2 Years went by in a quiet flash.
The Konoha Shinobi Academy was not the prestigious institution it would become in Naruto's era. In the shadow of the Second Great Shinobi War, it was a factory. Its purpose was simple: take children, sharpen them into tools, and send them to the front lines as quickly as possible.
Renju walked through the gates with his hands tucked into his pockets. His raven-black hair was tied back, and his dark blue eyes scanned the courtyard, mapping out every exit, every guard, and every potential threat. He didn't see a school; he saw a precarious stepping stone.
Beside him, Renza was practically vibrating. His white hair caught the morning sun, making him look like a flickering flame. He didn't have a weapon—the Academy forbade them for first-year entrants—but his fingers were constantly twitching, ghosting over imaginary sword hilts at his waist.
"Look at them," Renza whispered, nodding toward the crowd of children. "Half of them are crying because their moms left. They have no idea what's coming."
"Let them cry," Renju replied softly. "Their distractions make it easier for us to remain invisible. We need the resources, Renza. We need the library and the training grounds. Nothing else matters."
"Invisible?" Renza snorted. "I didn't come here to hide, Renju. I came to prove that a nobody can cut down a legend."
As they moved toward the orientation platform, a blur of movement caught Renju's eye.
A boy was standing near the center of the yard, surrounded by a small group of admiring students. He had bright, sun-kissed yellow hair and a smile that seemed to radiate a genuine, unshakeable kindness. Even from a distance, Renju could feel it—the boy's chakra was smooth, vast, and terrifyingly efficient.
Minato Namikaze.
The future Fourth Hokage. The man who would one day end a war single-handedly. Right now, he was just a boy, but the "prodigy" aura was already there.
Renza stopped dead in his tracks. His grey eyes locked onto Minato. The "Sword Maniac" within him didn't see a friendly classmate; he saw a mountain that needed to be climbed.
"That one," Renza said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "He's different."
"Stay away from him," Renju warned, grabbing Renza's shoulder. "Minato is a natural genius. If you challenge him now, you'll reveal everything we've been working on. We aren't ready."
"I'm always ready to learn," Renza countered, shaking off Renju's hand.
The orientation was a blur of "Will of Fire" speeches given by Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi. To the other kids, it was inspiring. To the two transmigrators, it sounded like a recruitment pitch for a suicide cult. When the students were finally funneled into their classrooms for their first sparring assessments, the tension in Renza reached a breaking point.
The instructor, a scarred Chunin named Daigo, looked over his clipboard. "First bout. Renza vs. Minato Namikaze."
Renju closed his eyes and exhaled a long, cold breath. Total Concentration: Low Flow. He needed to stay calm, even if Renza was about to do something stupid.
Renza stepped into the ring, his white hair messy and his grey eyes wild. Across from him, Minato stepped up with a polite bow.
"I'm Minato. Let's have a good match," the blonde boy said sincerely.
Renza didn't bow. He dropped into a stance that wasn't in any Academy textbook—a low, prowling crouch, his hands held out as if gripping dual blades.
"Don't blink, Prodigy," Renza hissed.
"Begin!" Daigo barked.
Renza didn't move like a child. He moved like a gale of wind. He used his first form of Breathing—not the full Wind Breathing, which would tear his young throat apart, but a proto-version he called "Scattered Lung." He forced a burst of oxygen into his calves and lunged.
Minato's eyes widened. The speed was unexpected. Renza was a blur of white, his hands striking out like twin vipers.
Swish—swish—swish!
Minato retreated, his feet dancing across the dirt with effortless grace. He wasn't attacking; he was observing. Every time Renza's hand whistled past Minato's face, the blonde boy tilted his head by a fraction of an inch.
"You're fast," Minato noted, his voice calm even as Renza increased the pressure. "But you're hurting yourself. Your rhythm... it's too violent."
"Shut up and fight!" Renza roared. He twisted his body, spinning into a high kick that aimed for Minato's temple.
Minato didn't block. He ducked, slid behind Renza's guard, and delivered a light, open-palmed strike to Renza's solar plexus. It wasn't meant to injure, but it was perfectly timed to disrupt Renza's breathing.
Renza gasped, the oxygen leaving his lungs in a ragged burst. He tumbled backward, coughing, his "Breathing" shattered.
"Match over! Winner: Minato," Daigo announced.
Minato walked over and offered a hand to the fallen boy. "That style... where did you learn to move like that? It felt like the air was cutting me."
Renza looked at the hand, then spat a bit of blood into the dirt. He didn't take it. He stood up on his own, his white hair shadowed by his lowered head. "I made it myself. And next time, you won't touch me."
As Renza walked back to the sidelines, he passed Renju. The black-haired boy didn't say "I told you so." He just looked at Renza's trembling hands.
"He's the Flash," Renju whispered. "You're the Friction. Friction creates heat, Renza, but it also burns the user."
"Then I'll just have to get used to the fire," Renza replied, his grey eyes burning with a new, obsessive light.
Renju looked back at Minato, who was watching them with a curious, thoughtful expression. The "prodigy" had noticed them. The "invisible" plan was already failing.
Renju took a deep breath, feeling the cool air settle in his lungs like a hidden blade. If Renza is going to be the storm that draws their attention, Renju thought, then I will have to be the ocean that swallows their secrets.
The Academy year had just begun, and the two orphans with the strange hair and the stranger breath had already marked themselves as the most dangerous variables in Konoha.