Naruto: Reincarnated As Azula, From The Same Generation As The Sannin Chapter 16: Morning Chaos! I Love It!

"Morning, Azula-san."

"Morning, Azula-san."

"Morning, Azula-san."

By the twenty-seventh chirped "Morning, Azula-san," my eye had developed a tiny, furious twitch. I was a single, frayed nerve away from introducing my fist to soone's face.

The only thing holding back was the profound, panda-esque black circles under their eyes. These weren't just signs of a late night; these were black holes of exhaustion, so deep and dark I was fairly certain I could see the ghost of the Sage of Six Paths waving a white flag from within.

Punching one of these walking corpses would be less an act of violence and more a form of assisted suicide, a one-way ticket to the Pure Land. And my, wouldn't that be a ssy start to the school day.

Beneath the sleep deprivation, their expressions were an open book, and the title was 'Desperately Want to Ask the Girl Sothing But We're Too Socially Awkward and Unfamiliar to Do So.'

It was a look I'd beco intimately familiar with. And honestly, it was hilarious. My brilliant plan was working with the efficiency of a well-oiled shinobi assassination plot.

The admiration in their eyes was so thick you could spread it on toast. Even Orochimaru, who usually looked at our classmates with the sa interest one reserves for a particularly dull rock, had been caught sneaking glances. Hehe.

"Tsk! Azula, I have to ask," a voice bood, shattering the morning's delicate ecosystem of whispered greetings. It was Jiraiya, striking what he undoubtedly believed was a dashing pose. "Why didn't you use my face in your book? Am I not handso enough? Not majestic? Not the very embodint of toad-inspired elegance?"

I didn't even grant him the dignity of a verbal response. A single, slow, deliberate eye-roll was all he warranted. The universe, it seed, agreed with my assessnt.

As if on celestial agreent, the classroom door slid open with a violent thwack to reveal Tsunade, her expression stormy. She'd heard every word. Jiraiya's 'majestic' pose deflated like a punctured balloon.

"Your 'morning greeting,' pervert," she announced, and the sound of her fist connecting with the side of his head was a familiar, almost comforting, percussion in our daily symphony. THWACK.

I sighed internally. What a profoundly ssed-up world. In the original ani, these so-called Sannin graduated at six.

At an age where kids in my old world were learning to tie their shoes without help, these three were being handed kunai and sent out to earn their first kill.

A world where being a proficient murderer at six gets you labeled a 'genius.' Is it any wonder they all turned out like this?

Tsunade's gambling, Jiraiya's... everything, Orochimaru's 'curious' fascination with the limits of human biology—they're not just personality quirks. They're trauma responses. In a world where life is cheaper than a bento box, you find your coping chanism, or you break.

Just as I was contemplating the profound existential horror of it all, my favorite quiet neighbor shuffled over, looking like a baby owl that had been kicked out of the nest during a hurricane.

"Morning, Azula-san."

Sa dark circles. Sa hesitant shuffle. Sa unspoken plea. You know what they say: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em and then rcilessly exploit their desperation for your own amusent.

"Morning," I replied, my voice dripping with faux casualness. "So. Have you read my... mangas?"

The five-year-old girl blinked, her sleep-addled brain processing the unfamiliar word before a spark of recognition ignited. "Oh! So that's what you call them? The picture stories? They were... really good."

This was, without a doubt, a top-five longest conversation we'd ever shared. A historic mont. She nodded to herself, gathered her courage, and asked the question that was burning a hole through the collective consciousness of the entire class. "So... when is the next part coming?"

The effect was instantaneous. The low hum of classroom chatter died. I could feel the weight of two dozen pairs of eyes snap onto with the intensity of a targeted sniper round.

I let the silence hang for a delicious mont before allowing a slow, utterly shaless smirk to spread across my face.

"Who knows?" I said, my voice a lazy drawl. "I'm feeling a bit... tired. Plus, I'm about to start so very special training. Maybe I'll get around to the second part in a year? Or two? Perhaps... three?"

The reaction was better than I could have ever dread.

"NO!!!" a voice wailed, shattering the silence. It was Might Duy, a green-haired blur of spandex and tears. "This isn't YOUTH, Azula-san! This is the OPPOSITE of a burning passion! This is a damp, sad flicker!"

Normally, his proclamations were t with eye-rolls or outright ignorance. But today, he was their prophet.

"That's right!" a girl chid in, pointing an accusatory finger. "As a young woman, how can you be so lazy!"

"Yes, yes!" another boy joined, his voice frantic. "Didn't you just take a month to draw the first one? Don't worry about classes! We'll convince the teacher! He'll understand! Right, everyone?!"

The classroom erupted into a cacophony of pleas, argunts, and outright bargaining. It was beautiful. And I had, of course, deliberately engineered this entire ltdown. Because yeah, the sequel was absolutely on the back burner.

First, there's my little Tribunal plan to deal with. Then I have to expertly schem—ahem, strategize my way into becoming Lady Mito's disciple. And let's not forget my Lightning Release training; this Lightning Chakra Mode isn't going to master itself. I need a body strong enough to handle that kind of power.

Just imagine it: Three Tomoe Sharingan perception, plus the raw speed of the Lightning Chakra Mode, plus the instant teleportation of the Flying Thunder God, maybe add another Sage Mode later. Who, in the entire history of this ninja world, could possibly keep up? Even an Otsutsuki would get a migraine trying to track .

And if I can sweet-talk my way into Mito's good graces... well, maybe as her 'dear disciple,' she could let take a few bites of that special Uzumaki physique when I'm injured—for example, when training the Rasengan and Chidori?

But like any good villainous mastermind (or, you know, a mildly scheming toddler), I needed a cover story. I couldn't just stand on the playground and shout, "I REQUIRE YOUR HELP FOR EYEBALL EVOLUTION!"

So, I put on my best 'weary, overworked business-otter' face and addressed my captive audience—the future of Konoha, currently more interested in picking their noses than mastering chakra control.

I began with a dramatic sigh, "It is not that I don't want to continue my work because it's really entertaining. But my various entrepreneurial ventures are demanding my attention. I may be so busy I have to… miss school."

I paused, letting the gravity of that statent sink in. To a bunch of five-year-olds, voluntarily skipping the sandbox is a level of hardcore they could barely comprehend.

"You see," I continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "I plan to distribute my literary works across the entire Ninja World! Open a store right here in Konoha to sell my manga, and then to all around the Ninja World."

I had them hook, line, and sinker. Their little eyes were wide. "But I can help you. You can create your own story—draw it, write it, whatever—and I will sell it for you. We'll split the profits! Think of it! You could earn enough to buy all the dango you could ever want! Impress your father and make him kneel before you! Beco a legend!"

The real goal, of course, was to induce a tidal wave of emotionally devastating fanfiction to bludgeon my optic nerves into unlocking the Sharingan, started by a bunch of toddlers.

And it did work. I could practically see the gears turning in their tiny heads, smoke almost pouring out of their ears. Dreams of artistic glory and candy-based wealth had overwritten their previous desires to pester , or so I thought.

Just then, an unexpected voice cut through the buzz of childish excitent.

"That's not a problem. How about we help you?"

I turned. It was Tsunade. Our relationship was… strange.

I just stared at her, one eyebrow raised so high it was practically trying to escape my hairline. You? Help ? With my store? Was the world ending?

Seeing my blatantly suspicious gaze, she imdiately backpedaled faster than a shinobi avoiding a debt collector.

"D-don't misunderstand!" she stamred, her cheeks puffing out. "I'm not interested in your so-called 'manga'! It's… it's for my grandma! Yeah! She, uh, read it and would like to know the rest of the story."

She said it with the confidence of a leaf trembling in a hurricane. Her big, panda-like eyes from lack of sleep were darting everywhere, refusing to et mine. And when she said 'grandma,' she looked about as guilty as soone caught with the last piece of cake.

BINGO! My first major breakthrough in my secret plan to beco Mito Uzumaki's disciple had just fallen into my lap, wrapped in a blonde, deniable package.

I played it cool, feigning nonchalant surprise. "Oh? The legendary Mito Uzumaki, wife of the First Hokage, is interested in my little scribbles? I am honored."

Of course, I only knew how legendary she was thanks to my ta-knowledge; to any other Uchiha kid, she'd just be 'that really important red-haired lady.'

But Tsunade wasn't even listening to that part. She was too deep in her own web of lies, trying to convince herself first.

"That's right!" she barreled on. "She spent the whole night reading it! From the beginning to the end! She even demanded—I an, asked nicely—to know when the next part is coming!"

I had to hide a smirk. Gotcha.

Unconsciously, I realized I'd been talking and scheming with them all morning. I'd sohow… blended in. I was now a card-carrying mber of this toddler cult.

But that was the point! If I wasn't familiar with them, how could I ever help them? And more importantly, how could I make them so eternally grateful that they'd one day pay back a hundred tis over? Friendship is the best long-term investnt strategy.

We spent the next while plotting world domination—or, at least, Konoha manga domination—until the teacher finally showed up.

As class droned on, my mind was already on the next project. Not mangas, not ninjutsu.

Law.

Specifically, the law of Konoha. Or, more accurately, the glaring lack thereof. Konoha's legal system was basically:

1. Don't sneak in.

2. Don't sneak out.

3. Give us a cut of your mission money.

4. Don't make the Hokage mad.

That's it.

What about intellectual property? What happens when my manga empire takes off and so shifty rchant from the Land of Tea buys all my copies, marks up the price 1000%, and sells them as 'rare Konoha art'? What if so unlicensed joker starts making bootleg Muzan figurines?

Right now, I could probably stop it with a well-placed threat and a flash of my Sharingan-less eyes, leveraging my clan na.

But what about so future genius artist, so kid with the potential to write a story so soul-crushingly beautiful it could awaken the Mangekyo in a rock… but they give up because they see no way to profit? The very thought was a tragedy greater than anything in my manga.

No. This would not stand. If I was going to build an empire on the tears of my peers, I was going to make sure it was a legally compliant, copyright-protected empire. Konoha was about to get its first-ever copyright lawyer.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

Sigh, although I want a ti skip but I feel it will take longer than expected because I don't want to rush, at most, I promise you wouldn't see so nonsense like 6-years old kage, or soone clearly overpowered yet having difficulty dealing with a nobody.

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