Two Weeks Later -

  A young boy sat alone in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of the evening sun filtering through the window. The desk before him was covered in stacks of paper, some ly arranged, others scattered haphazardly. His pencil moved furiously across the pages, the only sound in the quiet room being the faint scratg of lead against paper.

  Then—finally—the boy stopped. He set the pencil down, flexing his stiff fingers before exhaling a deep sigh. His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

  --------

  (Kazeo's POV)

  Finally…

  Three weeks. Three weeks of relentless writing, squeezing out every ounemory I had from my past life. And now, I was halfway through Demon Syer.

  I didn't even sacrifice muy daily routine—just an hour or two in the evenings, which was usually reserved for Taijutsu. Because of that, my training had suffered. I three weeks, I had only traiaijutsu properly three or four times. I could feel the slight stiffness in my movements, but right now, that didn't matter.

  When I had first asked the Hokage for permission to publish a novel, I had debated how much of the story to reveal. The inal had 23 volumes, but I khat the attention span of shinobi and civilians differed from people in my past life. A series too long in a single volume might lose its impact.

  So, after careful thought, I decided to restructure the format—30 volumes, shorter but more a-packed. It would keep readers engaged while maximizing profits.

  I po release the first three volumes initially, letting them hook the audiehen, some months ter, I would drop the wo to build anticipation. inally, I had sidered publishing up to the Mugen Train Arc right away, but that felt like too much at once.

  Now, the real question was—how well would it be received? And more importantly… how much would I earn?

  As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I reached into my backpack, pulled out a ration bar, and took a bite. My body and mind were both exhausted—not just from training, but from the mental strain of recalling everything, improvising where needed, and transting it into this world's nguage.

  I sighed.

  There's nothing more I do now. All that's left is to see if the Hokage approves it.

  With that, I crawled onto my bed a exhaustion take over.

  ---------

  One Week Later -

  It had been a full month since my initial versation with the Hokage about publishing a novel.

  And now, once again—I stood in his office, watg as he read my work.

  The Third Hokage's Office acious but cluttered, filled with bookshelves overflowing with scrolls and dots. The st of old part and ink filled the air, mixing with the faint smell of tobacco from his pipe. Despite its grand appearahere was a weight to the room—a heavihat came not from the objects within it, but from the very presence of the man who sat behind the desk.

  Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, looked older and more exhausted than he had a month ago. The lines on his face seemed deeper, his shoulders slightly more burdened—a result of Orochimaru's ret defe.

  Yet, despite everything, he remained focused on my novel.

  Occasionally, his expression would shift—his brows furrowing at one moment, his eyes widening in another. Sometimes, he would gnce up at me briefly before returning to the pages.

  I stayed silent, watg him read. My heartbeat felt unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

  The first three volumes tained:

  Volume 1: Tanjiro's family tragedy, his enter with Giyu, and his training under Urokodaki.

  Volume 2: The Final Sele exam and Tanjiro's first official mission.

  Volume 3: The introdu of Tamayo and Yushiro, and the battle against Yahaba and Susamaru.

  ---------

  (Hiruzen's POV)

  I took a slow sip of tea as I turned ane.

  At first, I had expected a simple story—perhaps something childish, a colle of words strung together in an attempt to mimic what adults write.

  But what I found… was something else entirely.

  This was not just a tale.

  This was a world.

  A world filled with sorrow, perseverance, and battle-hardened warriors. A world where a young boy loses everything but still holds onto hope.

  The writing pulled me in effortlessly, immersing me in its struggles, emotions, and flicts. And more than anything—the core values of this story resonated deeply with the Will of Fire.

  The strong proteg the weak.A hero rising fredy.The unbreakable resolve to keep moving forward.

  As I turhe st page, I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

  How?

  This was not something a normal six-year-old could write. This was the work of someone who uood pain, loss, and perseveran a level that felt… unnatural.

  For a brief moment, a thought crept into my mind—

  Is this child simply gifted beyond imagination? Or… does every strong soul carry the power to craft such vivid realities?

  ---------

  (3rd POV)

  Kazeo's voice broke the silence.

  "So, Hokage-sama… what do you think? And, uh… please don't mind my writing, I'm still improving."

  The Third Hokage slowly closed the manuscript a on the desk, his gaze lingering on the boy in front of him.

  "Your writing is impressive for ye, Kazeo. It feels so...refined, almost as if written by someoh years of experience." His voice was calm, but there was an underlyi to it. "But tell me—Did you really e up with all of this yourself? You didn't… borrow this story from anywhere, right ?"

  Kazeo's body stiffened.

  His heart skipped a beat, but he forced his expression into a deadpan look. His fiwitched slightly, and his shoulders locked in pce. A bead of sweat formed at his temple, but he resisted the urge to wipe it away.

  ' Shit, Did he figure it out? How? Does he have some kind of sixth sense for these things?! '

  Hiruzen Sarutobi had seen tless liars in his time. He had spent decades dealing with shinobi who could lie with straight faces. He had interrogated tless spies, defectors, and criminals. And right now, he could see the subtle tension in Kazeo's posture—the slight rigidity in his jaw, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly, as if resisting an instinct to fidget.

  The old man's gaze sharpened, his exhaustion momentarily repced with amusement and curiosity.

  "Ah… I see. So it is someone else's work, after all," Hiruzen said, stroking his beard. "For a moment, I was genuinely shocked that a six-year-old could craft such a tale without having seen real battle."

  Kazeo exhaled through his nose, f himself to remain still, but his muscles were coiled tight. His small hands, already damp with sweat, grew cmmy, and a fresh wave of nervous energy crashed over him. His throat felt dry, his pulse pounded in his ears, and for a brief sed—he seriously sidered running out of the room.

  Shit… shit… shit!

  With forced casualness, he wiped his salms on his pants, buying himself a few precious seds. His mind was already rag at full speed, scrambling to find a believable excuse.

  Then—he found it.

  Taking a sharp breath, he stammered, "I-It was my parents who wrote it…"

  He kept his voice low, iing just enough hesitation ao make it believable.

  "They used to tell me this story when they were alive… and they even wrote down some key points—fights, emotional moments, and important plot details in a notebook. I just took their notes and, um… added a few things of my own before presenting it to you."

  Inwardly, Kazeo patted himself on the back for ing up with such a solid lie on the spot.

  The hesitation, the sadness in his to all worked in his favor. If anything, his nervousness made the story even more believable.

  ' Damn, I'm getting good at this! '

  He almost smiled—almost—until he met the Hokage's gaze.

  Hiruzen's eyes were sharp, calg, scrutinizing every tiny movement.

  Kazeo felt his heart hammer against his ribs. ' Did he see through it? Did he notiething? '

  The old man studied him for a long moment.

  Then, something ued happened.

  Hiruzen's gaze softened.

  A heavy sigh left the Hokage's lips, and for the first time sihis versation started, his expression wasn't one of suspi—but of uanding.

  Kazeo had been so focused on selling his lie that he didn't realize the real impression he had just made.

  The hesitation in his voice.

  The subtle fear in his expression.

  The way his hands twitched slightly, as if grasping onto fading memories.

  To Kazeo, it was just a well-acted bluff.

  To Hiruzen, It was the pain of an orphan ging to the st remnants of his parents.

  And in that moment, Hiruzen pletely misread the situation.

  This wasn't a child trying to deceive him. This was a boy, barely six years old, struggling to hold onto the legacy of the parents he had lost.

  A child who had treasured their words, their stories, their dreams—and now sought to share them with the world.

  Hiruzen leaned ba his chair, letting out a deep, ptive hum.

  "So… it was your parents, huh? You… must have loved them very much," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of decades of loss.

  Kazeo blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

  ' Wait, What? '

  This wasn't the rea he was expeg.

  Kazeo visibly tensed.

  A bittersweet smile crossed Hokage's lips. "I never khey were such remarkable storytellers. To craft something so detailed, so emotionally powerful, a… it never feels forced or unnatural. It seems you've ied their imagination."

  At these words, Kazeo's shoulders rexed—just a little.

  But Hiruzen could tell—boy was still on edge.

  So, he decided to ease his worries.

  "Don't be nervous, Kazeo," Hiruzen said gently. "I'm not here to scold you. If this was your parents' work, then you have every right to share it. But… are you absolutely certain they wrote it themselves? They didn't… borrow it from another book?"

  Kazeo nearly choked on air.

  For a sed, panic fred in his chest, but he quickly shoved it down. The old man believed him—but he was still suspicious.

  He took a slow breath, f himself to stay calm.

  "Y-Yes, Hokage-sama," he said, nodding quickly. "I'm 100% sure. They never copied it from anywhere. They told me that themselves."

  'Well… if they were alive, they definitely would've de.'

  The Hokage studied him for a long moment. Then—he smiled.

  --------

  (Hiruzen's POV)

  I saw it.

  That same hesitation, that same pride in his voice.

  But there was also an unmistakable siy.

  Whatever the truth was… Kazeo truly believed this story was his parents' legacy.

  And so, I let it go.

  -------

  (3rd POV )

  "Well then," the Hokage said, lifting the manuscript up. "It's good. More than good, actually. I have no doubt this story will be a massive success."

  Kazeo's eyes widened slightly.

  Seeing his rea, the Hokage let out a light chuckle.

  "Don't worry," he tinued. "I'll personally promote it under Konoha's he Shinobi world will soon know about this story."

  Hearing that, Kazeo finally allowed himself to fully rex.

  "So," Hiruzen asked, "have you thought about how to release them?"

  Kazeo nodded immediately.

  "Yes, Hokage-sama. I was thinking of releasing the first two volumes together. Then, I'll release the third volume one or two weeks ter to build excitement ahe readers engaged."

  A glimmer of approval flickered in the old man's eyes.

  "Smart thinking," he said with a small smile. "I was sidering a simir strategy. A slight time gap between releases will only make the readers more eager."

  Kazeo felt a sense of relief in his chest.

  Then, Hiruzen's smile turned slightly amused, and in an attempt to ease the lingering tension, he said,

  "You know… after selling 5,000 copies, you'll be earning nearly a million ryo."

  Kazeo froze.

  "…What?"

  The Hokage chuckled at the dumbfounded look on the boy's face.

  "N-Nearly a million? H-How?" Kazeo stammered.

  Hiruzen took another sip of tea before expining, his tone casual.

  "Well, eae will sell for 300 ryo. The cost of printing and bor will take around 50 ryo per copy. That means, after selling 5,000 copies… the total profit will be 1.25 million ryo."

  He smiled as Kazeo's jaw dropped.

  "Of course, 30% of the profit will go to the vilge," he tinued. "After dedus, you'll still take home around nine huhousand ryo."

  Kazeo was stunned.

  ' I'm gonna be rich…

  Just 5,000 copies, and I would already be earning close to a million?! '

  For a moment, his mind spiraled into fantasies. He imagined buyiraining gear, better kunai, maybe even a massive supply of meat —

  But before he could get lost in his daydreams, the Hokage's voiapped him back.

  "Have you decided on your pen name?" Hiruzen asked.

  Kazeo blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

  "Yes," he answered, regaining focus. "After a lot of thinking, I decided on 'StoryTeller'. "

  Hiruzen's eyebrows raised slightly.

  "Oh? StoryTeller, huh? A fitting he old man smiled knowingly. "I assume you chose it because your parents told you this story?"

  Kazeo nodded quickly.

  But inwardly—

  ' Heck, I don't even know Kazeo's parents! '

  The truth was—he had just picked the first hat popped into his head.

  It wasn't anything deep or seal. Just… a name.

  Still, he smiled and pyed along.

  They discussed a few more details before Kazeo finally left the office.

  The Hokage had asked him to return in a month to collect his first earnings and re-iate the profit pertages for future volumes.

  As the door closed behind him, Hiruzen leaned ba his chair, lost in thought.

  ---------

  (Hiruzen's POV )

  It's a good thing…

  That this story truly came from his parents. That Kazeo had simply refined and expanded upon their ideas.

  That was the logical clusion.

  A… somethi off.

  His fingers drummed lightly against the desk as he sidered the boy's reas.

  Kazeo had showation, fear, pride.

  'But was it really pride for his parents?

  Or something else? '

  Hiruzen's eyes narrowed slightly.

  'If his parents truly wrote this, then there's nothing to worry about... But if not... '

  "Should I take a look into his memories?"

  ( To be tinued… )

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