Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 60

It had been three days since the final match of the Chūnin Exams, but the images still replayed in Naruto’s mind every time he closed his eyes: Ren stomping the ground to raise pillars, Haku’s mirrors swirling in an impossible dance of ice, the crashing roar of jutsu clashing like thunder.

Even now, as he walked through the Pottaru Estate’s training yard, Naruto couldn’t stop replaying it all.

He wanted it.

Not just the applause, though he liked that part too—he wanted that power, the certainty that no matter what enemy came, he wouldn’t have to hide behind anyone else.

He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes…sometimes he worried that if enemies really did come for him—like the stories his Dad told of wars past—he wouldn’t be ready.

That thought alone made his stomach knot.

He reached the back porch where Harry sat in a chair, a stack of scrolls on his knee, sipping tea while reading an old book with strange runes that Naruto couldn’t understand.

“Dad,” Naruto said without preamble, standing in front of him.

Harry looked up with a mild arch of his brow. “Yes, Naruto?”

“I want you to train me.”

“You already train every day.”

“Not normal training!” Naruto said quickly, his voice tight. “Real training. The kind you did it with Itachi nisan. You trained Nisan to fight people who could kill him. That’s what I want.”

Harry set the cup down. His expression turned serious.

“Tell me why,” he said simply.

Naruto swallowed, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “Because… during the exams, I watched those fights, and I realized—if that’s what Genin can do, what about the Jōnin? What about the Kage?”

He met Harry’s gaze. His blue eyes were fierce.

“And what happens if someone like that comes for me or my friends? What if I’m not strong enough?”

Harry didn’t reply right away. He studied Naruto, quiet, his green eyes searching.

Then he set the book aside and stood.

“You remember what I told you when you were little? About why I wouldn’t let you graduate early?”

Naruto nodded slowly. “Because… during war, it’s the Genin and Chūnin the enemy targets first. The young ones. You said they don’t want the next generation to grow strong enough to be a problem.”

“Exactly.” Harry stepped closer, resting a hand on Naruto’s head. “Because the moment you step onto the battlefield, you aren’t a child anymore. You become a threat. And threats are eliminated without hesitation.”

Naruto’s jaw clenched.

“I know that,” he said quietly. “But I’m not afraid of it.”

Harry studied him for a long moment, then let his hand fall to his side.

“Very well,” he said at last. “If you’re sure…then it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Harry gestured toward the door. “Follow me.”


They walked together through the corridor lined with tapestries, finally reaching a hidden stairway that led to the Library Hall—a vast underground chamber lit by pale blue flames, filled with shelves stacked high with justu scrolls, sealing tags, and tools of jutsus created by Harry himself.

Naruto’s eyes widened. He’d only been down here a few times—never without Harry guiding him.

Harry walked to the far wall, retrieving a long, narrow scroll wrapped in indigo silk.

“This,” Harry said as he unrolled it on a polished stone table, “is the formula your birth father used.”

Naruto stepped forward slowly, his breath caught in his throat.

He read the neat, precise ink strokes along the parchment.

Flying Thunder God Jutsu
—Minato Namikaze, Yondaime Hokage

“You’re going to teach me…” Naruto whispered, his hands trembling.

Harry met his gaze calmly.

“Yes,” he said. “You have studied sealing since you were six. You understand the nature of sealing jutsu better than most Jōnin. But Flying Thunder God isn’t just about the formula. It’s about discipline, control…and absolute focus.”

Naruto swallowed, nodding.

“I’m ready.”

“Are you?” Harry asked softly. “This isn’t Shadow Clones. It isn’t Rasengan. If you fail a single calculation, if you lose your nerve, you could teleport into a wall. Or a mountain.”

Naruto’s face was pale, but his eyes were steady. “I’m ready.”

Harry exhaled slowly, then pressed his palm to the scroll. In a shimmer of light, a three-pronged kunai appeared—sleek, balanced perfectly, engraved with Minato’s marking.

“This was your father’s,” Harry said. “I’ve kept it here for when you were ready.”

Naruto reached out with shaking hands and took the kunai, holding it as if it might vanish if he breathed too hard.

“I will teach you,” Harry said, voice low and resolute. “Because I believe you are worthy of this legacy.”

Naruto lifted his gaze, tears threatening to spill over.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Harry said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The training begins at dawn. And it will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Naruto clenched the kunai tighter, nodding.

“Good,” Harry murmured. “Then let us see if you can surpass even your father.”



Every dawn, before the sun had fully crested over the Hokage Monument, Naruto was already in the Pottaru Estate’s largest training field, standing in the center of an intricate Flying Thunder God formula Harry had etched into the grass with precise seals.

Most mornings, Hinata and Midori would join him, the three of them laughing, sparring, and studying together.

But this was different.

Naruto’s entire focus was consumed by learning the impossible—instantaneous teleportation.

The first time he managed to vanish and reappear even two feet away, he collapsed to his knees and threw up from disorientation. The second time, he passed out cold for half an hour.

And still, he kept coming back.

Hinata and Midori watched from the veranda in the early mornings, trying not to look envious. But the truth was—it stung to be left behind.

They never complained out loud.

But Harry noticed.


One afternoon, after Naruto had finally crawled away from the practice ring, exhausted and grinning weakly, Harry approached the two girls where they sat under the shade of a cherry tree.

“You’re feeling left out.”

Midori scowled and looked away. “We didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry replied, smiling faintly.

Hinata bit her lip. “Naruto-kun is training so hard…we don’t want to distract him.”

“You won’t,” Harry said gently. “But it’s time you each had something of your own to grow into.”

He gestured for them to follow.


They descended into the Library Hall, passing through the echoing corridor lined with lamps that flickered with blue fire. But instead of stopping near the teleportation scrolls, Harry led them even deeper—to a massive iron door etched with protective runes.

It opened at his touch.

Inside was a vast library, the air cool and heavy with ancient chakra.

Scrolls lined every wall—thousands upon thousands of them. Some were sealed in protective glass. Others rested on golden racks. Weapons, scroll cases, and even old masks lay displayed behind enchanted barriers.

Hinata gasped softly. Midori’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

“This is the sum of my collection,” Harry said calmly. “Jutsu from across nations. Techniques too dangerous to teach just anyone. Treasures I have collected over the years. And from here, I want you to choose.”

“Choose?” Midori echoed, incredulous. “Anything?”

Harry turned to look at them seriously. “One technique each. Something advanced, but within your reach. You’re not Naruto—and that’s a good thing. You each have your own strengths. I want you to pick something that calls to you.”

He held up a finger. “But choose wisely. Some of these will consume more chakra than your bodies can safely produce.”

Midori swallowed, nodding. Hinata clenched her hands together, her expression turning resolute.

Slowly, the two girls moved between the rows, studying the scrolls.


Hinata’s steps eventually carried her to a section labeled Taijutsu: Styles and Enhancements.

Her gaze fell on a pale blue scroll, the characters etched in silver:

Gentle Step.

She pulled it carefully from the shelf and began to read.

“This is…” she whispered. “This feels like Gentle Fist…but more focus on foot work. It uses kicks, aims for joints as well as tenketsu points…and it says it creates internal tremors instead of only blocking chakra.”

Harry came up beside her and nodded. “I designed that after studying the Gentle Fist from afar. It complements your Hyūga training, but it also goes beyond. It uses the chakra control you already have in your hands.”

Hinata’s cheeks colored faintly. “I…I would like this one.”

He smiled approvingly. “An excellent choice.”


Meanwhile, Midori moved straight to the section marked Kenjutsu. Her hand hovered over a scroll marked Kage’s Edge, but she passed it by. Instead, her eyes were drawn to a slim obsidian tube with a single name etched in white:

Shinkirō no Kiri – The Mist Phantom Blade.

She carefully pulled it down and read.

“It says…this style uses minimal movements to create maximum force. Speed over strength. Precision over brute force. And…it requires a chakra-forged blade.”

Harry stepped closer, nodding thoughtfully. “Mist Phantom Blade. An advanced Kenjutsu from the Hidden Mist—though I improved it with sealing patterns to stabilize the blade’s edge. When mastered, your strikes will be almost impossible to block.”

Midori’s voice was quiet, but firm. “I want this.”

Harry rested a hand on her shoulder. “Very well. But it will take months to control.”

“I don’t care,” Midori said fiercely. “I’ll master it.”


With their scrolls chosen, the girls followed Harry back upstairs into the courtyard, where Naruto was still panting in the grass, clutching his father’s three-pronged kunai.

He lifted his head weakly. “What’d you two pick?”

Hinata held up her scroll shyly. “A new fighting style.”

Midori lifted hers like a challenge. “A sword style that can split a boulder.”

Naruto grinned, tired but sincere. “That’s awesome.”

Harry watched the three of them—so young, and already walking paths that would shape their lives.

“All right,” he said, voice steady and warm. “From this day on…you each have your own path. You’ll train together, but your goals are your own. And I will help you see each one through.”

Hinata and Midori bowed.

Naruto punched the air, even if he nearly fell over doing it.

And so, in the quiet courtyard, three futures began to unfold—three young shinobi forging themselves into legends.



It started innocently enough.

Every morning, after sunrise, the two girls would leave their compounds—Hinata in a simple training gi, Midori with her hair tied back, her katana strapped across her back—and walk through the market streets side by side.

They passed shopkeepers and civilians who looked on curiously, because everyone knew where they were going:

Pottaru Estate.

At first, it was only gossip.

"Why do they train with outsiders?"
"Do they think they’re too good for their clans?"
"The Pottaru family has no ties to Konoha—how can the heiresses trust them?"

Then the more venomous whispers began—
especially about Naruto.

"It’s because of the Nine Tails brat."
"He’ll corrupt them, mark my words."
"They don’t belong there."

But while clan elders mostly kept their complaints private, the younger, proud cousins and uncles did not.


One afternoon, as Hinata walked back from training, sweat-soaked and aching but content, she found herself blocked by two older Hyūga cousins standing in the compound courtyard.

One of them, Hizari, folded his arms over his chest. “Hinata-sama,” he said stiffly, “you dishonor your ancestors, leaving the clan compound to train in foreign techniques.”

Hinata met his gaze without lowering her chin. She felt the memory of Harry’s steady voice in her mind—Be proud of your choices.

“I am training to protect Konoha,” she said simply. “And to protect myself.”

“By using Jutsu?” Hizari spat. “Like some common shinobi? Gentle Fist is our legacy—”

She didn’t answer. She simply stepped into her stance, lifted her hands, and spoke in a voice that was as calm as it was terrifying:

“If you believe I dishonor our clan, you can prove it in sparring.”


Word spread faster than fire.

The courtyard filled with curious spectators. Elders watched from balconies in stony silence.

The match was over in seconds.

Hizari lunged, expecting the same graceful palm strikes as always. Instead, Hinata slipped under his guard, pivoted, and struck—her chakra threads lancing straight through his defenses to lock all tenketsu in his right arm.

He fell to one knee, stunned.

Hinata’s expression never changed.

“I will not apologize,” she said softly, “for growing stronger.”


The Uchiha had their own demonstration soon after.

Midori was approached by two senior cousins in the Uchiha main hall.

“You’re no better than a stray,” one sneered. “Running off to train with that outsider and the demon brat.”

Midori lifted her chin, her eyes as cold as her ancestor’s.

“Say that again.”

They did.

She challenged them both—right there on the polished wooden floor.

One tried to lecture her on Uchiha tradition. The other tried to humiliate her by taking her sword.

She beat them both senseless.

And when the elders came to break it up, she simply looked them in the eye.

“If you want to stop me, you’d better draw your own blade.”

No one did.


It was a truth both clans had to confront:

Midori and Hinata were becoming more than puppets for the elders of the clans.

They were becoming warriors.

Midori now knew more Fire Release techniques than even Fugaku himself, having mastered scrolls Harry entrusted to her—techniques created in the warring era when the Uchiha clan was feared across the land.

Hinata’s new style—Gentle Step—flowed around traditional Gentle Fist like water over stone. She used feints and redirections never taught by Hyūga elders. She even incorporated short-range chakra bursts to deflect projectiles—something no Hyūga had ever dared..

The day came when Hiashi sparred Hinata himself—and could not land a decisive blow.

When Fugaku watched Midori slice through a boulder with her Mist Phantom Blade, his silence spoke louder than any reprimand.


In the evenings, when training ended, the three of them—Naruto, Hinata, and Midori—would sit in the grass behind the Pottaru Estate, sweat cooling on their skin, hearts still thundering.

Naruto grinned at them, exhaustion and pride in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, “if we keep this up, no one in the village will be able to boss us around.”

Midori smirked. “Let them try.”

Hinata just closed her eyes, smiling softly.

Because for the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged exactly where she was—not in the Hyūga compound, not under the elder’s shadow, but here, forging her own strength.

In the shadows of the veranda, Harry Pottaru watched them quietly, arms folded across his chest.

He knew how the clans whispered. He knew the resentment brewing.

But he also knew what the future needed:

Shinobi unafraid to grow beyond their ancestors’ limits.

And in these three, he saw the spark that would one day change everything.