[6754 Words]
The academy courtyard was quieter in the late afternoon. The usual chaos of training had settled, leaving behind only a few lingering students—some reviewing lessons, others chatting in loose groups beneath the thin shade of the trees.
Yasu wasn't paying attention to any of them.
His gaze was fixed on Rika.
She stood a short distance away, speaking with two other students. Her posture was the same as always—small, unassuming, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. She nodded when spoken to, responded when necessary, but never more than that.
Something had changed. One of the students laughed. A harmless sound, light and fleeting. But Rika—
She flinched.
It was so quick, so slight, that Yasu barely caught it.
And then—
A weight slammed into him. Not a physical strike, but something deeper. A presence. A feeling.
His breath caught, his heartbeat stuttering for just a moment as his senses sharpened into something unnatural. It was as if the air around Rika had shifted, thickening with something tangled, something wrong.
He could feel it.
Her presence—her chakra—was drawn in tight, coiled so small it barely touched the world around her. But it wasn't calm. It wasn't quiet. It was suppressed. Caged.
And beneath it—
Fear.
Not the sharp kind that came from immediate danger. No, this was something deeper. Worn-in. A fear so old it had settled into her bones, into her breath, into the very way she stood—like a weight pressing down on her every moment of every day.
Yasu's hands clenched before he realized it.
His own body was reacting to something he couldn't see, something he wasn't supposed to know.
What was this?
The feeling curled in his chest, heavy and suffocating, twisting through his lungs like he had stumbled into someone else's pain. But that didn't make sense. That wasn't how things worked.
He forced a slow breath. He needed to move. To do something.
But then—Rika turned.
Her gaze flickered toward him, her eyes searching—brief, uncertain, hesitant. For half a second, Yasu thought she felt it too. Then, as quickly as it had come, she looked away.
And just like that, the weight eased. The suffocating air thinned, her presence slipping back into its usual, unassuming silence.
Yasu exhaled, only now realizing how tight his chest had been.
The courtyard hadn't changed. The students were still chatting, still training, still laughing. But Yasu knew, without a doubt—
Something had changed. The feeling lingered.
Yasu's breath was steady, but something inside him wasn't. His fingers twitched, his body still reacting to something his mind hadn't caught up with. It wasn't normal. It wasn't anything he'd felt before.
But it was her.
The moment Rika turned away, the weight should have disappeared. But it didn't—not completely. It clung to the edges of his senses, faint but unmistakable, like the echo of a sound long after the noise had stopped.
And before he could think—
His hand moved.
Not in a grand, deliberate motion. Just a quiet shift, a slight reaching forward, fingers brushing the edge of Rika's sleeve.
The moment he made contact—
That pressure surged through him again.
Yasu stiffened. His breath hitched.
This was her.
The hesitation. The restraint. The fear buried so deep it had become second nature. For just a second, it wasn't just something he felt—it was something he understood.
And it didn't make sense.
His mind raced, looping through questions he didn't have answers to. This had never happened before. He had been around people who were afraid, who were angry, who were broken in ways they never said out loud—but he had never felt it like this. Never like it was his own.
His grey eyes were locked on Rika, searching, focused.
Rika flinched.
Not in a dramatic way, not like someone terrified. Just a small, instinctive recoil—like she had been trained to. A reflex, automatic and immediate.
But Yasu barely noticed.
He wasn't seeing her reaction. He wasn't aware of the tension in her shoulders, or the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides. His mind was still running in circles, dissecting, questioning, trying to understand what was happening to him.
Rika shifted awkwardly, looking down at the small gap between them. Yasu was still touching her sleeve, his fingers barely curled around the fabric.
The seconds stretched.
Rika hesitated, glancing at his face—at the sharp focus in his eyes, the way he was looking at her like he was trying to see something beyond what was there.
It made her stomach twist.
She swallowed, gathering a bit of courage, then asked quietly—
"…What are you doing?"
Yasu blinked.
The weight in his chest cracked. The loop of thoughts in his mind snapped.
His eyes flicked to her face, and—oh.
His hand.
His grip on her sleeve was loose, barely a touch, but it was still there. He had been standing too close, staring too long, lost in something only he could feel.
The realization hit him all at once.
Yasu released her sleeve instantly, taking a step back. He wasn't embarrassed—he didn't get embarrassed—but there was a rare, unsettled flicker in his chest.
His voice was quiet, measured. "…Nothing."
Rika frowned slightly, confused, but she didn't push.
Yasu shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to refocus. His pulse had steadied, but his thoughts hadn't.
This thing, this feeling—whatever it was, it wasn't normal. And whether he wanted to or not, he needed to understand it.
Yasu was still trying to steady his thoughts when it happened again.
A sharp pulse in his chest—quick, sudden—like the snap of a bowstring. It struck without warning, and just like before, it wasn't his.
Fear.
Not like Rika's. Not deep, not buried, not woven into someone's very existence. This was sharp, a momentary jolt—like a shock of cold water.
Yasu's head turned instantly, his body moving before his mind had even caught up. His eyes darted across the courtyard, searching.
Who?
Then he saw it.
A boy near the training posts had stumbled back, eyes wide, body tense. A girl stood in front of him, laughing, her hands raised in mock claws.
"Oh, come on," she teased, grinning. "You really thought I was a ghost?"
The boy exhaled loudly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking something off. "You jumped out fast, alright? I wasn't scared."
"You totally were."
"I wasn't."
The girl just laughed, and after a second, the boy did too. The tension disappeared, the moment passed, and everything returned to normal.
But Yasu felt it.
The way that fear had sparked and vanished. The way it had flickered through the boy's chakra—quick, sharp, then gone as if it had never been there at all.
It slipped away from Yasu's senses, fading like mist under the sun.
He stood there, staring at them.
Had he… just felt that? Really felt it? Like before. Like Rika.
But then—why had hers been different?
Yasu's gaze snapped back to where he had left her. She was still there. Still watching him.
Their eyes met, and the moment she realized it—
She froze.
Her whole body stiffened, her hands clenching at the hem of her sleeves. And then—just as quickly—her face flushed, embarrassment flooding through her expression as she jerked her gaze away, pretending like she hadn't been staring at all.
Yasu blinked.
For some reason, that reaction—that immediate, nervous fluster—felt more real than anything else.
He exhaled slowly, shifting his hands deeper into his pockets.
So it really was emotions.
But Rika… what was she afraid of?
And more importantly—
Why could he feel it?
The walk home was unbearable. It wasn't just one feeling anymore. It was all of them.
Faint emotions—small, passing things—brushed against him like whispers he couldn't tune out. Excitement. Irritation. Worry. Laughter. The weight of someone's exhaustion, the flicker of someone else's frustration.
Too much.
Every passing glance, every shifting movement in the streets seemed to carry something with it. He didn't see it—he felt it, pressing against his senses like the dull roar of a crowded room where everyone was speaking at once.
A headache pounded at the edges of his skull, dull and growing. His body ached—not the kind of exhaustion that came after training, not something that would pass with rest. This was deeper. A pressure sinking into his muscles, into his breath.
The worst part?
It was loud.
Not sound, but something just as persistent. A constant, crawling awareness that refused to leave him alone.
By the time Yasu reached the front door, he shoved it open with more force than necessary, stepping inside as though crossing some unseen threshold.
And the moment he did—
Nothing.
Silence.
Everything was gone.
The weight. The pressure. The headache.
His body slumped against the door before he even realized it, his book bag slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. His breath came sharp, his back pressing against the wood as his knees bent slightly, supporting his weight.
His clothes clung to his skin. He was sweating—but not from running. His body felt wrung out, emptied, like he had been drained of something he couldn't name.
The headache was already fading, but the exhaustion wasn't.
For a long moment, he just breathed.
Steady.
In. Out.
His body trembled slightly—not from fear, not from cold, but something else. Something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.
Then—another feeling.
Yasu's eyes snapped up, his sharp gaze steadying on Hisao.
His guardian stood a few steps away, watching him. Hisao wasn't one for open concern, but Yasu could feel it. The way his presence carried the faintest trace of worry, hesitation—like he was debating whether or not to ask.
Yasu's breathing evened out. He stared at Hisao for a long moment, then finally asked—
"…Is it normal?"
Hisao's brow furrowed slightly. "What?"
Yasu swallowed, his throat dry. His fingers twitched against the floor before he met Hisao's gaze again.
"To feel emotions." His voice was quieter than before, but there was something sharp beneath it. Deliberate. "Not yours. Someone else's."
Hisao didn't answer right away.
And that silence—that pause—
Made Yasu's fingers curl into his palm.
Hisao didn't answer right away.
Instead, he just looked at Yasu.
Not with concern. Not with irritation. But with something far rarer—fascination.
Yasu was still slumped against the door, his breath steady but shallow, his body still shaking slightly from the aftereffects of whatever that was. Hisao, standing just a few feet away, studied him with an intensity that made Yasu feel exposed, like he was being examined rather than simply looked at.
Then, finally, Hisao spoke.
"Well… it isn't normal," he said, his voice calm, measured. "It's rare." A pause. Then, with a glint of intrigue in his gaze, he added, "A thing with sensors."
Yasu's breathing slowed slightly as he processed that. Sensors. He'd heard of them before—shinobi who could sense chakra, track people without seeing them. He knew they existed. He just wasn't one of them.
"Even rarer," Hisao continued, leaning slightly against the wall, "if you aren't a sensor at all."
Yasu's fingers twitched against the floor. His mind was still sluggish, his body still heavy, but that statement lit something sharp inside him.
"So it's… supposed to be like this?" he muttered.
Hisao exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "I wouldn't say supposed to be anything," he replied. "Most sensors learn to control it early on. They don't let it overwhelm them." His head tilted slightly, that sharp, assessing glint still in his eyes. "But you…"
Yasu swallowed, shifting slightly against the doorframe. Hisao wasn't saying it outright, but the meaning was clear enough.
This wasn't normal.
It wasn't something he was meant to have.
And yet, here he was, barely able to move from the weight of it.
His jaw clenched slightly. Hisao was watching him, waiting, but Yasu didn't care. He needed to understand.
"…Is it supposed to be hard to control?" His voice was quieter now, but the frustration underneath it was clear.
Hisao's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened slightly.
Yasu forced himself to sit up a little straighter, the lingering exhaustion making his muscles ache. "No matter how hard I tried," he muttered, "I couldn't stop it. I wanted to push it away, but it was just there—loud, pressing in like it didn't care what I wanted."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I felt everything. Even when I didn't want to."
Hisao was silent for a moment.
Then, finally, he pushed off the wall and walked closer.
Stopping just in front of Yasu, he crouched down so they were at eye level.
His blue eyes, studied him carefully. And when he spoke, his voice was calm—steady—but there was something deeper beneath it.
"Then that," Hisao said quietly, "is a problem."
Yasu's fingers curled into fists at his sides.
Because he already knew that.
. . .
. . .
The hospital room was still, the kind of quiet that felt too clean, too empty. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, sterile and impersonal, while the soft rustle of fabric and paper cut through the silence like an afterthought.
Yasu sat on the examination table, feet dangling just above the floor. Hisao stood nearby, arms crossed, posture relaxed—but Yasu knew better than to think he wasn't paying attention.
The medi-nin—a man in his mid-thirties, lean but sharp-eyed—flipped through the patient notes before glancing at Yasu. His chakra, though subtle, carried the signature control of someone who had spent years working with delicate systems. There was no tension, no hesitation in his movements. Professional. Efficient.
Yasu could feel it.
Not the way he felt Rika, or the overwhelming weight of the street earlier. The doctor's emotions were lighter, more neutral—focused. There was no deep-seated fear, no uncertainty. If anything, there was a trace of detached curiosity, the kind one had when solving a particularly difficult problem.
That feeling was… easier to handle.
"Alright," the medic finally spoke, setting his clipboard down. "I've gone through your records, Yasu. You've had difficulty controlling your chakra since the beginning, correct?"
Yasu gave a short nod.
The medic hummed in thought. "High Yin affinity, trouble molding chakra due to imbalance, no history of sensory traits—yet, now you're experiencing what sounds like uncontrolled chakra perception."
Hisao shifted slightly. Yasu caught the movement from the corner of his eye but didn't turn. Hisao hadn't spoken much since they arrived, but Yasu could feel the weight of his attention.
"We'll start simple," the medic continued, rolling up his sleeves. "Let me check your chakra flow."
He stepped forward, pressing his fingertips lightly against Yasu's forearm. A moment later, a faint warmth spread from the contact—chakra flowing, scanning.
Yasu didn't flinch, but he focused inward.
The medic's chakra was precise. Gentle, but thorough. It probed carefully along his network, feeling for irregularities. After a few moments, the man frowned slightly.
"…Strange."
Yasu's brow twitched, but he stayed silent.
Hisao, however, spoke. "What?"
The medic lifted his hand, rubbing his chin in thought. "His chakra network isn't damaged, which is good. No physical obstructions, no blockages. However…" He exhaled sharply. "His Yin chakra is dominant to an extreme degree compared to the last time you were checked. That's not uncommon in itself—some people are naturally inclined toward one side—but in his case, it's more than just inclination. It's like his body was built to favor Yin over Yang."
Hisao's gaze narrowed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning his chakra doesn't function like a normal person's. Most shinobi have a balance, even if it leans one way or another. But Yasu? His Yin chakra is so overwhelming that it actively disrupts his ability to mold standard chakra. It's as if his body has no proper 'conversion' method to regulate the flow between Yin and Yang."
The medic shook his head slightly. "I'd say that's why he can't mold chakra properly. His system isn't designed for standard chakra use."
Yasu absorbed the information, his mind running through the implications. He had always known his chakra control was unstable—but this made it sound like it wasn't just a skill issue. It was something fundamental.
"Then why this sudden ability?" Hisao asked, voice neutral. "He's never displayed sensory traits before."
The medic nodded, as if expecting the question. "That's the part I'm still piecing together. But if I had to guess…" He turned back to Yasu. "Your high Yin affinity makes you naturally attuned to chakra. It might not be sensor perception in the traditional sense—it could be something different. Something passive."
Hisao's eyes flickered with interest. "Explain."
The medic folded his arms. "Traditional sensors use their own chakra to reach out and detect others. It's an active ability. They send out pulses of chakra or attune themselves to signatures over a distance. Yasu, on the other hand, isn't searching for anything. It's coming to him—whether he wants it to or not."
Yasu's fingers twitched at his sides. That part was true.
The medic tapped a finger against the desk. "It's possible that his ability isn't just about sensing chakra—it's about resonating with it."
A quiet pause.
Hisao's posture didn't shift, but Yasu could feel the way his attention sharpened.
"Resonating?" Hisao repeated.
The medic nodded. "Chakra is tied to emotions. Strong feelings create fluctuations in a person's chakra flow. If Yasu's ability is passive—if his Yin chakra is naturally pulling in external influences—it could mean that instead of simply detecting emotions, his chakra is unconsciously syncing with them."
Yasu stiffened slightly.
That made too much sense.
The way he had felt Rika's fear, not just as an observer, but as if it had touched him. The way emotions weren't just impressions—they had weight, texture.
"Then it would also explain…" the medic trailed off, eyes narrowing in thought.
Yasu looked at him. "…Explain what?"
The medic hesitated, then sighed. "How drained you were when you got home."
Yasu frowned.
The medic met his gaze seriously. "If you aren't just feeling emotions, but unconsciously absorbing them, then that means—"
"They're affecting his chakra," Hisao finished.
The medic nodded. "Exactly. It's like his chakra system is being forced to process foreign chakra signatures constantly, and it's overloading him. Even if it's not enough to harm him directly, it's burning through his natural reserves."
That explained the exhaustion. The aching muscles. The feeling of being wrung out despite not having exerted himself.
Hisao let out a slow exhale, rubbing his chin. "And the lack of control?"
The medic looked at Yasu thoughtfully. "If I had to guess, I'd say he doesn't have a way to filter what comes in. He's taking everything in at full force."
Yasu absorbed all of this, his mind turning over the information like puzzle pieces slotting into place.
A passive ability.
Resonance instead of detection.
A system that pulled things in without regulation.
It was all wrong. It wasn't something he could turn off. It wasn't something he had chosen.
His jaw tightened slightly. "So how do I stop it?"
The medic was silent for a moment. Then, he sighed.
"I don't think you can."
Yasu's gaze sharpened slightly. His fingers twitched against the hospital bed, his mind still processing everything the medic had said.
"…Then why now?"
The medic looked up from his clipboard. "Hm?"
"If this is passive," Yasu said slowly, "if this was always part of me, then why didn't it happen earlier?" He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. "I've been using chakra since before I started at the academy. Shouldn't I have felt something before?"
The medic hummed thoughtfully, setting the clipboard down and folding his arms.
"That's a good question," he admitted. "Typically, innate abilities—especially bloodline-related ones—manifest at a younger age, usually alongside early chakra development." His gaze flickered toward Hisao briefly before refocusing on Yasu. "But there are exceptions. It could be that your body simply wasn't ready to handle it before."
Yasu frowned. That answer felt too… vague.
As if sensing his doubt, the medic continued. "Or—there could be another explanation." He gestured vaguely. "Certain bloodlines require a trigger. A moment of extreme stress, a near-death experience, or even a specific emotional or chakra-based catalyst."
Something in Yasu stilled.
A trigger.
His fingers curled slightly around the edge of the hospital bed.
"Has anything strange happened to you recently?" the medic asked, his tone clinical but genuinely curious. "Anything that stands out?"
Yasu's throat felt dry. His mind flashed back—to the cell, the cold stone, the moment the guards stopped noticing him .
He hesitated.
And then, carefully, he spoke.
"…When I was captured," he said, voice quiet but steady, "I nearly escaped."
The medic didn't react outwardly, but he tilted his head slightly, signalling for him to continue.
Yasu's grip tightened just a little. "I wasn't hidden. I didn't sneak. I walked out." His breath was even, but the memory sat heavy in his chest. "The guards should have seen me. They didn't."
The room was silent.
Yasu could feel Hisao's attention on him, sharper than before. The medic's own chakra remained steady, controlled, but his interest had shifted—more invested now.
"They forgot I was there," Yasu said. "Not because of Genjutsu, not because I silenced my presence. Their minds just… slid off me." His voice was quieter now, but still firm. "It wasn't chakra suppression. It was something else."
For the first time since the examination started, the medic genuinely looked surprised.
"…That," he murmured, "is very interesting."
Yasu exhaled sharply through his nose. "That's one word for it."
The medic tapped a finger against his forearm, deep in thought. "So, your chakra didn't just sense emotions—it altered perception." His voice was edged with something closer to fascination now. "That's not standard sensory ability. That's something else."
A quiet pause.
Then, the medic's eyes flicked to Hisao.
"…It could be a bloodline."
Yasu stiffened. Hisao, however, didn't react—his expression unreadable.
The medic lifted a brow. "It would explain a lot. Abilities like this don't just appear randomly. And if it only just manifested, that could mean it's something dormant, something genetic."
Yasu frowned. "Then why is there no record of it?"
The medic exhaled. "That, I can't answer." He folded his arms again. "Some bloodlines go extinct. Some fade into history, diluted over generations. Some are so rare that even within their own clan, only a handful of people ever awaken them." He shrugged. "And some… were never meant to exist in the first place."
Yasu's fingers twitched. That answer didn't sit right with him.
He didn't want a bloodline. He didn't want something he couldn't control, something that made him different. He already had too much to deal with.
And yet, here he was.
The medic sighed, rubbing his temple. "In any case, whatever this ability is, it seems to be completely passive. That makes it difficult to train, and even harder to suppress." He shot Yasu a pointed look. "Which means you'll need to learn how to regulate it yourself."
Yasu swallowed down the frustration curling in his chest.
Of course.
"Also," the medic continued, "there's one more thing."
Yasu glanced up.
"Most Genjutsu probably won't work well on you," the medic stated bluntly.
Yasu blinked. "…What?" Well that didn't really surprise him, neither did it for Hisao.
"Genjutsu works by disrupting the target's chakra flow and trapping them in an illusion," the medic explained. "But your chakra is already disrupting itself on a passive level." He tilted his head. "If your ability functions the way I think it does, then most Genjutsu users will have a hard time fully trapping you in an illusion. It won't make you immune, but you'll likely be much harder to affect."
That was…
Huh. Rather useful.
"…So, to summarize," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "I have an ability that I can't control, a chakra system that doesn't work like it should."
The medic gave him an apologetic shrug. "That about sums it up."
Yasu let out a slow, even breath.
Fantastic.
"Though, if I had to guess, I'd say this is something that will stabilize over time."
Yasu frowned. "How?"
The medic gestured vaguely. "Well, from what I can tell, your body isn't handling the imbalance well. Your Yin chakra is strong—too strong—but you're still growing. If your Yang chakra catches up, it might help regulate the excess input. A more balanced system means better control."
Yasu considered that.
That would explain why it felt so much worse now than it ever had before. If his body was naturally shifting as he aged, then his entire system was still adjusting.
That meant this wasn't necessarily permanent.
It wasn't fixed.
It could change.
He still didn't like the lack of control, but knowing that there was a chance he could fix it, or at least manage it, made it easier to accept.
Hisao, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke.
"So, in short—he has to figure out how to adjust."
The medic nodded. "Pretty much."
Yasu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Great. More work."
The medic smirked. "That is what shinobi do."
Yasu shot him a dry look, but didn't argue.
Still, as much as the idea of having to work harder to control something he hadn't asked for was annoying, the Genjutsu resistance was a clear upside. If this had to be part of him, at least he could use it to his advantage.
He straightened slightly. "So, do I just wait for my chakra to balance itself out, or is there a way to speed it up?"
The medic hummed, considering. "Physical training—especially anything that strengthens your Yang chakra—might help." He lifted a hand, ticking off points as he spoke. "Increasing your stamina, working on chakra reinforcement techniques, controlled exposure to chakra molding… all of those things should, in theory, help stabilize the imbalance."
Yasu glanced at Hisao. "Sounds like more work for you."
Hisao snorted. "Sounds like more work for you."
Yasu sighed. "Yeah, yeah."
.
.
.
The academy was as dull as ever.
Yasu had only been gone for two days after he starting feeling, but stepping back into the classroom made it feel like nothing had changed. The same low chatter, the same predictable movements of students settling into their seats, the same lazy scribbling of instructors reviewing past lessons.
It was easy to ignore.
What wasn't easy to ignore—was the feeling.
It wasn't as overwhelming as before. The first time had been like standing in the middle of a storm, every stray emotion hitting him at full force with no way to block it out. Now? It was more like a distant hum—background noise that, if he concentrated, he could sort through.
Irritation. Boredom.
A handful of students still shaking off morning fatigue. Excitement from a few who had actually paid attention to their training.
It was manageable. But one feeling stood out. Yasu's gaze flickered toward the back of the room.
Rika.
Rika sat where she always did—toward the back, alone. A habit, probably. Or maybe just the natural result of being the kind of person who never put themselves forward, who never drew attention, who never made a space for themselves.
Yasu could still feel it.
Not like before—not the overwhelming crushing weight that had knocked the breath from his lungs—but it was there. The quiet, constant pulse of fear.
And beneath that… something else.
Loneliness.
It was an emotion he hadn't registered before, but now that he could, it was undeniable. It wasn't sharp like fear, wasn't overwhelming like panic—it was subtle, quiet, the kind of thing that had settled in for a long time. The kind of thing that had always been there.
His fingers twitched.
Yasu wasn't the kind of person to care. Not really. But he wasn't the kind of person to ignore things either. So, without a word, without hesitation—he sat down beside her.
Rika stiffened.
Rika stiffened, her entire frame tensing like she had just been struck. Her hands curled slightly, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. She didn't look up, but he could feel the anxiety spike through her, sharp and sudden.
She was confused. No—more than that. She was nervous.
Yasu glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't moving, barely even breathing.
Then, another presence.
Sumire.
She hesitated for only a second before sliding into the seat on Rika's other side, her expression scrunched in open confusion as she looked at Yasu.
Rika's fingers twitched in her lap.
Yasu didn't look at her, but he could feel the shift. The way her emotions hovered in that odd, unsteady place—not fear, not relief, just… uncertainty. Like she wasn't sure what to do with the situation in front of her.
That was fine. He wasn't expecting anything else. Beside him, Sumire exhaled dramatically, propping her elbows on the desk.
"So?" she muttered. "You gonna explain, or do I have to guess?"
Yasu blinked. "…Explain what?"
Sumire shot him a flat look. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe why you're here, instead of over there?" She gestured vaguely toward the front of the classroom—where Yasu usually sat, away from the distractions of everyone else. "Or why you're suddenly acting like a normal person and sitting with people instead of working on your weird little seal projects?"
Yasu gave her a blank stare. "They're not weird."
"They so are."
"They're useful."
"They're boring."
Yasu exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "You wouldn't know useful if it hit you in the face."
Sumire gasped, clutching her chest like she'd been personally attacked. "Excuse you, I am very useful."
Yasu hummed. "I don't recall."
"You little—"
Sumire leaned in, fully prepared to argue, before catching movement out of the corner of her eye.
Rika.
She hadn't said anything, but she was looking at them now. Not fully—just a small, uncertain glance, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to listen.
Sumire hesitated.
Then, instead of snapping back at Yasu like she normally would, she huffed dramatically, crossing her arms with a loud hmph.
"Fine," she declared. "I'll let you off this time."
Yasu raised a brow. "How generous."
"I know."
Rika let out a breath that could have almost been a laugh. It wasn't quite there—but the tension in her shoulders had eased, just a little.
Yasu caught it.
Sumire, despite herself, noticed too. She didn't say anything about it. Instead, she turned back to Yasu with a sharp grin. "You are weird, though."
Yasu didn't even blink. "And yet, you're still talking to me."
Sumire scowled. "Ugh. I hate when you do that."
Rika shifted slightly, watching their exchange like it was something unfamiliar—something she wasn't sure she was allowed to be a part of.
Yasu didn't push. Instead, he leaned back, tilting his head slightly toward her.
"What about you?" he asked, voice casual. "You think I'm weird?"
Rika blinked. Her fingers twitched, like she wasn't expecting to be included.
Then, slowly—hesitantly—
"…A little."
Yasu smirked. "Good."
Sumire groaned, burying her face in her arms. "Great. Now there's two of you."
Rika made a small, quiet sound—barely there, almost hidden.
But Yasu felt it. The tiniest shift. Not quite a laugh. But close.
The classroom settled into its usual rhythm, students shifting in their seats as the instructor prepared to start the lesson.
But before anything could begin—
The door slid open with a sharp clack.
A boy strode in, slightly out of breath, his uniform slightly rumpled like he'd rushed to get here. His dark hair was tied back, a few stray strands falling loose as his sharp eyes scanned the room.
Ren.
He barely spared the instructor a glance before his gaze locked onto them.
More specifically—onto Yasu.
Sitting at the very back.
Next to Rika.
With Sumire.
Ren stared.
Then, very loudly—
"…Why are you all the way back there?"
Yasu didn't even blink. "I moved."
Ren squinted. "Why?"
Sumire sighed dramatically. "That's what I asked."
Ren didn't move from the doorway. He just kept looking at them like the universe had shifted overnight and he was trying to figure out what timeline he'd woken up in.
Yasu, as always, remained unimpressed. "Do you plan on standing there all day?"
Ren huffed, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of answers, but begrudgingly made his way toward them. He slid into the seat next to Sumire, still looking far too suspicious for Yasu's liking.
"I don't like this," Ren muttered under his breath.
Sumire nodded. "Same."
Yasu exhaled slowly. "Then leave."
Ren ignored him entirely. Instead, he turned his attention to Rika.
She flinched—barely. A small, nervous movement, like she wasn't sure what to do under direct attention. Ren seemed to realize it too, because instead of saying anything immediately, he just… studied her for a second.
Then, in a much softer voice, he asked, "You okay?"
Rika blinked. She hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"…Yeah."
Ren didn't look fully convinced, but he let it go. For now. Instead, he turned back to Yasu, crossing his arms.
"I still don't get why you moved," he muttered, like this was some kind of personal betrayal.
Yasu leaned back in his seat. "Get used to it."
Ren scowled. "I refuse."
Sumire groaned. "Can we just start the lesson already?"
The instructor, who had been patiently waiting for them to stop talking, finally cleared his throat. "If you're all done."
The four of them immediately went silent. Yasu didn't miss the way Rika's shoulders finally relaxed. Not much. Just a little. But he noticed.
. . .
Rika had left fast.
The second class ended, she was up, moving quickly out the door before anyone could stop her. Not running—but not lingering either.
Yasu watched her go. He wasn't surprised.
She wasn't used to people sitting with her. Wasn't used to attention. It made sense she'd want to get away, just like it made sense that she hadn't spoken much the entire lesson.
Still.
She hadn't moved seats. That meant something.
"Well, that was interesting," Sumire muttered, stretching her arms above her head as she walked beside him.
Ren snorted. "Understatement."
The three of them stepped outside, falling into their usual rhythm. Yasu didn't comment. Sumire, as always, had enough words for all of them.
"She's really quiet," Sumire continued, glancing at Yasu. "Like, really quiet."
Yasu hummed. "So?"
"So, I don't get why you of all people sat with her."
Ren nodded, arms tucked behind his head. "Yeah, you hate people."
Yasu gave him a flat look. "I don't hate people."
Ren smirked. "That's debatable."
Sumire shook her head. "I mean, it's just weird. You've never cared about stuff like that before. You just do your own thing."
Yasu didn't answer right away.
He could feel their curiosity. Sumire's was more blunt, Ren's more amused, but neither of them understood why he had done it.
He wasn't sure he did either.
"She doesn't talk much," Ren mused. "Even when the teacher asks her stuff, she keeps it short."
Sumire crossed her arms. "Yeah. I don't think I've ever seen her talk to anyone else before."
"She's nervous," Yasu said simply.
Sumire blinked. "…What?"
Yasu glanced at her. "She's always on edge."
Ren raised a brow. "What, you felt that?"
Yasu didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Sumire huffed. "Well, yeah, I could tell she's shy, but—"
"It's not just shy," Yasu said. "It's different."
Ren tilted his head. "How different?"
Yasu exhaled through his nose. "Like it's always there."
Sumire frowned slightly. "…That's weird."
"Yeah," Ren agreed.
The conversation dipped into silence, the air settling around them as they walked.
Then—Ren suddenly grinned.
Yasu recognized that grin. It was never good.
"Oh," Ren drawled. "I get it now."
Sumire raised a brow. "Get what?"
Ren slung an arm lazily around Yasu's shoulders, leaning in with a very obvious smirk.
"He likes her."
Sumire snorted. "What?!"
Yasu didn't react.
Didn't stiffen, didn't roll his eyes, didn't shove Ren off. He just kept walking, letting Ren hang off him like the idiot he was.
Ren leaned closer, voice teasing. "Oh yeah. It all makes sense now. Our cold, uncaring Yasu suddenly taking an interest in a girl—"
"You sound stupid," Yasu said flatly.
Ren cackled.
Sumire, for her part, just looked deeply unamused. "Ren, stop being annoying."
"Can't help it," Ren said breezily. He looked back at Yasu with a smug grin. "Come on, nothing? Not even a little flustered?"
Yasu gave him a blank stare. "Do I look flustered?"
Ren squinted at him, then sighed dramatically. "No. But it was worth a shot."
Sumire rolled her eyes. "Idiot."
Ren just grinned.
Yasu, as always, remained unimpressed.
.
.
.
The war room of Iwagakure was dimly lit, its heavy stone walls soaking up what little warmth the flickering lanterns offered.
At its centre stood a wide wooden table, an aged map of the continent spread across it, marked with strategic points, disputed borders, and the ever-changing front lines of history.
Hisao stood across from the Third Tsuchikage, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable but his stance rigid. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a slow-burning pressure that had been building for minutes now.
Ōnoki, far shorter in stature but towering in presence, leaned forward, his aged but sharp gaze fixed on Hisao. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of authority.
"You're too protective of the boy, Hisao." The Tsuchikage's words were measured, but there was a hard edge to them. "Yasu is more than ready. Keeping him shackled to the academy is a waste of talent. He should graduate early."
Hisao's jaw tightened. He had expected this conversation the moment he had been summoned, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. "That's not your decision to make."
Ōnoki's gaze narrowed. "Everything in this village is my decision to make."
Hisao exhaled through his nose, forcing his voice to remain even. "With respect, Lord Tsuchikage, Yasu is my ward. I determine what's best for him."
Ōnoki scoffed, shaking his head. "Sentimentality is clouding your judgment." He gestured toward the map on the table, tapping a calloused finger against a contested border. "War is coming, whether you want to admit it or not. Kumo's proposal was nothing more than the last pathetic reach of a senile fool, and we shut them down. You don't honestly believe they'll let that go unanswered, do you?"
Hisao frowned. "They'll posture, they'll make noise, but war isn't inevitable. Kumo can't afford it any more than we can."
Ōnoki's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "And if you're wrong? If the Raikage decides we're worth the risk? What then?"
Hisao didn't immediately answer. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
The Tsuchikage took his silence as an opening. "We need every capable shinobi ready. Yasu is no ordinary student—he has skill, precision, a mind sharp beyond his years. He will serve Iwagakure far better as a soldier than as a child sitting in a classroom."
Hisao's eyes darkened. "You see a soldier. I see a boy who is still healing from what was done to him."
Ōnoki let out a slow breath, as if struggling for patience. "And how long will you coddle him, Hisao? Until he's an adult? Until he's too old to be molded into what the village needs? A weapon is only useful when it is sharpened in time."
The metaphor struck a nerve, and Hisao's restraint cracked. His voice was lower now, rougher, barely above a growl. "He is not a weapon."
Ōnoki's expression turned steely. "He is if I say he is."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.
Then, after a moment, the Tsuchikage straightened, as if concluding the conversation himself. "I've allowed you to raise him as you see fit, Hisao, but don't mistake that for unchecked authority. Yasu will take the early graduation exam."
Hisao's breath was slow and measured, but his pulse hammered in his ears. "You would order it?"
Ōnoki held his gaze without hesitation. "I would."
For a long moment, neither man spoke.
Then, finally, Hisao gave a small, humourless chuckle. "So much for my judgment as your Strategic Commander."
Ōnoki waved a dismissive hand. "Your judgment is sound—when it doesn't conflict with my will."
Hisao inhaled deeply, his eyes flicking once to the map on the table. There was no point in continuing this argument. The decision had been made.
But even as he inclined his head in a forced display of acknowledgment, his mind was already turning over his next move.
Yasu would take the exam.