pocket version, been playing that, but should get some more writing in
Estado de energía semanal
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