The fading light of the afternoon filtered through the windows of the Yamanaka Clan Library, casting golden hues on the rows of wooden shelves. Dust motes floated lazily in the sunbeams, and the faint scent of aged paper hung in the air. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I turned the pages of The Founding of Konohagakure with careful hands.

I had finally reached the point where reading wasn't a frustrating puzzle. There were still words I didn't know, but now I could guess their meanings from context most of the time. It was a small victory, but one that opened up the library's collection in a way that made me giddy.

Today, I was diving into Konoha's history. The story of its founding fascinated me. It felt unique, so different from anything I could recall from my past life. Here was a place forged by shinobi clans once locked in constant bloodshed. How had they built a system that worked, let alone thrived?

I flipped a page, my eyes scanning a passage about Hashirama Senju. He had been the dreamer, the idealist who believed in peace. He'd convinced the clans to set aside their grudges and come together to form Konoha. But as inspiring as his story was, it was his younger brother, Tobirama, who held my attention.

Tobirama was the one who had turned the dream into something practical. He'd written Konoha's laws, laid the groundwork for its institutions, and created systems that ensured the village could function as more than just a collection of clans. The shinobi academy, the hospital, the police force—Tobirama had built them all near single-handedly.

"Tobirama was a genius," I murmured, unable to keep the awe from my voice.

I closed the book for a moment and leaned back against a shelf. The more I read, the more I realized how much of Konoha's stability was thanks to him. He'd taken Hashirama's idealism and given it structure, ensuring the village would last.

My thoughts drifted from governance to chakra as my gaze landed on a locked shelf in the corner of the library. That was where the Yamanaka clan kept their jutsu scrolls, and I wasn't allowed anywhere near them.

Dad's rules were clear: no reading jutsu scrolls without supervision, and even then, only outside the library. I could understand why. I'd overheard my parents talking about a Nara kid who'd tried to use an earth-style jutsu they'd read about. The attempt had gone poorly, and the resulting mess had damaged their family library.

Still, part of me itched to argue. I wasn't reckless like that! But the rational side of me knew better, especially when it came to our clan's mind techniques. Dad had outright banned me from reading anything about those.

"Not until you're older, Inosei," he'd said. "The brain isn't something you play with. When the time comes, I'll teach you safely."

The warning had stuck with me. The brain wasn't just another organ; it was the core of who I was, the seat of my consciousness. Messing with it sounded… risky. Still, knowing that the knowledge was just out of reach was frustrating.

The gleam of sunlight through the library windows had shifted by the time my father's familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Inosei," he called gently, crouching beside me with a small smile, "your mother sent me to drag you outside. You've been in here all day."

I glanced up from the page I'd been reading—a primer on the various hidden villages—and tried not to scowl. "I'm learning," I protested, though the excuse felt thin even to me.

"You're always learning," Dad replied, his tone wry as he ruffled my hair. "But if you don't take breaks, your brain will turn to mush."

I doubted that very much, but arguing seemed futile. I let the book close with a soft thud, and Dad's eyes followed the movement approvingly. "Good. You can stretch your legs for a bit while I tell you something your mother has planned for tomorrow."

The note of mischief in his voice made me wary. "What's happening tomorrow?"

"She's meeting a friend for lunch," Dad said casually, though his pale eyes glinted with amusement. "And she wants to bring you along."

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. "Why?"

He leaned back on his heels, clearly savoring my growing unease. "Her friend has a son your age. She's hoping the two of you will get along."

I stared at him, dismay plain on my face. A playdate?

Dad's grin widened, confirming my suspicions. "Your mother thinks it'll be good for you. You've been spending so much time alone lately, even more than usual."

"I'm fine alone," I muttered, trying to muster a convincing argument.

"That's not the point," he replied smoothly. "It's about making connections, Inosei. Even if you're not interested in having a friend, you can't spend all your time in books. Life's richer when you engage with people."

Rich, maybe, but also exhausting. I sighed inwardly, lamenting my upcoming social obligation. It was true that, as the only child currently in the Yamanaka clan, I'd avoided much interaction with kids my age. Frankly, I hadn't missed it. In my past life, I'd never been fond of small talk, and the thought of navigating a conversation with a three-year-old was... less than appealing.

Dad must have noticed the grimace I was trying to hide. His expression softened, "Tell you what," he said, leaning forward slightly. "If you behave tomorrow and try to be nice to this boy, I'll start teaching you Mind Jutsu."

That caught my attention. My head snapped up, and I studied him carefully, searching for any hint of a bluff. The offer was too good to be true. "You mean it?" I asked, suspicion tinging my tone.

"Of course," Dad replied, his voice calm and sincere. "You're already ahead in a lot of ways, Inosei. You've almost mastered the Leaf Concentration Exercise, begun manifesting chakra for practical applications, and—" he gestured to the library shelves surrounding us—"absorbed more knowledge than most kids twice your age."

The promise hung in the air, tantalizing and weighty. I swallowed my protests. Socializing with another child might be torturous, but if enduring it got me access to the secrets of Mind Jutsu, it was a trade I could endure.

"Fine," I said reluctantly, trying not to sound too eager. "I'll go. But only because of the jutsu."

Dad laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. "I had a feeling that'd convince you. You've got a lot of your mother's clan in you."

As Dad stood and offered me his hand, I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. Tomorrow promised to be a challenge, but for the sake of learning jutsu, I'd face it head-on.

And if the boy turned out to be as insufferable as I feared, well… patience was a virtue I needed to cultivate anyways.