Reborn as a Yamanaka Genius

Operation Gain Access to the Library had been a resounding success. 

Of course, it was—I wasn't the type to fail when I put my mind to something. But still, standing outside the Yamanaka Clan's library, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment. 

"Is this it?" I asked the elderly Yamanaka, who had been kind enough to direct me here. 

For a place that housed centuries of clan secrets and ninja techniques, it looked depressingly ordinary—a two-story building with bland, off-white stone walls that had probably been there since the village was founded. 

No grand entrance, no intricate carvings, just... a building. 

"Tis the place you seek, young master," Nobuo-san said with a toothless grin. "Now, go ahead and enter. Akira will assist with whatever ya' need, 'K?"

I gave him a slight bow. "Thank you, Nobuo-san."

He nodded, his smile growing wider as he glanced around before lowering his voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta run to the bathhou—ahem. See you around, young master." With a quick wink, he vanished in a puff of smoke. 

My brow raised in amusement. Looks like every clan has a Jiraiya.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Immediately, the smell of old parchment and wood filled my senses—a comforting mix, like stepping into a treasure trove of forgotten knowledge. 

The library was bigger on the inside, with high wooden shelves stacked with books and scrolls, and a second-floor balcony that looked down over the main floor. 

Light streamed in from the skylight above, casting warm golden rays that danced across the polished wooden floor. 

I took a deep breath, letting the atmosphere wash over me. This is it.

But before I could fully take it in, a voice called down from above. "Hey, boy."

I glanced up, expecting to see some elderly librarian, but instead, my eyes landed on a woman leaning over the balcony railing, looking down at me with sharp, assessing eyes. Her hair, once the signature Yamanaka blonde, was now a soft silver, cascading down her back in thick waves.

She looked to be in her mid thirties, but based on her hair she had to be decades older. And the fire in her gaze told me she was far from fragile.

"Hello, Akira-sama?" I asked, though I was already pretty sure this was her.

She ignored the question, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Your mother said her 'precious angel' would be stopping by. Do you know what about that surprised me?"

I bit back the twitch of annoyance. That tone—the one adults use when they think they've caught you in something—grated on me. But I wasn't about to let it show. "My age, I assume?"

"Smart kid." Her smirk widened, amusement dancing in her eyes. She pushed off the railing and made her way down the wooden staircase, her steps slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world. 

She was testing me. I could feel it in the way her gaze flicked over me, sizing me up.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I got a better look at her. She was tall, at least five-nine, and strikingly beautiful in a way that didn't seem to have faded with age. 

There was a sharpness to her features, a strength in her posture. She wasn't the type to rely on her looks; she was a woman who radiated power. And those eyes—lilac, like shards of amethyst—held an intensity I hadn't seen since... well, since I'd stared into a clan elder's gaze.

"Has my beauty captivated you that much, boy?" she asked, her smirk turning almost predatory.

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Yes."

Her smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, clearly not expecting the honesty. But she quickly recovered, her smile returning with renewed vigor. 

"What an honest boy."

I didn't bother responding. If she wanted to play this game, fine. I wasn't in the mood to stroke her ego, but if that's what it took to get what I wanted, I could endure.

"So," she said, folding her arms and leaning back slightly, "what's the rush? You're four years old. Most kids don't get access to the library until they're five."

"I'm aware," I said, keeping my tone calm but firm. "But I'm also aware that the village is currently at war."

Her smile dropped instantly. "You're too young to be thinking about war, boy."

"I don't think the village agrees with you," I replied, holding her gaze. "They've already sped up the academy graduation process. Kids a year older than me are being sent to the front lines. I'd rather not wait until it's too late to learn how to protect myself and those around—"

"That's enough." Akira's expression hardened. She stood up straighter, the lighthearted banter gone from her face. 

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Her gaze turned steely, her posture rigid, and I realized I might have pushed a little too far. But I held my ground. This wasn't about being polite. This was about survival.

"You'll have access to the first floor," she said, her tone clipped. "Everything on the second is restricted."

"Until when?" I asked, tilting my head.

Her smirk returned, but this time it was colder. "Until I say so. You'll start with the books I assign you. Once I'm satisfied with your progress, you'll get more."

I bit back a frown. Self-study is off the table then. Wonderful.

She must've sensed my displeasure because her smirk widened. "That's right. No rushing ahead. You'll study what I give you for five hours every morning. After that, we'll move to physical training until dinner."

I blinked. Physical training? "I'm sorry, I think I'm confused."

Her eyebrow shot up. "About?"

"I thought you were just a librarian."

Her grin turned wicked, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I am, now. But I was also the kunoichi who trained your father. So, I presume you won't mind if I teach you a thing or two?"

Ah. Well, that explains a lot.

I could see the challenge in her eyes, the way she was daring me to protest. But I wasn't stupid. If she'd trained my father—Inoichi Yamanaka himself—then she was probably one of the strongest shinobi I'd ever meet.

I gave a formal bow, keeping my tone respectful but firm. "I look forward to being under your tutelage."

She raised an eyebrow, amused but not entirely impressed. "That's what I like to hear." 

She stepped closer, her hand landing on my shoulder—not heavy, but with enough pressure to remind me that she was in control here. "Start with the book on the founding of the Hidden Leaf. When you're done, move on to the one about the history of the Yamanaka Clan. I expect you to finish at least the first book by the end of the day. If you don't, you won't be allowed back here until you turn five. Understood?"

"Hai, Elder."

"Good. Now, get to work."

###

AKIRA YAMAKANA

When Aiko first told me her four-year-old genius son would be coming to the library, I thought she was pulling one of her jokes. Aiko had always been one to exaggerate, especially when it came to Satoshi. 

"He's perfect, beautiful, the smartest boy in the village," she'd gush. It was the kind of thing all mothers said about their kids, as if they were giving birth to the second coming of Kami himself.

But Aiko wasn't just any mother, and Satoshi wasn't just any child.

She'd had him after a miscarriage that nearly broke her. Everyone in the clan knew how she'd locked herself in her room for months, the grief suffocating her like a shroud. Even the clan therapist couldn't bring her back from that darkness. 

Inoichi had tried to help, but he was broken, too. Trying to pick up the pieces of your wife's shattered heart while your own is in tatters isn't something most men can manage. 

Then, somehow, she got pregnant again. And this time, she carried to term. Satoshi was a miracle in more ways than one. But the boy I saw in front of me now? He wasn't the wide-eyed, innocent child Aiko always talked about. No. This kid was something else entirely. 

A couple of days ago, when she told me he'd be visiting, she threw in a detail that had made me stop short—she'd lost a bet to him. 

A four-year-old had outwitted his own mother. That had been my first clue. Aiko might dote on her son, but she wasn't foolish. If she said he was sharp, I would listen. 

And now, as I sat upstairs, trying to focus on my calligraphy, the incessant sound of pages flipping below made me pause. Satoshi was down there, seated at a table, running his fingers through the pages at a speed far too quick to actually read anything.

I narrowed my eyes. Was this what Aiko had meant by "genius"? A kid who just pretended to study to get what he wanted?

With an irritated sigh, I leaned over the balcony to get a better look. 

There he was, turning pages every few seconds, barely stopping to glance at the text before flipping to the next one. My brow furrowed. It was obvious—he wasn't reading at all. Just another little prodigy who'd learned how to manipulate his way into people's good graces. 

How disappointing. 

I'd been prepared to deal with a kid who was actually sharp, maybe even capable of living up to Aiko's over-the-top praises. But this? This was just sad. Satoshi wasn't some genius—he was just another child trying to act smarter than he really was. 

Aiko wouldn't see it, of course. Her precious miracle could do no wrong. But I knew better. 

The soft thud of a book closing drew my attention. Satoshi had finished and was sitting there, hands folded neatly in his lap. His face was calm, a small, confident smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Done already?" I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

He looked up at me with those unnervingly calm eyes. "Yes, Akira-sama."

I bit back a scoff. Still playing the part, huh?

I'd dealt with more than enough cocky kids to know how to handle this type. It was almost disappointing. With all the talk surrounding him, I'd thought maybe—just maybe—this one would be worth training.

Setting my brush down, I stood and made my way down the stairs, each step measured, deliberate. Let's see how well he could keep up the act.

"When was the Hidden Leaf founded?" I asked, my voice flat.

"The Hidden Leaf was founded shortly after the end of the Warring States Period by Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha. That can be found on page 3 of the first book." Satoshi replied instantly, his tone polite, unruffled.

Page number, too? Hmph. Alright.

"Which Hokage formalized the alliance between the Yamanaka, Nara, and Akimichi clans?"

"The Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju. Book 1, page 12"

Correct again. My eyes narrowed as I descended the last few steps, not breaking my stride.

"What are the core values of the Yamanaka Clan?"

"The Yamanaka Clan values loyalty, intelligence, and the strength of the mind. We prioritize unity and mental discipline. Book 2, page 16."

Spot on.

I stopped just in front of him, looking down at the small, composed boy sitting with one leg crossed over the other. His expression hadn't changed. Calm. Controlled. But there was something about the way he carried himself—an ease, a confidence that bordered on unsettling for someone his age.

"Who was the first Yamanaka Clan head to serve directly under a Hokage?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

"Yamanaka Hisashi. Book 2, Page 59," he answered smoothly.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. Maybe he really had been reading the book. Still, I needed to be sure. 

"Which battle was the Yamanaka Clan instrumental in turning the tide during the First Great Ninja War?"

"The Battle of Hoshigakure," he replied, his voice never wavering. "Where the Yamanaka's Mind Transfer Jutsu helped expose enemy strategies. Book 2, page 87."

I froze. That wasn't a simple fact. That detail was buried in the margins in practically microscopic text. There's no way he could've skimmed that.

My breath caught in my throat, and for the first time, I found myself staring at him, truly staring.

This wasn't normal. This boy—this four-year-old—hadn't just skimmed through the books. He'd absorbed every bit of information, processed it, and now he was casually reciting obscure facts like they were common knowledge.

He lifted his head, meeting my gaze without an ounce of fear or hesitation. His slate-colored eyes bore into mine, and for a brief moment, I saw something—something old, something impossibly sharp behind those eyes.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

This wasn't just a genius. This was something else entirely.

"Monste—Boy," I corrected myself. My voice was no longer filled with the same casual condescension. "How much of those books did you actually read?" It was apparent, but I had to hear it from his mouth.

"All of it," he said, blinking up at me with that same calm expression.

I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. 

Genius, prodigy—those words didn't do justice to the boy sitting in front of me. He was far beyond that. 

There was a cold, calculating intelligence behind those eyes. And for the first time in years, I found myself genuinely... unsettled.

"Impressive," I said finally, though the word felt inadequate.

He smiled softly. "Thank you, Akira-sama."

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[A/N] That's right, Satoshi. Show her who's daddy... Ahem, excuse me. I got beside myself... Anyway, if you're liking the story, please leave a review!