Reiji returned to the academy in a foul mood, the feeling settling low and steady beneath his thoughts rather than flaring into anything sharp. It lingered—quiet but persistent—pulling his attention back to the day before, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
His steps remained even as he crossed the familiar paths of the compound, sandals brushing against packed dirt worn smooth by years of foot traffic. But his mind was elsewhere, caught in a loop he couldn't quite shake.
It had been a long time since something like that had happened.
Long enough that he had almost forgotten.
Almost.
The way people looked at his father. The way their voices shifted. The weight behind words not meant for him, yet still landing all the same.
Most things didn't reach him anymore. They couldn't—not after everything he had already seen, heard, and understood about how this village worked. Insults were predictable. Reactions were predictable. People were predictable.
But yesterday had been different.
Not because of what had been said—
But because of what had come before it.
His father had gone out with him.
Not just walked beside him. Not just existed in the same space out of necessity.
He had tried.
The memory surfaced uninvited—a brief stretch of time where nothing felt heavy, where the silence between them hadn't been filled with expectation or tension, where it had almost resembled something normal.
Something simple.
A father and a son sharing space without weight pressing down on it.
Reiji's jaw tightened.
It hadn't lasted.
It never did.
Someone always had to remind them.
Of what they were.
Of what he was.
He exhaled slowly, breath steady, gaze fixed forward as students passed in loose clusters. Voices carried through the air—laughter, complaints, idle conversation—but barely registered.
His fingers tightened faintly at his side.
Insults didn't bother him. They never had—not really. Words lost their edge when repeated often enough, worn down into nothing more than noise. The people saying them didn't matter either.
Strangers. Irrelevant.
Still… he had heard the name.
Yamanaka.
And from what little he knew, the anger made sense.
A grieving father.
A grieving family.
Reiji's expression didn't change.
What did that have to do with him?
Nothing.
They were shinobi. All of them. Life and death were part of it. Everyone understood that. Every mission carried the same risk, no matter how simple it looked on paper. You accepted that the moment you stepped into this world.
So no—he had no interest in understanding them.
It was pointless.
They would never accept him.
And he would never care for them.
…Except for one thing.
His gaze sharpened.
When it came to his father—
That was different.
I don't care if your anger is justified…
His thoughts slowed, narrowing as the memory shifted—not to the words, but to the moment beneath them.
The stillness.
The way the noise had dropped away.
The way his body had aligned without conscious thought, tension gathering through his muscles, ready to move.
He hadn't wanted to stop.
The realization settled quietly.
A slow breath left him.
His awareness drifted outward again, automatically tracking movement around him—angles, spacing, lines of approach. It wasn't something he turned on or off anymore.
It simply existed.
One day…
His grip tightened.
You'll pay for it.
He pushed the classroom door open.
The familiar scrape of wood against its frame cut through his thoughts as he stepped inside. The air felt slightly cooler than outside. His gaze moved automatically across the room, noting who had arrived, who hadn't—positions, posture, small details—
Then stopped.
Long black hair.
Pale, pupil-less eyes.
Bandages.
Reiji blinked once, then changed direction and walked over.
"Yo. So you're allowed back now?"
No response.
Hizashi didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on the window—distant, unfocused, as if whatever he was looking at wasn't actually there.
Reiji slowed as he approached, studying him more closely.
At first glance, nothing had changed. His posture was straight, composed. His clothing was arranged with the same careful precision as always.
But something was off.
It showed in the stillness.
Too still.
And in his eyes—pale as ever, but empty in a way that hadn't been there before.
Drained.
Reiji stepped closer.
"Hey, are you—"
"Stop."
The word cut him off cleanly.
Reiji stilled.
Hizashi didn't turn.
"I told you," he said quietly, his voice low but steady, "after I helped you… you don't talk to me again."
A brief pause.
"…Me or my brother."
Reiji's eyes flicked across the room.
Hiashi wasn't there.
He should have been.
Hizashi spoke again, softer this time.
"Please… don't make it harder for us."
No anger.
No accusation.
Just weight.
Reiji watched him for a few seconds, measuring the tone, the posture, the absence of reaction.
Then he gave a small nod.
"…I understand."
No argument.
No push.
He turned and walked away, his attention already shifting as he scanned the room again, selecting a seat without hesitation.
Students began to filter in not long after.
Footsteps. Voices. The low hum of conversation building.
Nawaki and Kushina entered together, Mikoto just behind them. Kushina spotted him immediately; her expression brightened as she raised a hand and headed straight toward him.
Nawaki followed for a few steps—then noticed where she was going and groaned, peeling off with visible reluctance.
Mikoto rolled her eyes but followed anyway.
"Hey, Reiji. Did you have a good weekend?"
"It was fine. You?" he replied, though his attention lagged slightly behind as she launched into her answer.
She talked to him easily now.
Naturally.
He didn't have to initiate anymore.
That should have been a good thing.
…He just wasn't sure what to do with it.
I mean… what am I supposed to do now?
Reiji wasn't delusional. He knew exactly what he was like—difficult, abrasive, an asshole more often than not, even when he wasn't trying to be.
And yet—
He hadn't done much.
Barely anything, really.
A little effort… and she had closed the distance on her own.
It didn't make sense.
He had been sure he'd messed things up the other day.
Apparently not.
Nawaki avoiding him—that made sense.
Mikoto staying guarded—that made sense.
Kushina… didn't.
What a strange girl…
"—and then we went to get ramen. It was so good—"
"Did you even listen to her?"
Reiji blinked, snapping back instantly. Mikoto was watching him, irritation clear in her expression. Kushina had paused, turning toward him expectantly.
Reiji didn't hesitate.
"You went shopping with Nawaki's mother—Tsukiko—for clothes. Then you got ramen."
Mikoto's eyes widened slightly.
Then narrowed.
"I'm pretty sure you weren't listening."
Reiji rolled his eyes.
"That's called doing two things at once, dumbass."
"You—"
"Stop it, both of you!"
Kushina crossed her arms, frowning.
"Seriously, can you go one minute without insulting each other?"
"She started it," Reiji said flatly.
Mikoto huffed, turning away and heading back to her seat.
Kushina sighed, rubbing her temple.
"You could try being a little nicer to her, you know."
Reiji looked at her as if she'd said something ridiculous.
"Are you serious? Did you not see how she acts with me? She's always trying to provoke me."
"Maybe," Kushina admitted, hesitating slightly. "But… she's trying too."
"Sure…" he muttered.
His gaze lingered on her—
A second too long.
Kushina shifted slightly under it.
"…What?" she asked.
"Are you doing that too?"
"Doing what?"
"Trying with me."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"Why would you think that?"
Reiji frowned faintly.
"I'm not exactly easy to deal with. I wasn't with her, and I wasn't with you either. So why are you still talking to me?"
Kushina hesitated.
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Then, quieter—
"…Because I know you're kind."
Reiji blinked.
"…What?"
She met his gaze properly this time.
"Because even if you act like that… I think you're actually kind."
The thought landed strangely.
Me? Kind?
For a brief second, it almost felt absurd.
He wanted to laugh.
"…I see," he said instead.
She scratched the back of her head, faintly embarrassed.
"…You're not going to ask why I think that?"
Reiji shook his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"No. I think I can guess."
He didn't.
And he didn't try to.
It didn't matter.
***
"Everyone, attention."
The shift rippled through the room almost instantly.
Reiji straightened without thinking, his posture adjusting as his attention snapped forward, the lingering threads of earlier conversations cutting off mid-thought. Around him, chairs scraped faintly against the wooden floor as students shifted into place.
At the front, Fūma-sensei stood exactly as she always did—composed, centered, her presence filling the space without needing to raise her voice. Her gaze moved across the classroom with slow precision, not lingering on anyone in particular, yet missing nothing.
"I hope your weekend went well," she began, her tone calm and measured. "Because from now on, it will be the last time—for the next six months—that you will enjoy it like that."
A brief pause settled over the room.
"From now on, it will be your only time to recover."
The words didn't need emphasis.
They landed anyway.
Reiji felt the shift more than he saw it—the subtle tightening in the air, the way a few shoulders straightened just a fraction too much, the way some students stilled as if bracing for something they couldn't yet define.
The room didn't grow tense, exactly…
But it lost something.
Carelessness.
Fūma-sensei didn't give them time to sit with it.
"Also," she continued, "I regret to inform you that some of your classmates have left us. Permanently."
The reaction broke immediately.
Voices rose in a low, uneven murmur, spreading across the room like a crack through glass. Students turned in their seats, leaning toward one another, whispering questions no one could answer.
The sound wasn't loud—but it was restless.
Uncertain. Searching.
Reiji didn't move.
Instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze sliding across the classroom with quiet precision.
It took a moment to register—not because it was hidden, but because he hadn't been paying attention before.
Now that he was, the absence stood out clearly.
Gaps.
Small—but unmistakable.
Empty spaces where there shouldn't be any.
He couldn't name all of them.
Didn't remember every face.
"Five of them," Fūma-sensei said, her voice cutting cleanly through the noise. "Aya Shirakawa, Daichi Morita, Kenji Takahara, Hanae Okuda, and Yui Nakamura have left the academy. They will not be returning."
The murmurs spiked.
Reiji's gaze shifted again, this time toward the others.
Mikoto. Kushina. Tsume.
All three reacted the same way—eyes widening, expressions opening with clear surprise, the kind that came from not expecting the possibility at all.
Kasumi, a few seats away, didn't react like that.
If anything, she looked… unsurprised.
Resigned.
"What?!"
"Why?!"
"They didn't say anything—"
"Sensei, why did they quit?"
Fūma-sensei raised a hand.
The room quieted again—slower this time, resistance lingering at the edges before settling.
"It was the decision of their parents," she said.
No explanation followed.
No justification.
"Respect that."
A pause.
Then—
"Class will begin."
Reiji could feel it as the lesson started, even as pens moved and notes were taken. The sound of writing filled the room in uneven rhythms, scratching softly against paper—but the focus wasn't there.
Eyes drifted too often.
Hands paused mid-sentence.
Attention slipped, returning again and again to the same absence.
When the break finally came, the restraint shattered with it.
Voices rose immediately, conversations spilling over one another as students turned, leaned, clustered—trying to make sense of something that had no clear explanation.
"She didn't tell me anything…"
Mikoto's voice was low, almost lost in the noise. She stood still, her gaze unfocused, her usual composure slipping just enough to reveal confusion—and something heavier beneath it.
Kushina didn't hesitate. She stepped in close, wrapping her arms around her in an awkward but firm hug—her movements a little too quick, a little unsure, but sincere.
"Yeah… what's going on?" she muttered, glancing around. "Why is everyone quitting all of a sudden? Is it because of the new schedule?"
Her eyes shifted.
"What do you think, Reiji?"
Reiji blinked once, pulled into the conversation.
His gaze moved toward her—then past her. Mikoto. Tsume. The nearby students who had quieted just enough to listen without pretending they weren't.
He didn't take time to think.
"Because they're civilians."
A beat.
"Huh?"
"I said," Reiji repeated, his tone even, "they're civilians. Their parents pulled them out."
Tsume frowned, her arms crossing as her weight shifted onto one leg.
"What does that even mean?"
Mikoto's expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Reiji didn't notice.
"Exactly what it sounds like," he continued, his voice steady and grounded. "They remembered who they are—and what they're not."
He didn't look at anyone in particular. His gaze stayed forward, unfocused in a way that made it feel like he was speaking to the room rather than the group.
"They're not shinobi."
The surrounding noise dipped.
Not entirely.
But enough.
"They enrolled their kids here because they thought it would give them something more," he went on. "Status. Security. A better position in the village. If their child becomes a shinobi—strong, recognized—then everything changes."
A slight pause.
"But they forgot what that actually means."
Someone across the room spoke up.
"And what did they forget?"
Reiji shrugged lightly.
The motion was small.
Unbothered.
"They woke up," he said. "And decided they didn't want it anymore."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"Who knows," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I'm not the one you should be asking."
His gaze shifted.
Deliberate this time.
It landed on Enji.
A few heads turned immediately, attention following the line of his sight.
Reiji tilted his chin slightly.
"He's the Hokage's son."
Silence followed.
Not long. Only a few seconds.
But long enough for the room to feel it.
Enji's expression tightened first, his frown deepening as his eyes locked onto Reiji with a kind of naked irritation he usually kept under tighter control. Reiji didn't look back right away. He stayed where he was—posture loose, gaze unfocused—as if Enji's attention wasn't worth acknowledging.
Then heads began to turn.
Not one by one.
All at once.
Enji didn't hesitate.
"I don't know anything," he said flatly. "And if I were you, I wouldn't listen to him."
His voice carried cleanly through the room—not loud, but sharp enough to cut through the last scraps of conversation lingering near the windows and the back wall. His eyes never left Reiji.
"He just likes hearing himself talk."
A brief pause.
"He's not someone you should trust."
"Oh?"
Reiji's tone came light, almost amused. He turned his head just enough to glance at him from the corner of his eye.
"Yeah," Enji shot back immediately. "You're always full of shit."
The room stilled.
Reiji tilted his head a fraction, studying him now. Enji's breathing was slightly elevated. Shoulders tight. Jaw set too hard.
Angry—yes.
But not spontaneous.
This had been sitting in him for a while.
"…Do you have a problem with me?" Reiji asked.
Enji let out a short breath through his nose. There was something rougher in it now, something less controlled.
"Of course I do."
He stepped forward—just enough to make it clear he meant it.
"You're insufferable. You don't care about anyone."
A beat.
"You've always been an asshole."
The classroom tightened around the words. Reiji felt it in the silence that followed—in the way no one interrupted fast enough.
"And you still are."
That one landed harder.
"And now you're acting like you can just show up, talk to people, hang around like nothing happened?"
His lip curled faintly.
"Like you weren't the biggest piece of shit in this class for years."
"K—hey, that's going too far—" Kushina started.
"Stay out of it."
He didn't even look at her.
"Maybe you're new, so you don't know," Enji continued, his voice colder now, steadier in a way that meant he'd committed to it. "But I do."
His gaze shifted across the others—Mikoto, Tsume, Arata—lingering on each of them in turn.
"What are you all doing?"
No one answered.
"You know what he is."
A short pause.
"And now you're talking to him? Walking around with him like nothing happened?"
His eyes narrowed.
"Even eating with him?"
The disgust on his face wasn't exaggerated.
That was what made it worse.
"You've all gone insane."
Silence settled again—heavier this time.
Reiji didn't move. He watched Enji the way he watched an opponent before a strike—posture, tension, where the weight sat in the feet, how much of this was anger and how much was fear.
Then, quietly—
"…Be careful."
Enji's eyes narrowed further.
"Or what?" he snapped. "Don't like hearing the truth?"
He took another step.
"Because that's all this is."
A beat.
"The truth."
"Hey, that's enough."
Nawaki stepped in, planting himself between them with a firmness that wasn't subtle. His body turned slightly toward Enji, shoulders squared, one foot forward—cutting off the direct path between them.
For a moment, it looked like that might be enough.
Like the tension would hold there.
Ugly—but contained.
Reiji stayed still.
Then he spoke.
"No, it's fine," he said lightly. "Go on. I'm curious."
His head tilted slightly, almost thoughtful.
"I'd love to hear your reasoning. Even if it's full of shit."
Enji's glare snapped back to him. Nawaki shot Reiji a sharp, immediate warning look—but Reiji ignored it.
"You don't like my face," Reiji continued, his tone casual enough to be insulting on its own. "That's all this is."
A brief pause.
"I could've been the nicest person in this class. You'd still hate me the same."
His gaze sharpened, settling fully now.
"But I'm curious…"
He stood.
Mikoto shifted where she was standing. Kushina said something—he didn't register the words. The room felt quieter now, the smaller sounds thinning beneath the weight of attention.
Reiji walked forward at an easy pace—deliberate enough that no one could mistake it for impulse—and stopped just behind Nawaki, close enough that the other boy now blocked both of them.
"…Why now?"
A beat.
"Why grow a spine now?"
The silence tightened like wire.
"Or is it just that seeing me being accepted bothers you that much?"
Enji's jaw clenched so hard Reiji saw the muscle jump.
"You don't know anything—"
Reiji cut him off.
"Oh, I know enough."
Flat. Certain.
"And you know what?"
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"I really don't care."
That landed. Reiji saw it.
"Not even a little."
Enji stilled for the briefest instant, and Reiji felt a flicker of satisfaction.
"You know—"
"Of course I do," Reiji said, quieter now.
Not softer.
Worse.
"What do you want from me?"
His head tilted again.
"An apology?"
A soft, humorless breath left him.
"Should I cry? Beg?"
His eyes never left Enji's.
"Don't make me laugh."
A pause.
"I'd never apologize for something like that."
Enji's expression twisted, the last thin restraint finally giving way.
"You're a fucking outsider—"
Reiji smiled.
The expression didn't widen.
It changed.
Something sharper settled into it—something cold enough that even without moving, the space around them seemed to shift. His fingers tightened slightly at his side.
"Ah."
His voice stayed quiet.
"There it is."
The classroom held its breath.
"Drop the act," he went on softly. "It suits you better when you're honest."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Reiji held his gaze.
Steady.
He could feel it in his own body now—the tension coiling low and clean, the way it always did before action. Shoulders loose. Weight balanced. Breath controlled.
Distance measured.
Nawaki in between.
Enji leaning forward.
Classroom too crowded.
Too many witnesses.
Still manageable.
Do it.
Give me a reason.
A hand caught his shoulder.
Reiji frowned and turned sharply, the motion automatic, annoyance rising before he even registered who it was.
Then he paused.
Kushina.
Her grip wasn't strong, but it was firm enough to stop him for that single moment. Her brows were drawn together, worry plain on her face in a way that looked almost irritatingly sincere.
"Stop it, Reiji."
For a second, he just looked at her.
Then his gaze shifted past her shoulder, back to Enji—still glaring.
Reiji smiled.
Light this time. Easy. Almost harmless.
He shrugged her hand off.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," he said. "Went a bit too far."
He stepped forward once more—just enough to make the next gesture impossible to miss—and extended his hand toward Enji.
"Let's just drop it, yeah?"
The smile didn't change.
"Water under the bridge."
Enji stared at the offered hand as if it were something rotten.
His face reddened.
Then—
"Tch."
He slapped it away and turned, storming out of the classroom without another word. His footsteps hit hard against the floor—quick, uneven with anger—before the door slammed shut behind him with a sharp wooden crack that left the room ringing.
Nawaki shot Reiji a dark look before following after him. Arata hesitated only briefly—caught between irritation and calculation—then went after them too.
The door slid shut again.
Silence lingered.
Kushina exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple.
"…You're unbelievable."
Reiji glanced at her.
"What?" he said, almost innocent. "I was trying to make up. Didn't you see?"
She gave him a flat look.
"You'd have to be an idiot to believe that."
Reiji shrugged.
"Not my problem, then."
He turned and walked back to his seat as if nothing had happened, though the room still felt wrong around him.
Too quiet.
Too aware.
He could feel eyes on his back before people finally started moving again.
That could've been bad.
His gaze stayed forward once he sat, but his thoughts didn't settle with the rest of him.
He'd never had an open confrontation like that with Enji before. The hostility had always been there—sharp looks, muttered jabs, the kind of mutual dislike that didn't need explanation—but it had remained within certain lines.
Unspoken. Understood.
Don't go further.
But Enji had.
And so had he.
Reiji flexed his fingers once against his leg, then stilled them.
If there was one person in the class he truly hated—without hesitation, without moderation—it was him. No one else pulled that out of him. No one else made that part of him wake up so fast, so cleanly.
That sharp, instinctive urge to act.
To stop talking—
And escalate.
And he knew himself well enough to recognize how close he'd been.
Too close.
He was already in a bad mood. Enji stepping in like that—pushing, dragging everything ugly and half-buried into the open—
It hadn't taken much.
Just a little more, and he would've done something stupid.
A slow breath left him.
"…Outsider, huh."
His eyes shifted briefly across the room and caught a flash of red hair.
Kushina.
His gaze lingered for only a fraction of a second before narrowing slightly.
…Why did I listen?
The question came sharper than he liked.
He could have kept going.
He should have.
He had Enji off balance. One more push and the idiot might've done something useful for once—something obvious, something punishable.
But he stopped.
Because she asked.
His fingers tightened again.
Who does she think she is… telling me what to do?
The thought came hard and immediate.
And yet—
He had listened.
Not after arguing. Not after resisting.
Immediately.
That part bothered him more than the argument itself.
Not his father.
Not anyone.
And still—
He had stepped back.
His jaw set faintly.
Is it because I'm getting closer to them?
The idea sat badly in his chest, like something slipping where it shouldn't. Like a compromise made without permission.
He didn't like the shape of it.
Does that mean I have to listen now?
Hold back.
Be careful.
Pretend.
Reiji's gaze hardened, fixed on nothing.
He wasn't a good person. He knew that better than anyone in the room. Sooner or later, Kushina would realize it too. He couldn't keep that illusion alive forever—and he had no interest in becoming someone else just to preserve it.
A quiet breath left him.
…For now, it doesn't matter.
His father's instructions came first.
Always.
He would hold back.
Even if part of him—
Didn't want to.
***
The rest of the morning passed beneath a weight that never truly lifted.
When Nawaki, Enji, and Arata eventually returned, no one acknowledged it.
They stepped back into the room, took their seats, and said nothing. No explanation. No attempt to smooth over what had happened. Nawaki's expression was closed off in a way it usually wasn't, his movements shorter, less careless. Arata looked irritated more than anything else, but it was the tightly contained kind—the kind that sat behind the eyes and waited. Enji didn't look at anyone except straight ahead.
Reiji didn't look at them either.
In fact, he made a point of not looking.
He kept his eyes on the front of the room, posture still, attention fixed where it needed to be, even if very little of the lecture actually settled in his mind. Around him, he felt the occasional glance without needing to see it. Kushina's were the easiest to recognize—frequent, hesitant, lingering a fraction too long. Mikoto's were different. Sharper. More careful. Concern, maybe. Or suspicion. Some mix of both.
He ignored all of it.
There was nothing to say.
By the time the afternoon came, nothing had settled.
It had only gone quieter.
The class moved out to the training grounds as usual, filing from the academy building into the open air in a loose, uneven cluster. The shift from the classroom to the yard should have eased the tension a little. It usually did. The outside air, the wider space, the familiar smell of dirt and grass and wood worn smooth by years of drills—those things normally loosened whatever stiffness had built up indoors.
Today, it didn't.
If anything, the silence felt more noticeable once it had space around it.
The training ground stretched before them: a broad patch of packed earth bordered by worn grass, a few training posts standing off to one side, and a line of trees beyond them moving faintly in the wind. The afternoon light was pale and thin, and the breeze cutting across the field felt colder than it should have.
Or maybe that was just the mood following them out of the classroom.
They formed a loose line in front of Fūma-sensei.
Reiji took his place without speaking, hands at his sides, gaze forward. He could feel the others settling around him—small adjustments of posture, sandals shifting against dirt, the rustle of sleeves as people folded their arms or straightened unconsciously. No one was relaxed. Not really.
At the front, Fūma-sensei stood with her usual unreadable composure.
"When I call your names," she said, her voice even and carrying easily across the field, "you step forward and fight."
No one reacted much to that. It was familiar enough. Standard. Reiji barely shifted.
But then she continued.
"There will be no boundary line."
That changed things.
Fūma-sensei didn't pause for long.
"There will be no interruptions unless I give them," she went on. "You stop when your opponent cannot continue, when they yield… or when I decide it's enough."
The wind moved across the field, stirring the grass in uneven waves. Somewhere farther off, leaves rustled along the tree line.
Closer, no one said a word.
Fūma-sensei's eyes hardened a fraction.
"Control yourselves. If anyone decides to be reckless—"
She left the sentence unfinished.
She didn't need to complete it. The meaning settled into the silence on its own.
A few students shifted where they stood. Someone swallowed. Another adjusted their footing, heel grinding lightly into the dirt. The message was clear enough without a threat layered on top of it.
"Good," Fūma-sensei said.
Her gaze moved across them again, slower this time, measuring. Reiji felt that sweep of attention pass over him and kept his expression neutral.
"Let's begin."
A brief silence followed as she considered the first pairing.
Then—
"Reiji. Step forward."
He moved immediately.
No outward reaction. No hesitation. He simply stepped out from the line and walked into the center of the field, the packed earth firm beneath his sandals, posture loose but balanced, shoulders relaxed, weight already settling where it needed to be. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward Fūma-sensei, waiting for the second name.
"…Enji. With him."
Reiji stopped.
Not enough for most people to notice. Just a brief pause in the rhythm of his breathing. A minute stillness in his body before motion resumed.
Around them, the field tightened.
That was the only way to describe it. Whatever low murmur had remained among the students died instantly, cut off before it could begin.
Even the wind seemed to ease for a second.
Fūma-sensei raised an eyebrow slightly, catching the reaction.
"Is there a problem?"
Mikoto moved first—or almost did. She stepped forward by half a pace, not enough to challenge the teacher, just enough to reveal the instinct before caution caught up with it.
"Sensei, maybe we should—"
"There's no problem."
Enji's voice cut through her cleanly.
He stepped forward without waiting to be told again, his sandals scuffing once against the ground before he stopped opposite Reiji. There was no restraint in his face this time, none of the usual attempt to hide behind irritation or distance. His gaze locked onto Reiji's at once—sharp, hot, and completely unhidden.
Reiji met it.
And smiled.
Ah…
This could be bad.
"Form the seal of confrontation."
They moved at the same time.
Hands rose. Fingers locked into the familiar sign. The gesture was automatic—drilled into muscle memory—but everything around it felt heavier than usual. The air itself seemed to press down between them.
Reiji's gaze stayed lowered, fixed somewhere near the ground between their feet. He didn't look at Enji. He didn't need to. He could feel it—the weight of his stare, sharp and burning, like heat against his skin.
What should I do…
End it quickly?
Or—
The thought didn't finish.
"Begin."
Enji moved instantly.
No hesitation. No testing.
His foot drove into the dirt with a dull thud as he burst forward, closing the distance in a straight line. His shoulders came in tight, guard already shifting as his first strike snapped out—a fast jab aimed at the face, immediately followed by a second, sharper one. He chained into it without pause, driving a knee upward toward the midsection while his hips turned, a low kick already sweeping toward Reiji's leg to destabilize him.
Everything flowed together cleanly.
Aggressive. Direct. No wasted movement.
Reiji didn't move his feet.
Instead, his upper body adjusted in small, precise motions. His hand rose just enough to brush the first jab aside, redirecting it with the back of his knuckles rather than stopping it outright. The second grazed past his shoulder as he turned slightly, letting it slide off instead of absorbing it. His elbow dropped in time to catch the incoming knee, the impact traveling up his arm in a dull, controlled jolt, before his shin lifted just enough to check the low kick.
Each contact was brief. Controlled.
No wasted motion. No strain.
Just… efficient.
Enji felt it.
Reiji saw the exact moment it happened—the slight break in rhythm, the fraction of hesitation where the sequence stopped flowing as expected. Enji's breathing hitched, his shoulders tightening as frustration slipped in, and the next strikes came harder, sharper, less clean.
He's trying to force it now.
"Fight me seriously!" Enji snapped, his voice cutting through the dull thuds of impact.
Reiji tilted his head slightly, still relaxed, still rooted in place.
"Really?"
The shift came without warning.
Reiji's weight dropped just a fraction before his leg swept low in a tight arc, hooking behind Enji's support leg at the exact moment his weight committed forward. The timing was precise. No space to recover. Enji's balance broke instantly, his upper body pitching forward as his footing gave way.
Reiji stepped in at the same time.
His hips turned, shoulder aligning, and his fist drove forward in a clean, direct line—
Impact.
Bone met bone with a sharp crack as the strike connected mid-fall, snapping Enji's head to the side before his body hit the ground hard, dust kicking up around him. The air left his lungs in a rough exhale as he rolled onto his side, a groan slipping through clenched teeth.
For a moment, the field went quiet.
Reiji straightened, breath steady, his gaze already dropping to assess. No immediate recovery. Disoriented, but not out. He noted the angle of Enji's shoulders, the way his fingers flexed against the dirt.
Still able to continue.
Fūma-sensei stepped forward.
"The winner is—"
"No."
Her voice cut off.
Enji pushed himself up.
Slow. Unsteady. One hand pressed into the dirt as the other came up to his face, wiping at the blood running freely from his nose. It dripped between his fingers, dark against the pale dust below—but his eyes hadn't changed.
If anything, they burned hotter.
"I'm not finished."
Fūma-sensei watched him for a second, her gaze sharp and measuring.
Then she gave a small nod and stepped back.
Reiji raised an eyebrow slightly.
"What are you trying to prove?"
"…Shut up."
"You don't actually think you can beat me, right?"
"I said shut up."
Reiji smiled.
Not kindly.
"Then make me."
He moved first this time.
A single step closed the gap—faster than before, sharper. He slipped inside Enji's guard before the other boy could fully reset, forcing the exchange into close range, where reaction mattered more than strength.
Their strikes collided.
Enji tried to meet him head-on, his fist snapping toward Reiji's face, but his timing was off by a fraction. Reiji turned his shoulder, letting the punch glance past while his own counter came in low, driving into the ribs with controlled force. He felt the impact travel through his knuckles, the resistance of muscle and bone before Enji's body gave slightly.
A second strike followed immediately—short, sharp—into the shoulder, disrupting balance rather than breaking it.
Not enough to end it.
Just enough to hurt.
To remind.
Enji staggered, but he didn't fall.
Good.
Reiji adjusted.
He watched. Measured.
Enji's breathing was heavier now. His guard was tighter, but less stable. His weight lingered too long on the front foot when he tried to push forward again.
There.
Reiji shifted.
His foot slid across the dirt in a subtle repositioning before his leg hooked again, this time behind Enji's ankle. The motion was small, almost invisible, but timed perfectly with Enji's step.
His balance broke.
Enji dropped to one knee with a sharp intake of breath, his hand shooting down instinctively to catch himself—
Reiji stepped in and drove forward with both hands, shoving him flat onto his back.
Hard.
The impact sent dust bursting up around them, the ground thudding beneath Enji's weight.
"That it?" Reiji said calmly, looking down at him. "You're all talk."
Enji didn't answer immediately.
He pushed himself up again, slower this time, his breath rougher, his shoulders rising and falling more noticeably.
"You're enjoying this… aren't you?"
Reiji didn't pause.
"With you?" His head tilted faintly. "Yeah."
A beat.
"You'd do the same."
Enji's gaze didn't waver.
If anything, the hatred in it sharpened.
"My father was wrong…"
Reiji's brow lifted slightly.
"You and your father should've died with her."
"Okay, that's enough—"
Time narrowed.
Reiji moved before the words fully settled.
The distance vanished in a single step.
One moment he stood a few feet away—next he was in front of Enji, inside his space, too close to react. His arms came up in a fluid, snapping motion, hands striking down and inward with precise alignment, targeting both of Enji's arms at the same time.
His palms hit just above the joints.
Crack.
The sound cut through the field.
For a fraction of a second, everything stilled.
Then Enji screamed.
His body folded in on itself as he dropped to his knees, hands instinctively clutching at his arms, fingers trembling as pain surged through them. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, unbidden. His breath broke into uneven gasps as he tried to process it.
Reiji stood over him, unmoving.
Calm.
"What was is name again…" he said, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "Shingen, right?"
Enji's head snapped up.
Shock broke through the pain for a moment, his expression shifting—confusion, disbelief, something sharper underneath.
Reiji's gaze stayed on him.
Cold.
"He would've been embarrassed to call you is brother."
Enji froze.
The pain didn't disappear—
But it vanished behind something else entirely.
A stunned, hollow stillness.
A hand caught his shoulder.
Hard.
The force of it didn't just stop him—it anchored him in place, cutting through the last thread of motion still running through his body.
"Enough."
Fūma-sensei.
She was already there.
Reiji hadn't seen her move.
His body had already committed forward. Muscles still coiled from the last movement, weight pitched slightly over his front foot, ready to close the distance again.
For a fraction of a second, his muscles tightened beneath her hand. Not full resistance—no attempt to break free—but something closer to instinct.
The kind that didn't ask permission.
Then it stilled.
"Look at him."
Her voice stayed low. Controlled. Not raised, not sharp—but there was no room to ignore it.
Reiji's gaze shifted downward.
Enji was on the ground, twisted slightly onto his side, one arm pulled tight against his chest as if holding it together by force alone. His breathing came unevenly, shallow at first, then catching—each inhale dragging, each exhale edged with something he couldn't quite suppress. Pain, obvious and unhidden now, had stripped the anger from his expression, leaving something rawer underneath.
His fingers trembled where they pressed against his sleeve.
The angle of the arm was wrong.
Not subtle. Not something that could be dismissed as a bad fall or a misplaced step.
The kind of damage that left no room for denial.
"Do you understand what you just did?"
Reiji didn't answer immediately.
He didn't look away, either.
"…He asked for it."
Fūma's grip tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt—just enough to register.
"That's not the point."
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Your response was excessive."
A pause.
Then, without looking away—
"Medic."
The word carried.
One of the supervising shinobi at the edge of the field moved immediately, crossing the distance in a blur of controlled speed, sandals striking the dirt in quick, precise steps that barely disturbed the surface. He dropped to one knee beside Enji without hesitation, hands already moving—checking, stabilizing, adjusting.
Around them, the rest of the class didn't move.
They stood where they were, scattered across the training ground, feet planted in churned dirt and flattened grass where earlier matches had worn the surface thin.
No one spoke.
No one stepped forward.
Fūma straightened, her hand still resting on Reiji's shoulder, her posture shifting just enough to place herself slightly between him and the scene on the ground—not blocking his view, but controlling the space.
"This match is over."
Her gaze moved across the students, steady and measured, lingering just long enough on each of them to make sure they were paying attention.
"Observe carefully."
A brief pause.
"Strength without control is a liability."
The words settled into the silence.
Behind her, the medic had already begun setting the arm, his movements firm but precise. Enji's breathing hitched once, sharply, before forcing itself steady again. He didn't look at Reiji.
Not once.
He didn't speak, either.
A few steps back, Kushina had gone pale. The usual sharpness in her expression had faded, replaced by something tighter, uncertain. Her eyes flicked from Enji to Reiji and back again, as if trying to reconcile the two images and failing.
Mikoto stood beside her, rigid, hands clenched at her sides, her gaze fixed forward—hard, but unsettled in a way she didn't bother hiding. Nawaki shifted his weight slightly, one foot sliding over the dirt as if preparing to step in—then stopped himself, jaw tightening.
No one moved.
No one knew if they should.
Reiji's attention passed briefly over them.
He saw it.
The hesitation. The distance. The subtle shift that hadn't been there before.
Something in his chest tightened—sharp, brief, almost unfamiliar.
Then it was gone.
Fūma's gaze returned to him.
"This is not within my authority to handle."
A beat.
"You're coming with me."
Reiji didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
Fūma turned without waiting, her hand leaving his shoulder as she stepped away. The unspoken expectation was clear.
He followed.
No resistance. No question.
They didn't return to the class.
The path back inside felt quieter than usual. The hallway stretched ahead of them, long and mostly empty, polished wood reflecting faint light from the windows. Their footsteps echoed softly—measured, controlled—each one emphasizing the silence rather than breaking it.
Fūma didn't speak.
Neither did Reiji.
They stopped in front of the staff room.
"Wait."
The word was simple. Final.
Reiji remained where he was as she stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind her with a muted sound that seemed louder than it should have been.
He stood alone.
Time didn't stretch.
It didn't drag.
It just… passed.
Voices drifted faintly from farther down the hall—students moving between rooms, conversations kept low, ordinary in a way that felt distant from what had just happened. The world hadn't stopped.
It had simply moved on without him.
Reiji didn't sit.
Didn't shift his weight.
His gaze stayed forward, fixed on the closed door, posture loose but steady, as if conserving energy rather than expending it.
The door slid open.
"Come."
Fūma didn't wait.
Reiji stepped inside.
She didn't explain. Didn't lecture. The moment he crossed the threshold, she moved closer, her hand finding his shoulder again—firm, controlled, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
"Stay still."
The command came quietly.
The world twisted.
Space folded in on itself in a brief, disorienting compression—air tightening, sound collapsing inward for a fraction of a second as the ground seemed to drop away beneath his feet.
Then—
It snapped back.
Stone replaced wood beneath his sandals, cooler and harder. The air shifted—thinner, carrying a faint edge that hadn't been there before. Higher. Cleaner.
The Hokage Tower.
Reiji adjusted instantly, his balance settling without conscious thought, his body recalibrating to the new space in a single breath.
Fūma released him.
"This is beyond me," she said, her tone even, stripped of anything unnecessary.
She turned slightly, already moving.
"Follow."
***