***
For several seconds after his eyes opened, Reiji didn't move.
His body felt heavy—unnaturally so—as if something had pressed him deep into the mattress and left him there. The fatigue wasn't superficial. It ran deeper, settled into his muscles, his joints, even his breath. Every part of him carried the dull weight of exhaustion that came after pushing too far.
And yet—
Beneath it, there was something else.
A strange clarity.
A lightness that didn't belong.
Refreshed.
The contradiction sat awkwardly in his mind, enough to make his brow crease slightly.
Where am I…?
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, the motion slow and uneven. His arms trembled faintly under his own weight, muscles protesting in a way that told him immediately how far he had gone the night before. His gaze drifted across the room, still unfocused at first, taking in fragments of familiarity—the low table, the wall, the soft glow of evening light filtering through paper windows.
His room.
He stilled.
He didn't remember coming back.
The last thing he remembered was—
Training.
The cold night air.
Chakra circulating, straining, resisting.
Then—
Nothing.
His eyes shifted toward the terrace.
The door was open, and the faint breeze slipping inside carried with it the scent of smoke and the distant murmur of the village settling into evening. Voices, faint and indistinct. The quiet rhythm of life continuing beyond the walls.
His father stood there.
Leaning against the wooden frame, one shoulder resting lightly against it, his posture relaxed but completely still. His gaze was fixed outward, watching the sky as it bled slowly into deeper shades of red and orange. A thin plume of smoke drifted upward from the pipe in his hand, curling lazily before disappearing into the fading light.
"…Father?"
"You slept the entire day," his father said without turning. His tone was calm, even, as though the situation required no emphasis. "I informed the Academy you wouldn't be coming."
Reiji blinked, his thoughts still catching up to his body.
"…Really. What a troublesome son."
The words came automatically, a faint attempt at humor, but they lacked weight. His attention had already turned inward again.
The memories came back all at once.
A sudden surge of excitement cut cleanly through the lingering fatigue. Reiji forced himself upright despite the strain in his body, his breath hitching slightly as his muscles protested the movement.
"Did you see it, Father?" he said quickly, the words coming out faster than he could control. "I can use Hyōton. Even without instructions—without anyone teaching me—I can—"
"Don't move."
The interruption was immediate.
Reiji froze.
"…Stay still."
There was no anger in his father's voice. No sharpness.
But the weight behind the words settled into him just the same.
The excitement faltered, just enough.
Slowly, he lowered himself back down, his body sinking into the mattress again. Now that he wasn't pushing against it, the fatigue returned more clearly—the dull ache in his muscles, the slight weakness in his limbs, the faint strain that lingered deep in his chakra coils.
"You were reckless," his father continued, still facing the horizon. "Training to the point of collapse."
A thin stream of smoke left his mouth as he exhaled.
"Chakra is the balance between physical and spiritual energy. If one outweighs the other…" he paused slightly, "…especially at your age… the consequences can last."
Reiji lay still, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the truth of it settle into his body along with the exhaustion.
"…Sorry."
The word came quieter this time.
A pause followed.
Then a soft sigh.
"…Just promise me you won't do that again."
"I promise, Father."
"…Good."
Silence settled into the room.
The faint sound of wind brushing past the terrace filled the space between them, carrying with it the distant rhythm of the village.
Then—
"…Still," his father added, almost as if the thought had only just surfaced, "what you did was impressive."
Reiji's eyes shifted toward him.
His father hadn't moved.
His back was still turned, his expression hidden completely by the light beyond the terrace.
"I didn't think you would be capable of using your kekkei genkai without guidance," he continued. "Creating a jutsu on your own, at your age… with so little experience."
A brief pause.
"…I was wrong."
Reiji felt something tighten in his chest.
"I should have trusted you more," his father said quietly. "You are more talented than I gave you credit for."
The words landed heavier than anything else.
Heavier than the exhaustion.
Heavier than the training.
"…Father…"
His vision blurred before he could stop it.
The reaction came instinctively, unbidden. Warmth gathered behind his eyes, threatening to spill over despite his effort to suppress it.
"Don't cry," his father said immediately. "Shinobi don't cry."
"Yes—!"
Reiji rubbed his eyes quickly, almost roughly, forcing the tears back before they could fall. His breathing steadied after a moment, though the tightness in his chest lingered.
Silence returned.
Time stretched for several seconds, marked only by the faint movement of air through the open terrace.
Then—
"…We should go out this week."
Reiji blinked, caught off guard.
"Huh?"
"I think you deserve a reward," his father said. "Where would you like to go?"
Reiji stared at him.
The words didn't register immediately.
Go out.
Together.
That had never—
Their routine had always been the same. Training. Meals at home. Discipline. Structure.
There had never been anything else.
"I… I don't know," he admitted slowly.
His father hummed thoughtfully.
"You like meat," he said. "There's a place that opened recently."
A small pause.
"Yakiniku, I believe."
Reiji nodded before he fully realized he had done it.
"…Okay."
"Good."
His father straightened, stepping away from the terrace.
"Rest," he said. "You're going back to the Academy tomorrow."
The sliding door closed with a soft, muted sound.
The room fell quiet again.
Reiji lay there without moving, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as the last light of evening faded slowly across the room.
'What a strange day…'
A small smile formed despite himself.
And this time—
He didn't try to suppress it.
The exhaustion returned gradually, heavier now, pulling at his awareness as his body finally began to relax.
His eyes closed.
And he drifted back into sleep.
***
By the time he reached the Academy, the courtyard was already filling with students. Voices overlapped in small clusters, fragments of conversation drifting through the open space.
Reiji barely slowed as he crossed it and slid the classroom door open.
"Well, look who it is… I was starting to hope you wouldn't come back."
Mikoto's voice cut through the room the moment he stepped inside, dry as ever.
Kushina immediately smacked her lightly on the arm.
Mikoto shot her an annoyed glance.
"What? I'm joking."
Reiji let the door slide shut behind him and smiled easily as he walked toward his seat.
"Good to see you too, Mikoto. What a wonderful day, right?"
Mikoto visibly shuddered, her shoulders tightening.
"Don't do that. I don't know why you're happy today, but I don't want to know."
Reiji dropped his bag beside his desk and rolled his eyes as he sat down, leaning back slightly in his chair.
'What a killjoy.'
Kushina leaned slightly toward him, her gaze narrowing as she studied his face.
What happened?" she asked. "You weren't at school yesterday."
"I was just tired."
The answer came easily, almost automatically.
Mikoto raised an eyebrow immediately, her expression turning skeptical.
"Tired? You've never skipped a day before. Hell, even Kasumi shows up looking like that."
She pointed toward the Nara girl sprawled across her desk a few rows over. Kasumi didn't even lift her head, only raising one arm lazily in acknowledgment.
"It's because my parents force me…" she muttered, her voice barely audible.
Reiji snorted under his breath, the sound quiet but genuine. He shifted slightly in his seat, stretching his shoulders once as if testing the lingering fatigue in his body.
"Really tired."
Kushina's eyes sharpened further, irritation flickering across her face at the deflection.
"If you don't want to say, just say so."
Reiji tilted his head slightly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
"I am being honest."
She didn't respond this time, but the look she gave him made it clear she didn't believe him for a second.
Reiji let the silence settle after that, not bothering to push the conversation further. Instead, he leaned back more comfortably in his chair, letting his gaze drift across the room as he observed the small movements and interactions around him.
Nawaki and Minato were already in discussion, their heads inclined slightly toward each other. Minato spoke calmly, hands resting loosely on the desk, while Nawaki listened with a more animated posture, occasionally gesturing as he replied.
Across the room, Arata stood stiffly in front of Enji, his shoulders tight, his expression uncertain. Enji spoke with an edge that was easy to read even from a distance.
Then Enji noticed him.
Their eyes met.
The Sarutobi expression twisted immediately into a sharp, scathing glare.
Reiji only smiled in response.
And waved.
Casually.
The reaction was immediate—Enji's expression darkened further—but Reiji had already lost interest.
Then he paused as another gaze locked onto him.
Hiashi Hyūga.
And there was nothing restrained about the look this time.
The boy looked furious.
Reiji frowned slightly, studying him more carefully.
'What's his problem…?'
Then he noticed.
The empty space beside him.
Hizashi not by his side.
A small shift ran through his thoughts.
'Ah… so he got caught?'
Reiji leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the edge of his desk as he considered it. He wasn't someone who lingered on regret. He didn't waste time questioning decisions once they were made.
But—
Hiashi had helped him.
Taken a risk.
Allowed him to see something he shouldn't have.
"…Tch."
He clicked his tongue quietly.
'He's the clan head's son. He'll be fine.'
'Probably just grounded.'
Still—
The thought didn't leave immediately
The classroom door slid open.
Fuma-sensei stepped inside, a long scroll held in both hands. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Conversations died mid-sentence as students straightened in their seats, attention snapping toward her.
Without a word, she moved to the front of the room.
The scroll unfurled with a dry, deliberate sound as she spread it across the board, the paper stretching wide until it covered nearly the entire surface. Inked names filled the length of it in clean vertical columns, the characters sharp and precise.
A ranking.
Reiji's eyes moved instinctively.
He didn't read the whole list.
He didn't need to.
His gaze went straight to the top.
1. Namikaze Minato
2. Homura Reiji
His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest tension settling into his expression.
'That know-it-all did it again.'
Around him, whispers began to rise.
Some students leaned forward in their seats, others craned their necks to read further down the list. A few muttered quietly, comparing positions, pointing at names, reacting in low voices that filled the room with a restless hum.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze still fixed on the top two names.
He didn't consider himself inferior.
Not where it mattered.
In actual shinobi exercises—movement, combat, application—he was confident. More than that. In several areas, he knew he had the advantage. Even after seeing Minato's wind techniques, he hadn't felt threatened.
Not anymore.
Not now that Hyōton was within his reach.
But—
'I've never beaten him in theory.'
His jaw shifted faintly.
'Whatever.'
If Minato wanted to prove himself through written exams, that was his choice.
Reiji didn't care.
What mattered was the field.
And there—
He was certain they were more or less equal.
"This is your score for this semester," Fuma-sensei said calmly.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
"And your last."
The room stilled.
The murmurs died instantly, replaced by a thick, confused silence.
Reiji blinked.
'Last…?'
"The Hokage has decreed that graduating at twelve is no longer necessary," she continued, her tone unchanged. "It is considered a waste of time."
A pause.
"The graduation age has been lowered to ten."
The words settled heavily.
For a second, no one reacted.
Then—
Confusion spread like a ripple.
"What—?"
"Ten?"
"That's too soon—"
"Six months…?"
Reiji didn't speak.
His eyes narrowed slowly, his posture shifting just slightly as the meaning settled into place.
"Which means," Fuma-sensei continued, "you now have six months remaining before graduation."
Silence returned, but this time it wasn't empty.
It was tense.
Heavy.
"Additionally," she said, "the curriculum will change."
Her gaze swept across the room.
"Physical training will be doubled. New exercises will be introduced."
A faint pause.
"Your ranking will now be primarily influenced by these exercises."
That changed everything.
Reiji felt it immediately.
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips.
Fuma-sensei didn't elaborate further.
"Come outside. Follow me."
She turned immediately and stepped out of the classroom, her movements decisive, not even glancing back to check if they would obey.
For a brief second, no one moved.
Then the room broke.
Chairs scraped harshly against the wooden floor as students stood almost at once, the sudden noise filling the space. Voices overlapped in uneven waves—some low and uncertain, others sharper, louder, trying to piece together what had just been announced.
Reiji rose more slowly.
His chair slid back with a softer sound as he pushed himself up, his posture already settling into something more controlled.
'Is it finally time… father?'
***
Outside, the courtyard felt different.
The same ground stretched beneath their feet—dry patches of dirt breaking through worn grass, the surface uneven from years of training—but the atmosphere had shifted, the tension followed them.
Groups formed instinctively as voices rose again—speculation, confusion, unease spreading through the courtyard.
"Hey, what's happening? Why is the graduation date suddenly moving?" Kushina asked, her tone edged with frustration as she turned toward Mikoto while they walked.
Mikoto frowned slightly, her gaze unfocused for a moment as she thought it through.
"I don't know… It's sudden, yes," she admitted, "but they must have a reason for it."
Ahead of them, Tsume glanced back over her shoulder, her stride steady despite the tension around them.
"Maybe they saw how talented our class is and decided to move us forward."
Reiji let out a quiet scoff.
It was subtle, but just loud enough.
Mikoto's eyes snapped toward him immediately, narrowing with a hint of irritation.
"Well, Reiji," she said, her tone dry but pointed, "it seems like you have something to say. So go on—enlighten us."
Reiji didn't slow. His gaze remained forward, tracking the movement of the students ahead—the uneven spacing, the way some clustered while others drifted apart, distracted. His awareness spread naturally, taking in the environment even as he spoke.
"It's pretty simple," he said.
His voice was calm.
Measured.
"They think we're too slow."
Mikoto's frown deepened.
"I assumed that much," she said. "But why?"
Reiji shrugged lightly, the motion small, almost absentminded. His steps remained steady, his balance easy despite the shifting crowd around them.
"To prepare us better."
Kushina tilted her head slightly, her expression tightening.
"Prepare for what?"
Reiji's gaze flicked toward her for just a moment before returning forward.
"For being shinobi," he said.
A brief pause.
"To make sure we survive."
The implication was clear.
Mikoto's expression had tightened, her earlier skepticism replaced by something more thoughtful.
Kushina's shoulders slumped slightly.
"…This sucks," she muttered under her breath. "I just got here, and now we're already about to graduate."
Fūma-sensei stepped forward, her sandals pressing lightly into the worn ground at the center of the training field. Around her, the students settled almost instinctively, small movements dying out as her presence drew their attention in.
"This exercise will be conducted in two teams. You've already been assigned."
Her voice carried cleanly across the open space, steady and controlled, cutting through the last remnants of conversation without needing to rise.
Fūma-sensei paused just long enough for the silence to settle fully.
Then she lifted a scroll between her fingers.
"Each team will receive one of these. One of you will carry it. Your team will know who it is. Your opponents will not."
Reiji's gaze followed the movement automatically, his focus narrowing slightly as the parchment caught the light. The rule itself was simple.
"You will begin at opposite edges of the forest," she continued, her hand lowering slightly as she gestured toward the tree line in the distance. From here, the forest looked dense enough to swallow sight beyond a few meters, the canopy thick, the ground uneven. "Once you receive your scroll, proceed to your assigned position. You will choose among yourselves who carries it."
Reiji's eyes flicked briefly toward the trees, already mapping the implications.
"If your scroll is taken, you lose. If you take theirs, you win."
Fūma-sensei's gaze hardened.
"You may use anything you have learned so far. Taijutsu, academy techniques… even ninjutsu. You are free to use any tactic necessary to retrieve the enemy scroll."
"But this remains an exercise," Fūma-sensei added, her tone cooling just enough to draw a line through the rising tension. "No lethal intent. No techniques that could cause permanent harm."
She gestured toward the edge of the field, where racks of dulled weapons rested against wooden stands.
"You will use training kunai and shuriken, as always. If you are struck on the torso or the head, you are considered eliminated."
"Several instructors will be observing the match," Fūma-sensei continued. "If a situation becomes dangerous, we will intervene immediately. A medical team is on standby. Anyone judged unable to continue will be removed."
Reiji's brow lifted faintly.
Until now, the academy had always leaned toward control. Injuries were avoided, limited, contained. At worst, a bruise from sparring—and even that often brought a reprimand if things escalated too far. He had experienced that often enough himself.
This was not the same.
He raised his hand.
The motion drew attention immediately. Fūma-sensei's gaze shifted to him, narrowing slightly—not surprised, but expectant.
"Yes, Reiji-kun?"
He didn't hesitate.
"When you say 'judged unable to continue'… what exactly does that mean?"
For a brief moment, the field stilled again.
A few students turned their heads subtly, attention shifting toward him.
Fūma-sensei didn't soften.
"Exactly what I said," she replied evenly. "If someone loses consciousness, or is physically unable to continue, they are removed."
No hesitation.
No ambiguity.
The answer settled heavily.
A ripple passed through the group—quieter than before, but deeper. One student stiffened visibly. A low murmur followed, restrained but edged with unease.
The exercise had just become real to them.
Reiji held her gaze for a moment longer, measuring the certainty in her tone.
Then he lowered his hand.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Maybe… school wouldn't be so bad after all.
"Enough."
Fūma-sensei's voice cut cleanly through the lingering murmurs, sharp enough that the scattered conversations died almost instantly. The shifting groups stilled, students straightening unconsciously as attention snapped back toward her.
"I will now announce the teams."
A brief silence settled over the field, heavier than before. The tension that had been building since the explanation now had direction.
"Namikaze Minato."
"Yes!" Minato answered immediately, stepping forward with an easy confidence, his posture already steady as he moved to the front.
"Uchiha Arata."
Arata followed without a word, his expression composed, eyes forward.
"Nara Kasumi."
Kasumi pushed herself up with visible reluctance, shoulders slightly slouched as she made her way over, one hand lifting briefly in a half-hearted acknowledgment before dropping again.
Fūma-sensei continued, her tone even and unhurried as she called out additional names. One by one, students broke from the loose formation, crossing the worn ground to gather into their assigned groups.
"Hyūga Hiashi… and Uzumaki Kushina."
"Aww—! I'm not with you, Mikoto!" Kushina complained immediately, turning back with a visible pout, her shoulders dropping in exaggerated disappointment.
Mikoto didn't move from her place. A faint, almost amused smile curved at her lips.
"Don't worry," she said lightly. "I'll go easy on you."
Kushina's reaction was instant—her posture straightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"Hey, watch it! You'll see—I'll snatch your scroll if it's you!"
"In your dreams, Uzumaki," Mikoto replied without missing a beat, her tone calm, confident.
Kushina huffed, crossing her arms tightly before turning away, her steps heavier as she moved to join her team.
At the front, Fūma-sensei handed the scroll to Minato. He took it without hesitation, fingers closing around it with a steady grip, his expression sharpening slightly as his team gathered around him.
Reiji gaze moved across the field, settling on his own group as they came together—closer now, no longer just classmates but assigned pieces of the same unit.
Enji stood slightly ahead of the others, shoulders squared, tension already visible in the set of his jaw. Mikoto remained composed, her stance relaxed but balanced, eyes attentive. Nawaki shifted his weight from one foot to the other, energy barely contained, while Tsume stood with readiness, her gaze already scanning their surroundings.
Aya Shirakawa lingered a half-step behind.
Paler than before.
He let his eyes move across them once more, measuring, categorizing without effort.
…It would do.
'I can work with that.'
Fūma-sensei approached them then, the grass shifting softly beneath her steps as she closed the distance. The scroll rested lightly between her fingers, held with the same calm detachment she carried in everything else.
Without ceremony, she placed it into Enji's hands.
The contact lasted barely an instant.
Reiji moved.
No hesitation. No warning.
The moment the parchment brushed against Enji's palm, Reiji stepped in, his fingers closed around the scroll before Enji had even registered its presence.
A murmur rippled outward across the field, low and unsettled. It didn't come just from their group—students nearby reacted as well, a few turning sharply, others pausing mid-step as they tried to understand what had just happened.
Enji turned sharply, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening as his hand remained half-raised in the empty space where the scroll had been.
"Give it back."
Reiji didn't look at him.
The scroll rested loosely in his grip, his posture already relaxed again, as if nothing had happened.
"Take it."
The words were flat.
Dismissive.
Something in Enji's expression hardened further—anger settling over the initial shock—but he didn't move immediately. Not yet. Not with the rest of the team watching, and a few nearby students lingering close enough to notice the tension.
Reiji had already turned away.
"Let's move."
He started toward the edge of the field without waiting for agreement, his steps steady, unhurried. Around them, the rest of their team began to shift as well—some following immediately, others hesitating a fraction before falling in line, casting brief glances toward the opposing group already gathering at the far side.
The ground changed as they moved—grass growing uneven, patches of dirt exposed, the terrain sloping just enough to break clean lines of sight.
Behind him, he caught the layered sounds of movement—Mikoto and Nawaki closest, their pace controlled, while others followed in looser formation. Enji lingered only a second before clicking his tongue sharply and moving after them.
They didn't stop until the noise of the other team faded into the distance.
Here, the field gave way to the outer edge of the forest. The space widened slightly between them as they slowed, some of the unnamed students drifting into a loose semicircle without being told, instinctively creating space while still keeping close.
Reiji slowed.
Then stopped.
He turned to face them.
"I'll carry it."
Enji's response came instantly, irritation already present.
"Like hell you will."
Mikoto didn't raise her voice, but her gaze sharpened, shifting from Reiji's face to the scroll in his hand, then briefly to the others around them.
"…Why you?"
A few of the other students glanced between them, tension rising, but none stepped in.
Reiji let his gaze move across the group—one by one—measuring without effort. Enji, tense, reactive. Nawaki, open. Mikoto… observant.
The others—
Uncertain.
Uncoordinated.
"Because I don't trust any of you."
Nawaki blinked, caught off guard.
Enji's teeth clenched audibly.
"You're full of yourself."
Mikoto didn't react the same way. Her stance adjusted subtly, weight settling lower.
"It's too obvious," she said. "They saw you take it. You'll be the first one they go after."
The wind moved between them, brushing through the leaves overhead, filling the brief silence that followed.
Reiji's grip on the scroll loosened slightly.
His gaze drifted past them, toward the open field they had just left—where, in the distance, the opposing team was beginning to spread out, figures shifting between patches of grass and shadow.
Then he smiled.
"Exactly."
They stilled.
"For them," he continued, voice light but controlled, "the answer is already decided."
He rolled the scroll once in his hand, almost absentminded.
"They'll come for me first."
Enji scoffed, stepping forward half a pace.
"And what? You think you can take all of them?"
Reiji didn't answer.
His hand dipped briefly into his sleeve.
A small object slipped free, metal catching the light for an instant—
—and struck the ground at his feet.
Pff—
Smoke burst outward immediately, dense and fast, spreading low before rising, swallowing the group in seconds. It rolled thick through the grass and into their line of sight, cutting visibility down to almost nothing.
The sharp scent of powder filled the air.
"—What the—?!"
"Reiji—!"
Voices overlapped—more than before now, not just Mikoto or Enji, but others reacting as well, some stepping back, others reaching out blindly, trying to orient themselves.
Movement broke formation completely.
The smoke began to thin, dragged apart by the wind threading through the trees. Shapes reformed slowly—first outlines, then bodies, then faces.
Reiji stood where he had been.
Hands empty.
The scroll was gone.
Silence settled over the group, heavier now, more focused.
Mikoto's eyes narrowed, sharper than before. She didn't look only at him—her gaze moved across the ground, their spacing, the others around them, searching for disruption.
"…Where is it?"
Reiji slipped his hands into his pockets, shoulders loose, breathing even.
A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"Now," he said calmly, "no one knows who has it."