Reiji moved through the forest at a steady pace, his sandals pressing into the uneven ground as dry leaves shifted under each step. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of earth and bark, broken only by the distant echoes of other students making their way back from the exercise. His muscles ached—not enough to slow him, but enough to remind him of every movement he had forced from his body during the fight. The strain lingered in his shoulders and legs, a dull tension settling deeper with each step.
He wasn't tired.
Not really.
His breathing was steady, controlled. His chakra flowed cleanly through his coils—stable, untouched by exhaustion.
And yet—
If it had been real… I would be dead.
The thought settled heavier than the fatigue.
His gaze lowered slightly, unfocused for a moment as the memory replayed itself—not the movements, not the exchange of blows, but the moment after. The realization. The stillness.
Him.
He had always assumed that, apart from Minato, no one in their class could truly threaten him. That he stood above the rest—faster, sharper, more capable. It had never felt like arrogance.
Just… fact.
But someone he had barely acknowledged—someone he had dismissed without thought—had reduced him to nothing.
Not through strength.
Not through skill.
But through timing.
Position.
Circumstance.
In a direct fight, she was nothing to him. He knew it. He could see it clearly.
But none of that had mattered.
Not when it counted.
His jaw tightened slightly.
My power means nothing if someone like that can end me.
The conclusion came without resistance.
I'm a joke.
The words didn't sting as much as they should have. Not anger. Not frustration.
Just clarity.
He had been careless.
Too focused on the fight in front of him. Too drawn in by the rush of it—the movement, the exchange, the need to dominate the opponent in front of him. He had narrowed his vision without realizing it, reducing the battlefield to a single point.
And in doing so—
He had lost everything else.
The environment.
The objective.
The threat he hadn't even considered.
His grip tightened briefly at his side before relaxing again.
That wouldn't happen again.
He would not let himself fall into that tunnel vision. Not again. Not for something as trivial as proving superiority in a fight.
A shinobi wasn't measured by how well they won battles—
But by whether they completed the mission.
The forest began to thin ahead, the density of trees breaking apart as light spilled more freely across the ground. Reiji stepped through the last stretch of undergrowth and into the clearing, his eyes adjusting immediately as the open space came into view.
Students were already gathered.
Voices overlapped in scattered clusters—some loud and animated, others quieter, edged with frustration or disappointment. The aftermath of the exercise showed clearly: clothes disheveled, dirt smeared across skin, bruises forming along arms and faces. Some stood tall, energized by victory. Others lingered at the edges, shoulders tight, expressions closed.
To one side, a more subdued scene unfolded.
Several students lay on stretchers arranged in uneven rows, the fabric sagging slightly under their weight as medics moved quickly between them. The air there felt different—tenser, heavier. Groans of pain broke through the surrounding noise as green-tinted chakra flickered across injured limbs, hands glowing as they worked to mend damage. A faint smell of heat and metal lingered where techniques countered residual effects.
Reiji's gaze moved across the group—
And stopped.
Hiashi.
The Hyūga lay still on one of the stretchers, his posture rigid despite the treatment. His nose was wrapped in bandages, and his arms were being handled carefully by a medic working with precise, controlled movements. Nearby, another shinobi used a small flame technique, the flicker of orange light reflecting across the ice still clinging stubbornly to parts of his skin.
"You really roughed him up."
Reiji turned slightly at the voice.
Arata stood beside him, one leg bandaged, though his posture remained relaxed. There was no real tension in his stance—whatever injury he had taken, it clearly hadn't slowed him much.
"They said I should be good as new by tomorrow," Arata added, following Reiji's gaze. "They did a good job fixing my leg."
Reiji gave a short nod, his attention drifting back to Hiashi.
"His hands were troublesome," he said calmly. "And his eyes gave him too much of an advantage in this kind of exercise. I couldn't leave him active."
His tone carried no pride.
Only fact.
"There were no hard feelings."
Arata let out a quiet scoff.
"No hard feelings? You should probably tell him that. Pretty sure you just made yourself an enemy."
Reiji's eyes didn't move from the stretcher.
"If he decides to take it that way, that's his problem," he replied. "Hizashi made his choice. I didn't force him into anything."
Arata shifted slightly.
"Maybe. Doesn't mean it won't come back later. Those two are close."
Reiji didn't answer immediately.
For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted—not to Hiashi, but to Hizashi. The decision. The risk.
Then he dismissed it.
"Doesn't matter," he said after a second, his voice quieter, more final. "I got what I needed."
A pause.
"I'm not interested in forcing something that was never possible to begin with."
Whatever else crossed his mind, it didn't reach his expression.
The conversation died there, their attention shifting as movement approached from the side of the clearing.
Tsume. Kushina. Mikoto.
Kushina's posture was tight, her expression openly irritated, while Mikoto walked beside her with clear satisfaction, a scroll spinning lightly between her fingers. Both showed signs of the fight—bruises, dirt—but neither looked seriously injured.
They spotted them quickly and moved closer.
Reiji raised an eyebrow slightly, a faint smirk forming as he took in Kushina's expression.
"So you were the carrier," he said lightly. "Didn't expect that."
His gaze lingered a moment longer.
"You're not exactly subtle."
Kushina's reaction was immediate.
"What's that supposed to mean?!" she snapped, stepping forward. "I did a good job! We would've won if not for two cowards ganging up instead of fighting properly!"
Mikoto gave her a sideways glance, unimpressed.
"What cowards? You were alone. That's your mistake."
She tilted her head slightly, the scroll still turning between her fingers.
"You're the carrier. Maybe don't wander off like that."
Tsume crossed her arms, a grin spreading across her face.
"You were strong," she admitted, "but not strong enough to take all three of us. Right, Kuromaru?"
"Woof."
Mikoto's attention shifted back to Reiji, her smirk sharpening.
"Anyway, I won the exercise for the team," she said. "Didn't see you at all. What were you doing? Sleeping somewhere?"
Her tone carried just enough bite to make the jab deliberate.
Reiji didn't respond.
He simply looked at her for a second, then turned away with a quiet exhale.
What an ego.
—
Reiji's expression shifted slightly as movement caught his attention across the clearing. His gaze settled on Minato, Kasumi, Enji, and Nawaki approaching together from the far side, their pace uneven after the exercise.
Nawaki was talking as he walked, hands moving freely, his voice carrying even from a distance, excitement still clinging to him despite the bruises forming along his arms. Minato walked beside him, posture relaxed, answering with an easy smile that hadn't faded since the end of the match. His right sleeve was stiff, faint frost still clinging to the fabric near his forearm, but he didn't seem to notice. Enji moved on the other side, shoulders tight, his expression set in a visible scowl, while Kasumi followed a few steps behind, her posture loose, half-slouched, as if the entire situation barely held her interest.
They slowed as they reached the clearing.
Minato didn't linger. His eyes flicked briefly toward the stretchers before he peeled away from the group and headed straight for the medics, his steps measured but direct.
The others continued forward.
Nawaki reached them first.
"Hey! We won—that's awesome!" he said, his breath still slightly uneven from earlier exertion, though the energy in his voice hadn't dropped. "I was actually getting worried near the end, but—yeah, that was good."
Then his gaze landed on Kushina.
A grin spread instantly.
"And—ha—suck it, Kushina. You're so bad."
He pointed at her without hesitation, laughter already building.
"You were the carrier? Seriously? Who picked you? You didn't volunteer, right? Right? I mean… that would've been embarrassing if you did."
He didn't even try to hold it back.
Reiji watched the shift happen in real time.
Kushina froze for half a second.
Then—
"You—!"
Ah.
The Red Tomato.
The thought came automatically, dry amusement threading through it.
Kushina moved before Nawaki even finished laughing. Her foot dug into the ground as she lunged forward, shoulders driving the motion, her intent obvious. Nawaki's grin vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. The realization hit him all at once; his posture snapped upright as he turned without hesitation and bolted.
"Come back here!"
"Are you crazy? Of course not!"
"I'll forgive you if you stop!"
"Sure—after you beat me, you mean!"
Their voices carried across the clearing as they ran, Kushina gaining ground with each step while Nawaki cut sharply between groups of students, nearly slipping once as his foot skidded across loose dirt before he corrected himself and pushed off again.
Reiji's gaze followed them briefly.
"They really act like siblings," Mikoto said beside him, her tone edged with mild annoyance as she watched them disappear further across the field.
"I mean, they do live together," Arata added, shifting his weight slightly as he followed the same line of sight. "Not that surprising."
Reiji didn't respond. His attention drifted back toward the center of the clearing, the noise settling again into something more diffuse as other conversations resumed.
"Ah—Reiji visited them once, right?" Tsume's voice cut in, sharper now, more curious. "Kushina mentioned it."
Reiji's focus snapped back.
"What's it like at the Senju house?"
The shift was immediate.
Not loud. No sudden movement.
But he felt it.
Attention.
Subtle—but focused.
Mikoto's gaze turned. Arata's too. Even Enji, who had remained silent until now, angled slightly in his direction. Kasumi didn't move, but her eyes flicked toward him from beneath half-lidded disinterest.
Reiji frowned faintly.
The weight of it was… unnecessary.
His thoughts moved before he answered.
Warmth.
That was the first thing that surfaced.
A table. Food. Voices that didn't carry expectation in every word. Tsukiko—her tone, her presence—soft in a way that didn't feel calculated. Her husband beside her, steady, unremarkable in the way normal people were.
Then—
Another image slipped through.
Older.
Still.
Watching.
It lasted barely a second.
Enough.
Reiji pushed it down immediately, dismissing the thought before it could take shape. It didn't belong with the rest.
His expression didn't change.
"Pretty nice, I guess," he said after a short pause, his tone casual, controlled. "Nothing special."
He shifted his weight slightly, grounding himself in the present.
"Nawaki's parents are normal. Their place too."
Simple.
Unremarkable.
That was enough.
He didn't mention the seals woven into the structure of the house. Didn't mention the way the air itself had felt different the moment he stepped inside.
Didn't mention her.
Some things weren't worth sharing.
Before the noise in the clearing could rise any further, Fūma-sensei stepped forward.
The motion was simple—but it carried weight.
Conversations faltered almost immediately, voices cutting off mid-sentence as attention shifted toward her.
"The exercise is concluded," she said, her tone even, steady enough to carry across the clearing without effort. "It was your first time facing this type of scenario, and too many of you are injured to continue."
Her gaze moved across them as she spoke, taking in the stretchers lined along one side, the medics still working—hands glowing faintly as they treated burns, fractures, and bruised limbs. Some students stood rigidly; others leaned slightly, favoring injuries they tried not to show.
"We will stop here for today. Classes are dismissed."
A brief pause—just long enough for the tension to begin loosening—
Then she continued.
"From now on, you will have this type of exercise twice a week. Your final evaluation will be based primarily on your performance in these."
The reaction was immediate.
A wave of murmurs spread through the clearing, sharper and less restrained than before. Some students straightened; others frowned, the shift in priorities settling heavily. This wasn't just another exercise—it was a redefinition of what mattered.
Mikoto raised her hand without hesitation.
"Sensei," she said, her voice controlled, "if that's the case, what happens to our theoretical classes and exams?"
Fūma-sensei regarded her briefly.
"You will still have them," she replied. "They remain important."
A slight pause followed—deliberate.
"But they will carry less weight. The village has deemed field performance more important."
That was enough.
Voices rose—some indignant, some frustrated, some simply unsettled. Complaints overlapped, sharp edges breaking through discipline. A few students gestured as they spoke; others stood rigid, clearly displeased.
Reiji didn't join them.
He watched.
Mikoto's brows drew together, dissatisfaction clear in the tension of her expression. Kushina, in contrast, clenched her fist at her side, a flicker of satisfaction slipping through despite her effort to contain it. Tsume exhaled quietly, her shoulders lowering in visible relief.
Reiji noted each reaction without comment.
Strength over theory.
It made sense.
For him.
"Enough."
The word cut cleanly through the noise.
"Class dismissed."
"Wait!"
Kushina's voice broke through the motion before it could fully take hold.
Fūma-sensei stopped.
Kushina stepped forward, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.
"We still don't know who the carrier from the other team was!"
A few heads turned.
Fūma-sensei didn't seem concerned.
"It is not important," she said. "Your team lost. There is no need to know."
Kushina's expression sharpened.
"They could have cheated. We have the right to know."
"Yeah, she's right!"
"They probably cheated!"
"Maybe it was Reiji!"
"Show us your scroll!"
The murmurs rose again—this time directed, pointed.
Reiji remained still.
He felt it before he saw it—the subtle shift of attention narrowing, the way conversations angled toward him, the weight of expectation settling across the space.
Suspicion.
He didn't move.
Didn't react.
Fūma-sensei exhaled quietly, a hint of weariness slipping through.
"…Very well. The carrier from the opposing team—step forward."
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Tense.
Then the weight of it settled fully.
Reiji could feel their gazes now, converging, pressing in from every direction. Mikoto's was the sharpest, almost physical in its intensity. Others followed—waiting, watching for the slightest movement.
He gave them nothing.
Then—
A quiet sigh.
Someone stepped forward.
Reiji didn't need to turn.
The reaction came instantly—gasps, confused murmurs, surprise rippling outward.
Enji stood there, his shoulders stiff, jaw tight. His hand dipped into his pouch, fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling out the scroll and holding it up. The gesture looked forced, as if he would have preferred to avoid it entirely.
Arata blinked.
"You gave it to him?"
Mikoto's expression twitched, irritation slipping through.
"Then why steal it in the first place if you were just going to give it back?"
Reiji shrugged, the motion small, almost lazy.
"I know. Genius, right?"
Several eyes snapped toward him.
"With people seeing me take it—and considering our relationship—no one would expect me to hand it to him."
He paused briefly.
"That was the idea."
Normally, he would have pressed further. Let the realization settle. Made them sit with it.
But the edge wasn't there.
The satisfaction didn't land the way it should have.
His gaze shifted—and met Minato's.
The blond gave him a small nod, an easy, unbothered smile still in place despite the frost clinging faintly to his arm.
Reiji rolled his eyes and looked away.
Nawaki turned sharply toward Enji, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you more!"
Enji's jaw tightened.
"…Sorry."
Reiji didn't need an explanation.
It was obvious.
Enji had been put in a position where speaking would only make things worse. Admitting he had the scroll meant admitting where it came from—and from whom. After everything that had happened between them, that alone would have been humiliating.
And if he spoke up—if he revealed it and they still lost—
Then it would be on him.
He would have taken responsibility without the result to justify it. Given them a reason to blame him.
Worse—even if they had won, saying it out loud would have made it look like he had followed Reiji's lead. Obeyed him. Trusted him.
Enji wouldn't risk that.
So he stayed silent.
Reiji had counted on it.
A small gamble—
But a safe one.
And now, with the truth exposed in front of everyone, Enji had no choice but to stand there and take it.
He must be seething.
A faint smirk touched Reiji's lips.
"Enough about that!" Nawaki said suddenly, dropping the matter as he caught Enji's expression. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound breaking the tension. "We won, and class is over! Who wants to celebrate? Let's go eat dango!"
The mood shifted almost immediately.
"Me!"
"Yeah!"
"Sounds good!"
Energy returned in a rush as several students gathered around him, voices lighter now, already turning toward the path leading back to the village.
Reiji watched them for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Then—
"What a fantastic idea."
The words slipped in smoothly.
The group froze.
Slowly, they turned.
Reiji stood there, posture relaxed, a soft smile on his face.
Too soft.
Nawaki hesitated.
"…You want to come too?"
Reiji tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself didn't make sense.
"Of course. Is there a problem?"
Nawaki's expression tightened.
"Well, it's just—"
Reiji's expression shifted.
Subtle.
Barely there.
But enough.
"Oh," he said, quieter now. "Is there really a problem with me coming? I thought… since we're on the same team, and we won…"
He let the thought trail off.
"My mistake."
Nawaki reacted immediately.
"No, no! Of course you can come!"
Reiji let out a soft breath, placing a hand lightly over his chest.
"Ah… good. I was worried for a second."
Around them, the atmosphere shifted again.
Students glanced at each other, discomfort spreading in small, visible ways—averted gazes, shifting weight, hands scratching the backs of their necks.
"…Ah, I just remembered—I have something to do."
"My mother needed help at the shop."
"I have to go buy milk."
"I'm… allergic to dango."
Excuses came one after another.
Too fast.
Too convenient.
They peeled away from the group almost immediately, dispersing in different directions as if escaping something they couldn't quite name.
"Ah—no!" Nawaki protested, looking around in disbelief as his group vanished in seconds.
Reiji remained where he was.
Still smiling.
"Ah… that's unfortunate," he said lightly. "But I'm still available."
He let the words settle.
"So we can go together."
Nawaki's shoulders dropped.
Defeat.
"…Yeah."
Reiji's smile didn't change.
Of course he would take the opportunity.
He hadn't made progress with him yet.
This was the next step.
Friends go eat together, right?
He turned slightly, already aligning himself toward the path leading back to the village, the distant sounds of the street barely audible beyond the trees.
"So," he said, glancing back just enough—
"shall we go?"
***
Reiji sat stiffly in his chair, a plate of dango resting in front of him, and scowled across the table.
The small shop was warm and crowded, filled with the smell of sweet glaze and tea, the low murmur of other customers blending with the faint clink of dishes.
None of it improved his mood.
"Could someone tell me why he is here?" he asked flatly.
Across from him, the blond in question paused mid-bite. Minato finished chewing, then blinked at him with an expression so open and innocent that it only made Reiji's scowl deepen.