The Cold Between Wars ( Naruto OC )

[TheSoulFrost]

---



In a small clearing near the Academy, a ring had been scratched into the packed dirt for sparring. Young students circled the boundary in a loose crowd, whispering and watching. Two teachers stood to the side—one acting as referee, the other observing in silence—while, at the center of the ring, two boys faced each other.



The blond-haired boy wore a simple shirt and shorts, his posture light, knees loose, ready to spring. The dark-haired boy stood in a loose kimono, sleeves shifting as he raised his arms in guard, black eyes fixed with an intensity that made the air feel tighter.



"Alright, you two," the instructor said. "Salute each other."



They lifted their right hands and formed the Seal of Confrontation.



"Ready…"



The blond crouched slightly, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The boy in the kimono didn't lower himself at all—he only tightened, like a drawn bow.



"…Go!"



The kimono-clad boy moved first, dashing forward before the last syllable had properly left the teacher's mouth. In an instant he was in front of his opponent, fist driving toward his chin.



The blond ducked low, the punch grazing his hair, and swept a leg out to trip him.



The sweep landed and the kimono boy's footing vanished—but he didn't panic. As he fell, he caught his opponent by the shoulder and used the grip to pivot, rolling over him in a smooth, practiced motion.



He landed an inch from the ring's edge.



Too close.



Without wasting a heartbeat, he hauled hard on the shoulder he'd gripped, trying to drag the other boy out with him. The blond reacted with a shocking burst of agility twisting free and slipping out of his shirt so quickly it looked as though he'd vanished for a blink then springing back inside the line bare-chested.



The abandoned shirt remained in the kimono boy's fist.



A click of annoyance escaped him. He tossed the shirt aside and lifted his guard again.



They began to circle, dust scratching beneath their feet. The blond wore a calm, analytical expression, eyes flicking over his opponent's movements. The black-haired one stared with an intensity that was almost hungry.



The blond moved first this time, closing the distance in a blink.



The kimono boy answered immediately. A jab skimmed past his cheek; he slipped inside it and returned a short hook. The blond checked it with his forearm, stepped out, and snapped a kick toward the ribs. The kimono boy caught the leg at the shin for half a beat—then the blond twisted free, as if he'd already expected the grip.



The rhythm broke when the blond drove a clean strike into the kimono boy's jaw.



The impact jolted his head, and for a fraction of a second his footing lagged behind his mind. He didn't see the sweep that followed.



The next instant, he was on the ground.



He barely turned his head aside as a foot slammed down where his face had been, dirt jumping with the impact. He rolled away to create distance, but the blond stayed on him, not letting him stand. A moment later, the bare-chested boy was on top, trying to pin him flat to the dirt.



The kimono boy's fingers dug into the ground.



His fist opened.



Sand and dust snapped up into the blond's face.



The blond squeezed his eyes shut instinctively and raised his arms—just long enough for the kimono boy to seize his shoulder and drive a crushing headbutt into his nose.



Now the bare-chested boy was the one on the ground, blinking hard through pain and grit, disoriented. The dark-haired boy pounced and began to rain down punches, fast, relentless, while the blond shielded himself as best he could with his forearms.



Soon the blond's guard began to slip. His arms sagged as he weakened.



The kimono boy's eyes lit up. He drew his arm back to finish it—



The blond snapped his eyes open.



Blue. Clear. Far too clear for someone who was supposed to be dazed.



He caught the incoming punch mid-strike.



The kimono boy froze for the briefest instant, stunned and in that instant, the blond yanked the captured arm, pulled him off-balance, and twisted his hips. His feet drove into the boy's stomach.



The dark-haired boy flew.



He landed on his feet like a cat, already preparing to launch a counterattack—



"Stop!" the instructor shouted.



The boy froze and looked down at his feet.



With a strange, complicated stare, he saw the line in front of him—his toes just scratched the line.



He lay in the dirt outside the ring, chest heaving.



"Reiji is out of bounds," the teacher announced. "Minato wins!"



---



Reiji sighed, ignoring the cheers and clapping Minato received.



"Yeah, Minato!"

"Did you see his face?"

"That's what…five times in a row now?"

"Well, Reiji was pretty close this time…"

"What? In your dreams. Minato had it in the bag!"



The teacher acting as referee glanced between them, then nodded approvingly. "Good match. Minato, excellent move at the end. But you can't allow yourself to end up in that position. Be more aggressive next time. Go to the infirmary and have your nose looked at."



Minato nodded seriously, wiping at the blood under his nostrils. The teacher turned as if to continue but stopped when he saw Reiji already walking away.



"Reiji," he called, voice stern. "Do the sign of reconciliation before leaving."



"Yeah, yeah, I know," Reiji muttered, rolling his eyes. He dusted himself off as he walked back toward the ring.



The teacher's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything only shook his head. Minato, bloody-nosed and with awkward face, offered a sheepish grin.



Reiji stopped in front of him and raised his hands without a word. Minato raised his own, and their fingers met in the simple sign.



"It was a good match," Minato said.



Reiji's eyebrow twitched. "I don't need your pity. Next time I'll win."



Minato blinked. "Eh? But I don't—"



Reiji turned away before he could finish and started to leave the ring.



Classmates brushed past Reiji to crowd around Minato, bombarding him with congratulations and questions. Minato, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of attention, could only smile awkwardly and scratch the back of his head.



Reiji watched the scene, his gaze hard to read.



"What?" a boy with short dark hair said beside him, wearing an arrogant smirk. "Jealous nobody's here to console you?"



Reiji didn't even look bothered. "Why, Enji? Do you need a flock of people around you every time you lose to me?"



The smirk slipped from Enji's face. He shrugged, trying to sound casual. "At least I've got friends who care about me."



"They care about you," Reiji replied coolly, "or they care about your father being Hokage?"



Enji's eyes darkened. "You—"



"Give it up, Enji," another boy cut in, stepping closer. The Uchiha crest stood out on his back as he patted the young Sarutobi's shoulder, side-eyeing Reiji. "Nothing good ever comes from associating with this guy."



Enji's shoulders slumped. "You're right, Arata. Come on." He threw Reiji one last bitter look before leaving with the others.



Reiji didn't follow. He headed back to the classroom alone, uninterested in the rest of the matches.







---

When the school day finally ended, students flocked toward their parents waiting at the gates. Reiji didn't slow. He passed through without looking left or right and continued into the streets of Konoha, walking with a steady, decisive pace, eyes fixed straight ahead.



People noticed him anyway. Some glanced curiously, some with recognition, others with pity. A few stepped aside as he passed, as if keeping distance was safer.



Not long after, he reached a quieter neighborhood in the north of the village where traditional houses stood in neat rows. He stopped in front of a high wall and an ornate gate leading to a carefully kept garden and a mansion beyond. Taking a breath, he stepped through.



"I'm home," Reiji called as he slid the door open.



"I'm in my study," a voice answered from deeper inside.



Reiji removed his sandals and walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the wooden floor in the otherwise silent house. He stopped in front of a door and knocked softly.



"Enter."



He slid the door open and stepped inside.



The first thing that caught his eye was the garden. Open panels across the room led onto a narrow terrace; beyond it were trimmed shrubs, pale stones, a small pond, and a single tree stirring gently in the breeze. Cool air drifted into the study, carrying the scent of greenery and water.



Only then did the rest of the room come into focus. Along one wall, a built-in library stretched from knee height to the ceiling, packed with worn books and carefully stacked scrolls. Near the open doorway positioned to catch the daylight sat a desk.



Behind it sat a man in his late twenties, reading a scroll in one hand. His long brown hair fell past his shoulders, slightly loose, as though he'd stopped caring when it was last tied. He was handsome in a worn, tired way.



He didn't look up right away. Reiji waited, head bowed, hands still. After what felt like too long, the man finally lifted his gaze from the scroll and settled soft brown eyes on the boy.



"Sit."



"Yes, Father." Reiji lowered himself into seiza in front of the desk.



"Tell me about your day," his father said, still reading. "How was school?"



Reiji hesitated. "It was okay. Nothing special happened."



"Wasn't it sparring class today?"



"Yes…"



"And?"



Reiji's mouth moved before he could stop himself. "So what?"



His father's eyes rose, one eyebrow lifting. "Do you not understand, or are you avoiding the question?"



Heat rose in Reiji's cheeks. "I lost," he mumbled.



"What?"



"I said I lost," he repeated, louder this time, shame tightening his throat. He refused to meet his father's eyes.



His father didn't answer immediately, letting the silence press down until it felt like weight.



"…Was it that boy you told me about?" his father asked at last. "Minato?"



"Yes."



"So you lost to an orphan."



Reiji's teeth clenched. "Minato isn't just an orphan! He's the best in the class by far!"



"That changes nothing," his father replied, disinterested.



Reiji looked up, incredulous. "What do you mean? I'm the strongest in our class if you don't count Minato. I beat the Hyūga, the Uchiha, the Sarutobi… I even beat that Senju."



His father didn't blink. "If they lose to an orphan too, they're nothing special."



Reiji opened his mouth, but nothing came out.



"Even if Minato is special—maybe even a once-in-a-generation genius," his father went on, "he's still an oprhan. He doesn't have access to training like you do. He doesn't have a father guiding him every day. So what's your excuse?"



Reiji said nothing, head bowed to hide the sting in his eyes.



"It's true you beat most of your classmates, even children from important clans," his father said, voice steady. "But you're still at the start of your education. Beating them now doesn't mean they'll stop improving. Soon you'll graduate, and each of you will get a jōnin instructor. When Minato has someone guiding him personally, he'll leave you behind if you stop progressing. Do you understand?"



"Yes," Reiji whispered.



His father's gaze sharpened. "Then why did you lose?"



Reiji's fists clenched. "He tricked me."



"He read you," his father corrected. "He let you believe what you wanted to believe, like a true shinobi."



He sighed, and when he spoke again his voice was slightly gentler. "Losing isn't the problem. It can even be useful, if you learn from it. But consoling yourself by saying it can't be helped because he's the strongest right now is the wrong approach. You must think. 'Why am I still losing to him? What is he doing that I'm not? What will I try next time?' Those are the questions you should be asking."



Reiji swallowed and steadied himself. "I understand."



His father studied him one last time, then nodded. "Good. Your dinner is waiting in the kitchen. Dismissed."



Reiji bowed, rose, and left the study.



---



He ate alone, in silence, the sound of his chopsticks too loud in the empty house. The food had flavor he could tell it did but it didn't reach him today.



'Even if I beat him one day… it'll be the same.'



When he beat the others, his father only said it was normal. That it meant nothing. That arrogance was for children who wanted to die early. But when he lost when he slipped once suddenly it mattered.



'Why?'



'Why does he never praise me?'



'Does he not love me?'



The thought tried to rise higher, to become real, but something in Reiji refused to give it shape. He swallowed another mouthful without tasting it and stared at the lacquered wood until his eyes blurred.



When he was done, he cleaned his place. Then he moved through the corridors in silence and slid the doors open onto the garden.



Cold air rushed in, carrying the smell of wet stone and trimmed leaves. The training area waited where it always waited: hard-packed dirt, a few posts, practice dummies. A lantern hung under the eaves, its light weak against the darkening sky.



Reiji stepped into the yard.



For a moment he just stood there, fists half-clenched.



Then his feet shifted into stance on their own.



He began to punch.



Wood thudded. The dummy rocked. He kicked low, then high, heel snapping back into guard. Again. Again. The motions had been carved into him young, hammered in until they lived under his skin. His limbs struck with a clean, violent sound that filled the quiet garden.



There had been a time when he cried when he hit. When his knuckles split and the sting made his eyes burn. When his father's voice didn't soften and the training didn't stop until the ground beneath him was speckled dark red.



Now his hands didn't cry.



Now they only went numb.



'First in my class should've been easy…'



It wasn't arrogance. Not to him. It was fact.



He had trained since he was little until his hands bled, until his lungs burned, until he learned to swallow pain like water. While other kids played at being shinobi, he had been working. Every morning. Every night. Every day.



So beating them was normal.



They were predictable soft, loud, emotional. They fought like children and thought like children. They wore their clan names like armour and called it strength.



Reiji had always seen through it.



'They're inferior.'



His fist drove into the dummy again, harder.



'So why isn't it enough?'



The answer came like a slap, bitter and immediate.



'Because he beats me.'



Not a clan heir. Not some prodigy from a famous bloodline.



A nobody.



Worse an orphan.



Minato didn't have a name people whispered with respect. He didn't have a father drilling him into the dirt. He didn't have some gift waiting in his blood.



And still every time Reiji thought victory was there, one breath away Minato slipped out of it like it didn't matter. Like Reiji's effort was something he could step around.



Calm.



As if winning wasn't a struggle at all.



Reiji's breath came faster. He struck again, then again, the rhythm turning rough, impatient. Images flashed behind his eyes Minato's calm face, that stupid friendly smile, the crowd swarming him like he was already someone worth celebrating.



Reiji tasted something bitter and realised his teeth were grinding.



'I can't accept it.'



And worse…



He pictured his father in his study with his back turned, scroll in hand, voice quiet and distant.



His stomach twisted.



'I couldn't meet his eyes.'



Not after losing again. Not after training harder than everyone else and still coming up short. Not after promising himself over and over that he would never be weak.



He wanted to hate Minato. It would be easier if he could.



But hate didn't fix the problem.


Winning did.



He stopped for half a heartbeat, chest rising and falling, and looked at his hands.



Small hands. Already marked red at the knuckles, a thin split where he'd hit wrong. Not enough to bleed much.



Not enough.



'I have no excuse.'



He struck the dummy again, and again, until the wood squeaked under the abuse. His forearms began to tremble. The numbness in his hands grew heavier, spreading upward like ice crawling across skin.



'Stronger.'



'Smarter.'



'Faster.'



He didn't need praise. He didn't need anyone's hand on his head saying, 'good job'. That was for children who could afford softness.



He needed results.



He needed to become something his father couldn't ignore.



If he became good enough, Father would have to be proud. If he became good enough, people would stop looking at him with pity stop moving aside like he was cursed, stop whispering about what happened to their family.



And if he became good enough—



'No one would ever dare to sacrifice me.'



The thought came sharp and clear, and it frightened him because it felt true.



His fist slammed into the wood one last time. Pain finally sparked bright and hot through the numbness. He welcomed it. Pain meant he was still moving.



He leaned his forehead against the dummy for a second, eyes closed, breathing hard.



Then he pushed away, wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve, and straightened.



"I'll be better," he whispered to the dark garden, to the silent house, to the father in the study who would never hear it. "Better than him. Better than all of them."



The sound of flesh hitting wood continued long into the night.



---

 

[TheSoulFrost]

He woke groggily, numb all over, but forced himself to sit up. His limbs felt heavy, as if he'd been filled with wet sand overnight. After a moment of blinking at the ceiling, he swung his legs over the edge of the futon and sat there until the room stopped tilting. The air was cold against his skin. He rubbed his face once, hard, then stood.

A basin waited near the corner. He splashed water over his hands and neck—and hissed quietly as it hit his knuckles. The skin there was split in thin lines, bruised purple and red from yesterday's training. He flexed his fingers once, ignoring the sting, then wiped the water away.

His hair had come loose in the night dark strands falling into his eyes so he gathered it back with practiced motions, combing it through with his fingers until it lay flat, then tying it high enough to stay out of the way. When the knot held, he pulled a loose kimono over his shoulders and tightened the sash, smoothing the fabric down like he could press the weakness out of it.



Only then did he leave the room.



His father was already eating when Reiji slipped into the kitchen, posture straight, eyes on the table. A second tray waited at Reiji's place rice still warm, a small bowl of miso, a piece of grilled fish, pickled vegetables set neatly to the side steam already thinning. Reiji murmured a greeting. His father answered with a brief nod without looking up.

Reiji sat, took up his chopsticks, and ate in silence not disturbing is father across from him, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain. When the last mouthfuls were gone, he gathered the dishes, rinsed them clean, and moved through the rest of his morning without speaking, as if words would only get in the way.



At the door, as he reached for his sandals, his father's voice finally came.



"Take care."



Reiji paused. He turned and saw only his father's back, seated with a scroll in hand, already absorbed in reading.



"You too, Father," Reiji replied, then left.



Outside, the streets of Konoha were already awake. Reiji walked at a hurried pace, eyes forward, not meeting anyone's gaze. He didn't want greetings. He didn't want questions. He didn't want to be looked at.



"Reiji?"



The voice stopped him cold.



He froze, then turned.



A man stood a few steps away tall, white-haired, wearing a jōnin uniform: a green flak jacket over a dark blue shirt and pants. His presence felt calm and sharp at the same time, like a blade resting in its sheath. His face was handsome in a mature way, but there was something weary behind it too.



"Yes…?" Reiji answered warily.



The man blinked, then smiled. "Ah. You don't remember me. You were very young the last time I saw you. That's normal."



He approached without pushing, then crouched so he was eye level with the boy, smile still gentle.



"I'm Sakumo Hatake," he said. "An old friend of your father. Nice to meet you, Reiji."



Reiji frowned and took a small step back. "If you're a friend of my father, why has he never mentioned you? Also, my father has no friends. So stop lying."



For a second, Sakumo just stared—then let out a short laugh. "Ouch. That's a pretty harsh thing to say about your dad, don't you think?"



"It's true," Reiji said, arms crossing stubbornly.



Sakumo's smile didn't fade. His gaze lingered, amused. "If you say so… Still." He tilted his head slightly. "Are you sure you're not a girl? You don't resemble your father at your age."



Reiji's teeth clenched. "Watch your mouth. I'm a boy."



Sakumo laughed again, brighter this time. "Alright, alright. Sorry. You don't have his face, but you have his personality."



Reiji froze.



His voice came out smaller than he wanted. "How… how was my father before?"



Sakumo blinked, as if the question surprised him. Then he looked aside, thinking. "Your father?" He hummed. "Well… I don't know if I should say that to an child even less is son but he was the biggest asshole I knew, for sure."



Reiji was already turning away.



"But," Sakumo added quickly.



Reiji stopped.



Sakumo smiled, and it was softer now. "I couldn't have asked for a better teammate to watch my back."



He reached out and ruffled Reiji's hair.



"I'm sure it'll be the same for you too."



Reiji slapped his hand away, cheeks hot. He bowed quickly. "I'll be late to school. Sorry."



Then he left at a near run, as if staying one second longer would make his chest feel too tight to breathe.



Sakumo watched him go, a sad look settling on his face. Only when the boy disappeared from view did he stand and continue walking, expression unreadable.



---



When Reiji arrived at the Academy, he had barely stepped through the entrance before someone blocked his way.



"Hey, Homura!"



A boy his age with short brown hair stood with his arms crossed and a determined expression, planted like he owned the doorway.



Reiji stopped and looked at him with a guarded stare. "What?"



"Don't think you can ignore me now just because you beat me," the boy snapped. "I'll win next time."



Reiji smiled slightly no warmth in it at all. "In your dreams, Senju."



He shoved past him with his shoulder and walked on. Behind him, the boy sputtered in outrage at being dismissed.



The classroom was already packed, filled to the brim with the chatter of children. Reiji scanned the room for a place. In the center, a group had formed around a blond boy. As Reiji's gaze landed on him, the boy turned.



For a couple of seconds, they stared at each other in silence.



Then the blond boy smiled and gave him a small nod.



Reiji scowled and moved to the other side of the room.



He stopped at a desk that was already occupied.



"Move," Reiji said. "That's my seat."



The boy turned around, already starting to protest—then froze. "Ah… wha—" He swallowed. "Oh. Yes. Sure…"



He got out immediately and retreated.



Reiji sat down and slumped forward, arms folded under his head as if he were sleeping. Around him, voices whispered anyway.



"Seriously, who does he think he is…"

"Poor guy…"

"Why doesn't anyone do something?"

"Well, go tell him."

"No, I'm fine."

"My parents told me not to talk to him…"

"Apparently his father…"



Reiji burrowed deeper into his arms.



"Attention, everyone," the teacher said. She was a young woman in her early twenties wearing a chūnin uniform, and her voice cut through the room cleanly. "Today is a special day. You have a new classmate."



Reiji lifted his head and blinked.



A young girl with round cheeks and bright red hair stood nervously beside the teacher.



Red hair… that's rare.



"Well," the teacher said kindly, "introduce yourself."



The girl nodded, stepped forward, and for a moment looked like she might shrink into herself. Then she straightened, as if she'd gathered every nerve she had into one breath.



"My name is Uzumaki Kushina!" she declared. "I will become the first woman Hokage! You better believe it!"



Reiji raised an eyebrow, watching the way she shouted like it could hide her nerves.



'Uzumaki… where have I heard that name before?'



Suddenly someone stood up.



Reiji rolled his eyes the moment he saw who it was.



"My name is Namikaze Minato," the blond boy said, with a smile and a hand on his heart. "My dream is to become a Hokage who is respected by everyone in the village."



Kushina blinked, confused, while most of the class looked at him with something close to admiration.



'What a bunch of sheep.'



Reiji scoffed loudly. Several students shot him dirty looks.



"Okay," the teacher continued quickly, "Kushina-san, now that you're introduced, you can sit…" She scanned the classroom, then hesitated when she realized only one place remained. "…in the back. Next to Reiji."



Kushina nodded and started walking, while a few students watched her with pity.



She sat beside him and offered a shy smile. "Nice to meet you, Reiji-chan. I hope we can be friends."



Reiji side-eyed her. "Call me Homura. And no."



A hurt expression flashed across her face. "Huh? Why?"



"Do I need a reason?"



She went stiff, anger flickering on her features. Reiji noticed her fists trembling slightly. He shrugged and turned his attention forward as class resumed.



The lesson continued as if nothing had happened. Chalk scraped across the board. The teacher's voice rose and fell in a steady rhythm.



Kushina sat beside him like she didn't know what to do with her own limbs. She shifted in her seat, straightened, then slumped, then straightened again. Every few minutes she glanced at him and snapped her eyes forward as if she'd been caught. When she tried to follow along, she looked half a step behind, brow furrowed, lips moving silently as she copied down notes she didn't fully understand.



And her foot wouldn't stop tapping.



At first it was quiet, a nervous little beat under the desk. Then it found a rhythm and kept it. Tap. Tap. Tap.



Reiji's pencil paused. His jaw tightened. He didn't look at her, refused to on principle, but the sound wormed its way into his skull anyway, steady and stupid and endless, until it felt louder than the chalk.





When break was announced, a group of girls flocked to Kushina's side, questions piling on top of each other. The later seeing that retreated on herself in surprise.



"Hey, Kushina, where did you live before?"

"Why did you enroll now?"

"Is that your real hair?"

"Can I touch it?"



Kushina was surrounded so quickly she could barely answer one question before another hit her. A black-haired girl stepped in and waved them back.



"Leave her alone," she said. "You're scaring her."



Impressively, that did the trick. The exited girls rapidly calmed down and stepped back permitting for the red head girl to sight in relief and relaxed.



The new girl smiled at Kushida. "Hi. I'm Uchiha Mikoto. If you have trouble or don't understand something, don't hesitate to ask me. I'll help you."



She gestured to the others nearby, introducing them quickly, like she'd done this a hundred times.



"This is Kasumi Nara," she said first.



A girl with dark hair tied back in a lazy ponytail lifted sitting on her desk raised a hand without standing, eyes half-lidded like she might fall asleep mid-sentence. "Yo."



"Tsume Inuzuka," Mikoto continued, smiling a little wider.



Tsume grinned, wild brown hair spilling around her face, and beside her a small dog popped its head out from behind her legs, tail wagging like it had its own opinion about everything. "Hey! Don't mind him he likes new people. Right Kuromaru ?"



The dog sniffed the air in Kushina's direction and let out a tiny yap.



Finally, Mikoto pointed to the last girl. "And that's Aya Shirakawa."



Aya had soft, light-brown hair and warm eyes, and she waved with both hands like she was trying to make up for being for her small stature. "Nice to meet you, Kushina!"



Kushina blinked at the sudden pile of names, then nodded quickly, smiling shyly as she tried to keep up. "N-nice to meet you all…"



Kushina glanced toward Reiji nervously.



Mikoto followed her gaze and snorted. "Don't worry about him, Kushina. He's an idiot and he's mean to everyone. Don't take what he said to heart."



"Watch your mouth, crow-head," Reiji muttered, not even looking up. "Before I shut it myself."



Mikoto rolled her eyes. "See? Just like I said."



Kushina blinked, then blurted without thinking, "Guy? Reiji's not a girl?"



A few heads snapped their way.



Kushina barely had time to realize what she'd said before a hand clamped on the top of her head and turned her. She found herself staring straight into black eyes framed by long lashes.



"I am a boy," he said flatly. "Got it?"



Her cheeks went hot. She nodded dumbly, brain failing to process what happened.



He released her, stood up, and walked away. The girls instinctively parted as he passed in surprise. A few of them watched him like they expected him to do something worse then he stopped at another desk and looked down at the student sitting there.



"Hey," he said to the student, "give me your desk now."



"Y-yes!"



Kushina sat stiff as stone. Mikoto exhaled. "You're lucky it stopped at that."



"Huh?"



"The last person who called him a girl left with a nasty bruise," Mikoto said.



Aya stared. "He really is a savage…"



"Yeah…" Kushina murmured, still absent-minded.



"Well…" Tsume shrugged, eyes half-lidded. "He's still pretty cute."



Everyone looked at her.



"What?" she said blandly. "It's true."



Mikoto shook her head. "Anyway, I suggest you don't approach him. Like you saw, he's not friendly."



"Why is he like that?" Kushina asked, curious despite herself.



"Who knows," Mikoto replied. "But even in the village, his father and he aren't very liked."



"Really?"



"Yeah. Apparently his father shamed the village or something." Mikoto hesitated. "I don't know. I just heard my parents say it once."



Kushina nodded slowly and dropped the subject. Soon the girls shifted into lighter conversation hobbies, family, anything that made the world feel interesting to a group of young childrens.



Their voices blurred into background noise, names, laughter, the scratch of sandals on wood. Reiji let it wash past him without catching. He'd learned young that most conversations were just people filling space.



Reiji, meanwhile, was thinking about something else entirely.



We're even in strength and speed, but somehow it's always me who loses.



Why?



Is it my style? Is it not compatible with his? There's nothing obvious about him. He seems normal, and yet somehow, he always responds faster than me right before I land a winning blow. It's like he has a sixth sense…


It didn't leave him.



---

Later that day, sparring class began again. Outside, the students lined up in front of the teacher.



"Okay, everyone," she said. "Like always, I'll call the students and they will perform in the ring. You know the rules, but I'll repeat them: only taijutsu. Jutsu and weapons are forbidden. If I see someone cheat, they will regret it. Sparring lasts until someone surrenders or is knocked down. Understood?"



"Yes!"



"Good." The teacher's eyes moved to the red-haired girl. "Because it's your first day, Kushina-san, if you please."



Reiji had taken a spot at the edge of the clearing, back against a tree trunk, arms folded as he watched with half-lidded eyes the young red head step nervously in the ring.



"Yes!" Kushina stepped into the ring, trying to look brave as she waited for her opponent.



The teacher tilted her head, considering. "Hmm. Because I don't know how well you perform…" Her gaze found a student in the line. "Sato, you're up!"



"Yes!"



A tall boy with dirty-blond hair stepped into the ring.



Reiji eyed the boy's confident stance… then the red-haired girl beside him, shifting her feet nervously.



'Hope it won't be boring… or at least it ends quickly.'



"Alright. You two do the sign of confrontation."



Sato stepped forward and formed the hand sign without hesitation. Kushina blinked, confused, then copied him a half-second late.



"Ready?" The two nodded.



"Begin!"



Sato lunged immediately.



A sharp kick slammed into Kushina's stomach before she even understood he'd moved.



Her eyes went wide. Spittle flew from her mouth as the air left her in a single brutal burst. She folded with a choked cry and dropped to her knees, clutching her stomach.



Reiji blinked.



'Well… I didn't have expectations, but still…'



"You can do it, Kushina!" Mikoto called out, worry obvious in her voice.



"Yeah, get up—hurry!" Tsume joined in.



Kushina trembled, trying to inhale. With effort, she pushed herself up using her arms, teeth clenched like she was forcing her body to obey.



Sato smirked, circling like he'd already won.



"Ah, you should stay down, tomato-head."



A few students giggled.



Even Reiji's lips twitched when he saw Kushina's scarlet face go even redder.



'I'll give him that… it's a fitting insult.'



Kushina's head lifted slowly. Her eyes were wide, then narrow. Her voice dropped low.



"What… did you call me?"



Sato blinked. "Huh?"



He shrugged, still smiling. "Tomato-he—"



He didn't finish.



Kushina exploded forward.



She tackled him so fast it looked like she'd been launched. Sato's back hit the ground with a thud, and suddenly she was on top of him like a storm given fist.



For a second, the class didn't even react.



Then it became chaos.



Kushina's punches rained down with wild precision. If Sato tried to cover his head, she drove her knuckles into his ribs. If he moved his arms to block his body, she snapped a hit into his forehead. When he tried to swing back, she took the blow with a grunt like it barely mattered and answered with twice the violence.



The confident grin vanished. His breathing turned ragged.



"I—" 'crack' a punch to the side of the head.



"I—" 'thud' an elbow into the stomach.



"Surren—!" he tried, voice cracking.



His words came out mangled, half-choked by panic and the angle of his head. Kushina leaned in, and when his mouth moved again, she slapped a hand over it mid-syllable and kept hitting him anyway.



The sound echoed flesh on flesh followed by gasps from the crowd. One girl actually squeaked.



"THAT'S ENOUGH!" the teacher barked.



Kushina froze.



Arms still raised, chest heaving, hair half-fallen into her eyes, she looked like she'd been caught in the middle of being something feral.



The teacher stepped between them, voice hard. "He surrendered."



Kushina slowly lowered her fists. She stood without a word.



The moment she moved off him, Sato curled into himself, whimpering. He didn't even try to sit up just clutched his stomach like he was afraid it might fall apart.



The teacher crouched beside him, exhaled through her nose, did a quick check, then looked up.



"Is there any volunteer to take him to the infirmary?"



No one moved at first.



Then two boys stepped forward stiffly, avoiding Kushina's eyes. They helped Sato up like he might shatter if touched wrong and guided him off the ring. Sato's face was pale; his gaze kept flicking back to Kushina with something between fear and disbelief.





The class reaction was a mess.



Mikoto and her little group clapped, half-proud and half-stunned, rushing to Kushina the moment she stepped down. Most of the others didn't know whether to laugh, stare, or pretend they hadn't just watched a beating.



Reiji covered his mouth with his sleeve, poorly hiding his shoulders shaking.



'I don't know if we can really call that sparring… but it was hilarious.'




Kushina turned—



And suddenly locked eyes with Reiji.



Her glare hit him, furious, embarrassed, cheeks burning red.



Reiji raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, expression flat.



'What?'



For a split second, Kushina looked like she wanted to jump him next.



Then she snapped her gaze away and focused on the teacher as she approached.



"Good fight, Kushina," the teacher said, tone wary. "You took advantage of an opening. That part was smart. But—" She rubbed her eyebrow like her head hurt. "Next time you interrupt someone trying to surrender, you'll have problems. Understand?"



Kushina's shoulders sagged. "…Yes, sensei," she mumbled, head bowed.



She turned quickly and hurried back to Mikoto and the others still stiff with anger and embarrassment, the smallest shake in her hands that only someone paying attention would notice.



After Kushina stepped down, the teacher kept the matches rolling.



Names. Bows. "Begin!"



Reiji watched the first few seriously out of habit more than interest. He tracked foot placement, breathing, the way kids telegraphed punches before they even moved. It took him less than ten seconds per fight to decide the outcome.



Too slow. Too stiff. Too emotional.



Most of them fought like they were trying to impress their friends instead of trying to win.



Reiji sighed and rested his cheek in his palm.



'Boring.'



The next spar started. Someone charged. Someone panicked. Someone tripped over their own feet.



Reiji almost yawned again.



'This class…'



Then the teacher called a name that actually mattered.



"Minato, you're up. And Enji, you're with him."



The room changed.



Even the loud ones quieted down.



Minato stepped into the ring calm and polite, like always. Across from him, the Sarutobi kid stood tall, jaw clenched, trying to look fearless.



They bowed.



"Begin!"



Enji moved first, fast and aggressive. Minato didn't meet force with force. He simply wasn't there when the strike came, slipping aside with clean footwork like he'd seen the attack before it happened.



No wasted motion. No noise. No heat.



Just efficiency.



Reiji's eyes sharpened despite himself.



'…Of course.'



The Sarutobi pushed harder. Minato adjusted once, twice always one step ahead, always just out of reach until the other boy's movements grew heavier, angrier, predictable.



Then Minato ended it.



One clean angle. One controlled sweep. One clean strike on the jaw.



The teacher called stop before it turned humiliating.



Applause burst out. Some students even leaned forward to better see.



Minato helped his opponent up with that same polite smile, like he hadn't just dismantled him in front of everyone.



Reiji didn't clap.



He didn't smile either.



But his boredom was gone.



And that annoyed him more than anything.



He's the only one here who isn't trash. The thought appeared, unwanted, and he hated it for existing.



His fingers tightened around his sleeve.



Because Minato wasn't his opponent today.



Not today. Not in this stupid rotation.



And worst of all, Reiji could feel it, sharp and sour in his chest.



He wanted it.



He wanted to fight him.



He wanted his revenge.



The idea tasted bitter, like admitting something he refused to say out loud.



So when the next matches started, Reiji's interest died again even faster than before.



Someone else stepped in. Someone else shouted. Someone else flailed.



Reiji stared past it, eyes half-lidded, already numb with boredom.



'If it's not Minato… it's nothing.'



Then the teacher's voice cut through.



"Next! Arata and Reiji—your turn today!"



Reiji finally lifted his head.



Across the ring, the young Uchiha was already looking at him, determined and ready.



Reiji's mouth curved into a small smile.



Fine, he thought, standing. If I can't have Minato today… I'll settled for this.



---

 

[TheSoulFrost]

--



Reiji walked into the ring with an easy, unhurried pace, as though he had all the time in the world. He was smiling too which, in Reiji's case, was never a comforting sign.



Arata was already waiting. He held his stance with practiced discipline, eyes steady and expression controlled.



They stopped a step apart and stared.



"Why are you smiling?" Arata demanded at last, as though Reiji had committed some unforgivable breach of etiquette.



"What?" Reiji blinked innocently. "I can't smile now?"



"Stop it. It's disgusting."



"I don't want to," Reiji said pleasantly. "I'm in a good mood right now."



The teacher opened her mouth probably to remind them of rules, sportsmanship, and the general principle that Academy students were not supposed to maim each other before lunch but both boys raised their arms at the same moment, as though they'd made an agreement without words.



She narrowed her eyes, then decided to let them get on with it. "Ready… Go!"



Nothing happened.



They simply stood there, measuring each other with their eyes.



Seconds stretched. The class began to fidget.



"Arata, go!"

"What are you waiting for?!"

"Reiji, are you scared?!"



Reiji looked, if anything, more relaxed. Arata, on the other hand, began to show tiny signs of strain an adjustment of the feet, a faint tightening in his jaw.



Reiji lifted an eyebrow. "We don't have all day," he said. "I'm getting bored."



"Why should I move first and give you the advantage?" Arata snapped. "You move."



Reiji sighed loudly, as if burdened by the stupidity of the situation, and then did something that even made the teacher blinking.



He spread his arms wide.



It was not a stance. It was not even pretending to be a stance. It was the posture of someone inviting a hug.



"Fine," Reiji said, grinning. "I won't move from this position."



Arata stared. He knew, quite clearly, that this was a trap. The trouble was that traps were much easier to avoid when a crowd wasn't shouting your name behind you.



His teeth clenched.



Then he dashed.



He got as far as three steps before Reiji flicked his foot up and kicked a neat little cloud of dust straight into Arata's face.



It was not, strictly speaking, a powerful attack. It was not impressive. It was not even clever.



That was the point.



Arata stumbled back, eyes squeezed shut, arms snapping up defensively. He braced himself for the blow that should have come next.



It did not come.



He blinked through the stinging grit, rubbed his eyes, and looked up.



Reiji was still there. Arms still spread. Smile unchanged.



"I told you," Reiji said lightly, "I wouldn't move."



A heat rushed up Arata's neck so fast it was a wonder it didn't catch fire. He lunged again, this time with real anger, and threw a quick feint into a pivoting kick.



Reiji raised his knee and met it as though he'd been expecting it all day.



Arata hissed, shook the pain out, and tried to force the pace with a flurry of kicks, jabs—anything to make Reiji stop looking like he was enjoying himself. But Reiji moved with infuriating calm: a palm here, an elbow there, a tilt of the head that let a fist skim past his hair.



Arata's frustration spilled out of him. He launched into a flying kick.



Reiji caught it.



For a brief moment, Arata's leg was locked under Reiji's arm like a trapped branch. Arata, to his credit, didn't panic. He planted a hand, twisted, and snapped a counter-kick toward Reiji's head.



Reiji blocked it with his free arm. The impact loosened his grip just enough for Arata to wrench himself free and retreat, breathing hard.



Reiji didn't chase him. He watched, relaxed, as though Arata were the one being assessed.



"Why aren't you attacking?!" Arata shouted.



"Why am I obliged to?" Reiji replied. "I'm enjoying myself."



"Stop mocking me! Take it seriously!"



"I don't want to," Reiji said—and because he was Reiji, he stuck his tongue out.



"Reiji," the teacher snapped, "stop taunting your opponent and take this spar seriously."



Reiji sighed, the long-suffering sigh of someone being asked to complete a chore. "Fine."



He finally began to set his feet properly.



Arata saw the opening and threw himself forward at once, fist aimed for Reiji's jaw.



The pain that shot through Arata's knuckles was immediate and shocking.



Reiji had blocked the punch with his forehead.



Before Arata could decide whether this was brave or stupid, Reiji caught his wrist, stepped behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.



Arata hit the dirt on one knee.



Reiji twisted his arm behind his back and pinned it tight, tight enough that Arata's shoulder screamed in warning.



Arata struggled, teeth clenched. Reiji's grip did not loosen.



Then Reiji leaned close, voice low.



"You said yesterday," he murmured, "that nothing good happens to people who associate with me, didn't you?"



Arata's breath caught.



He didn't get to answer.



Reiji kicked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Arata lurched forward, thrown toward the edge of the ring, stumbling certain he was about to be ejected.



And then, at the last second, fingers grabbed his collar and stopped him right on the line.



For half a heartbeat, Arata hung there, balanced between falling out and being dragged back, his humiliation paused like a cruel joke.



Reiji's voice came again, quiet as a knife sliding free.



"You're right," he said.



His grip tightened.



"I don't associate with losers."



And he yanked.



Arata was dragged back in and hurled toward the center so hard the world spun. He hit the ground, scrambled up on instinct—



—and found Reiji already there.



A foot filled his vision.



There was a thud, bright and final.



Arata's thoughts vanished.



---



The ring stayed silent for a beat then the teacher's voice cut through it.



"Reiji. My office. Now."



The teacher's expression gave nothing away.



Reiji lifted an eyebrow, but he didn't argue. He only nodded, as if the order didn't concern him.



He stepped out of the ring.



The students parted as he passed. Nobody spoke to him; they simply watched him with wary eyes some angry, some frightened, some pretending very hard they weren't looking at all.



Someone blocked his path.



"Are you happy now?"



Reiji turned.



Mikoto was standing there, her face tight with anger. Aya Shirakawa hovered at her side, tugging at her sleeve with a worried expression.



Reiji looked at Mikoto for a moment, inwardly amused.



"If you want to say something," he said, "say it. Don't beat around the bush."



Mikoto's hands clenched. "Why are you like this?"



Reiji's smile was small and irritating. "Like what?"



"Like… you." She made an exasperated gesture at him. "Why do you enjoy being mean? Why do you enjoy ridiculing your classmates?"



"Why not?" Reiji replied.



Mikoto blinked, thrown off by the simplicity of it. "Huh?"



Reiji shrugged, spreading one hand as if she'd asked an obvious question with an obvious answer.



"We're children being trained to kill people," he said calmly. "Not to cuddle each other and play at being friends. If you can't accept a bit of violence now, what do you think you'll do later?"



Mikoto's mouth opened, then shut again.



Reiji's gaze shifted past her over her shoulder to where Minato was still surrounded by people. Minato looked surprised to find Reiji staring at him. Reiji watched him for a second, expression sharpening.



"Don't you find it absurd?" he continued, voice still even. "They keep telling us to 'protect the village' and 'take care of our comrades'… but this entire system is built on making sure there are enough killers to send out when the village wants something done."



He paused, as though genuinely considering it.



"Who decided someone's life was worth less than the village's?"



Mikoto stared at him, momentarily speechless.



Reiji looked back at her, and his smile returned, arrogant, almost pleased with himself.



"You're angry because I humiliated your friend," he said, "not because humiliation is some great moral crime. You're angry because he's important to you. Because he the same name as you. Fine. I can understand that."



His eyes narrowed slightly.



"But don't play saint. If it were some random kid, you'd have looked away."



Mikoto's face flushed.



"And if that's really what this is about," Reiji added, nodding toward Kushina, "then you should be angry at her too. She did something far worse, and everyone clapped."



Kushina, who had been listening with the rest of them, went red from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears.



Reiji tilted his head at Mikoto.



"I'm right, aren't I?"



Nobody answered.



Mikoto's hands lowered slowly, as if she'd only just realized she'd stopped him and still had no good way to finish this.



Reiji stepped past her, as if she were no more than a chair left in the wrong place.



"I like what I like," he said over his shoulder, voice almost bored now. "I hate what I hate. I don't need some profound reason for it."



He glanced back once—briefly, dark eyes calm.



"I just didn't like his face," he added. "Same way some of you don't like mine."



He stepped past her, already moving again.



Mikoto turned sharply, hair swaying with the motion, and stared at his back as if she couldn't decide whether to grab him or let him go. Her hands clenched at her sides.



"You think this makes you strong?" she hissed.



Reiji didn't stop. He didn't even look over his shoulder.



"It doesn't," Mikoto continued, voice tight. "It just makes everyone wait for the day you finally get what you deserve."



Reiji's pace never changed. Only his head tilted a fraction, as if he were listening to something mildly interesting.



"In this village," he said, "everyone gets what they deserve. Just not always from the person they expect."



He kept walking, sandals soft against the floor, leaving Mikoto and the others behind in a silence that felt uncomfortably loud. Then he disappeared into the school building, heading for the teacher's office.



---



The hours blurred into chores and scolding until the sun was gone.



It was already night when he finally emerged from the school building.



Reiji stretched, every muscle protesting. "Seriously," he muttered, rolling his shoulders, "making me scrub the entire floor at my age… don't they have any shame?"



The streets of Konoha were quieter now, the shops shuttered, the lantern light turning everything soft around the edges. Reiji wandered through the emptier lanes and, for once, didn't mind being alone. The village felt almost peaceful when nobody was whispering.



He was also, inconveniently, late.



Which meant he needed an excuse.



Reiji turned the problem over in his head as he walked, already hearing his father's voice—calm, disappointed, far worse than shouting.



Mikoto had still deserved it.



She had that irritating, polished sort of confidence like she'd been born knowing the correct thing to say at the correct moment, the perfect little role-model girl who thought being righteous was the same thing as being right.



And anyway—Reiji hadn't been trying to make a point. He wasn't trying to change the world.



He just enjoyed watching their faces when he said things they didn't know how to answer.



Sometimes, he wondered whether they were all idiots… or whether he was the problem.



He didn't like that thought, so he shoved it away.



But one part of what he'd said was true.



There was no grand meaning behind what he did.



No noble reason. No tragic excuse.



He did it because he wanted to.



Because he could.



And because, if he was being honest with himself, he was petty like that.



---



Soon he was standing in front of his house, turning his alibi over one last time before going in.



He slipped inside, removed his sandals without a sound, and started to creep toward his room as though the floorboards might betray him if he moved too quickly. Unfortunately, the kitchen door was still open and light spilled into the corridor in a way that made sneaking feel foolish.



Reiji sighed, abandoned the idea of escape, and stepped inside.



"Where were you?" his father asked.



He sat, as always, in the same chair, posture perfectly composed, gaze unreadable. In front of him were two sets of dinner—still hot, steam rising as if to prove the point.



Reiji bowed quickly. "Sorry, Father. I was practising my kunai skills outside and… somewhere along the way I didn't notice the time. I'll be more careful next time."



His father lifted an eyebrow, and something like amusement flickered across his face.



"Practising with kunai," he repeated mildly. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but your kunai set is still in your room. And today is not your weapons day at school."



Reiji's stomach dipped.



"I borrowed someone else's set," he said, grasping for the nearest excuse.



His father's eyebrow rose a little higher. "You have a friend who gave you his set willingly?"



Reiji frowned, as if offended by the accusation. "Huh… I stole it."



There was a pause.



"And where is the set now?" his father asked, tone unchanged.



"I lost it in the dark," Reiji said.



His father shook his head slowly, not in anger but in that calm, disappointed way that felt worse.



"You did not steal it from a young Uchiha named Arata, did you?"



Reiji froze.



He looked up, eyes a little too wide, and tried very hard to appear innocent. "Huh… no?"



His father regarded him for a moment, then sighed.



"It's good that you're beginning to train in deceiving people," he said, almost conversational. "It's an important part of a shinobi's skillset. But you're still too immature to fool me."



Reiji's shoulders dropped. He bowed his head, guilty. "Sorry…"



"Sorry for what?" his father asked.



Reiji hesitated. "For… shaming you with my actions?"



"No." His father shook his head. "For not thinking of the bigger picture. Of the future."



Reiji blinked. "The future?"



"Yes." His father's eyes sharpened slightly. "When you graduate, you'll be assigned to a team. There's a very real chance that the people you look down upon will become your teammates. The people who will protect you if you're in danger. Who will watch your back."



Reiji's mouth tightened. "I know," he said, and then added, "but they're so boring. And weak. I just… I can't comprehend them."



He lowered his voice, as if the walls might be listening.



"And they say mean things about you."



For the first time, his father's expression softened.



"They're children," he said quietly. "Repeating what their parents say. They don't understand what they're saying." His gaze held Reiji's.



"But I'm a child too!" Reiji protested, before he could stop himself.



"Yes," his father replied. "You are."



He said it plainly, which somehow made it worse.



"But you are also special," he continued, voice steady. "You are more talented and more intelligent than the average student in your class. So, it becomes your burden to be more patient with them."



Reiji's hands curled in his lap. "I… I really can't," he admitted. "I did try, believe me. But they aren't like me. I can't sympathise with them."



"They treat training like a game," Reiji said. "Then they're shocked when it hurts."



His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "And that makes them unworthy of you?"



"It makes them stupid," Reiji said flatly. "They spend all day worrying about silly things, saying silly things… and when I say something true, they get mad."



"Because you say it to wound," his father replied, calm as ever.



Reiji looked away. "Even when I try to talk normally, it's boring. It's… nothing."



His father watched him for a moment. "Then stop looking for entertainment," he said. "Look for value. You don't need to like them. You need to know who can help you when it matters."



His father was silent for a moment, then asked, "And Minato? Does he not get along with his classmates?"



Reiji's face scrunched up as if he'd been forced to swallow something bitter. "Yes," he said. "But I can't be like him. It's practically torture just watching it."



His father let out a long sigh.



"Is it really the curse of the Homura family?" he murmured, more to himself than to Reiji. "Where did I go wrong…"



Reiji shrank in his seat.



"Reiji."



He jumped at the sudden firmness in his father's voice.



"Yes?"



"When I was your age," his father said, "I thought like you. I believed teammates would only drag me down. That I was better alone."



Reiji leaned forward slightly, listening despite himself.



"But I was wrong," his father continued. "Somewhere along the way, you will need someone. You can't achieve anything alone. You must create bonds with people."



His gaze settled on Reiji—direct, unflinching.



"It is because of those bonds that you are here with me now," he said quietly, "alive. Never forget that."



Reiji's eyes trembled. Something complicated moved across his face—understanding, reluctance, and the discomfort of being touched by a truth he didn't like.



"I know," he said, voice small. "I know."



His father's tone eased, just slightly.



"I'm not asking you to respect your classmates," he said. "I know that's too much to demand of you. But at least pretend. Try." He paused. "Or try befriending Minato. He could be a valuable ally later."



Reiji nodded without looking up.



His father watched him for a moment, then gave him time to breathe.



Finally, he gestured toward the steaming plates.



"Enough about that. Eat." Then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, "Tell me about your day. Did anything unusual happen apart from the incident with the Uchiha boy?"



---

 

[TheSoulFrost]

---



"Well… there was a new classmate today."



"A new classmate?" Homura didn't look up from his bowl, but Reiji heard the attention in the pause.



"Yes. I wanted to ask—have you heard the name Uzumaki before?"



Homura's chopsticks stopped. That alone was answer enough.



"Uzumaki," he repeated. "Your classmate is an Uzumaki?"



"Yeah. Uzumaki Kushina." Reiji frowned. "I swear I've heard it somewhere. I assumed it was a famous clan."



"It is," Homura said quietly. "Some would argue they mattered almost as much as the Senju and the Uchiha when Konoha was founded."



Reiji blinked. "If they're that important, why have I never seen any?"



"Because they don't live here," Homura replied. "They never did. Their home is Uzushiogakure—an island nation off the western sea, with whirlpools so thick ships learn to fear the coast."



"Then why aren't they in the village if they're a founding clan?"



Homura exhaled through his nose, as if the question annoyed him. "Because 'founding' doesn't always mean 'belonging.' The Uzumaki are allies. Not citizens."



He studied Reiji for a moment. "Have you heard of Mito Uzumaki?"



Reiji's eyes widened. "The First Hokage's wife."



"Exactly." Homura's tone stayed even. "They're known for their vitality and large chakra reserves. But more than that…" His gaze sharpened slightly. "Their fūinjutsu."



"Sealing," Reiji said at once.



"Yes. Few clans can claim to rival them in it." He paused, then added, almost unwillingly, "They also tend to be a bunch of redheads."



Reiji's mouth twitched. "So it was with their help that the First Hokage sealed the tailed beasts."



"And later used that power as a political tool," Homura corrected calmly.



Reiji scowled. "I still think giving them away was stupid."



Homura's eyes lifted—soft, but warning. "Do not speak lightly of men who held the world together with their hands. It is easy to judge a decision when you know what came after."



Reiji lowered his gaze. "…Right."



Homura nodded once, satisfied, and continued. "The Uzumaki are one of the few clans that never bent themselves into a hidden village. They are a nation in their own right. Powerful enough that they don't need to hide."



Reiji absorbed that, then looked up again. "And now one of them is in my class."



Homura's stare held on him a fraction too long. "Tell me—this Kushina. She is a girl?"



"Yes."



"I see." Homura looked away, but something complicated moved in his expression—something tired, almost sad. "So it's time."



"Father?"



Homura's voice lowered. "Be kind to her, Reiji."



Reiji frowned, unsettled. "Why?"



"Because the world was not kind to her," Homura said. "And it will not suddenly become kind now."



He set his chopsticks down. "Also… she may be useful to you later. Understand?"



Reiji hesitated. Then he nodded. "Yes, Father. I'll try."



"Good."



They returned to their meal, and the silence that followed felt heavier than before.



When they finished, Homura added, "Get up at dawn tomorrow. We're going outside."



Reiji's eyes lit up. "You'll train me personally?"



Homura nodded once. "Yes. It's time you learned an essential technique for a shinobi."



Reiji leaned forward. "What is it?"



Homura's gaze stayed on his bowl as he asked, "Tell me, son—do you like climbing trees?"



---



They woke before sunrise.



Reiji dressed in silence, pulling on his kimono, wrapping his hands with bandages, and fastening his ninja pouch at his waist. After a brief hesitation, he strapped a second pouch higher on his thigh, hidden beneath the folds of his clothes.



When he stepped outside, his father was already waiting.



Homura stood with his cane planted in the dirt, the early breeze tugging at the empty sleeve where his right arm should have been.



"Let's go," he said.



They crossed Konoha while it was still half-asleep. The streets were mostly empty—only a few merchants were awake, setting up their stalls with sleepy faces. Lanterns made small puddles of light on the ground.



Homura walked neither too slow nor too fast. Too fast for a man who needed a cane, perhaps—but still measured, deliberate. His right leg spasmed faintly when it struck the ground, and his gait had an awkwardness that made the effort visible.



Reiji noticed anyway.



He always noticed.



Soon the village gates rose ahead of them—huge and imposing, framed by high walls that swallowed the dawn. Two guards stood posted on either side. They nodded as the two passed, but their eyes lingered a fraction too long on Homura's face—long enough to be impolite, short enough to pretend it wasn't.



Neither Reiji nor his father reacted.



They continued down the road for a while, the air cold and clean, until Homura suddenly veered off the path.



He slipped into the forest without warning, cane tapping against roots and stone, and Reiji followed without hesitation.



The trees closed around them. The sounds of the road disappeared, replaced by damp earth, rustling leaves, and the steady rhythm of Homura's steps.



After a few minutes, the forest opened into a small clearing, trunks standing close on all sides.



Homura stopped.



"Here," his father said.



Reiji felt the question rise and forced it back down. He waited, standing in the center of the space with the trees pressing in around them like silent witnesses.



Homura turned slightly, his gaze settling on him.



"Show me what you've got."



Reiji blinked. "What?"



"The basics," Homura said, as if Reiji were being slow on purpose. "Start from the beginning. Don't disappoint me."



Reiji's mouth tightened. "You dragged me into the forest to watch me do henge?"



Homura's cane tapped once.



A kunai whistled through the air.



Reiji barely had time to register the glint before he threw himself sideways, heart slamming into his ribs. The blade sank into a tree trunk behind him with a dull 'thunk.'



He spun back, furious. "What the—!"



"Shut up," Homura said calmly. "It's serious."



Reiji stared at him, breathing fast.



Homura's expression didn't change. "I won't move from here," he added. "And I won't use anything beyond what the Academy teaches you. Bunshin. Henge. Kawarimi. Weapons. Use what you've got."



Reiji's eyes narrowed. "What, you think I'm afraid of a crippled man?"



Homura's gaze flicked over him, cool and unimpressed. "I am still an adult. And I was an active shinobi before I was injured."



He lifted his cane slightly, as if it were merely an extension of his hand.



"You're lucky," he continued. "Later, you won't get sparring partners who care if you live through the lesson."



Reiji gritted his teeth until his jaw ached.



Fine.



If it had to be serious, then he would be serious.



He reached into his pouch, snapped two smoke bombs to the ground at his feet, and in the same motion sent a pair of kunai flying toward his father.



Smoke erupted in a thick grey bloom, swallowing the clearing—turning Homura into a shadow with a cane.



Homura did not cough. He did not flinch.



Reiji heard the steady tap of the cane, then the dull 'clack' of metal as the kunai were batted aside casually—like unwanted insects.



Reiji moved through the smoke fast and low, feet light, trying to keep his breathing quiet. He slipped around to the side, then farther, then—



A voice cut through the haze.



"Good," Homura said, as if speaking to the air itself. "Now you're taking it seriously."



Reiji didn't answer.



Instead, he formed the seal and sent an Academy bunshin darting out of the smoke to the right—loud on purpose, kicking up dirt, snapping branches.



At the same time, Reiji went left.



The bunshin charged, reckless and obvious, kunai raised high.



Reiji stayed low, silent, circling toward where Homura had been.



Three.



Two.



One—



The smoke thinned. The clearing returned in pieces: tree trunks, early light, scattered kunai in the dirt—



—and Homura standing exactly where he'd been at the start, not a single step taken.



Listening.



The bunshin lunged first, kunai driving straight for Homura's chest.



Homura didn't even look at it.



His head turned, eyes already fixed on the real threat.



On Reiji.



Reiji's stomach tightened.



'He knows.'



Reiji struck from behind, kunai in hand, driving for the gap beneath the ribs—hard, fast, precise.



For a man with a cane, Homura moved with sudden, unsettling speed.



*Clack.*



The cane snapped up and knocked Reiji's blade aside.



At the exact same moment, the bunshin's kunai passed through Homura like mist.



It vanished with a soft *poof* behind him, as if embarrassed to have existed.



Before Reiji could recover, Homura's good leg swept low and cut his footing out from under him.



Reiji's breath hitched as the ground vanished.



The cane hooked the front of his kimono—fabric caught at an angle that turned it into a lever—and Homura hauled him forward as if he weighed nothing.



Not thrown.



Placed in front of him like a shield.



A kunai whistled in from the treeline—one Reiji had thrown earlier, timed to arrive through the thinning smoke.



For half a heartbeat, everything slowed.



Reiji's breath caught.



Homura didn't blink.



The kunai slammed into Reiji's chest—



—and there was a sharp *poof.*



A log replaced him.



The blade buried itself in wood.



Reiji was no longer there.



He was crouched in the brush ten metres away, heart pounding, fingers tight around another kunai.



*I got out.*



On the log, a second kunai lay almost unnoticed—its paper tag already hissing at the edge.



Homura's eyes flicked to it instantly.



The cane tip lifted—already moving.



He leaned in and, with one precise movement, sliced the burning tag clean off the kunai.



The paper spun into the air.



Homura flicked his wrist.



The tag shot toward the bushes—fast and neat, straight at Reiji's hiding place.



"Rule one," Homura said calmly, "don't hide near your own blast."



Reiji's blood went cold.



He sprang sideways on instinct, throwing himself out of the bushes and onto the bare dirt just as the paper flared.



*BOOM.*



The explosion punched dirt and leaves upward, swallowing the edge of the clearing in a thick brown cloud. Heat licked past him. Pebbles and grit stung his cheek and forearms.



He rolled once, came up low, coughing, eyes watering.



"What a merciless son," Homura's voice said mildly, from directly behind him. "You could have killed your father, you know."



Reiji didn't jump—only because he refused to give him the satisfaction. He kept his eyes forward and scoffed.



"Yeah," he muttered. "Like that could kill you."



He glanced back, wary despite himself. "And you say that after what you just did?"



Homura looked at him as if Reiji had asked why water was wet.



"If you had died from that," he said evenly, "it would have proven my incompetence."



He paused just long enough to let the next words land.



"And afterward, I would have killed myself in shame."



Reiji stared at him.



Then, because this was his father—and because the world was unfair—Reiji found himself rolling his eyes instead of arguing.



"So?" he demanded. "Are you satisfied?"



Homura studied him for a moment, gaze sharp, assessing him.



"It was within my expectations," he said at last.



Reiji felt his shoulders loosen despite himself.



"It is," Homura added, "acceptable."



Reiji exhaled through his nose and nodded like it hadn't mattered.



Homura stood silently to the side, watching his son collect himself.



"So," Reiji said at last, still breathing hard, "are you going to tell me why you brought me here? Don't tell me it was just to see if you could excuse murdering your son while teaching him."



The corner of Homura's mouth twitched, faintly amused. "As entertaining as that notion is, no. Unfortunately, this is for academic purposes."



Without another word, he walked to a tall tree at the edge of the clearing. Then, in front of Reiji's stunned eyes, he stepped onto the trunk.



He didn't jump. He didn't lunge. He simply placed his foot against the bark as if the ground had decided to follow him upward.



His cane tapped the trunk as he climbed, as though it helped him ignore gravity. It didn't. The tapping was just habit. Control. A reminder of what he lacked, and what he still had.



He continued up, steady and deliberate, until he reached a thick branch. He stepped onto it, turned calmly—like a man crossing a hallway—and looked down.



"Do you see why it's important now?" he asked.



Reiji, still staring, could only nod. A few seconds later he managed, "How did you do that? Is it a jutsu?"



"Not quite." Homura's voice stayed even. "It's an application of chakra."



"My chakra can do that?" Reiji frowned. "How could I never notice it before? My feet never stuck to walls."



"Ratio," Homura said.



"Huh?"



"Your chakra circulates evenly through your body," Homura explained. "But you can control it—move it, shape it, release it. The Academy drills you with the basics. I've drilled you with the basics. You should be capable of this now."



Reiji's eyes glittered. "So if I control the amount of chakra I gather under my feet, I can do it too?"



"Exactly." Homura began to descend, walking back down the trunk with the same maddening ease.



Reiji watched him drop to the ground. "How much should I gather?"



"It depends on the person," Homura said. "Height, weight, constitution, chakra reserves. Everyone's body is different. There's no number I can give you. You'll learn through trial and error." He paused. "I estimate it will take you about a month to master it."



Reiji rolled his eyes. "It's just manipulating chakra. How could it take a month? Give me a day and it's in the bag."



Homura's expression stayed calm, but there was quiet amusement in his eyes. "Some people can learn it in a day," he said. "But you? I doubt it."



Reiji flushed. "You'll see."



He stormed toward the tree Homura had climbed. Up close, it looked taller—less like a tree and more like a wall. He glanced back and saw Homura already making himself comfortable, lowering himself against another trunk with care, cane planted beside him. He pulled out a book as if this were a peaceful morning stroll.



Reiji gritted his teeth and faced the bark.



He drew a slow breath, then closed his eyes and turned his awareness inward.



He found his chakra the way he always did—in the pulse behind his ribs, in the warmth of his breath, in the invisible current that ran through him like something separate from blood. It felt cold, but not freezing. Cool in a way that kept his head clear even under the sun.



It moved in him constantly, circulating like small rivers returning to the same places—stomach, chest, head—then spreading again.



Reiji furrowed his brow and guided that current down toward the soles of his feet. He gathered it there, concentrating, compressing, forcing it to stay—



Then he stepped.



The moment his foot touched bark, the chakra surged.



He snapped back a step as if the tree had rejected him.



He blinked and turned toward his father.



Homura didn't look up from his book. "Too much," he said. "Lower."



Reiji tightened his jaw and tried again.



He stepped.



*Boom.*



The bark cracked under his foot and he jolted back.



"Lower."



Again.



*Boom.*



"Lower."



Again.



*Boom.*



Reiji's breathing sharpened. The trunk bore new marks where he'd failed.



"Low—"



"I know," he snapped at last, flushing with embarrassment.



He inhaled hard, forced the heat down, and tried again—this time with as little chakra as he dared.



He placed his foot carefully.



*Step.*



It stuck.



Reiji's eyes widened. A grin spread across his face and he turned—



—and the instant his attention shifted, his foot slipped and he dropped back to the ground.



Homura's voice was dry. "It's not something you can do while thinking about something else."



Reiji scowled and faced the tree again.



*Step.*



*Step.*



He managed a second step—barely—face strained as he wrestled his chakra into place. But inside him the chakra fought back. It didn't want to sit still. It wanted to return to its circulation, to flow the way it always flowed, like his body rejected stillness.



His concentration faltered.



He slipped again.



Homura closed his book with a soft sound.



"You're trying to control chakra like it's stone," he said. "It's water."



Reiji blinked. "What?"



"Does your chakra lie still in your body?" Homura asked.



"…No."



"Of course not." Homura's voice stayed calm. "Like blood circulating in your veins, chakra circulates through your pathways. If it stopped, you'd die."



Reiji went pale.



Homura watched him for a beat, then added, almost impatiently, "Don't worry. You're not capable of doing that by accident. Nobody is. The body protects itself—like how it stops you from biting off your own fingers."



Reiji swallowed.



"You have to let it flow," Homura continued. "Don't try to make it sit still. Match its rhythm. Its speed. Guide it where you want without trying to strangle it."



Reiji nodded, understanding settling in his eyes.



He tried again.



And again.



And again.



But every time he thought he had it, he slipped.



The sun climbed. His legs started to burn. Sweat dampened the collar of his kimono. His pride burned hotter than his muscles.



*Why is it so hard?!*



Eventually Homura spoke again. "Come. It's time for breakfast."



Reiji turned, breathing hard. "Father… why can't I do it?" he demanded, frustration breaking through. "Am I that untalented? How can someone master this in one day, let alone just accomplish it?"



Homura studied him for a moment. Then he said, quietly, "It's a curse that comes with being blessed, son."



Reiji frowned. "What?"



"It's true some people can master it quickly," Homura said. "But it's much easier to tame a small stream than a raging river."



Reiji stilled.



"Having large chakra reserves is a gift," Homura continued. "And it is also a burden. The larger the flow, the harder it is to control precisely."



Reiji's mouth twisted. "You set me up."



Homura's eyes narrowed slightly. "If your head weren't so big, you wouldn't be fooled so easily."



Reiji scratched the back of his head, awkward, and didn't argue.



Homura's tone returned to its steady severity. "This exercise will teach you control. With your reserves, control matters more, not less. So take your time. Don't rush because of something as stupid as pride." He paused. "When you tell me you've mastered it, I want you to be able to do it without thinking. Under stress. Half-asleep. Do you understand?"



Reiji's frustration didn't vanish—but something sharper replaced it. Interest. Challenge.



He nodded, eyes bright. "Yes."



"For not forgetting where arrogance leads," Homura added, "you'll cook lunch today."



Reiji slumped. "You could just say you're lazy…"



---

Hello everyone!

I'm new here and thought I would start sharing my story here as well. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Thank you for taking the time to check it out! And tell me what you think !

 

[bunny0512]

I'm really enjoying this fic It's unique, especially since there aren't many stories set in Minato's era. I really hope you go into depth with the Third Shinobi World War

 

[TheSoulFrost]

---



Two weeks passed.



The forest had taught him.



What had once been a struggle, chakra slipping, balance breaking, had become something close to instinct. Now he could run up trunks without thinking, stop sideways on bark like it was flat ground, and leap between branches with the kind of lightness that made it feel unfair.



He enjoyed it more than he admitted.



He moved through the trees like he belonged there feet sticking, body turning, the world tilting beneath him until up and down meant nothing. For a few minutes at a time, he could almost forget his father's voice, the Academy, Minato's stupid face. There was only the rush of air, the snap of leaves, the grip of chakra under his soles.



Then he reached for a branch.



It was too thick.



His fingers slid over rough bark, failing to close properly and the next second the world dropped out from under him. He hit the ground hard enough to steal his breath, palms stinging where they scraped against dirt and stone.



He lay there for a moment, blinking up at the canopy, jaw tight.



So his feet could cling.



So what?



His father had told him to master it. And he still had two weeks left.



Reiji sat up slowly, flexed his hands, and stared at them like they'd insulted him.



If he could control chakra in his feet… why should he stop there?



Hands came next.



It would be less difficult than the feet had been, his hands were already used to chakra control from basic techniques but "less difficult" didn't mean easy. It still demanded precision. Still demanded patience.



And Reiji liked an new challenge.



---



On the way to school, he saw it again.



Kushina walking with Nawaki Senju.



He'd noticed it before, so it didn't surprise him anymore and after learning what "Uzumaki" meant, he could guess why.



The Academy had changed around her, too.



After that first day, nobody called her "tomato head" anymore. Nobody treated her like she was harmless. Sparring continued like normal, but the way they looked at her had shifted less mocking, more cautious.



When Kushina wasn't nervous, she wasn't bad. Sometimes she was even good for her age Reiji thought. She lacked finesse and couldn't match the best in the class, but she was stubborn in a way that was almost irritating. She didn't stay down. She got up again and again, like the floor didn't have the right to claim her.



Reiji understood that kind of stubbornness.



Strangely, he still hadn't sparred with Minato again. The teacher kept pairing him with boring opponents.



Normally that would have bothered him.



Today, he barely cared. Training was consuming him entirely.



He stopped mid-step when he saw Minato at the Academy entrance accompanied by a stranger.



A tall young man with long white hair, wearing a kimono, stood with him near the gate, speaking quietly. Reiji couldn't hear what they were saying from here, but he saw Minato smile and nod before the two parted ways.



Reiji watched the man's silhouette disappear around the corner of the street.



Adopted? He'd never seen Minato talking to an adult outside of class.



He knew Minato lived at the orphanage in the south of the village he'd gone there once out of curiosity. A small building, children running around, and the person in charge had been a woman. Not this man.



Maybe a caretaker. Someone from the village. Someone… new.



Reiji shrugged.



It wasn't his business who Minato spent his time with.



Good for him, I guess…



---



Class began.



As always, Reiji sat in the back. As always, no one sat near him.



He glanced toward Kushina with a complicated expression.



She was chatting happily with Mikoto Uchiha and Aya Shirakawa—full of motion even when she was still, hands moving, head tilting, voice too loud for a classroom. Nearby, the Inuzuka girl talked with her dog, laughing like the world was simple, while the Nara girl slouched over her desk, sleeping like always.



Reiji stared a little too long at the Inuzuka girl chatting with her dog before shaking his head and looking away and thought of his predicament.



Father wants me to befriend her.



Impossible.



Not counting the fact Kushina hadn't tried to sit with him again or speak to him after his rejection, Reiji couldn't bring himself to approach her. She was a walking disaster of noise and energy, and just imagining a conversation with her made his head hurt.



Then he paused.



Minato while talking to his friend kept stealing glances at Kushina.



Poorly hiding his curiosity.



Reiji's mouth twitched.



Ah. He wants to befriend her too ?



A sharp, petty thought flashed through Reiji's mind: I could her friend first.



For half a second he pictured Minato's face defeated, polite, trying not to show it.



Reiji blinked.



What the hell was that?



He shoved the image away like it was embarrassing.



And returned to the real problem.



His classmates' value.



After his discussion with his father, Reiji couldn't ignore it anymore. His classmates were stupid, loud, and yes… inferior.



But they were also future teammates.



And a teammate who hated you was dangerous.



The problem was, after humiliating Arata and giving that little speech, the class avoided him even more than before. Some whispered when he passed. Others stared too long, like they were waiting for the next incident.



Normally he would've been pleased.



Now it was inconvenient.



He needed… something.



A first step.



Reiji scanned the room, searching for a target and his gaze settled on Arata Uchiha, talking with the Hyūga twins.



An idea formed.



It was a terrible idea.



That didn't stop him.



Reiji stood abruptly and walked over, ignoring the startled looks that followed him.



He smiled wide.



"Hey, guys," he said brightly, waving like he belonged there. "Beautiful day, right?"



Arata stiffened like someone had pressed a bruise. The Hyūga twins blinked at him.



"…Not really," one of them said.



"Hello," the other added, polite by reflex.



Reiji kept smiling. "Huh? Of course it is. Look at this beautiful sun hanging in the sky— huh…"



"Hiashi," the first Hyūga corrected flatly. "Did you forget our names?"



"What?" Reiji laughed. "Of course not. You're just so identical I didn't know which one was who. Hahaha."



The second twin opened his mouth. "Well, what's my na—"



"Anyway," Reiji cut in smoothly, "what were you guys talking about? It sounded interesting."



Arata's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"



"What do you mean?"



"Why are you talking to us like we're friends?"



Reiji's smile twitched, but he held it. "Because I said it sounded—"



"We don't want to talk to you," Arata snapped. "Leave us alone."



Reiji's smile sharpened, too bright. "Come on. Don't be like that. We should let bygones be bygones, right?"



The Hyūga twins looked away, refusing to meet his eyes.



"Bygones?" Arata crossed his arms, chin lifting. "Sure. Let's do that. Apologize. Now."



Reiji blinked. "Huh? Apologize for what?"



"For what you did to me when we were sparring!"



"What did I do?"



Arata's face reddened. "Don't make me say it, you—"



"Beat you?" Reiji said lightly. "Come on, it was nothing. You're not so petty you're still sulking over a bruised ego, right? I expected something more mature from an Uchiha."



Arata's teeth clenched. "You—"



"Leave Arata alone, Homura."



Enji appeared beside them, flanked by three other classmates, his expression sharp with satisfaction like he'd been waiting for this.



Reiji's smile vanished.



He sighed, long-suffering, then lifted his hands as if surrendering to stupidity.



"Suit yourself."



He turned and walked back to his desk, leaving behind a cluster of tense, confused stares his classmates watching like they couldn't decide if they'd just witnessed a joke or a warning.



---



Nothing interesting happened for the rest of the morning apart from Arata staring at Reiji with an almost impressive amount of anger. He did it in class, in the hallways, even during drills, like his eyes were trying to carve a bruise into Reiji's back.



Reiji ignored him.



Mostly.



By afternoon, the instructor's patience had worn thin. The class had been loud all morning restless, distracted, still buzzing from whatever tension lingered between Uchiha pride and Reiji's mouth. So when they filed out onto the yard after lunch, the teacher didn't bother with warm-up lectures or neat lines of theory.



He pointed at the far side of the training grounds.



"Parkour course," he said. "Now."



The groans were immediate. Someone muttered a complaint. Someone else brightened, thinking it meant fun.



The course wasn't impressive compared to real shinobi training, but it was enough to filter the weak from the merely average.



A low stone wall marked the start. Beyond it, a staggered set of platforms rose like broken steps—wooden planks nailed to posts at uneven heights. Past that came the balance rail: a long beam running over packed sand, narrow enough that one mistake meant eating dirt. Then ropes hung in a row like vines, followed by a stacked crate climb and, at the end, a slanted wall leading up to a watch platform where a bell hung from a post.



It was meant to teach flow. Momentum. Decision-making.



Most of the class treated it like an obstacle course.



Reiji treated it like a ranking.



The instructor clapped once, sharp.



"Rules are simple.No touching. No pulling sleeves, no tripping, no shoulder-checking, no 'accidents.' You run your own line. Also no chakra to help you pass it easier just your physical abilities. If I catch anyone sabotaging someone else, you're off the course and you'll be doing laps until dinner."



A few students sighed dramatically. Kushina bounced on her toes like she couldn't wait. The Inuzuka girl whispered something to her dog.



Reiji's gaze drifted sideways.



Arata was already staring at him. His expression had changed since morning—less anger now, more cold intent, like he'd decided parkour was another spar.



Enji stood near him, arms folded, mouth curled faintly as if he'd been waiting for a chance to see Reiji lose in front of everyone.



Nawaki rolled his shoulders once, serious, focused.



And then—



Minato.



Standing like he didn't care whether he won or not, which somehow made it worse.



The instructor's voice cut in again.



"First group. Reiji. Arata. Enji. Nawaki. Minato."



A ripple went through the class at that—whispers, glances, the unspoken *oh, that's gonna be good.*



Reiji didn't look at them.



He stepped to the starting wall.



Arata joined him a moment later, close enough that Reiji could feel the heat of his irritation. Enji took the other side, smiling a little too much. Nawaki cracked his neck once and exhaled. Minato simply settled into place, calm as ever.



Reiji's eyes flicked to Minato's face.



Minato wasn't smiling. He wasn't tense either. His gaze was steady, attentive like he was watching Reiji the way you watched a problem you meant to solve.



Not judgment.



Curiosity.



Reiji hated it.



The instructor raised his hand.



"On my whistle—"



Reiji leaned forward slightly, weight on the balls of his feet.



A stupid, familiar excitement stirred under his ribs.



Don't be mediocre.



The words weren't his. They were his father's cold and familiar sliding into his skull like a knife.



The whistle shrieked.



They launched.



Reiji hit the stone wall first one step, palms, and he was up and over in a smooth vault. The platforms came next: uneven heights, spaced just far enough to punish hesitation.



Enji took them carefully, fast but cautious.



Nawaki went brute-force, landing heavy, making each jump count.



Arata pushed hard, angry energy feeding his speed.



Reiji barely heard them.



He landed light, foot placement exact, balance already shifting into the next move before the last one ended. He didn't need chakra to stick. The wood had enough grit. His control did the rest.



A shadow moved in his periphery.



Minato kept pace.



Not behind. Not chasing.



Beside.



Reiji's mouth tightened.



They hit the balance rail.



Most students slowed here. Arms out. Crouched stances. Panic.



Reiji ran.



His feet drummed the beam in a clean rhythm, shoulders steady, eyes forward.



Minato ran too , like the beam wasn't narrow at all.



Arata tried to match them and nearly slipped, catching himself with a sharp jerk that cost him a heartbeat. Enji hesitated for half a second, and Nawaki's heavy steps made the rail creak.



Reiji didn't look back.



He reached the end, dropped into a roll, came up already moving and took the rope section without swinging like an idiot.



He jumped, caught high, pulled once, and used the rope as a pivot to fling himself to the platform.



For a split-second he thought he'd made space.



Then Minato landed near-silent at the edge of his vision, as if he'd been there the whole time.



Reiji's stomach sparked with irritation.



'Of course.'



Crate climb.



Reiji skipped the footholds and went straight up—hands gripping wood, sandals finding edges. It was faster, sloppier, and it made his muscles burn.



He didn't care.



He crested the top—



—and Minato arrived at the same moment from a cleaner route, like he'd wasted no energy at all.



Below them, Enji was still climbing. Nawaki was almost there. Arata was pushing hard enough his face had gone red.



Reiji didn't spare them more than a flicker of thought.



Final wall.



A slanted stone surface leading up to the watch platform and the bell.



The safe way was the ladder set to the side.



The fast way was the wall.



Reiji took the wall.



He sprinted up the incline, fingers catching shallow gaps between stones, feet finding grip through sheer control. He felt the burn in his calves, ignored it, and reached for the top ledge—



Minato's hand appeared there too.



They pulled themselves up almost together.



Reiji's fingers brushed the bell rope—



—and he tugged first.



The bell rang sharp and bright.



For half a second, the yard went quiet.



Then noise spilled back in all at once—sharp breaths, startled murmurs.



Someone actually clapped—once—before stopping like they'd committed a crime.



Enji's smile had gone stiff.



Arata's face twisted, like the sound of the bell had scraped something raw inside him.



The instructor barked, "Reiji, first. Minato, second."



Reiji stood at the top, chest rising once, refusing to breathe hard. He looked down at the course like it was beneath him like he was above being bothered by a single bell.



But his eyes found Minato anyway.



Minato glanced over, faintly amused, like he'd enjoyed it.



Reiji looked away first.



Behind them, Nawaki hauled himself up with a grunt, Enji close after. Arata arrived last of the group, hands shaking with effort, eyes locked on Reiji with something uglier than morning anger.



Reiji pretended not to notice.



He told himself it didn't matter.



Still… he couldn't deny he enjoyed it.



Running, sliding, climbing—feeling someone close enough that he couldn't completely relax. It brightened an otherwise dull day, even if the person doing it was "just an orphan."



Why can't I just graduate already? Or quit altogether?



The Academy felt like a waste of time. If he didn't have to sit through lessons meant for idiots, he'd have mastered tree-walking in half the time maybe less. Instead, he was stuck in a class where only one other student was worth anything.



And that was… worrying, if he thought about the village's future.



When class finally ended, the students scattered. Reiji, as usual, didn't linger. He made a beeline for the forest.



---



The trees swallowed the village noise after only a few minutes. The air was cooler here, the ground softer, the silence honest.



Reiji stopped in front of a tall trunk and set his palms against the bark.



"Okay," he muttered. "Here we go."



He pushed chakra into his hands until they gripped like glue. Then, using only the force of his core, he lifted his lower body into a flag, feet balanced in the air and began to climb with slow, controlled movements.



Not even a minute later, he lost his rhythm and tumbled down.



He recovered mid-fall, twisted, and landed on his feet with a sharp grunt. His arms stung. His pride stung worse.



He straightened, ready to try again—



—and a voice cut through the clearing.



"What, so you were practicing like a monkey?"



Reiji turned.



Arata stood a few paces away, wearing a mocking smile. Three others flanked him.



Reiji's eyes swept over them in a single breath. Older, taller closer to graduation than him at least. All wore the Uchiha crest.



His gaze dropped to their waists and thighs: pouches, straps…. ninja tools.



Reiji didn't carry his. He kept them at home for today.



He smiled anyway.



"Hey, Arata," he said lightly. "Finally calmed down? Came to play with me?"



Arata chuckled. "Play with you, yes. Just not the kind you're imagining."



Reiji's smile sharpened.



"Good," he said. "I was getting bored."



---

 

[TheSoulFrost]

---

"Hey, Arata," Reiji said lightly, as though they had bumped into each other by accident and not in the middle of a forest clearing with three extra boys lingering nearby like a bad idea waiting to happen. "Finally calmed down? Came to play with me?"

Arata's mouth curled. "Play with you, yes. Just not the kind you're imagining."

Reiji kept his gaze on the older boys rather than Arata, his expression relaxed even as his attention measured them one by one. The taller one stood slightly ahead of the others, shoulders squared, while another drifted off to the side as if trying to close the space. Not random, then. Reiji let his smile sharpen faintly. "Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea." His eyes flicked back to Arata. "I always thought you were pathetic, but you've reached a new low today. Is this what the Uchiha preach now? Ganging up because you don't have the guts to accept you're trash?"

Arata's teeth clicked together. He didn't answer.

One of the older Uchiha stepped forward, boots crunching lightly over dry leaves. He was taller and broader than the others, the kind of boy who probably believed a glare alone made him intimidating. "This has nothing to do with the clan," he said coldly. "You've been humiliating my little cousin day after day. You don't even try to hide it." His eyes narrowed. "Today you learn a lesson. Maybe you'll think twice before crossing him again."

Reiji shrugged, shifting his weight slightly as he felt the uneven forest floor beneath his sandals—roots pushing through the dirt, leaves sliding underfoot. "Call it whatever helps you sleep," he said. "It's still cowards propping up someone who can't take a loss."



They stopped talking.

They began to circle.

The forest clearing tightened around them as the boys spread out, boots crunching lightly over leaves and roots. Reiji shifted backward step by step until rough bark pressed against his spine. The tree behind him was thick and old, its trunk wide enough that three boys could not easily surround it without exposing themselves. He registered it instantly—one solid anchor at his back, the others forced to approach from the front.

Arata stood directly ahead, breathing through his nose, anger bright in his eyes. The three older boys spread to the sides like hunting dogs trying to cut off an escape route.

Reiji smiled at him.

"Come at me, weakling."

They rushed him all at once.

Reiji moved the instant their weight shifted forward. His palms slapped against the trunk behind him, chakra surging into his hands and feet as easily as breathing. The bark caught him like glue. For half a heartbeat he clung there, body compressed like a coiled spring.

Then he released.

His legs snapped forward as he pushed off the tree, both heels driving straight into Arata's face.

The impact landed with a dull crack of bone and air. Arata's head snapped backward and his body lifted off the ground entirely, thrown several meters back through the leaves before he collapsed onto the forest floor in a stunned sprawl.

Reiji didn't watch him fall.

His hands were already gripping the trunk again as momentum carried his body sideways. Chakra anchored him as he swung around the tree in a tight arc, feet skimming the ground. One of the older boys lunged toward where Reiji's head had been a moment earlier, his fist cutting through empty air.

Reiji cleared the strike by inches.

Still mid-swing, he tucked his knees briefly toward his chest, then extended both legs forward. His heels slammed directly into the stomach of the attacker approaching from the right.

The boy folded instantly. Air burst from his lungs in a broken wheeze as his body doubled over and staggered backward.

Reiji released the trunk and dropped lightly onto the forest floor, knees bending to absorb the landing. Leaves crunched under his sandals as he straightened.

Two opponents still stood.

The third was on the ground clutching his stomach.

Their earlier confidence had cracked. Reiji could see it in the hesitation of their steps.

"What?" Reiji spat, the grin gone now, replaced by something colder. "Come on. You absolute losers."

They charged again.

For a moment the fight became clean and simple—two against one.

One boy swung wide toward Reiji's head. Reiji lifted his forearm and redirected the blow past him, the impact sending a brief numb shock through his arm. The second attacker drove a kick toward Reiji's ribs. Reiji lifted his knee to intercept, absorbing the strike through his shin before stepping sideways to slip out of their combined reach.

Their movements were sloppy. Angry.

Reiji watched their shoulders, their hips, the direction of their weight.

'No coordination,' he noted calmly.

One lunged again.

Reiji ducked beneath the swing and seized the attacker's ankle as it passed him. A sharp twist of his hips pulled the leg sideways.

The boy lost balance and slammed flat onto his back.

Reiji turned immediately to finish him—

—and Arata crashed into him from the side.

The impact drove Reiji half a step sideways. Arata's shoulder slammed into his ribs with desperate force, his earlier humiliation burning through every movement.

Reiji planted his feet instantly. Chakra flooded into his soles, gripping the ground like roots sinking into soil.

They bounced off him.

Arata staggered back.

Then a fist came for Reiji's face.

Reiji twisted his head just in time, the punch grazing his cheek instead of breaking his nose. As the attacker's arm passed him, Reiji lunged forward and sank his teeth into the boy's forearm.

Hard.

Blood flooded his mouth instantly, hot and metallic. The boy screamed.

Everything froze for half a second.

Even Arata stared.

Reiji released the bite and kicked Arata in the chest, shoving him back across the leaves. The bitten boy stumbled away clutching his arm, eyes wide with horrified disbelief as blood ran down his sleeve.

Reiji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His teeth were red now.

He smiled.

"What?" he asked pleasantly. "Don't tell me you're scared."

He scanned them quickly.

One groaning on the ground. One scrambling to his feet. One staring at his bleeding arm. Arata rigid between rage and something dangerously close to fear.

"Are you crazy…?" Arata whispered.

Reiji tilted his head slightly.

"You're the crazy one. I'm the only normal one here." His voice cooled. "What did you think would happen? That numbers would suddenly make you strong?"

He stepped forward.

"One weakling or four weaklings. Same result."

Another boy charged again, furious.

Reiji spat blood straight into his face.

The boy recoiled instinctively, eyes wide in disgust.

That hesitation was enough.

Reiji jumped forward and drove a flying kick into the side of his head. The impact snapped the boy sideways and dropped him immediately.

The forest fell quiet except for ragged breathing.

"Like I said," he muttered. "We're shinobi. Why are you getting scared over a little blood?"

Reiji glanced at the remaining boys with something like disappointment.

'No tactics. No feints. No coordination,' he thought.

'If they had any sense they'd have tried to force distance… or gone for weapons immediately.'

He could have escaped earlier. The trees above offered perfect cover. A single leap and he could have vanished into the canopy.

But he hadn't wanted to.

He wanted them to understand something.

Numbers meant nothing.

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, Reiji moved—

Steel flashed.

Pain tore across his shoulder.

He landed a step away, breath steady.



A thin slash had opened in his kimono. Blood seeped slowly through the black cloth.



"Who said I was afraid of blood?"

Reiji raised his head.

Arata held a kunai.

His hand trembled.

His eyes did not.

The Sharingan burned red.

A single tomoe rotated slowly in the crimson iris.

Reiji felt something shift inside his chest—not fear, but something warmer, sharper.

Excitement.

'So that's it.'

He grinned slowly.

"Now we're talking."

He lifted his hand and curled his fingers in a come-here gesture.

Arata inhaled sharply.

The kunai aligned with Reiji's chest.

Not a warning.

A killing line.

Arata lunged—

—and a blur of red and brown slammed into him from behind.

He crashed face-first into the dirt.

Nawaki twisted Arata's arm behind his back, forcing the kunai hand upward. Kushina dropped onto Arata's legs with surprising strength, pinning him down.

"Let go of me!" Arata snarled, twisting against the grip that pinned his arm behind his back. "

I had him!"

"You want to murder him?!" Kushina shot back, her voice sharp with disbelief as she struggled to keep Arata's legs trapped beneath her weight. Her hands tightened reflexively as he jerked again. "What is wrong with you?!"

That word—murder—cut through the clearing like cold water.

Arata froze.

For a moment the tension drained from his body as if someone had pulled the strength out of him. His expression twisted, horror replacing the anger that had been driving him only seconds earlier. Slowly, hesitantly, as though his fingers no longer trusted themselves, he opened his hand. The kunai slipped from his grip and dropped into the dirt with a dull, final sound.

Nawaki exhaled in relief and loosened his hold, though he stayed close enough to grab Arata again if he tried something stupid. Kushina followed a second later, pushing herself upright but keeping a wary eye on him, as if she still expected him to lunge for the weapon again.

Reiji hadn't moved the entire time.

He simply watched the scene unfold, standing a few steps away with his weight balanced lightly over his feet, as if someone had interrupted a match he had already decided the outcome of. The wind stirred faintly through the trees overhead, rustling the leaves and carrying the smell of damp earth through the clearing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly.

Kushina's gaze flicked away for a second, irritation crossing her face at being forced to explain herself. "We saw Arata talking to those guys earlier," she said. "We heard what they were planning, so we followed." Her eyes dropped briefly to the kunai lying in the dirt, her mouth tightening in visible disgust. "We didn't want to interfere… but when he pulled that out—"

Nawaki nodded once, jaw set. "Fights between classmates are one thing," he said, his voice quieter now but edged with anger. He looked down at Arata where the boy sat on the ground. "This is different. Why did you do it?"

Arata dragged an arm across his eyes, covering them as if the forest suddenly felt too bright. When he spoke, his voice cracked slightly.

"I… I just wanted him to regret his words for once." He swallowed hard. "I don't know what came over me."

Nawaki looked past him toward the older Uchiha boys who were slowly pulling themselves together, then back at Arata. His voice hardened.

"I'm not saying anything about what I saw today," he said carefully, each word measured. "But if you ever do this again, I will tell. Understand?"

Arata gave a small nod without lifting his arm from his face.

The upperclassmen wasted no time. They hauled the unconscious boy upright between them and began retreating quickly through the trees. Arata followed after a moment, throwing one last look back toward Reiji before disappearing into the forest with the others.

Reiji only smiled back.

The moment they vanished between the trees, the tension drained out of his shoulders. He let out a quiet breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Then he looked up—and found Kushina standing directly in front of him.

She had moved closer without him noticing. Her red hair filled half his vision.

Her eyes dropped immediately to his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she demanded, her tone sharp with urgency. "You need to treat that immediately."

Reiji glanced down at the cut.

The fabric of his kimono had been sliced open just enough for dark blood to seep through the cloth. The sting had dulled slightly now, settling into a steady, burning ache along his shoulder.

His mind began turning quickly.

'If I go home like this, Father will ask questions.'

'If I go to the hospital, they'll notify him.'

'And if he finds out I failed to "get along" like he told me…'

Reiji suppressed a quiet sigh.

"…Do you know someone who can heal me," he asked carefully, "without asking questions?"

Kushina and Nawaki exchanged a quick glance. It was the sort of silent conversation that lasted only a second but contained far more discussion than words ever could. Nawaki's expression shifted almost immediately into the look of someone who had just been handed responsibility he absolutely did not want.

Kushina, on the other hand, nodded eagerly.

Nawaki resisted for exactly one second.

Then he sighed.

"My mother can heal you," he said reluctantly.

Reiji's first instinct was to refuse.

Then an idea formed—quick and precise.

'Perfect, actually.'

---

They walked back toward the village as though nothing particularly serious had happened. The illusion was helped greatly by Reiji's black kimono, which swallowed most of the blood into its folds and shadows. From a distance he looked merely rumpled, like someone who had taken a fall and decided it wasn't worth mentioning.

A few shinobi passed them along the path leading toward Konoha. Some glanced briefly at the tear in Reiji's sleeve or the dried stain along the fabric, their eyes lingering for a moment before moving on. None of them stopped. In a village full of shinobi, people developed a very reliable instinct for minding their own business.

The silence between the three of them stretched longer than it should have.

It felt tight, uncomfortable, like a bandage pulled too hard.

Reiji cleared his throat.

"So… your mother's a healer?" he asked, trying to sound casually curious rather than desperate to break the silence.

Nawaki blinked once before nodding. "Yeah. She works at the hospital." He scratched the back of his head. "Today's her day off though, so she should be home." After a brief pause he added, "With my father."

Reiji considered that quietly as they walked.

Visiting a Senju house uninvited felt like the sort of decision that could become very inconvenient very quickly.

"…Is this really okay?" he asked. "Me showing up like this."

Nawaki stopped so suddenly that Reiji nearly walked straight into his back.

"Of course it's not—why would you think it's— ow!"

Kushina's foot connected cleanly with Nawaki's chin.

The kick was fast and practiced.

Nawaki staggered backward, clutching his jaw while his eyes watered in protest. Kushina, meanwhile, looked completely unbothered, as if she had simply adjusted her footing on the path.

He recovered quickly, pride arriving faster than common sense.

"I mean—" he said loudly, straightening his back as if the kick had improved his posture, "of course it's okay. A Senju always helps someone from Konoha!"

Reiji's gaze drifted toward Kushina.

She had already started walking again, her face turned slightly away. The tips of her ears were faintly pink. When she noticed him watching, she didn't explain anything. She simply continued forward with determined stubbornness, as if the moment had never happened.

Reiji didn't fully understand why she insisted on helping him—especially after their past interactions—but his father's voice echoed quietly in his thoughts.

'Be closer to your classmates.'

'Make yourself useful.'

'Make yourself connected.'

And if those classmates happened to include the heir of the Senju clan and the red-haired girl his father had specifically told him to befriend…

Then ruining it with a poorly chosen remark would be extremely stupid.

So he did something unusual.

He kept his mouth shut.

They climbed the cliff where the Hokage faces were carved into the mountain, the massive stone figures watching over the village below like silent guardians. Up close the scale was unsettling. The legends carved into the rock—Hashirama's calm expression, Tobirama's stern gaze—felt almost unreal compared to the very ordinary boy walking beside him who had just been kicked in the chin.

Reiji caught himself staring.

Nawaki noticed immediately and shot him a curious look.

Reiji shook his head.

Nothing.

He reminded himself of the rule he had decided on earlier: say nothing that might irritate this simpleton.

Beyond the monument the path narrowed into forest again. There was no proper road here—no signs, no gates, nothing to suggest that anyone lived nearby. Just tall trees, thick roots pushing through the soil, and the faint rustle of leaves shifting in the breeze. And yet Nawaki and Kushina walked with the casual certainty of people who knew exactly where they were going.

They stopped in front of a perfectly ordinary tree.

Reiji stopped as well, mostly because there was very little else to do when the people leading you suddenly decided that a tree was the most important destination in the world.

Kushina turned to face him.

She didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Give me your hand."

Reiji frowned. "Why?"

"Don't ask," she snapped, her voice carrying a strange mixture of impatience and embarrassment. "Just—give it."

Reiji hesitated for a moment, long enough to make it clear that he was not the kind of person who held hands without at least questioning it.

Then he lifted his arm.

Their fingers touched.

The world shifted.

Not dramatically—there was no flash of light, no obvious distortion like the crude illusions taught in the Academy. Instead the change felt subtle and precise, like a lock clicking open after the correct key had finally been inserted.

The forest blurred at the edges.

The air itself seemed to rearrange.

And then the trees that had surrounded them simply… weren't there anymore.

Reiji blinked.

A wide clearing stretched out before them, quiet and sunlit as though it had been patiently waiting to be discovered. Grass moved gently in the wind, and the scent of clean earth replaced the dense forest smell that had filled the air moments before.

In the center of the clearing stood a large traditional house.

It was built from dark polished wood, its wide roof curving elegantly over deep verandas. The structure looked peaceful—almost too peaceful—like something preserved outside the passage of time.

For the first time since the fight, Reiji forgot to hide his reaction.

"…So that's how it is," he murmured.

Kushina released his hand instantly, turning away as if the entire thing had nothing to do with her.

Nawaki, meanwhile, looked immensely pleased with himself.

"Welcome," he announced proudly, spreading his arms toward the house. "Senju residence."

Reiji didn't answer right away. He remained standing near the gate, studying the place carefully.

Nawaki chuckled under his breath. "I always like that face," he said. "People's reactions when they see it for the first time are always hilarious."

Reiji glanced sideways at him.

"Is this a genjutsu?"

"Tch. Not quite." Nawaki tilted his head smugly. "But you're close."

"Fūinjutsu then," Reiji said.

Nawaki blinked. "Huh. How do you know?"

Reiji shrugged lightly. "I guessed."

"You're boring," Nawaki muttered, rolling his eyes as he started up the path toward the house.

Reiji followed.

As they approached, the details became clearer. At first glance the house looked traditional, almost simple—but the closer he looked, the more irregularities he noticed.

Small seals were carved subtly into the wooden beams where a normal house would have smooth surfaces. Paper charms had been tucked carefully beneath the eaves. Even the air carried a faint pressure, something not quite chakra but close enough that his instincts recognized it.

Nawaki slid the door open without hesitation and called inside with impressive volume.

"Mom! Dad! We're home!"

Reiji flinched slightly at the noise.

Footsteps answered almost immediately from within.

A woman appeared in the hallway a moment later, moving with quick, practiced steps. She looked middle-aged, her black hair pinned back neatly, her violet eyes warm when she smiled.

"Well," she said gently as she stepped forward, "it was about time you two came back. Your father and I were starting to worry."

Before Nawaki could react, she pulled both him and Kushina into a quick embrace.

Nawaki stiffened immediately, his face contorting with visible suffering.

"Mo—Mom," he protested, voice strained, "not now. We have someone with us."

She released them and finally looked up.

Her gaze landed on Reiji.

He stood just inside the entrance, shoulders straight, posture carefully neutral.

"H-hello," he said.

It came out more awkwardly than he intended.

She didn't respond.

Her attention had already shifted.

Her eyes dropped immediately to his shoulder.

To the dark stain on the fabric.

To the way the cloth clung where the blood had dried.

The warmth in her expression vanished.

Her eyes narrowed sharply.

"What happened?" she asked.

This time it was not a polite question.

---

Reiji watched the green glow spread across his skin in quiet disbelief as the wound on his shoulder vanished. He had seen healing jutsu before—slow hands, careful chakra control, the uncomfortable pull of torn flesh knitting itself back together—but this was different. Faster. Cleaner. The chakra flowed through the cut like calm water over stone, erasing the injury with almost casual efficiency.

"It should be fine now," the woman said.

She was crouched beside him, her hand still faintly glowing as the last traces of chakra faded. Her tone was relaxed, almost cheerful, as if sealing a deep cut was no more troublesome than tying a bandage.

Reiji's gaze lingered briefly on her eyes—amethyst, steady, sharp in a way that reminded him unpleasantly of someone used to seeing through excuses. He looked away too quickly and muttered a quiet, "Thank you."

He wasn't entirely sure when he had sat down. One moment they had entered the house, Kushina disappearing down a hallway with hurried steps, and the next this woman had appeared in front of him as if she had been waiting for the scent of blood to reach her.

She had guided him to the couch without hesitation, pushed his sleeve up, and begun working.

Her movements had been practiced, efficient.

Her scent carried faint traces of antiseptic and something softer beneath it—flowers, maybe.

"Now," she said, still crouched beside him, her voice gentle but firm, "what happened? Tell me."

"It was nothing," Reiji said quickly. "I was training with kunai and… I messed up."

A small crease formed between her brows.

Two fingers reached forward and pinched his cheek.

"Ow—what was that for?"

"For lying to me," she replied calmly.

The smile on her face never disappeared, but the certainty in her tone left no room for argument.

"Do you think I can't tell the difference between a wound from a thrown weapon and one from a slash?"

Reiji turned his head slowly and glared at Nawaki.

Nawaki lifted both hands in surrender.

"Give it up," he said. "My mom works at the hospital. She'll know."

"She always knows," he added, as though that explained everything.

Reiji let out a small, annoyed breath before giving up the lie.

"It was a dispute," he said. "With some classmates."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Where are they now?"

Reiji lifted his chin.

"Gone."

He leaned back slightly against the couch, sounding almost satisfied.

"I beat them. So they ran."

She sighed quietly through her nose.

"Boys…"

Then her expression sharpened again.

"And why do you have a kunai wound if this was 'just' a dispute between classmates?"

"I beat them alone," Reiji replied matter-of-factly. "So one of them got angry."

He shrugged.

"Couldn't handle it."

He watched her closely, waiting for something—approval, perhaps, or surprise.

She gave him neither.

Instead she turned toward Nawaki.

"Who was it?" she asked. "That kind of behavior among Academy children is dangerous. I should speak with the teacher."

"No—don't worry, Mother," Nawaki said quickly. "I already handled it. He regrets it. It won't happen again, I guarantee it."

"No," she said.

The single word carried far more weight than his entire explanation.

"Tell me."

Nawaki's jaw tightened.

"I promised," he said. "I can't."

Her eyes flicked toward Reiji.

He shook his head once.

For a moment the warmth in the room cooled slightly.

"Honestly…" she murmured quietly, more to herself than to them. "What is happening to children these days? Trying to kill each other before they even graduate…"

Her gaze hardened.

"What are we—Kirigakure?"

Reiji flinched before he could stop himself.

"Tsukiko," a calm voice said from the doorway.

Reiji looked up.

A blond man stood at the entrance to the room, wearing a simple but well-kept kimono. His posture was straight but relaxed, his short beard neatly trimmed, his brown eyes calm and observant.

"Don't say that in front of them," he said gently. "You'll scare them."

"But Kiyoshi," Tsukiko replied sharply, turning toward him, "someone tried to stab him. Another child."

"That's serious."

"I know," Kiyoshi said.

His tone remained steady, controlled.

He looked briefly toward Nawaki and smiled slightly.

"But have some faith in your son. He said nothing will happen now."

He tilted his head toward Nawaki.

"Right, son?"

Nawaki brightened instantly, relief flooding his expression.

"Yes."

Kiyoshi spread his hands lightly.

"See?"

"Nothing to worry about."

Tsukiko rolled her eyes.

"Don't think I'm forgetting about this," she said. "Not knowing who did it—especially if they're in the same class as Nawaki."

She folded her arms.

"What would you do if they tried that on him?"

Nawaki waved dismissively.

"Ah, you don't have to worry. He just hates Reiji. He doesn't have anything against me."

Tsukiko stared at him.

Unimpressed.

Then she turned back to Reiji.

"Is that true?"

Reiji shrugged.

"More or less."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I'll still look into it," she said. "You may not be my child, but knowing something like this happened…"

Her hand rested lightly on his head.

"…I can't do nothing."

Then, softer,

"Were you scared?"

Heat crept up Reiji's neck.

"Of course not," he said too quickly.

"He didn't scare me."

Tsukiko's smile returned, small and knowing.

"Oh? Really?"

"Yeah," Reiji said, puffing his chest slightly. "He's nothing."

"You should see his face now."

Kiyoshi clapped his hands once, the sound crisp and decisive.

"Enough," he said. "That's settled."

His tone shifted smoothly.

"It'll be time to eat soon."

He looked toward Reiji.

"Would you like to stay with us?"

"I can send a message to your parents if you want."

The image came to Reiji immediately.

His father sitting at home.

Two plates set out.

Waiting.

His stomach tightened.

"No," he said quickly.

He steadied his voice.

"Thank you for the offer, but I should go."

He stood and bowed slightly.

"Thank you for healing me… Miss Senju."

Tsukiko made a soft, amused sound and ruffled his hair.

"Tsukiko," she corrected gently.

"And my husband is Kiyoshi."

Kiyoshi lifted a hand in greeting.

"It is always my pleasure to welcome Kushina—and Nawaki's friends—here."

Nawaki opened his mouth to say something.

Reiji caught his eye immediately and sent him a warning look.

Nawaki closed his mouth.

Reiji turned toward the door—

—and Kushina appeared beside them, stepping out from the hallway.

She slowed as she approached, her expression uncertain.

"Grandmother wants to meet you," she said quietly.

----


Thank you for taking the time to check it out! And tell me what you think

 

[TheSoulFrost]

I'm really enjoying this fic It's unique, especially since there aren't many stories set in Minato's era. I really hope you go into depth with the Third Shinobi World War

Click to shrink...

Thanks you ! And yes, i mainly write it to explore the shinobi wars, too much legendary characters that we had barely seen

 

[TheSoulFrost]

Reiji followed Kushina up the narrow wooden staircase in silence, the boards creaking faintly under their steps. The house was quiet in that particular way old places often were—every sound softened by thick walls and long years of habitation. The smell of herbs drifted faintly through the corridor above, bitter and medicinal, mixing with the scent of old paper and polished wood.

Why did her grandmother want to see him?

The question had been circling in his mind since Kushina had dragged him inside the house. Reiji could make a few guesses, but none of them were particularly comforting.

"I don't know," Kushina said suddenly, glancing over her shoulder as they reached the top of the stairs. She sounded defensive, as if she had sensed the question hanging behind him. "I told her I came back with a classmate who was wounded. She asked for your name, so I told her." Her eyes slid toward him from the corner, sharp and curious. "After that she told me to bring you to her. Do you have any idea why?"

Reiji did.

Or at least he had a fairly good suspicion what hearing his name had done.

"No idea," he replied calmly.

Kushina's brows drew together immediately. She studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced, then huffed in irritation and turned forward again. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so."

"I don't want to tell you."

Her head snapped back around and the glare she sent him could have stripped bark off a tree.

They walked the last stretch of the corridor without speaking. The house grew quieter the farther they went, until even the sounds of the street outside faded away. At the very end stood a single sliding door, plain and closed, its wooden frame polished smooth by age.

Reiji felt himself straighten slightly before he even realized it.

Kushina stopped in front of the door and turned toward him, her face suddenly serious.

"Don't you dare talk rashly in front of Grandma," she whispered sharply. "If you do, I'll finish you."

Reiji's mouth twitched.

"Noted," he said lightly. "I never disrespect my elders."

Kushina stared at him for several seconds, clearly trying to determine whether that answer was genuine or mockery. Eventually she let out a slow breath, as if deciding she had no better options, and raised her hand to knock.

"Grandmother," she called through the door. "It's me. Reiji is here."

A moment passed.

Then a voice answered from inside, dry and rasping but steady.

"You may enter."

Kushina slid the door open and stepped aside. Reiji followed her into the room.

The smell struck him immediately.

Medicinal herbs. Bitter and sharp, strong enough to sting the back of his nose. The scent mingled with old paper and lacquered wood, the kind of smell that clung to rooms where people spent long hours reading or recovering from illness.

The room itself was simple but carefully maintained. A low table sat beside a raised bed against the far wall. On the table rested a steaming cup that carried most of the herbal scent. Shelves lined one side of the room, filled with scrolls and books stacked with quiet precision.

And sitting upright against the pillows was an old woman.

She held a book open in both hands.

At first glance she looked old—truly old. Not the exaggerated frailty of legend, but the natural wear of someone who had simply lived longer than most people ever did. Deep lines marked her face, and her gray hair had been gathered into two familiar buns, with the rest falling down her back in a thick curtain.

Yet something about her presence refused to match the fragility of the body.

On her forehead, unmistakable even from the doorway, rested a diamond-shaped mark.

Her eyes lifted from the page.

They were violet.

The same shade Reiji had seen before—Tsukiko's eyes—but sharper somehow. Clearer. Too awake for someone meant to be nearing the end of her life.

She smiled warmly when she saw him.

"Hello, young Reiji," she said gently. "Thank you for coming, despite the suddenness. I won't take much of your time."

Reiji inclined his head slightly, careful with his posture as he observed her. Frail, his instincts noted immediately. The arms were thin, the shoulders narrow.

But the eyes…

The eyes belonged to someone who had watched kingdoms rise and fall.

"Don't worry," Reiji replied evenly. "It's an honor to meet the First Hokage's wife in person."

Beside him, Kushina shot him a surprised look.

Mito chuckled softly, a low amused sound.

"Kukuku. A perceptive young one."

"It's nothing," Reiji said with a small shrug. "There aren't many people old enough to have lived alongside the Senju. And when an Uzumaki calls you 'Grandmother'…"

Mito nodded, clearly pleased by the reasoning.

"I see. Logical enough." A faint smile lingered on her lips as she set the book aside with deliberate care. "Being remembered only as Hashirama's wife by the younger generation… I suppose I can accept that."

Her gaze returned to him.

"My name is Mito Uzumaki. It is nice to meet you."

The violet eyes sharpened slightly.

"Homura Reiji. Correct?"

Reiji nodded once.

"Kushina speaks of you," Mito continued.

"Oh really?" Reiji replied mildly.

"Grandma!" Kushina blurted, her voice rising in alarm.

Mito waved a dismissive hand without even looking at her. "It's nothing, child. Don't be embarrassed."

Reiji turned his head just enough to see Kushina's face.

It was bright red.

He kept his own expression perfectly innocent.

Mito noticed the reaction immediately. Her eyes flicked to him and the smile on her face grew just a little more knowing.

"She speaks of you often," the old woman added calmly.

Kushina made a strangled sound somewhere between outrage and humiliation.

"Grandma—"

Mito ignored her entirely.

"She says you're quite handsome," she continued, voice pleasantly conversational, "and quite unpleasant."

Kushina looked ready to disappear through the floor.

"Stop!"

Reiji did not laugh. He only allowed the faintest hint of amusement to touch the corner of his mouth—a polite curve that somehow made the situation worse.

Mito studied him for a moment, clearly entertained.

"You shouldn't be ashamed, Kushina," she said gently. "I can already tell he will grow into a strapping young man."

Her violet eyes glittered with quiet mischief.

"Perhaps even more than my late husband."

Kushina said nothing.

She simply covered her burning face with both hands, her ears turning an even deeper shade of red.



Reiji tilted his head slightly, the faint smile that had lingered on his face fading as the conversation drifted away from Kushina's embarrassment. The playful tone of the room no longer held his interest, and the quiet weight of Mito's gaze made the air feel heavier than it had a moment ago.

"Not to say this isn't entertaining," he said at last, voice calm but edged with impatience, "but is there a reason you asked me here? Or did you only want to meet Kushina's classmate?"

Mito nodded once, as if she had expected the question.

"I wanted to meet you, yes." Her eyes remained fixed on him, studying his posture, the set of his shoulders, the tension in the way he held his arms at his sides. "Kushina and Nawaki speak highly of your talent. Is that true?"

Reiji didn't hesitate.

"It is."

Mito hummed quietly, as if storing the answer somewhere among many older thoughts. Then her expression softened, though the sharpness in her gaze never quite disappeared.

"Good. Then take care of Kushina and Nawaki, will you? You may not be socially inclined, but it warms me to see you speaking to each other." She paused, the faintest smile touching her lips. "You are family, after all."

Reiji's eyes rolled before he could stop them.

"With respect, Mito-sama…" he said, letting out a quiet breath through his nose. "I only have one family. My father. Nothing more."

Mito blinked.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, genuine surprise coloring her voice. "Nawaki and you are distant cousins. Did you not know?"

Reiji went completely still.

The words hung in the air like something misplaced.

"What…?" His voice came out flatter than he intended. "Me and Nawaki?"

"Yes." Mito leaned forward slightly, studying him more carefully now. "Your grandmother was a Senju, no?"

Reiji's eyes shifted away.

"I… don't talk about that much with my father."

Mito's expression tightened.

"He didn't tell you?" she asked quietly. "Not even your grandfather?"

Reiji's shoulders stiffened.

"I don't see my grandfather."

For several seconds Mito simply watched him. The compassion that slowly appeared in her eyes wasn't loud or dramatic. It was quiet, and somehow that made it worse.

"Kushina," she said gently, without taking her gaze off Reiji, "leave us for a few minutes, please."

Kushina blinked. "Huh? But why?"

"Something private."

Kushina hesitated, clearly unhappy with being dismissed, but she nodded eventually. Before leaving she shot Reiji a sharp warning look, the kind that promised consequences if he said something stupid.

Reiji only shrugged.

She stepped outside and slid the door closed behind her.

The room fell into silence.

"I didn't know it was this bad," Mito said softly. "If I had, I would have spoken differently. You have my apologies."

Reiji blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity.

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked. "You couldn't have known. And you couldn't have done anything about it."

Mito exhaled slowly, the sound carrying a fatigue that seemed deeper than age.

"I know your grandfather well enough," she said. "For him, the village is everything… and pride sits close behind it."

Her gaze lingered on Reiji.

"But he listened to me once. I should have said something then."

Reiji said nothing.

"I know it is difficult," Mito continued, "to grow in this village with the knowledge of what happened. Of what your father did."

Reiji's posture locked, every muscle in his shoulders tightening.

"But it should also be proof," she added quietly, "that your father loves you, even if your grandfather cannot accept it."

Reiji's throat tightened.

"Why does it matter why my father did it?" he asked, voice rougher now. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm here. That I'm a mistake he can't remove."

Mito watched him carefully.

"Hiruzen does not resent you," she said. "He would never place blame on a child who had no control over it. He isn't cruel like that."

Reiji looked up.

"But my father—?"

"Your father…" Mito paused, weighing her words carefully. "It is difficult, yes. But Hiruzen understands him. And you being here with him should be proof of that."

Reiji lowered his gaze again, jaw tight.

"I know," he muttered. "That doesn't make it easy."

"I know," Mito replied softly, and regret lingered in her voice. "And knowing that pains me to do this. But I must."

Reiji looked up again.

"Kushina told me what happened today," Mito said calmly. "Tell me, young Reiji—why don't you get along with your classmates?"

The change in topic struck him harder than he expected.

The room felt smaller.

For a moment he couldn't decide what kind of question this was.

Concern.

Curiosity.

Or judgment.

The weight behind it reminded him uncomfortably of standing before the Hokage's desk.

"I… don't know," he said slowly. "No specific reason. We just don't get along."

Mito watched him for a long time.

Then she said quietly,

"You should stop."

Reiji frowned.

"Stop what?"

Mito didn't raise her voice.

"I've lived long enough," she said, "to recognize the difference between defense… and malice."

Her gaze remained steady.

"And I can feel which one was in you today."

Reiji's jaw set.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do."

"I defended myself," he snapped, sharper now. "A group jumped me, and one of them was crazy enough to slash me with a kunai. Are you giving me a sermon for not letting myself get stabbed?"

Mito didn't flinch.

"You speak as if that isn't what you wanted in the first place."

Reiji froze.

Reiji's breath stopped for half a second before he realized it had. His fingers tightened slowly at his sides, nails pressing into his palms.

For a brief moment his mind went completely blank, the way it sometimes did when someone struck too close to the truth.

Mito's expression remained calm.

"It's strange speaking with you," she continued. "You sound mature for your age. Intelligent." Her fingers rested lightly on the blanket. "And yet you don't seem aware of your own nature."

Reiji forced himself to breathe.

His chest felt tight.

"I expected better from Mito Uzumaki," he said quietly. "Bashing a child without mercy."

Mito's lips curved faintly.

"You aren't a child in the way most children are," she replied. "I've seen those eyes before. Some only gain them after battle."

Reiji's hands curled at his sides before slowly loosening again.

Mito leaned back against her pillows.

"Answer me one thing," she said. "If Kushina and Nawaki hadn't stopped that boy today… what would you have done?"

"Defend myself."

"That's not what I asked."

Reiji narrowed his eyes.

"What did you want to do?" Mito continued. "If no one had interrupted you—where would you have stopped?"

Silence stretched between them.

"When you fight," she said softly, "do you want to win… or do you want to feel something?"

The question lingered in the now quiet room.

Reiji didn't answer.

His eyes dropped to the floorboards for a moment, following the grain of the wood without really seeing it.

Reiji remained still for several seconds.

Then he lifted his head.

"What do you ask if you already know the answer?" he said, scorn sharpening his voice. "You've spoken to me for minutes and you're already talking like you've grasped my whole being. Are you always like this?"

His stomach tightened.

The words came anyway.

"I almost pity the First Hokage. Winning wars just to lose his peace to you."

Mito chuckled quietly.

"Perhaps," she said lightly. "Hashirama was always easy to push around."

The amusement faded slightly from her eyes.

"Why did you come to this house tonight?"

Reiji scowled.

"Nawaki said his mother could heal me." He looked away. "Now I know I shouldn't have listened."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mito said.

"Don't," Reiji snapped. "You're just one of many who will say it."

"By your fault," she asked calmly, "or not?"

"Both."

His shoulders tightened.

"I can't stand people. Especially people like you—who think you know everything because you're old, or because your bloodline is prestigious." His gaze hardened. "Don't be arrogant just because you shared a roof with the First. Old goat."

Mito watched him quietly, the sadness in her expression sincere rather than offended.

"I pity you, child."

Reiji let out a short, humorless laugh.

"What did you think that would do? Saying that to me?"

"I'm not surprised," Mito replied calmly. "But you still haven't answered honestly."

Her eyes held his.

"Why did you come here tonight? Why didn't you go to the hospital… or home?"

Reiji hesitated.

"Because I didn't want my father to worry."

For a brief moment Mito's gaze softened.

Then the softness vanished.

"That answer is human," she said. "But it isn't whole."

She tilted her head slightly.

"You didn't come here only to spare your father. You came here because you thought this house would change something."

Reiji stared at her.

"Everyone wants something from someone else," he said flatly. "Friendship is the same. Why is that a problem?"

"Because what you want isn't friendship," Mito replied. "I told you already."

Her voice remained gentle.

But it carried weight.



"I can sense malice in people. Call it an Uzumaki trait if you wish. I've grown attuned to it."

Reiji's head lifted slightly. He studied her face, searching for any sign that she was joking.

"Malice?"

Her gaze didn't leave him.

"And you, boy…" Mito said quietly. "You feel no warmth toward my grandchildren."

Her gaze did not move.

"Not toward Kushina. Not toward Nawaki."

She paused slightly.

"You're simply using them."

Reiji scoffed.

"You really are crazy. I never wanted them harmed. What are you talking about?"



"Perhaps not harm," Mito said. "But not good, either."



Reiji shook his head.

"You're seeing things that aren't there."

Mito didn't react.





"You have my apologies," she said quietly. "I wanted this discussion to be different. Perhaps it could have been, if I'd had time."

Her fingers settled on the blanket.

"But you're right about one thing. I don't have much time left. So I needed to say it before it was too late."

Reiji's expression hardened.

"One thing you got right," he said. "It is too late."

He stood.

He hated that she sounded disappointed rather than angry.

He crossed the room and slid the door open.

"I hope we don't meet again," he added without turning around. "From what I see, it won't be difficult."

Behind him Mito's voice followed, quiet but final.

"If you cannot see Kushina and Nawaki as friends… and not as means to an end… then do not become closer to them, please."

Reiji didn't answer.

He stepped out and shut the door.

The wood struck the frame with a sharp, echoing bang.



---



He didn't remember what he had said to Kushina and the others before leaving. The words had blurred into noise the moment he stepped outside, already dissolving into something shapeless, as if his mind refused to hold onto them.

He only realized where his feet had carried him when the trees thinned and the wind struck his face.

The cliff overlooking the Hokage Monument stretched out beneath the night sky, the massive stone faces carved into the mountain watching over the sleeping village like silent judges. The air was colder up here. Wind moved freely along the ridge, rushing up the slope of the mountain and tugging at his hair, snapping softly at the loose sleeves of his kimono.

Reiji walked toward the edge without really deciding to.

The dark outline of the monument loomed beside him, the four Hokage gazing endlessly over the rooftops of Konoha. Lanterns glowed faintly between the streets below, scattered like small islands of gold in the dark.

'What the fuck does she think she is?'

The thought surfaced sharp and hot.

He wanted this? He wanted that waste of space to jump him? To wound him?

Don't make him laugh.

He had defended himself. That was all. He hadn't stabbed anyone. He hadn't ambushed anyone. The boy had tried to carve him open with a kunai and he had beaten him for it—fair and square.

If the brat couldn't stand that, too bad.

If he wanted respect, he could train until he earned it.

Until then he was nothing.

A weakling with a loud mouth and soft hands.

Reiji's jaw tightened as he stepped closer to the cliff's edge, gravel crunching softly under his sandals.

And that woman—Mito Uzumaki—had spoken to him for a few minutes and already decided what he was.

He had restrained himself in that house.

Stayed polite.

Even when she spoke like she understood him.

As if she understood anything.

The wind surged harder across the ridge, carrying with it the distant smell of the village below—wood smoke, cooking fires, damp earth, and the faint scent of the forest that surrounded Konoha on every side.

From this height the village looked small.

Roofs formed uneven clusters of shadow and lantern light. Narrow streets wound between them like dark veins. People moved down there somewhere, tiny shapes drifting through warm rooms and quiet houses, their lives distant and quiet.

Reiji stared down at it.

'You've spoken to me for minutes and you think you understand me.'

The anger in his chest twisted slowly, tightening into something colder and more focused.

He had lived his entire life inside the village's quiet disdain.

Sometimes it wasn't even spoken aloud.

It was simply there.

In the way voices dropped when he passed.

In the way doors closed a little faster.

In the way smiles stiffened.

He was used to it.

But hearing it from her—Hashirama Senju's wife, one of the founders of the village itself—landed differently.

It stung.

'No', he corrected himself immediately.

'Don't feel anything.'

She didn't know him.

And he didn't know her.

She is nothing.

A question surfaced in his mind, unwelcome and quiet.

'Do you fight to win… or to feel something?'

Reiji let out a slow breath.

A faint smile touched his lips.

'What a stupid question.'

The wind surged again, stronger this time, slamming against his chest and tugging at the ends of his hair like invisible hands trying to drag him forward.

He stepped closer to the edge.

Closer still.

Until his toes extended past the edge and empty air opened beneath them.

Then he turned his back to the drop.

The stone ridge was narrow beneath his feet, the edge sharp and unforgiving. Reiji slowly spread his arms, adjusting his balance the way a shinobi did when testing unstable footing—shifting weight from heel to toe, feeling how the stone responded beneath his sandals.

The wind pressed harder against his chest.

He leaned back.

And stepped.

The ground vanished.

For a single heartbeat there was nothing beneath him.

The sky stretched wide above, black and endless, filled with distant stars.

Then gravity took him.

The wind roared upward along the cliff face and struck him with brutal force. His stomach lurched violently as the world dropped away beneath him, the sudden fall wrenching the breath from his lungs. His kimono snapped violently in the rushing air while the cliff and forest blurred past in streaks of shadow and stone.

He fell fast.

Too fast.

But for a few seconds he did nothing.

His body hung suspended in the open air, the world roaring past him as gravity dragged him downward.

Weightless.

Free.

The anger that had burned in his chest moments ago vanished in the violent rush of wind and speed. Mito's voice, the argument, the humiliation—everything dissolved beneath the raw sensation of falling.

For those few seconds there was only motion.

Only air.

Only the cold emptiness of the sky.

And for the briefest moment he felt something close to peace.

Then instinct snapped back into place.

Reiji twisted sharply in midair.

His shoulders rotated first, hips following as he forced his body to pivot against the rushing wind. The sky vanished from view as he turned, the cliff face surging into his vision beside him. Stone streaked past in a blur—jagged outcroppings, cracks in the rock, thin roots clinging stubbornly to the mountainside.

His mind sharpened instantly.

Now.

Chakra surged through his body, flowing down through his legs in a controlled pulse. He forced it into his feet the same way he had practiced countless times on trees and training posts.

But this wasn't a tree.

And he was falling much faster.

He slammed both feet into the vertical stone.

The impact exploded through his bones like a hammer strike.

His sandals scraped violently against the rock as chakra flared outward, trying to anchor him to the cliff face. The contact held for only a fraction of a second before gravity tore him downward again, friction screaming beneath his feet as loose dirt and fragments of stone burst outward.

Too much momentum.

His body dropped again.

Reiji reacted immediately.

He threw his hands forward.

Both palms struck the rock.

Pain erupted instantly as the rough surface tore into his skin. Chakra surged through his arms, snapping into place the same way it had in his feet, forcing his hands to cling to the stone.

For a moment he was half-attached, half-sliding.

Gravity dragged him downward while chakra fought to hold him in place. His sandals scraped harshly against the cliff as his feet struggled to maintain contact, friction burning through the fabric and leather.

His arms trembled violently.

The strain tore through his shoulders and back as his muscles locked under the sudden force. His teeth clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache while his fingers dug against the rock, trying to stabilize the flow of chakra before his grip collapsed entirely.

The fall slowed.

Slowly.

The violent plunge softened into a grinding slide along the cliff face. His feet adjusted instinctively, shifting position as he redirected the flow of chakra through his legs. His palms dragged against the stone, leaving dark smears of blood as the friction continued to tear at his skin.

The roaring wind faded.

The blur of the ground below stopped rushing upward.

He slowed.

Slowed further.

And finally stopped.

Reiji hung there against the cliff face, chest rising and falling as he pressed his hands and feet against the vertical stone. His body trembled faintly with the aftershock of the fall, adrenaline and effort still burning through his muscles.

For several seconds he did nothing but breathe.

Cold night air burned in his lungs.

When he looked down he saw blood smeared across his palms where the skin had split open against the rock. His sandals were partially torn from the violent friction, dark scuff marks staining the stone beneath his feet.

And then—without meaning to—he smiled.



'So that old goat doesn't want me getting close to the tomato-head and the Senju brat…'



The smile widened slowly.





'Perfect.'



Now he wanted to do it even more.







A/N : Poor Reiji...

I swear this scene was supposed to be a normal conversation… but Mito decided to dismantle Reiji instead.

I'd love to hear your reactions to this chapter. Thanks for reading

 

[bunny0512]

I'm not sure if you're planning to give Reiji some pushback, but I'm waiting for him to face some real consequences. He's been rude to Kushina and Grandma, but everyone seems to let it slide because of his power. Strength shouldn't excuse his behaviour. I'd love to see some actual character growth where he realizes he can't treat people this way.

 

[TheSoulFrost]

I'm not sure if you're planning to give Reiji some pushback, but I'm waiting for him to face some real consequences. He's been rude to Kushina and Grandma, but everyone seems to let it slide because of his power. Strength shouldn't excuse his behaviour. I'd love to see some actual character growth where he realizes he can't treat people this way.

Click to shrink...

That's a fair point. Reiji definitely gets away with more than he should right now. He's still a kid who thinks being competent excuses a lot of things. Whether that keeps working for him in the long run… we'll see. Thanks for reading!

[/QUOTE]

 

[TheSoulFrost]

A week had passed since Reiji's conversation with Mito.

When he returned home that evening, his hands and feet had been torn open from the cliff descent. The cuts across his palms had split wide where the rock had scraped them raw, and the soles of his feet were no better—thin lines of blood drying in the dust that clung to his skin. By the time he reached the small house he shared with his father, the dull ache in his limbs had settled into something deeper, a steady pulse that flared whenever he shifted his weight.

He had simply told Homura it was the result of training.

His father had said nothing at first. Homura's sharp eyes had moved slowly over the injuries, taking in the torn skin, the grit lodged in the cuts, the faint tremor in Reiji's fingers from the strain of the fall. The silence had stretched for several seconds, then Homura had given a single short nod and reached for the medical supplies without asking another question.

They worked quietly at the table.

Reiji sat while his father cleaned the wounds ,the cloth stinging sharply whenever it pressed against exposed skin. The smell of antiseptic herbs filled the room as Homura wrapped his palms and soles in fresh bandages.

Neither of them spoke.

When the last knot was tied, Homura simply pushed the medical kit aside and returned to whatever work he had been doing earlier.

---

After that, life resumed as if nothing unusual had happened.

Reiji still attended the Academy each morning. He still trained every afternoon until his muscles burned and his breath came rough in his chest. And he still spent most of his time thinking about the same problem that had occupied his mind for days.

Friendship.

The word itself remained strangely distant to him.

He did not understand how other children formed bonds so easily. In the classroom and the training yard, conversations seemed to flow between them without effort.

Reiji watched it happen every day.

And he could not replicate it.

For him, none of that came naturally. If he wanted something like that—if he truly intended to follow the advice Mito had forced on him—then he would have to approach it the same way he approached every other obstacle in his life.

As a problem to solve.

Adapt and overcome.

That did not mean the solution would appear quickly.

Part of his determination came from simple stubbornness. Mito's words still lingered at the edge of his thoughts, and the idea of proving the old woman wrong held its own quiet appeal. But there was another reason as well—one he found more difficult to dismiss.

He wanted his father to be proud of him.

Even with that motivation, however, he remained stuck.

After the ambush incident in the forest, Kushina and Nawaki had returned almost immediately to their usual behavior and ignored him again. Reiji had expected that outcome. Helping someone once—or being helped once in return—was not enough to erase months of irritation or suspicion.

The opportunity he had been given inside the Senju house had slipped away as well. Nawaki's mother had unsettled him more than he expected, and the encounter with Mito had ended any chance he might have had to turn that moment into something useful.

Still, the experience had clarified something important.

Human relationships revolved around value.

People grew close to others because those people offered something they wanted. The exact reason depended entirely on the individual involved.

By that logic, Reiji's situation was simple.

He had nothing to offer anyone.

And no one had anything he wanted badly enough to pursue.

Earlier, he had tried imitation. He had attempted to observe the way other students spoke and behaved, then replicate those patterns himself. The results had been predictable. Even when he intended no harm, conversations often ended with someone irritated by something he said.

He still remembered the confused expressions. The sudden tension in the air.

It was exhausting.

So imitation was no longer an option.

He needed a different approach.

If he could not attract people with warmth the way Minato did—effortlessly, almost irritatingly—then he would have to attract them with something else.

---

Reiji sat quietly at his desk while the classroom gradually filled with students.

From the corner of his vision, he watched.

Kushina arrived as she always did, walking beside Nawaki. Her steps were quick and energetic, her long red hair shifting behind her with every movement. As soon as she entered the room, she drifted naturally toward the same group she always joined.

The pattern repeated itself.

Conversation began almost immediately—small complaints about assignments, bursts of laughter when someone said something amusing...

She was closest to Mikoto Uchiha.

The two spoke more often than anyone else in the room, their conversations flowing easily between serious discussion and amusement. After Mikoto came the others who orbited loosely around Kushina's attention: Aya Shirakawa, Tsume Inuzuka, and Kasumi Nara, who possessed what appeared to be a supernatural ability to remain half-asleep regardless of the situation.

Until recently, Reiji had not known most of their names.

He had known Mikoto's.

The rest had simply existed somewhere within her orbit before he started paying attention of them.

Another detail he had noticed involved Kushina's attitude toward training.

She was not weak. In fact, during physical exercises she was stronger than most of the class.

But she lacked the relentless focus Reiji associated with serious ambition.

For someone who loudly claimed she intended to become the first female Hokage, Kushina approached most tasks with surprising casualness. She preferred encouraging her friends or joking with them over pushing herself beyond what was required.

More importantly, she struggled during theoretical lessons.

Reiji had noticed something else as well.

After his conversation with Mito, Reiji had briefly wondered whether the old woman might warn her grandchildren about him. If that had happened, the curiosity would have vanished immediately.

But it hadn't.

Kushina and Nawaki still ignored him most of the time, yet they did not behave as if they feared him or suspected something darker.

So Mito had remained silent.

And according to Mito's own words, Kushina had once been interested in befriending him.

That made her an opportunity.

The only real obstacle was Reiji himself.

Still, obstacles existed to be worked around.

He simply needed to introduce something new into the relationship.

Something she wanted.

Something she needed.

---

The opportunity appeared during a theory exercise.

Reiji sat near the back as usual.

From there he could see most of the room without appearing to watch anyone directly. His posture remained relaxed, shoulders slightly forward over his paper, one hand resting loosely beside the page while the other moved steadily with his pencil.

Two rows ahead of him, Kushina sat hunched over her own sheet.

She had not written anything for several minutes.

Her pencil hovered above the page while her eyes scanned the same line again and again, as though staring hard enough might force the answer to appear.

Reiji lowered his gaze briefly to his own sheet.

The question Kushina had been staring at dealt with basic chakra theory—one of the subjects the Academy instructors insisted every student memorize before they were ever allowed to practice real techniques. The exercise asked them to explain the purpose of hand seals in ninjutsu and why molding chakra without proper control could cause a technique to fail.

It was the kind of question that required more explanation than memorization. Most of the class approached it by trying to repeat the instructor's words exactly as they had heard them during lectures.

Reiji had never understood why.

The logic behind it was simple.

It was basic theory.

But theory was exactly where Kushina struggled.

'Theory'.

'Of course.'

His eyes moved back toward Kushina for a moment.

Reiji tore a narrow strip from the edge of his paper.

The quiet rip of the page was barely audible beneath the scratching of pencils around the room. He wrote a few quick words on the scrap before folding it once between his fingers. Then, with a small flick of his wrist, he sent it sliding forward across the floor.

The paper skidded lightly over the wood and bumped against the leg of Kushina's desk.

She blinked in surprise when it appeared beside her hand.

For a moment she simply stared at it, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Then, with a quick glance toward the instructor at the front of the room, she bent slightly and retrieved it from the floor.

Reiji returned his attention to his paper as if nothing had happened.

Out of the corner of his vision he saw her unfold the note beneath the edge of her desk.

Having trouble?

Her head turned almost immediately.

Suspicion appeared on her face at once—sharp, immediate, and unmistakable.

Reiji did not look at her.

He kept his eyes on the front of the room, pencil moving slowly across his own paper as though he were entirely focused on his work.

A few seconds later something soft slid onto his desk.

He glanced down.

Another scrap of paper.

He unfolded it without hurry.

What do you want?

His lips twitched slightly at the corners.

Reiji wrote his reply carefully, keeping his movements slow enough not to attract attention.

Give me the numbers of the questions. I'll give you the answers.

He folded the paper again and flicked it forward with the same casual motion as before.

This time the response did not come immediately.

Even without looking directly at her, Reiji could almost feel the hesitation radiating from her desk. Kushina was thinking through the situation, weighing possibilities the way someone did when they suspected a trap.

For several seconds nothing happened.

Then another scrap slid across his desk.

Reiji unfolded it.

Three numbers had been written quickly across the paper.

He glanced at them once before reaching for his pencil again.

The answers themselves were simple enough, but he did not write them alone. Instead he added the method beside each one—short explanations broken into clear steps, simple enough to copy quickly but structured well enough that she could understand the reasoning behind them.

It took less than half a minute.

When he finished, he folded the note and flicked it forward once more.

Kushina caught it before it could fall to the floor.

Another brief pause followed.

Then her pencil began moving.

Reiji allowed his attention to return fully to his own work. The scratching of graphite against paper resumed its quiet rhythm as he continued answering the remaining questions.

A minute passed.

Then something landed lightly on his desk.

Another note.

He opened it.

You explain better than sensei.

Reiji stared at the sentence for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly before he picked up his pencil again.

That isn't difficult.

He folded the paper and slid it forward once more.

A second later he heard a small choking sound from two rows ahead of him—something suspiciously close to a laugh that someone was trying very hard not to make.

Reiji did not turn his head, but he felt the change all the same.

For now, that was sufficient.

Reiji kept his gaze directed toward the front of the room while quietly evaluating the result of the exchange.

His assumption had been correct.

If he could not draw people in the way Minato did—with effortless warmth and easy smiles—then he would simply offer something else.

Something practical.

Something useful.

And usefulness, unlike charm, was a language Reiji understood perfectly.

---

Later that afternoon, the class was brought outside for weapons practice.

Along the far fence, rows of wooden targets had been set into the ground. Each one carried a series of faded rings painted long ago, the wood around their centers darkened and scarred from countless strikes.

Kunai thudded into wood.

Students muttered under their breath as throws went wide. A few cursed quietly when their weapons bounced uselessly off the boards.

Every so often the instructor's voice cut sharply across the yard.

"Your stance is wrong."

"Stop throwing with your shoulder."

"Again."

Reiji stepped up to the throwing line when his turn came.

The metal of the kunai felt familiar in his hand—balanced, slightly worn from years of use. He rolled the handle once between his fingers, letting his weight settle evenly through his feet before beginning.

The motion was simple.

His rear foot pressed lightly into the ground, the push transferring through his legs and hips before flowing into his torso. His shoulder remained relaxed, his arm following the motion rather than forcing it. The final flick of his wrist guided the weapon.

The kunai left his hand cleanly.

It flew through the air before striking the center of the target with a dull, solid thunk.

Reiji drew another from the table and repeated the motion.

Again.

And again.

One after another the blades buried themselves near the center of the target, their handles vibrating faintly after impact.

When he finished the assigned number of throws, he stepped aside.

The instructor glanced briefly in his direction, eyes moving from Reiji to the target board. After a short pause, he simply gave a small nod and turned his attention toward the rest of the class.

Reiji didn't mind.

Standing idle meant he could observe.

He watched quietly as the next group stepped forward. Some students struggled immediately, their kunai drifting wide or striking the boards sideways. Others improved gradually after a few attempts.

Eventually his attention settled on Kushina.

She stood several places down the line with Mikoto beside her, the two of them sharing the same target board.

Kushina's throws were not terrible.

Better than most, actually.

Her arm was strong, and her instincts were good enough that the kunai rarely missed the board entirely. The problem lay elsewhere.

Reiji watched the motion of her arm carefully.

Her wrist remained too stiff during release. Her shoulder carried too much tension. Instead of allowing the movement to travel naturally through her body—from her feet through her hips and into her arm—she forced the throw with brute strength.

It was inefficient.

The result appeared exactly as expected.

One kunai drifted left, embedding itself just outside the painted circle.

The next flew slightly high.

Another dropped low, the blade striking the board with a dull sideways crack.

By the fourth attempt her frustration was obvious. Her shoulders tightened, and the next throw came harder than the previous ones.

Reiji watched one more throw before stepping forward.

He had barely taken two steps when Mikoto moved.

The motion was small but deliberate—a single shift of her stance that placed her directly between him and Kushina.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"What do you want now?" she asked.

Reiji stopped a short distance away.

"Mind your own business."

Mikoto's gaze hardened.

"You should do the same," she replied evenly. "Why are you coming over here?"

Behind her, Kushina glanced between them.

Reiji kept his eyes on Mikoto.

"Because watching the same mistake five times in a row is irritating," he said. "I'm helping her."

Mikoto let out a quiet breath that carried no amusement whatsoever.

"How generous of you," she said dryly. "But I can help her."

"I can do it better than you," Reiji replied flatly.

Mikoto rolled her eyes.

"Yes, genius. Thank you for telling me. But why would you?"

Reiji felt the conversation beginning to rot.

"Because I know how."

Mikoto crossed her arms, her expression sharpening slightly.

"Funny," she said. "Arata disappears for days, and suddenly you're trying to help people."

There it was.

Reiji went still.

Arata had not returned to the Academy since the day of their confrontation in the forest. No explanation had been given to the class. The absence had become a quiet topic of speculation among the students.

More than once Reiji had noticed someone glance in his direction when the subject came up.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked calmly.

Mikoto met his gaze without hesitation.

"I mean it's strange."

"No," Reiji said quietly. "Say what you mean."

For a moment neither of them moved.

Around them the yard continued as before—kunai striking wood, students talking, the instructor correcting someone's grip—but the sounds felt strangely distant, as though the air between them had thickened.

Mikoto lifted her chin slightly.

"You humiliated him," she said. "We all saw how badly it affected him. And now he's gone."

Reiji felt the familiar flare of anger rise slowly in his chest.

Not because she accused him.

He was used to that.

But because of how quickly people always seemed ready to assume the worst when it came to him.

"That's a convenient accusation," he said calmly. "Do you have proof, or is that simply the conclusion you prefer?"

Before Mikoto could answer, Kushina stepped forward.

"Stop it, Mikoto. Reiji has nothing to do with that."

Mikoto turned toward her in surprise.

"Huh? And how do you know?"

Kushina opened her mouth.

Then hesitated.

Before the silence could deepen, another voice joined the conversation.

"It's none of your business, Mikoto."

Nawaki approached with his hands shoved casually into his pockets, his expression relaxed in a way that didn't quite hide the tension in his shoulders.

"If you're that curious," he continued, "why don't you ask your clan? He's one of yours."

Mikoto frowned.

"I tried," she said. "Every time I ask they just tell me not to worry and that he'll be back soon."

Nawaki shrugged.

"Then there you go."

"That tells me nothing."

"It tells you enough," Nawaki replied. "We can't say why he's absent because it's not our place. When the time comes, you'll know."

Mikoto muttered something under her breath, clearly dissatisfied, but after a moment she stepped aside.

The space between Reiji and Kushina finally cleared.

Reiji exhaled softly.

"So," he said, looking at Kushina, "can I show you now?"

Kushina blinked.

"It's genuinely painful to watch."

For a moment she simply stared at him.

Then, despite herself, she snorted.

Kushina rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said. "Show me."

Mikoto made an outraged noise beside her.

Reiji stepped forward beside her without responding. The table of practice weapons stood between them , its surface scattered with dull-edged kunai that had already seen years of student abuse. He picked one up, turning it slowly between his fingers.

"You're forcing it," he said calmly.

Kushina blinked at him. "What?"

"You're trying to throw too hard."

Her frown deepened instantly, red brows pulling together. "I'm not—"

"You are."

The answer came flat and immediate. She looked personally offended by it.

Reiji didn't bother reacting to that. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to her stance.

"Your feet first," he said, gesturing toward the ground with the kunai in his hand. "They're wrong."

And the lesson began.

"My feet are fine."

"They aren't."

"They are."

Reiji turned his head slowly and looked at her, his expression perfectly blank. "Do you want help or not?"

That stopped her. Not entirely—her mouth still twitched with the urge to argue—but the words themselves stalled in her throat.

With visible reluctance, Kushina shifted her footing where he had indicated. Reiji crouched slightly beside her,, and tapped the front of her sandal twice with two fingers.

"There," he said. "Wider."

She moved it another inch.

"More."

Her shoulders tensed as she shifted again. Under her breath she muttered something that sounded distinctly unflattering.

"Good," Reiji said anyway, straightening. "Now stop locking your shoulder."

Kushina lifted the kunai again. From where he stood, Reiji could see the tension gathering through the line of her arm before the throw had even begun. She was already fighting the motion.

"You're doing it again."

"I haven't even thrown it yet."

"You were about to."

She shot him a glare, but the tightness in her shoulder loosened anyway, if only slightly. Reiji lifted his own kunai in response.

"Watch."

The kunai left his hand cleanly before burying itself in the inner ring of the target with a sharp, satisfying thunk.

Reiji lowered his arm.

Kushina's gaze moved from the vibrating handle of the kunai to his face.

"Again," he said. "But don't fight the throw this time."

She inhaled slowly, clearly resisting the urge to say something argumentative. Then she set her feet the way he had shown her, her sandals shifting across the dirt until her stance was closer to what he had demonstrated.

Her arm came up.

Reiji watched the line of her movement carefully. The stiffness was still there, though less severe now that she was paying attention to it.

She threw.

The difference was immediate.

The kunai didn't fly straight, and the rotation wobbled slightly, but it struck the wooden board instead of slipping past it entirely. The dull impact echoed against the fence, the blade biting shallowly into the grain.

Kushina stared at the target.

Reiji watched her posture instead.

Still not good.

But better.

"Again," he said.

She threw a second time.

"Your release is late," Reiji said, folding his arms loosely. "Let go earlier."

Kushina clicked her tongue. "You say that like it's simple."

"It is simple for me," he replied. "That doesn't mean it's easy for you."

For some reason that made Nawaki bark out a laugh a few steps away.

Reiji glanced briefly in that direction. Nawaki had been half-watching the entire time, leaning against the weapon table with a grin he clearly wasn't trying to hide. Kushina turned her head just enough to glare at him.

Then she grabbed another kunai.

This time she adjusted before throwing.

The kunai spun cleanly.

It struck within the painted circle with a solid crack.

Kushina froze.

For a moment she simply stared at the weapon embedded in the board as if it had appeared there on its own.

Then she turned to Reiji so quickly that her long red hair swung with the motion, strands flashing briefly in the afternoon light.

"You could've said that earlier."

He met her glare without difficulty. "You never asked."

Behind them Nawaki laughed again, louder this time, and even Mikoto—standing a short distance away with her own kunai in hand—looked suspiciously close to smiling.

Kushina made a face at Reiji before she turned back toward the target.

And threw again.

And again.

Her attention had narrowed completely to the target ahead and the motion of her own arm.

Reiji stepped back half a pace, watching.

She learned quickly once something clicked in her head. That much was obvious. Her first instinct had been brute force—throw harder, push the weapon toward the target—but once she understood where the mistake was, she adjusted without much hesitation. Not elegantly, not yet, but honestly. Each throw improved slightly.

The target stopped punishing her for every attempt.

'Maybe she can be useful after all.'

After a while the instructor called for the class to rotate stations. The moment dissolved almost immediately. Students stepped away from the throwing line, collecting their weapons, talking over one another as they compared results or complained about missed throws.

Maybe, to everyone else, nothing important had happened.

But as Reiji turned to leave, Kushina's voice called after him.

"Hey."

He stopped and glanced back.

"Thanks."

Reiji studied her for a second.

The irritation still clinging to her expression. The curiosity in her eyes. The fact that, for once, neither came with mockery or open hostility.

He gave a small nod.

Then he turned and walked away.

It was not friendship.

Not yet.

But it was something.

And for now, something was enough.

 

[TheSoulFrost]

Morning had already settled over Konoha. Birds called from the trees beyond the compound walls, their songs drifting lazily through the quiet air. Sunlight spilled through the open window despite the early hour, washing the wooden floor in pale gold and catching faint motes of dust that drifted slowly in the light.

Reiji and his father sat across from each other at the breakfast table.

Rice. Grilled fish. Miso soup.

The meal was simple, quiet, and routine.

His father ate the way he always did—calmly, silently, without unnecessary movement. Chopsticks lifted. Food disappeared. The bowl lowered again. Everything measured, precise, and unhurried.

Reiji, however, seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

He chewed loudly.

Much louder than necessary.

"It's very good, Father," he said between bites, his voice bright with exaggerated appreciation. "There's something different about it today, no?"

"Not really," his father replied calmly without looking up.

"Really?" Reiji tilted his head thoughtfully, as if considering a complicated mystery. "Strange. It almost tastes… elevated somehow."

His father continued eating.

Reiji hummed thoughtfully, nodding as though confirming his own theory.

"Yes, definitely elevated," he continued. "The flavor really stands out from this angle."

"Is that so?" his father said evenly. "I am honored."

"Don't be so humble," Reiji replied cheerfully. "If we didn't live in a village of shinobi, I'm sure you would have become a cook."

His father paused.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his chopsticks onto the table.

A small drop of miso soup slid from the tip and landed softly against the wood.

Only then did his father lift his eyes.

Reiji was sitting on the ceiling.

Upside down.

His legs were crossed comfortably against the wooden beams, chakra holding him there as securely as if gravity had simply forgotten him. His bowl was tilted with careful precision so the food wouldn't spill as he continued eating as though nothing about the situation was unusual.

His father studied him for several quiet seconds.

Then he asked calmly,

"So… will you continue doing that much longer?"

Reiji grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

"I just thought you should know," he said proudly, "that I've mastered tree walking."

His father looked at him for a long moment.

Then he calmly picked up his chopsticks again and finished the last bite of his meal.

"Have you."

Reiji waited.

His father stood, lifting his bowl and placing it neatly beside the others.

"I will believe you," he said.

Reiji's grin widened immediately.

"Finally."

His father picked up his cane and walked toward the sliding door that opened onto the garden.

"Under one condition."

Reiji dropped lightly from the ceiling and landed on the floor with a soft thud, his sandals touching the wood with barely a sound.

"What condition?"

His father slid the door open.

Cool morning air drifted inside, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. Outside, the garden lay quiet and still. The pond reflected the early sunlight like polished glass.

"Walk with me."

Reiji frowned slightly but followed.

They stepped onto the stone path that wound through the garden. His father moved slowly, the cane tapping softly against the stones as they passed the trimmed bushes and the quiet curve of the pond.

They stopped at the water's edge.

His father tapped the surface of the pond with the end of his cane.

Ripples spread outward across the still water.

"Well," his father said calmly, "if you can walk on walls…"

He glanced sideways at Reiji.

"…it would make sense that you can walk on water as well."

Reiji stared at the pond.

Then at his father.

"Oh."

A faint smile appeared on his father's face.

"Now," he said.

"Show me your chakra control."

Reiji stood still for a moment before finally stepping forward.

He placed one foot cautiously onto the pond.

The surface bent beneath his weight.

Water wasn't like bark or stone. It didn't hold shape. It shifted and flowed, pushing outward in ripples with every movement. His chakra spread from the sole of his foot instinctively, searching for something stable to grip.

Too little.

His foot sank slightly.

Reiji closed his eyes.

He focused on the flow of chakra through his body—and on the movement beneath him.

The water wasn't resisting him.

It was moving.

Constantly shifting, adjusting to every disturbance.

His chakra had to move with it.

Slowly, carefully, he adjusted the flow, matching the subtle rhythm of the water beneath his foot.

The sinking stopped.

His foot stabilized.

Reiji opened his eyes.

Then he took another step.

And another.

A few moments later he was walking calmly across the pond's surface as though it were solid stone. The water rippled gently beneath his sandals but never broke. He crossed the pond and stepped onto the opposite bank where his father waited.

"Easy," Reiji said.

One of his father's eyebrows lifted slightly.

Then the cane moved.

Tap.

"Ow—"

Splash.

Cold water swallowed him instantly.

Reiji surfaced a moment later, sputtering and coughing as water dripped down his hair and soaked into his clothes.

"Well," his father said calmly from the bank, "your control is acceptable for now."

He paused before adding,

"We will have to work on it a great deal more if you want to do it without thinking."

Reiji wiped water from his face and glared up at him.

"Can you not just let me have my moment?" he muttered. "I know you're impressed."

He reached for the stone edge of the pond.

His fingers touched the rock.

Tap.

The cane struck his knuckles.

"Hey—!"

Splash.

Reiji went under again.

He resurfaced moments later with a furious gasp.

This time he didn't reach for the stones.

Instead his palms slapped flat against the water.

For a brief instant they sank.

Then his chakra surged.

The water bent under his hands but did not break. Ripples spread outward as his chakra pressed down through his palms and distributed across the surface.

Reiji shoved downward.

His body rose smoothly out of the pond, water streaming from his clothes as he pushed himself upright. Chakra flowed through his knee, then his feet, stabilizing him once more on the surface of the pond.

He stood there dripping, glaring at his father.

His father observed him quietly.

"Hm."

Reiji crossed his arms.

"You did that on purpose."

His father rested his hand on his cane.

"Yes."

Reiji narrowed his eyes.

"You're enjoying this."

"Moderately."

---

The walk to the Academy was quiet.

The morning streets of Konoha were already busy—shopkeepers opening shutters, shinobi crossing rooftops, civilians beginning the slow rhythm of the day—but the space around Reiji remained strangely empty. Children walking in groups shifted aside when they noticed him coming. A pair of boys who had been laughing together suddenly lowered their voices as he passed. Conversations thinned, then resumed behind him in cautious murmurs.

Reiji noticed, of course. It was impossible not to. The slight hesitation when someone recognized him, the way people created just a little more distance than necessary. But he had long since stopped reacting to it. The feeling had become familiar—like walking through a patch of cold shade that never quite left him.

He ignored it and continued toward the Academy.

By the time he entered the classroom, it was already half full. Voices bounced softly around the wooden room as small groups of students talked before the instructor arrived. Chairs scraped against the floor, someone laughed too loudly near the back, and the faint smell of ink and paper hung in the air.

Reiji stepped inside and let his gaze sweep across the room.

Near the windows, he noticed a familiar flash of red hair.

Kushina sat with her usual group, leaning slightly over her desk while speaking animatedly with the others. Mikoto sat beside her, listening with quiet attention while the rest of the girls contributed occasional comments. The sunlight from the window lit the edge of Kushina's hair, making it stand out like a small flame among the darker heads around her.

Reiji walked past their group.

Then, without breaking stride, he said casually,

"Hey, Tomato Head."

Kushina spun around instantly.

Her fist shot forward with absolutely no hesitation.

Reiji caught it easily.

His hand closed around her wrist before the punch had fully extended, stopping it a few inches from his face. The movement was almost effortless, like catching a thrown ball.

"Woah," he said mildly. "What was that for?"

Kushina's face was already turning red.

"Stop calling me that!"

Reiji tilted his head slightly as he studied her, his expression thoughtful in the way of someone observing an interesting experiment.

"I'll stop," he said, "when you stop going red like that every time I say it. It's hilarious."

"You—!"

Reiji raised an eyebrow.

"Careful," he added calmly. "The Boiling Tomato is about to explode again."

Kushina's eye twitched.

Her free hand clenched into a fist.

Before she could launch herself at him again, Mikoto sighed loudly beside her.

"Will you stop, Reiji?" she said, sounding tired already. "I really don't know why Kushina even bothers speaking to you. It's mean."

Reiji looked at her, genuinely confused.

"What? Why is it mean? It's true."

Mikoto rolled her eyes and turned back toward Kushina.

"You can't react every time he says something," she explained patiently. "That's why he keeps doing it. He's a bully. He's looking for a reaction."

Kushina's fists tightened again.

For a moment it looked like she might explode anyway.

Then she huffed loudly, turned her head away with visible effort, and refused to look at Reiji any longer.

Reiji shrugged and released her wrist.

Then he walked to his seat.

That had become their new dynamic.

Reiji genuinely wanted to get closer to Kushina. The intention itself was real enough. But being himself meant he couldn't resist provoking her whenever the opportunity appeared. Once he realized how easily she reacted—how quickly irritation flared across her face—the temptation had become impossible to ignore.

It was simply too amusing.

Still, things were better than before.

After their first real interaction—the day he had helped her during class—Reiji occasionally assisted her when the opportunity appeared. Sometimes it was with small things during lessons. Sometimes it was advice during training. None of it dramatic. Just enough that the distance between them slowly softened.

One afternoon during sparring practice, he ended up paired with one of her friends, Shirakawa Aya.

Normally Reiji would have ended the match quickly. Most of the students simply couldn't keep up with him, and he had little patience for dragging things out. But that day he held back deliberately.

Instead of overwhelming her, he corrected her stance mid-exchange, shifting her footing with a tap of his own and pointing out the way her weight was leaning too far forward. When the exercise ended, he even gave her a short piece of advice about her guard.

The girl had looked genuinely surprised.

She hadn't known what to say.

In the end she simply nodded and muttered a quiet "thanks" before walking away.

Reiji barely reacted.

But when he glanced toward Kushina's group afterward, he noticed she had been watching the exchange.

For a brief moment Kushina gave him a small smile.

It was quick, almost teasing, like she was acknowledging something she hadn't expected from him.

Beside her, Mikoto had been watching as well.

Her gaze lingered longer than the others. Thoughtful. Measuring.

As if she were trying to understand something that didn't quite fit with the picture she had formed of him.

Even without changing his personality—or becoming any more sociable than before—Kushina and her group slowly became more tolerant of his presence. The wariness that had once surrounded him had faded somewhat.

Which suited Reiji just fine.

Although Mikoto still watched him with occasional suspicious glances.

And even if things had improved slightly with Kushina, it wasn't quite the same with Nawaki.

The Senju boy was not the type to care about rumors or reputation. Social tension meant very little to him. What interested Nawaki was something much simpler.

Reiji was stronger than him.

That alone was enough for Nawaki to see him as a rival.

The few times Reiji tried to help him the way he sometimes did with Kushina, Nawaki refused immediately. His pride stiffened his posture every time the offer appeared.

A Senju didn't need help.

Which left them in an odd position.

Not hostile.

But not friendly either.

Outside of training they barely spoke.

Nawaki spent most of his time with Enji Sarutobi.

Reiji was willing to do many things to make his father proud.

But befriending Enji was not one of them.

And he preferred not to think too deeply about why.



---





The rest of the day passed without anything particularly remarkable.

Reiji followed the lessons with the same steady attention he usually gave them, though nothing demanded much effort. The hours passed quietly until the instructor finally dismissed them for the day.

By the time the students began gathering their things, the sunlight outside had softened toward evening. The long shadows of the buildings stretched across the courtyard beyond the windows.

Chairs scraped against the floor. Bags were gathered. Conversations resumed the moment the teacher left the room.

Reiji stood and joined the slow flow of students moving toward the corridor.

The Academy hallway filled quickly as several classes emptied at once. Groups formed naturally—friends leaving together, voices rising as the structure of the school day loosened.

Reiji walked with the others until he noticed something ahead.

The movement in the corridor had slowed.

A loose half-circle of students had formed, blocking the path.

Reiji stopped a few steps away.

At the center of the gathering stood Arata.

Murmurs rippled through the hallway as more students noticed him.

Arata hadn't been seen at school for days.

Mikoto stepped forward immediately, pushing through the edge of the small crowd.

"Arata?" she said. "Are you okay? Where were you?"

Arata rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Huh—yeah, Mikoto. Sorry." He shifted slightly, avoiding several curious stares. "I was… grounded."

"Grounded?" Mikoto repeated, her brows drawing together. "Why?"

Arata hesitated.

"Later, Mikoto. Sorry."

Then he stepped past her.

The students instinctively parted as he moved forward.

He stopped directly in front of Reiji.

For a moment he simply looked at him.

Reiji raised an eyebrow.

Then suddenly Arata bowed.

Deeply.

"Sorry!"

The corridor fell silent.

Even the students who had been whispering stopped talking.

Mikoto blinked in surprise.

Reiji blinked as well.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Arata did not straighten.

"For ambushing you," he said, his voice tight with embarrassment. "And for being a coward in the forest. I am ashamed of myself… and of shaming my clan."

Murmurs spread quietly through the watching students.

Reiji stared down at the bowed boy.

This was new.

Insults he understood. Threats, fights, challenges—those things were simple. They followed rules he knew how to answer.

But this?

Someone apologizing.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

Part of him wanted to refuse immediately. The memory of the ambush in the forest was still fresh, and the apology did not erase the fact that Arata had tried to stab him.

But refusing would be… inconvenient.

Reiji's eyes shifted briefly to the surrounding students.

They were all watching.

Listening.

This was not a private conversation anymore.

He could already imagine how it would look if he rejected the apology—arrogant, vindictive, impossible to deal with. The exact kind of behavior that would reinforce the rumors people already whispered about him.

And he had just started making progress.

Kushina's group had begun tolerating him. Some of the students had stopped avoiding him quite so openly. Even small improvements mattered.

Rejecting Arata here would undo that.

It would isolate him again.

And isolation was the opposite of what he needed.

If he wanted allies… if he wanted connections… if he wanted to make his father proud of him for once…

Then he had to play this correctly.

Reiji cleared his throat.

"Well… it's good that you know that," he said slowly.

"I suppose… I forgive you?"

The last part came out sounding slightly uncertain, as though he was still deciding whether the words made sense.

Arata bowed even deeper.

"Thank you."

"That is kind of you."

The new voice came from behind Arata.

Reiji turned his head.

A teenager stepped forward through the gathered students. He was clearly older than the Academy children around him—taller, more composed. Dark hair framed a sharp, controlled expression, and a shinobi protector rested across his forehead.

A genin.

The Uchiha crest was stitched clearly across the back of his shirt.

"You are…?" Reiji asked.

"Fugaku Uchiha," the boy replied calmly.

His hand settled lightly on Arata's shoulder.

"This idiot's older brother."

Arata muttered something under his breath.

Reiji gestured toward him.

"So this was your idea?"

Fugaku shook his head.

"Arata confessed when he returned home wounded with his friends," he said. "Whatever differences you had, it doesn't excuse his conduct. He was grounded and had time to reflect."

Fugaku inclined his head slightly.

"I also apologize. It seems my parents and I did not raise him properly."

Reiji tilted his head.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asked. "You're his brother, not his parents."

Fugaku didn't seem offended.

"Being the older brother means acting like a parent sometimes," he replied calmly. "We are supposed to guide the younger ones. If he goes down the wrong path, then I have failed to correct him."

Reiji studied him silently for a moment.

Fugaku continued.

"Also… though it may not be pleasant to say, thanks to you my brother gained something valuable."

Reiji's gaze drifted toward Arata.

The memory of the forest returned clearly—the flash of red eyes in the dim light between the trees.

He smirked faintly.

"Well, that surprised me too," he admitted. "Good for him, I guess."

He glanced back at Fugaku.

"Is it rare to awaken it that young?"

"Yes," Fugaku answered.

Before he could elaborate further, Arata straightened and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"I awakened it earlier than my brother," he said with a small chuckle. "So… you could say it's impressive."

Fugaku gave his brother a brief look but didn't comment.

"Our father wished to apologize as well," he continued, turning back to Reiji. "And to thank you for what happened. Our clan considers it a debt. If there is anything we can do for you, tell us."

Reiji considered the offer for a moment.

Then a slow grin spread across his face.

"Well," he said, "why not? I'd like to visit the Uchiha compound sometime."

He looked at Arata.

"And maybe have a spar with him."

Then his gaze shifted back to Fugaku.

"Or with you. I'm curious about those famous eyes of yours."

Fugaku raised one eyebrow.

Beside him, Arata groaned.

"Told you," he muttered. "He's a fighting lunatic."

Fugaku ignored him.

"Very well," he said calmly. "Come to the entrance of the Uchiha compound on Saturday morning. We will welcome you."

"Perfect," Reiji replied with a smile.

Fugaku nodded once before turning away. Arata followed him, glancing back briefly before disappearing into the corridor.

The gathered students slowly dispersed once Fugaku and Arata left. Conversations resumed, quieter than before, the excitement of the scene still lingering in the corridor.

Reiji turned toward Mikoto.

"See?" he said with a smirk. "I'm innocent. You can apologize now."

Mikoto's face reddened instantly.

"That doesn't count!" she snapped. "You lied to me! You said you weren't the reason Arata was missing from class!"

"Maybe," Reiji replied calmly. "But you accused me of doing something terrible to him. As you just saw, I'm the victim here."

Mikoto opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

Without another word she turned sharply and walked away.

Reiji watched her go.

"Ah," he said, shaking his head slightly.

"What a sore loser."

But even as he said it, he remembered the way she had looked at him just before leaving.

Not convinced.

Not fooled either.

Just… thinking.

Reiji tilted his head slightly.

Interesting.

---

Reiji returned home as the evening settled quietly over the compound.

The sun had already dipped low behind the rooftops of Konoha, leaving long shadows stretching across the garden stones. The air carried the faint scent of damp earth and cooling wood, and the surface of the pond reflected the fading sky like a dull mirror of gold and gray.

His father was already outside.

Homura stood near the wooden veranda with his cane resting lightly against the ground. He seemed to be watching the garden, though whether his attention was on the water, the trees, or something else entirely was difficult to tell.

Reiji stepped onto the stone path.

"I'm back."

His father acknowledged the words with a single nod.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply the way things were between them.

Reiji shifted his weight slightly before speaking again.

"I will be visiting the Uchiha compound this weekend."

His father turned his head just enough to look at him.

"Why?"

"They invited me."

A short pause followed.

Reiji scratched the back of his head.

"Because I'm nice."

His father looked at him.

The silence that followed carried the quiet weight of absolute disbelief.

Reiji cleared his throat.

"Anyway," he continued quickly, "I'm going to spar with them."

His eyes brightened slightly as he said it.

"They have the Sharingan. It should be interesting."

The memory returned immediately.

The forest.

The sudden movement behind him. The flash of red eyes appearing in the darkness. The speed of Arata's attack the moment those eyes had awakened.

Reiji smirked faintly.

He wanted to see it again.

This time properly.

"Everyone says those eyes are incredible," he added. "I want to see if the rumors are true."

His father studied him for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"That will be a useful experience," he said calmly. "Whether you win or lose."

Reiji frowned slightly.

His father continued.

"You will better understand the Uchiha. And if you one day serve beside one of them as a teammate, that knowledge will matter."

Reiji shrugged.

"Sure."

His father reached into the sleeve of his robe.

When his hand emerged again, he was holding a small square of paper.

Reiji blinked.

"What's that?"

"Chakra paper."

Reiji straightened immediately.

"Wait—does that mean I'm going to learn a jutsu?"

His father inclined his head slightly.

"Yes."

Reiji's grin spread quickly across his face.

"But first," his father continued, "we need to confirm something."

Reiji tilted his head.

"I have a suspicion," Homura said calmly. "If it is correct, things may become… complicated."

Reiji's eyes lit up in sudden understanding.

"Do you mean—"

"Yes," his father replied.

"We will finally see."

He extended the small sheet of paper toward him.

"Affinities are, for the most part, hereditary. You may have the same nature as I do."

"Earth."

He paused briefly before continuing.

"Or the same as your mother."

Reiji flinched slightly at the mention.

"Or," his father finished, "a combination of both."

Reiji took a slow breath.

The paper waited between them.

Then he nodded.

"What do I have to do?"

"Take the paper," his father said, "and pour your chakra into it."

Reiji accepted the small square of paper between his fingers.

It felt almost weightless. Thin. Ordinary. Just a fragile sheet of fiber that looked like it would crumble if he pressed too hard. Yet he could feel faint traces of chakra inside it already, like a prepared surface waiting to react.

His father watched him quietly from the veranda, is hand resting on the handle of his cane.

Reiji focused.

He drew chakra from the center of his body, letting it flow down his arm and into his fingertips. The sensation was familiar now—like guiding a stream through narrow channels, careful not to let it spill or surge too violently. Chakra control was still something he had to think about, but it no longer felt unstable.

Slowly, he released the energy into the paper.

The reaction was immediate.

A thin tearing sound split the quiet of the garden.

The paper ripped cleanly down the middle, the tear running like a seam through the fibers. At the same time, moisture began spreading across the surface, darkening the sheet in irregular patches as though it had been dipped into water.

Reiji blinked.

He lifted the paper slightly, watching the dampness crawl outward through the fibers.

"Wind… and water?" he said slowly.

That part he understood. Chakra papers were supposed to react like this. Each nature produced a different effect. Wind cut. Water soaked. If both appeared, it meant he possessed both affinities.

But the reaction did not stop.

The damp paper stiffened between his fingers.

At first he thought it was simply drying in the cool morning air, but then the surface changed again. A faint white shimmer crept across the fibers, spreading slowly from the point where his chakra entered the sheet.

The air around his hand grew colder.

Reiji felt it immediately—the subtle shift in temperature brushing against the skin of his fingers, the quiet bite of cold forming around the paper.

Frost.

A thin layer of white crystallized across the damp fibers. The moisture froze where it lay, delicate patterns branching outward like tiny veins of ice spreading through the sheet.

Reiji stared at it.

The paper trembled slightly between his fingers as the frost continued creeping outward.

For a moment he forgot to breathe.

The garden had fallen completely silent. Even the faint sounds from the street beyond the walls seemed distant now, swallowed by the stillness around them.

His father had not moved.

Homura watched the frost slowly spreading across the paper, his expression calm but very still. His gaze lingered on the thin white layer forming over the damp surface, as though confirming something he had suspected but hoped not to see.

A long silence followed.

Reiji's thoughts raced.

Wind.

Water.

And then—

Ice.

His fingers tightened slightly around the paper.

He already knew what that meant.

Across from him, his father finally exhaled quietly.

"So that's how it is."

The words were calm, but something heavier sat beneath them.

Homura's eyes shifted from the frozen paper to Reiji's face. For a brief moment, his expression softened with something that almost resembled resignation.

"It seems," he said slowly, "you take after your mother more than I hoped."

The frost continued to spread across the paper in Reiji's hand.