Maybe the next one would be a genius.
Maybe the next manuscript would be a masterpiece that shook the Shinobi World.
But thirty years had passed, and his passion had long since worn away.
Over those thirty years, Kishimoto Masashi had seen far too many young people hoping to make a name for themselves with a single book.
One after another, they'd walked in carrying thick manuscripts, their eyes shining as they claimed they'd poured their hearts and souls into their work, that it was sure to be a hit, and that he'd see for himself if he gave it a look.
So he read them.
And the result?
They were complete rubbish.
The logic was muddled, the writing was amateurish, the plots were stale, and the characters were flat. Some of them couldn't even string a proper sentence together.
When Kishimoto Masashi turned them down, those writers would immediately show their true colors, accusing him of being blind and knowing nothing about literature. They'd swear their books would become hits someday and warn him that he'd regret it.
At first, he would try to explain. Eventually, he couldn't be bothered.
He was an editor. He'd read more books than most people had eaten bowls of rice. He could tell what was good and what was garbage at a glance.
At that moment, as Kishimoto Masashi flipped through the manuscript in his hands, he honestly wasn't expecting much.
The writer was young, probably in his early twenties. What good could he have written?
Literature wasn't like being a ninja.
As a ninja, you might become a Chunin at six and a Jonin at thirteen, like Kakashi Hatake. Or you might become Hokage in your early twenties and make a name for yourself across the world, like Namikaze Minato.
But literature was different. It required years of experience.
Without more than a decade of reading and more than a decade of writing under your belt, you couldn't produce anything good.
As these thoughts ran through Kishimoto Masashi's mind, he continued turning the pages.
His hands slowed.
His brow furrowed, and his gaze grew intent.
Hmm?
This story...
The protagonist of the book was named Yan Cheng Douzhen.
He had once been the young clan leader of a great family. Gifted from birth, he was a famous prodigy in the surrounding towns. By the age of ten, he had become a Jonin, full of confidence and vigor. Everyone said he was the clan's future hope.
Then disaster struck. His strength suddenly began to decline, day by day, month by month, until he fell all the way back to Genin.
The people in his clan who had once fawned over him gradually distanced themselves. Those who had once bent over backward to please him began whispering behind his back. They mocked him, looked down on him, and pushed him aside.
When he was fifteen, the fiancée he'd been promised to as a child came to visit.
By the time Kishimoto Masashi reached this part, he was sitting upright.
He swore he hadn't read a novel this gripping in a long time.
The opening, the premise, the twist—
Kishimoto Masashi couldn't wait to turn the page and find out what happened next. Would the protagonist give up? Would he fight back? Had the woman who'd been promised to him as a child come to honor their engagement, or did she have another motive?
He turned to the next page.
There was nothing.
Kishimoto Masashi froze, then flipped through a few more pages.
It really was over.
He looked up at Qiushui, his expression complicated.
What was this?
Of all the times to stop, why stop right here?
He was left hanging.
Qiushui noticed his expression and began to feel uneasy.
Though this world's culture was relatively limited, his novel wasn't the kind that was especially graphic or violent. And since this was his first time writing a novel, he had no idea whether it would catch an editor's eye.
"How is it?" Qiushui asked tentatively. "Does it meet the requirements for publication?"
Kishimoto Masashi was silent for two seconds. Then he smiled and said warmly, "Your novel is very good. It absolutely meets our publisher's standards for publication."
Qiushui breathed a sigh of relief.
Next came the contract negotiations.
Kishimoto Masashi took a blank contract from his desk drawer and began discussing the details with Qiushui: how many words he needed to write each month, how the royalties would be split, and how promotional resources would be allocated.
"An established literary master like Jiraiya can get a twenty-percent royalty," Kishimoto Masashi explained. "But you're a newcomer publishing for the first time, so you can only get ten percent."
He paused, then added, "That's the industry standard. Every newcomer has to start out this way."
Qiushui nodded without complaint. After all, the old trope where side characters and random passersby were instantly won over by the protagonist's overwhelming charisma was outdated.
As he was leaving, Kishimoto Masashi asked him to choose a pen name. Qiushui thought it over. Instead of using his real name like Jiraiya, he wrote down the five characters "Sleep Until Natural Wake."
Tuesday, 8:55 a.m.
Qiushui didn't arrive in the classroom at the last minute as he usually did. At exactly 8:55, he appeared at the door with Fujino Okuma, a fellow teacher from the same office, following behind him.
The two of them entered the classroom one after the other.
The Ninja Academy assigned exam proctors at random. To prevent teachers from helping their students cheat, two teachers were assigned to supervise each exam. Today, Qiushui and Fujino Okuma were proctoring the first exam for Class 1 of the 4th Grade.
"Teacher Qiushui!"
As soon as Qiushui entered, greetings rang out across the classroom. He smiled and nodded in response to each one.
Murata Koji followed behind Qiushui, silently watching. His eyes filled with envy. He had once taught Class 1 of the 4th Grade, too. Back then, when he entered the room, the students would carry on with whatever they were doing. Hardly anyone even looked up, let alone greeted him.
But now?
The moment Qiushui walked in, it was like a star had taken the stage.
Murata Koji sighed inwardly. Comparing yourself to others was enough to drive anyone mad. He could only walk silently over to a corner beside the podium and stand there.
Qiushui stepped up to the podium, braced both hands on the sides of the desk, and swept his gaze across the class. "The exam is about to begin. Check your pens one more time. If you can't answer a question, leave it for now and finish the ones you can. Try not to leave anything blank. Even if you really don't know an answer, write down a few words—you might guess your way into a point or two. When you're finished, check your work carefully and hand it in only when you're sure it's correct."
Qiushui's expression turned serious. "No talking to each other, and no cheating of any kind. Anyone caught will receive a zero. Is that clear?"
"Clear!"
The entire class answered in unison.
Naruto Uzumaki took a deep breath and clenched his fists on his knees, his face more serious than it had ever been.
He had to do well on the exam today.
He had to give it one hundred percent.
If anyone in the class wanted Teacher Qiushui to avoid getting into trouble, it was definitely him.
He still hadn't made any friends, but at least his classmates no longer looked down on him like they had before, and his teachers no longer ignored him. He also got to eat a hot meal every day and had someone by his side.
Hyuga Hinata lowered her head slightly, folding her hands on the desk as her eyelashes fluttered gently.
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