[7823 Words]
The fishing line dipped, a slow ripple spreading outward from where the hook sank beneath the water's surface. Yasu sat still, his posture relaxed, one hand loosely gripping the fishing rod while the other rested idly on his knee. The soft lap of the lake against the shore filled the quiet air, a rhythm both predictable and soothing.
His eyes were closed.
He didn't need to see. Not here.
The world existed in layers—sound, sight, movement. But beneath all of that, beneath the rustling leaves and distant murmur of village life, there was something else. Something most people never noticed.
Chakra.
It pulsed around him, flowing like the currents beneath the lake's surface, shifting with the breath of the world itself. It was in the fish darting beneath the water, their tiny flickers of energy like the glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the waves. It was in the trees, slow and steady, like a deep, slumbering heartbeat. And it was in the village beyond, a distant storm of signatures—hundreds of them, flickering and pulsing in constant motion, a rhythm he had slowly learned to understand.
Yasu let his senses stretch, not quite seeing, not quite hearing, but feeling.
There.
It was subtle, but unmistakable—the faint flicker of something warm, something alive. The fish that had been circling his bait hesitated, its presence tightening like a coiled spring, a moment of indecision made tangible. It wasn't thought, wasn't emotion in the human sense, but Yasu could feel the shift in its presence. An instinct. A choice waiting to be made.
For a moment, he held still, as if waiting would keep the fish from sensing him in turn.
Then—a bite.
Yasu's fingers tensed slightly, his body moving before his mind caught up. A quick pull on the rod, a flick of his wrist, and the line tightened. The fish fought, thrashing wildly, but Yasu was already guiding it in, adjusting his grip, letting instinct dictate his movements.
His eyes opened slowly, grey meeting the sunlit water as he reeled his catch in.
A small one.
He sighed, barely reacting as he pulled the fish from the hook and tossed it back into the lake with a small splash. It was a familiar routine, one Hisao had drilled into him countless times. Patience. Observation. Control. Lessons disguised as fishing trips, meant to teach him restraint and focus, though even back then, Yasu had known the truth—Hisao just liked the quiet.
He flicked the rod forward again, letting the hook sink back into the water. Hisao wasn't here, but the silence was.
The silence, and something else.
Yasu closed his eyes again, and this time-
A presence moving toward him.
He exhaled slowly. Didn't even need to open his eyes to know who it was.
"You're better than before."
Yasu's eyes flickered open. Hisao stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking between Yasu and the lake. The man's face was set in its usual hard lines, the scars around his mouth deepening when he frowned.
The fishing line twitched.
Yasu tugged it once, smooth and controlled. A small, silver fish wriggled at the end of the line, its scales flashing in the weak morning light. He reeled it in, unhooked it with practiced ease, and dropped it into a small wooden bucket of water beside him. The fish splashed once before settling, its tail flicking sluggishly.
Hisao watched, silent, as Yasu wiped his hands on his sleeve and turned to him.
"I had a good teacher," Yasu said, his tone edged with dry amusement.
Hisao huffed, shaking his head. "Didn't think you'd bother keeping up with it."
"It helps me think." Yasu's fingers idly brushed the fishing line. "And it's quiet out here."
Hisao exhaled through his nose, stepping closer, his boots crunching against the frosted earth. "Enjoy the peace while you can," he said. "The Tsuchikage has made a decision about your future."
That caught Yasu's attention. He tilted his head, grey eyes narrowing.
"You're graduating from the Academy early," Hisao continued, his voice even but firm.
Yasu blinked.
His fingers tightened slightly around his fishing rod. His first reaction was confusion—then calculation, then slow, simmering irritation.
Just one year.
One more year and he would have been finished with the Academy anyway. He was ahead of his peers, yes, but that wasn't the point. He had planned on finishing the final year with a sense of ease, refining his knowledge, understanding more of the finer details of what being a shinobi entailed. One more year. Was that too much to ask?
"And if I refuse?" he asked at last, his voice careful.
Hisao exhaled, stepping closer, his broad frame casting a long shadow over Yasu. The older shinobi crouched beside him, his expression unreadable but firm.
"You don't have a choice."
Yasu's grip on the fishing rod twitched. He turned back to the lake, his grey eyes narrowing. "Why?"
Hisao's silence stretched just long enough for Yasu's mind to race ahead of him. The calculated push of a piece across a board. A move decided long before either of them sat here.
"You think war is coming." Yasu turned his head slightly, scanning the man's face. "That's why, isn't it?"
Hisao's eyes darkened. His silence spoke louder than words.
Yasu exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze flickering toward the water. "It's just one more year," he muttered.
"You're talented, but don't make the mistake of believing that buys you time." Hisao's voice was firm, but his eyes were sharp with something Yasu recognized—conviction. "If you're ready now, waiting another year is a risk we can't afford."
Logically, Yasu understood. If a war was on the horizon, the village needed every capable shinobi it could muster. But logic and reason weren't always the same.
It was only one year.
One year to gather more knowledge. To refine his understanding. To truly be ready.
His fingers clenched around his fishing rod, but his expression remained unreadable. "If you graduate me early, I won't be as strong as I could be."
Hisao met his gaze without hesitation. "You'll be strong enough."
Yasu exhaled through his nose. "Then why not just let me finish the year?"
Hisao's gaze was steady, unyielding. "Because we don't have if we even have a year. It could be in months... or perhaps hopefully a year."
The words struck like a hammer. Yasu felt them settle in his bones, in the quiet space where war had once lived within him.
He stared at Hisao, but the man only met his gaze with calm certainty.
And for the first time since his rebirth, Yasu understood something.
This village wasn't waiting for him to be ready. It was making him be ready.
Even if he wasn't.
.
.
.
The stone fountain in the park was old, worn smooth by time. Water trickled steadily from its spout, the surface rippling where it met the basin. Yasu watched the way the light caught on the shifting waves, the reflections twisting and stretching before settling again.
He wasn't really thinking about anything. Or maybe he was thinking about too much. It didn't matter.
Next to him, Sumire let out a dramatic sigh, stretching her arms over her head. "Ugh, why do I always get stuck sitting next to you?"
Ren snorted. "Because I refuse."
Sumire shot him a glare. "That's not an answer."
"That's the best answer," Ren said, leaning back on his hands with a smug grin. "You know how it goes. Survival of the fittest."
"Then how are you still alive?" Sumire shot back.
Ren gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Unbelievable. The disrespect." He turned to Yasu, nudging his shoulder. "Back me up here."
Yasu, still watching the water, blinked once. "No."
Ren groaned, flopping back against the fountain edge. "Traitors. Both of you."
Sumire smirked, flicking a pebble at him. "Just accept that you're the weakest link."
"I am not," Ren grumbled, rubbing his temple. "If anything, he's the weakest link." He jabbed a finger at Yasu.
Sumire raised a brow. "Yeah? Go on, then. Punch him."
Ren hesitated.
Yasu turned his head slightly, unimpressed.
"…Okay, so maybe not physically," Ren amended quickly, shifting gears. "But emotionally? He's got the personality of a brick. That's a weakness."
Yasu hummed. "Bricks are sturdy."
Ren groaned. "That's not the point."
Sumire grinned. "I dunno, sounds like the point to me."
Ren shot her a betrayed look. "Stop agreeing with him."
Sumire shrugged. "He's right."
Ren huffed, crossing his arms. "Whatever. I'm still the best at something."
Sumire nodded solemnly. "Yeah. You're the best at being wrong."
Yasu exhaled, just the faintest trace of amusement in it.
Ren rolled his eyes, but when he glanced at Yasu, his grin faded just a little. Not much—just enough for Sumire to notice too.
"…Alright," Ren said, tilting his head. "You're quieter than usual."
Sumire frowned slightly, studying him. "Yeah. You're just letting me insult Ren without adding anything. That's not normal."
Yasu shrugged. "You were doing fine without me."
"That's not the point," Sumire said, echoing Ren's earlier complaint. "What's up?"
Yasu was quiet for a moment. The water rippled.
Then, casually, like it wasn't worth mentioning, he said, "I'm taking the graduation exam at the end of the week."
Silence.
Sumire and Ren both blinked.
Then—
"…What."
Yasu glanced at them, as if their surprise was unwarranted. "What?"
Ren sat up properly. "You're what?"
Yasu exhaled through his nose. "Graduating."
Sumire looked at Ren, then back at Yasu. "Why?"
"The village decided."
Ren frowned. "And you decided…?"
Yasu shrugged again. "Doesn't matter."
Sumire narrowed her eyes. "That means you don't want to."
Yasu didn't answer.
Ren leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His usual teasing was gone. "That's fast, Yasu. I mean, yeah, you're ahead, but… a week?"
Yasu hummed. "Guess they're impatient."
Sumire crossed her arms, her frown deepening. "Are you?"
Yasu tilted his head slightly. "What?"
"Are you impatient?" she asked. "Or are they just shoving you out the door?"
Yasu held her gaze for a second before looking back at the water. He didn't answer.
Ren ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "That's a lot, man."
Sumire watched Yasu carefully, then nudged his shoulder lightly. "You know you don't have to be all 'whatever' about it, right?"
Yasu smirked faintly. "I don't?"
"No, you don't," Sumire said flatly.
Ren nodded. "Yeah, come on, at least say 'wow, that's crazy' or something."
"Wow," Yasu said, monotone. "That's crazy."
Sumire groaned. "You're impossible."
Ren shook his head, but there was a small grin tugging at his lips. "Well, if you're gonna do it, you better pass. Be a real shame if they kicked you out early and you still flunked."
Sumire smirked. "Yeah, imagine the humiliation."
Yasu huffed. "I won't fail."
Ren clapped him on the back. "Good. Because if you do, I'm gonna laugh."
Yasu hummed. "If I do, I'll let you."
Ren blinked. "Oh." He squinted. "Wait. Is this a trap?"
Sumire rolled her eyes. "Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself."
Ren scowled, then sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine. You'll pass. But, just in case—" He held out a hand.
Yasu raised a brow.
Ren smirked. "Don't forget us when you're all official and important."
Yasu stared at him for a second, then reached out and clasped his forearm, meeting his grip. "You're unforgettable."
Ren grinned. "Damn right I am."
Sumire shook her head. "You're both idiots."
Yasu exhaled, looking back at the water. The ripples settled. Maybe this wasn't how he had wanted things to go. Maybe he wasn't ready. But if he had to do it—at least he wasn't going into it alone.
The end of the week arrived faster than Yasu expected.
He had spent years working toward this—endless training, studying, pushing himself further with every step. And yet, as he stood outside the Academy doors, waiting for the instructors to call his name, the reality of it settled into his chest.
After today, he would officially be a shinobi.
It was an odd thought.
Not because he hadn't expected to get here—of course he had. That was always the goal. But because it didn't feel right yet. He had planned to graduate with time, with preparation, with control. But time had been stolen from him, and now here he was, standing at the threshold of something irreversible.
The courtyard where the exams were being held was quiet in a way that made his skin prickle. The usual sounds of students training were gone, replaced with something heavier—anticipation, tension, the thick, steady pulse of expectation hanging in the air.
He felt it.
He felt everything.
Yasu took a slow breath, forcing himself to focus.
The instructors were waiting ahead, their chakra signatures steady and familiar. Most of them were the same ones who had proctored past exams, their presence nothing unusual. But there was one outlier—someone he didn't recognize.
A Chūnin stood near the back, arms crossed, posture unreadable.
And the moment Yasu's senses brushed against him—
The world lurched.
His stomach twisted violently, his vision dimming at the edges, his entire body locking in place as something vast, something ancient, crashed into him like a tidal wave.
No. No, no, no, no—
The sheer weight of it sent him reeling, his balance wavering as his body screamed at him to run. It wasn't just strong—it was suffocating. It was too much. It was wrong.
A thick, crushing presence pressed against the walls of his mind, flooding his senses with something primal, something deep-rooted and coiled like a beast lying in wait. It was rage, it was contempt, it was disgust—but beneath it, beneath all of it, was something that made Yasu's breath stutter.
A presence that did not belong inside a human.
The emotions came in waves, raw and unfiltered, slamming into his ribs and wrapping around his lungs like chains. His chakra flared against his will, reacting instinctively, but it was like trying to push back against an avalanche.
Rage.
It bled into his skin, hot and simmering, ancient in a way that made his own existence feel small. But this wasn't the rage of a man—no, it was deeper than that. It was the rage of something that had existed for centuries, something that had been caged and bound, something that had never once known freedom.
The resentment in it burned.
They are lesser. They are fools. They are not worth—
Yasu's throat clenched. He staggered back a step.
The second wave hit before he could recover.
Loathing.
Not the sharp, fleeting kind. This was fundamental. This was something that had settled into the bones of whatever this presence was, something woven into its very existence.
They do not understand. They will never understand. They never could.
Yasu sucked in a breath, but his lungs felt too tight, his chest too heavy. His pulse hammered against his skull, and beneath the growing nausea, his own thoughts were splintering under the sheer force of what he was feeling.
He was drowning in it.
The emotions didn't just sit on the surface—they buried themselves inside him, pressing into the core of his being, making him feel like his own body was unraveling. It wasn't like sensing a person's emotions. It wasn't like feeling the flickers of fear, anger, or sorrow in his classmates.
This was something else entirely.
His body knew it wasn't meant to feel this.
His mind knew it wasn't supposed to be possible.
But his blood didn't care.
It pulled him deeper, forcing him to understand this thing that no one else could sense.
Beneath all the rage, the loathing, the hatred—
Loneliness.
It cut deeper than all the rest.
Not fleeting. Not passing. This was permanent. A wound that had never closed, never healed, never been allowed to. It had been left behind a long time ago, abandoned, discarded, left to rot.
And it had never forgotten.
Yasu choked. His knees almost buckled, his hands trembling at his sides. He needed to stop feeling this, needed to shut it out, needed to get away—
"Yasu."
A hand on his shoulder. A voice cutting through the storm.
He barely registered it.
Someone was beside him. A presence steady and familiar, something human.
Hisao.
He needed to get out.
His breath hitched, his body thrumming with something raw and wrong, and before he even realized what he was doing, his legs carried him away.
Not a walk. Not a calculated retreat.
He fled.
He didn't stop. Didn't think. Just moved.
He barely heard the murmurs behind him, the confused glances thrown his way. Didn't care. The moment he pushed past the courtyard and onto the street, the suffocating pressure lightened—but only just. It was still there, clawing at the edges of his senses, distant but too much, like a sound that wouldn't stop ringing in his ears.
His breaths came too quick, his stomach twisting, his hands ice-cold.
He needed air.
He needed distance.
He needed—
…He didn't know what he needed.
The moment he pushed past the courtyard, the suffocating pressure lightened—but only just. It was still there, clawing at the edges of his senses, distant but too much, like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
His lungs ached, his chest tight. He didn't stop until the weight of it wasn't crushing him anymore, until he could feel his own heartbeat without it being drowned out by something else.
He staggered to a stop outside the Academy, pressing his palm against the stone wall, his fingers digging into the rough surface. He shut his eyes, but that was a mistake—because then he felt it again. That echo. That presence still lurking in the back of his mind, coiled and waiting.
Even with distance, it hadn't let go of him.
He sucked in a breath.
"What the hell was that?"
Footsteps.
He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Yasu."
Hisao's voice was quieter this time. Less sharp.
Concerned.
Yasu exhaled slowly. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
Yasu scowled, jaw tightening.
No, he wasn't.
But how the hell was he supposed to explain this?
Hisao didn't push. He just stood there, waiting, his presence solid and grounding. But Yasu could feel the way his chakra shifted, threading with something he rarely let show—unease.
Not fear. Hisao wasn't afraid of anything.
But he was wary.
That only made it worse.
Yasu dragged a hand down his face, still too caught between instinct and reason to fully push it down. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to have control.
And yet—
"The Chūnin," Yasu said finally, voice quieter than usual. "The one near the instructors."
He didn't have to elaborate.
He knew Hisao had noticed.
Hisao's silence was answer enough.
Yasu let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "That wasn't normal."
Hisao didn't react immediately. Just kept watching him—assessing, calculating.
Yasu's stomach twisted. "I've felt strong shinobi before," he muttered. "Jōnin. Even the Tsuchikage doesn't feel like that."
Still, Hisao said nothing.
Yasu's fingers curled at his sides. "I could barely breathe near them. It was like—" His throat tightened, the memory slamming back into him, the sheer heaviness of it suffocating his lungs. "Like I wasn't standing next to a person."
A flicker. Small. Barely there.
But Yasu felt it. The brief shift in Hisao's chakra.
Hisao knew.
Yasu exhaled through his nose. "What was that?"
Hisao's expression remained unreadable. But the pause before he answered—that hesitation—was louder than words.
"…It doesn't matter."
Yasu's jaw twitched. "The hell it doesn't."
Hisao sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yasu, it's not something you need to concern yourself with."
"Not something I need to—I nearly collapsed from it, Hisao." The frustration cracked through his voice, sharp and biting. "I felt it. You think I can just ignore that? You think I can pretend it didn't happen?"
Silence.
Hisao just looked at him. And that was worse than anything he could've said.
Yasu inhaled slowly. "…So I was right." His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. "That wasn't normal. That wasn't human."
Hisao's shoulders tensed slightly. No confirmation. No denial.
Just silence.
Yasu's stomach turned. He wasn't supposed to know. That's what this was. That's what Hisao wasn't saying. This was classified. Which meant Hisao knew exactly what he had felt.
And that—
That was worse than any answer he could've given.
Yasu exhaled slowly, trying to steady his pulse, but the truth settled into his ribs like cold iron. Even now, even with distance between them—he could still feel it.
Lingering.
Waiting.
And in the depths of his mind, buried beneath the logic and the control and the effort to shut it out—
There was an instinctive, gut-deep certainty.
That thing…
Had noticed him, too.
.
.
.
Yasu hadn't slept.
Not because he was up working on sealing formulas. Not because he was restless with anticipation.
But because of it.
Even with a full night between now and what had happened in that courtyard, the memory still clung to him like a sickness, pressing against the edges of his mind, refusing to fade.
He had felt things before—fear, anger, sorrow. He had understood people's emotions in ways others couldn't. But this—
This had been different.
It wasn't just sensing. Wasn't just knowing. It was drowning.
Even now, lying in bed with the first hints of morning creeping through his window, the thought of that chakra made his chest tighten. The memory of it suffocated him.
It had been heavy. Bitter. Wrong.
And it had noticed him. He felt the subtle shift.
Yasu exhaled slowly, pressing a hand over his face. His muscles ached—not from exhaustion, but from being so tense all night. His body was reacting to something his mind still hadn't caught up with. But there was no time to think about it now.
Today, he would become a shinobi.
By the time he arrived at the ceremony hall, the morning was already in full swing.
The hall itself wasn't grand—not like the Tsuchikage's tower or the war rooms where high-ranking shinobi gathered. But it was important. The walls were marked with the insignias of the village, banners hanging in deep reds and browns, the weight of history ingrained into the very stone beneath his feet.
A row of hitae-ate lay neatly on a ceremonial table, their metal plates gleaming under the morning light, each one engraved with Iwagakure's symbol. A reminder. A declaration.
This was real.
The exam had been postponed. No explanation was given, but Yasu knew why. He had left too suddenly. Made too much of a scene. They had needed time to assess, to decide.
And now, here he was.
It was easier than he expected.
Just the formality of it all after a few simple tests.
He stood in line with the others there weren't many, only two others. He was pretty sure they were in their fourth year yet they would rather graduate now then wait some months. His posture straight, his hands at his sides, listening as an older shinobi—one of the higher-ranked instructors—began the final rite.
"In the name of the Tsuchikage, you stand here today to take your first step into the ranks of Iwagakure's shinobi. From this moment forward, you are no longer students, no longer children."
The words were heavy. Rehearsed.
"You are shinobi. And with that title comes duty."
Yasu's gaze flickered to the side. The others looked focused—one proud, the other nervous, but all present. For a brief moment, he wondered what they were thinking. If this moment felt as irreversible to them as it did to him.
The instructor continued.
"You are entrusted with the strength of our village. Your actions are no longer your own. From this day forward, you serve Iwagakure. You will follow its orders, protect its people, and uphold its will."
A pause. Then—
"You will carry the Will of Stone."
Yasu's breath stilled.
It was tradition. It was law.
"The Will of Stone is unyielding. It does not bend, it does not break. It endures."
The words carried through the chamber, pressing down with the weight of centuries.
"From the moment you bear this headband, you are no longer a single stone—you are part of the mountain, bound to this land and its people. You are the foundation upon which Iwagakure stands. Your strength is not your own. It belongs to your comrades, to your leaders, to your village."
Yasu's fingers twitched at his sides. That philosophy had been beaten into them from the start of the academy.
Strength above all. Endurance above all. A shinobi of Iwagakure did not break.
And yet—
Yasu thought of the way his knees had nearly buckled yesterday. The way he had felt himself shatter under the weight of something beyond him. The way he had run.
He clenched his jaw. It was fine. It didn't matter. This was what he had trained for.
Then—
"The Tsuchikage has recognized you as capable shinobi of this village. Kneel, and receive your hitae-ate."
One by one, they did.
Yasu followed, lowering himself onto one knee. The stone floor was cool beneath his fingertips as he placed his hand over his heart—tradition. A gesture of loyalty.
The instructor stepped forward, holding out the cloth band. The moment Yasu's fingers closed around it, the weight of the metal plate settled against his palm. Cold. Solid. Real.
With it—came something else.
A small, sealed scroll.
Yasu took it without hesitation.
"Your identification," the instructor said, voice steady. "Within it, your registration number, your rank, and your official mark under the seal of the Tsuchikage."
Yasu turned it over in his fingers, his name already inked onto the parchment, alongside a new set of numbers. His new identification.
A shinobi of Iwagakure.
That was what he was now.
He stood, securing the hitae-ate to his forehead with practiced ease. The weight of it felt foreign, like something that had been given to him rather than something he had earned.
Like something he still wasn't sure belonged to him.
A final nod from the instructor. "Welcome to the ranks of Iwagakure."
And just like that—
It was done.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur.
A signature placed beneath the official record. A final exchange of words. The moment his name was spoken aloud, written into the registry, sealing his place in the village's history.
It was easy. Simpler than it should have been. For years, he had worked toward this. And yet, standing here now, it felt…
Small.
Like it had happened too quickly. Like it should have meant more. He should have felt something—pride, relief, certainty. Instead, all he could think about was the heaviness in his chest.
Because even now, even with his hitae-ate secured, with his name marked under the Tsuchikage's seal—
He still felt it.
That lingering presence. That suffocating force.
He had passed the exam. He had earned his rank.
But something inside him told him that yesterday's test—the real test—was far from over.
Then—
"Yasu."
A voice broke through his thoughts.
He turned, finding one of the attending officials approaching. The man's face was unreadable, but there was a weight behind his words.
"The Tsuchikage has requested you."
Yasu's grip tightened around the scroll in his hands.
The official didn't elaborate, didn't explain. But Yasu didn't need him to.
The walk to the Tsuchikage's office was silent.
The official who had summoned him hadn't offered any details—just a simple, "The Tsuchikage wishes to speak with you." That was all. No elaboration. No context.
Yasu followed without question.
That didn't mean he wasn't thinking.
Ōnoki had spoken to him once before, weeks ago. Back then, Yasu had been an observer, listening as the man pressed Hisao about his future. About what was to be done with him.
Now, Yasu was being called directly.
That alone said something.
The Tsuchikage's office loomed ahead, flanked by two stone-faced guards. The doors—thick and reinforced, carved from solid rock—creaked open as the official led him inside.
Ōnoki was seated at his desk, hunched slightly over a scroll, his thick brows furrowed in concentration. The smell of ink and parchment lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the authority that weighed down the room.
The doors closed behind them.
Ōnoki didn't look up immediately. Instead, he tapped his brush against the inkstone, shook off the excess, and continued writing.
Yasu didn't move. Didn't speak.
And he certainly didn't kneel.
The moment stretched. The scratch of the brush against paper filled the silence, slow and deliberate.
Then, finally—without looking up—Ōnoki spoke.
"Sit."
Yasu didn't hesitate, but he also didn't rush. He moved with the same measured pace he always did, lowering himself into the chair across from the Tsuchikage's desk with deliberate ease.
Ōnoki finished writing. Set the brush down. Finally looked up. His sharp, deep-set eyes fixed on Yasu.
"You certainly don't waste time causing trouble," he said dryly.
Yasu tilted his head slightly. "I wasn't aware graduating was troublesome."
Ōnoki scoffed. "Graduating? No. Running out of an exam before it even started?" His thick brow arched. "That's another matter."
Yasu didn't blink. Didn't look away.
"Then perhaps the fault lies in the exam itself," he said smoothly. "If a shinobi is forced to leave, the environment may not have been suited to the evaluation being given."
Ōnoki stilled. Then, slowly—his lips curled into something almost like amusement.
"You've got nerve, boy," he muttered.
Yasu merely offered a slight incline of his head. Not deferential, not submissive—simply acknowledging.
Ōnoki let out a quiet, huffing chuckle. Then, his gaze sharpened.
"You felt something," he stated. Not a question.
Yasu met his gaze without hesitation. "I did."
Ōnoki studied him. "Describe it."
Yasu exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "Heavy. Overwhelming." A pause. "Old."
The Tsuchikage's fingers tapped once against the desk. "And?"
"And angry."
Ōnoki's gaze didn't waver.
"Is that all?"
Yasu hesitated. Just for a second.
No. That wasn't all.
But he wasn't stupid.
If he admitted how deeply he had felt it—how intimate the emotions had been, how he had understood them rather than simply perceiving them—then this meeting would turn into something else entirely.
Instead, he simply said, "Yes."
A pause.
Ōnoki hummed, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms. He studied Yasu with something between calculation and intrigue.
"It's rare to see a shinobi with your particular talents," he mused.
Yasu didn't respond. He knew better than to accept a compliment at face value.
Ōnoki smirked slightly. "Not just any sensor can resonate like you do. Most can detect presence, track movement, identify threats. But you…" He tilted his head. "You felt it. You understood it, even if you didn't know what you were understanding."
Another pause.
Then, Ōnoki's tone shifted.
"Hisao's always been stubborn," he said, shaking his head. "Keeping you hidden. Keeping you protected. It's no surprise he sees potential in you. But I have to wonder—" His sharp gaze met Yasu's again. "Do you see it?"
Yasu's fingers curled slightly in his lap. Not out of nerves—out of something else.
Calculation.
If this was a test, then Ōnoki wanted one of two things. Obedience or ambition.
Obedience would be boring. Ambition would be dangerous.
So Yasu gave him something else.
"I see what others expect of me," he said simply. "I see the futures people try to carve for me. Whether I see my own future…" He shrugged slightly. "That remains to be seen."
Ōnoki's lips curled upward.
This time, there was no mistaking the amusement.
"You think you're clever, don't you?"
Yasu met his gaze evenly. "I think I prefer to understand before I decide."
Ōnoki let out a sharp, barking laugh. It was a sound Yasu hadn't expected.
"Hisao's trained you well," the old man muttered, shaking his head. "You don't just follow orders. You don't just seek power. You watch."
Yasu didn't respond.
Ōnoki's gaze sharpened again. "But eventually, boy, you'll have to do more than just observe. You'll have to choose."
Yasu inhaled slowly, his mind moving carefully. "And what is it that you want me to choose?"
Ōnoki smirked, sitting back once more. "You'll figure that out soon enough."
The weight in the air shifted. A signal.
The meeting was over.
Yasu stood, his movement fluid and deliberate. He turned toward the door—
But just before he reached it—
"Yasu."
He stopped.
Ōnoki's voice was calm. Too calm.
"I suggest you think carefully about what you felt yesterday," he said. "And what it means for you."
Yasu didn't turn around.
"…Understood, Lord Tsuchikage."
He stepped forward, the door sliding shut behind him.
And as he walked away, he could still hear the faint echo of Ōnoki's laughter in the back of his mind.
The walk from the Tsuchikage's office was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even as Yasu stepped out into the open air, the conversation lingered, curling around his thoughts like smoke.
"I suggest you think carefully about what you felt yesterday. And what it means for you."
It was such a simple statement. But the more Yasu turned it over in his mind, the less simple it became.
He replayed the conversation again—every word, every pause, every shift in tone. Ōnoki had been amused by him, maybe even impressed, but why? What exactly had he been looking for?
What did he mean by what it means for you?
His first instinct was to take it at face value. Think about what you felt. It made sense—after all, it wasn't normal for a genin to react so violently to someone else's chakra.
But that wasn't it.
It wasn't just about the chakra.
Ōnoki wasn't concerned about Yasu's reaction—he was interested. He wanted Yasu to understand something. Yasu's mind moved in careful patterns, sorting through every logical angle.
Option one—He's testing me.
That was the most straightforward possibility. A Kage didn't call just any newly graduated genin into his office. He wanted to see how Yasu would respond. How he would carry himself. If he could be useful to the village.
That made sense. Except… Ōnoki already knew what Yasu was capable of.
So why repeat something Yasu had already proven?
Option two—He's warning me.
That was less obvious, but not impossible. Maybe the Tsuchikage saw a problem—something in the way Yasu had reacted yesterday, something that made him dangerous. Was he being watched now? Was this a way to make sure Yasu didn't question too much? Didn't start looking for answers he wasn't supposed to have?
But if that were the case… why had Ōnoki seemed amused instead of concerned?
Which brought him to—
Option three—He wants me to come to my own conclusion.
This was the most complicated, and the most frustrating. It meant Ōnoki wasn't telling him something on purpose. He wanted Yasu to figure it out himself.
Yasu inhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as he stopped near a quiet side street, away from the busier parts of the village.
What did Ōnoki know?
What had Yasu felt that was so important?
His fingers curled slightly at his sides.
The chakra yesterday…
He had never felt something like that before. Not just overwhelming—but wrong. Old. Resentful.
Not human.
Was that it?
Ōnoki had expected him to feel something.
Did that mean it was planned? Did that mean someone had let that person—a thing—be there, knowing what Yasu would sense?
No. That didn't make sense. The Kage wouldn't manipulate an exam like that. But then—
What?
Yasu scowled slightly, exhaling sharply through his nose. He hated this.
He hated not knowing.
He hated not understanding.
He hated that his mind kept circling back to the same realization.
The answer wasn't going to come from logic.
It wasn't in what was said. It was in what wasn't said.
Ōnoki hadn't explained what Yasu felt. Hadn't reassured him. Hadn't told him to ignore it, hadn't dismissed it as nothing.
Instead, he had told him to think about it.
Which meant… whatever Yasu had felt wasn't a mistake.
It wasn't a fluke.
It was something that mattered.
And that was what unsettled him the most.
Because no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, no matter how much he tried to sort through it logically—
He didn't know what it meant for him.
And until he did, it would never stop bothering him.
.
.
.
Tomorrow, he would be assigned to a team.
It still felt strange.
Even now, as he walked through Iwagakure's market, moving between the rows of vendors and stalls, the weight of the hitae-ate on his forehead was unfamiliar. It wasn't heavy—not physically—but it was there. Present. A reminder of the path he had stepped onto.
Half the stalls were filled with armour that was too heavy, clothing that was too loose, or fabric that was too thin for durability. Some shinobi swore by heavy vests layered with reinforced plating, but Yasu wasn't interested in slowing himself down just to absorb a little more damage. Others wore excessive gear—spiked forearm guards, oversized cloaks, even full-body wrappings—but those only served to restrict movement.
He needed something simple, efficient, and adaptable.
Something built for function over appearance.
His current outfit had served well enough for training, but now that missions were on the horizon, he had to consider the details more carefully.
A reinforced shirt would help with durability, but it needed to be breathable. A vest, but not one that slowed movement. Arm guards, but nothing that would weigh him down.
Gloves or not?
Boots or sandals?
Even the material mattered—was woven fabric better than something blended with mesh for added resistance?
It was frustrating.
Everything about this world was frustrating.
Ōnoki's words from yesterday were still turning over in his mind, wrapping around his thoughts like an itch that wouldn't go away. He had barely gotten any sleep, and it showed in the slight tension in his temples, the way his fingers absently tapped against the wooden counter as he weighed the benefits of one fabric over another.
What you felt yesterday… and what it means for you.
Tch.
It didn't mean anything.
At least, it shouldn't.
But it did. And that's what pissed him off the most.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers against his temple before shifting his focus back to the clothing in front of him.
Alright. Back to logic.
What was the most effective choice?
A long-sleeved undershirt for protection, but lightweight enough not to suffocate in warmer conditions. A fitted, reinforced vest—nothing too thick, but something that could handle wear and tear. Shin guards. Arm wraps for added grip and flexibility.
A familiar presence drifted into his awareness before she ever spoke.
Yasu didn't need to turn to know she was there.
Rika.
He had already recognized her chakra the moment she stepped into the marketplace. Hers was easy to distinguish—not because it was loud, but because it was small. Drawn in. Suppressed.
And then, there was the toll of emotions that came with it.
A faint pulse of uncertainty, the usual undercurrent of nervous energy that followed her everywhere she went. She wasn't anxious—not exactly. Just hesitant.
Like she wasn't sure if she was supposed to be here at all.
She wasn't browsing seriously. She was just looking, moving slowly past stalls, trailing her fingers lightly over fabrics and trinkets without any real intention of buying.
Of course.
Rika wouldn't admit she couldn't afford anything.
But Yasu had always been good at reading between the lines.
He turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't noticed him yet, too preoccupied with a small pendant hanging from a vendor's display.
She was wearing the scarf he had given her.
That, at least, was some proof she hadn't thrown it away out of stubborn pride.
Yasu exhaled, deciding he had nothing better to do.
"You know," he called out, his voice even, "usually, when people stare at something for that long, it means they actually want it."
Rika startled slightly, her fingers twitching as she looked up. Her eyes widened a fraction when she spotted him.
"Oh—" She hesitated. "Yasu."
He raised a brow. "Who else?"
She fidgeted slightly, her hands moving to clasp the ends of her scarf. "I just didn't expect to see you here."
He tilted his head. "Where else would I be?"
Rika blinked. "Well… I mean, you graduated early. Shouldn't you be—I don't know. Doing something important?"
Her gaze flickered down, lingering for a moment.
It took Yasu a second to realize what she was looking at.
His hitae-ate.
It wasn't the first time someone had noticed. He had caught passing glances all day—some subtle, some not. Most of his classmates had still been in the Academy when the news of his early graduation spread. He supposed it wasn't surprising that Rika hadn't known.
He exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. "It's not that interesting."
Rika's eyes lifted to his again. "It's interesting to me."
Yasu studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "It was just another test."
Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of her scarf. "And you passed."
He nodded.
Rika was quiet for a moment, watching him with an expression that was hard to place.
Then, finally—
"…You must be strong."
It wasn't a question.
It wasn't admiration, either.
Just observation.
Yasu scoffed lightly, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "You sound surprised."
She shook her head. "I'm not surprised. I just…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It feels… distant."
Yasu frowned slightly. "What does?"
She exhaled softly, glancing away. "That kind of strength."
Yasu's gaze flickered over her, taking in the way she held herself. The way her shoulders were pulled in just slightly. The way her fingers clenched tighter around the scarf when she said it.
This wasn't about his graduation.
Not really.
It was about her.
Yasu hummed quietly, turning back to the stall in front of him. "Strength isn't as complicated as people think."
Rika blinked, looking at him again. "It isn't?"
"No." He brushed his fingers over the reinforced vest he had been examining earlier. "You prepare. You endure. You fight. That's all there is to it."
Rika hesitated, tilting her head slightly. "That's all?"
Yasu smirked faintly. "What, were you expecting some grand revelation?"
Rika bit her lip, thinking for a moment before she answered. "…Maybe."
Yasu exhaled through his nose, shifting the vest in his hands.
Rika watched him for a moment before speaking.
"…You don't seem happy about it."
Yasu didn't look up. "About what?"
She hesitated, then glanced at the hitae-ate tied around his forehead. "Graduating early."
His fingers curled slightly around the fabric of the vest. Not in irritation—just reflex.
"I wanted to be a shinobi," he said simply. "I just didn't expect it to happen this soon."
Rika tilted her head slightly. "Did you have a choice?"
Yasu scoffed. "No one asked me, if that's what you mean."
Rika hummed softly, trailing her fingers over the edge of the market stall. "So, what? They just told you, 'Congratulations, you're leaving'?"
Yasu huffed. "Something like that."
There was a pause. Rika's eyes flickered toward him again, thoughtful.
"…Then were you ready for it?"
Yasu exhaled sharply, setting the vest back down. "I passed, didn't I?"
"That's not what I meant."
She wasn't being sharp. She wasn't being challenging.
But the question made something twist inside him all the same. Because of course he had been ready.
He had trained for this. Worked for this. He had studied jutsu, mastered seals, memorized battlefield formations. He had spent years preparing for what was to come—what had always been inevitable. What he wanted.
And yet—
"It wasn't supposed to happen now," he muttered, almost to himself.
That was the problem. Not that he wasn't ready. Not that he doubted himself. Just that the timing had been stolen from him.
Rika was quiet for a moment before speaking again.
"…I think that's why you're frustrated."
Yasu raised a brow at her. "You think?"
She flushed slightly, fiddling with the edge of her scarf. "I mean—it makes sense, right?"
Yasu huffed lightly, shaking his head. "You're too careful with your words."
Rika hesitated. Then, quietly—
"I have to be."
Yasu stilled.
Her voice had been soft, but the weight behind it was sharp—so much so that, for a second, it almost felt like something pressed against his senses.
He glanced at her again, watching the way her hands curled slightly in her scarf. She wasn't looking at him anymore, her gaze flickering toward the passing crowds instead.
Yasu exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly. "You don't have to be with me."
Rika blinked, startled by the sudden statement. "Huh?"
"You don't have to be careful," he clarified, his voice even. "Not with me."
Rika hesitated.
Then, slowly, she gave a small, uncertain nod.
"…Okay."
The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortable, just there.
Yasu picked up the vest again, checking the stitching. Rika shifted beside him, stealing another glance at his hitae-ate before absently tugging at her scarf.
"…It suits you," she murmured.
Yasu raised a brow. "What does?"
She hesitated, then gestured slightly toward his forehead. "Your headband. It suits you."
Yasu studied her for a moment, then smiled slightly. "Better than the scarf suits you?"
Rika flushed. "Shut up."
The words had barely left her mouth before she froze.
Her eyes widened slightly, as if she couldn't believe what had just come out. Her entire posture stiffened, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her scarf.
She hadn't meant to say that.
She wasn't the type to snap—not even playfully, not even unintentionally. It wasn't something she did.
Yasu blinked. Then, slowly—
He smiled in amusement having not expecting ever so quiet Rika to have that response, it sounded like something Sumire would say perhaps because after the day they sat with Rika, Sumire had made a point to truly try befriending the girl.
Rika seemed to realize what had happened at the exact same moment, because she immediately looked away, her entire face burning.
"I—I mean—" She scrambled for words, her voice quieter now. "I didn't—"
Yasu chuckled. Actually chuckled.
That only made it worse. Rika groaned under her breath, tugging the scarf higher over her face, like she could somehow disappear into it.
Yasu shook his head, still smirking. "That's the first time you've ever told me to shut up."
Rika let out a tiny noise of distress, still not looking at him. "Forget it."
"No chance."
She groaned again. "You're terrible."
Yasu huffed, amused, before casually grabbing the vest he had been eyeing and heading toward the vendor to pay. "I know."
Rika refused to lower the scarf from her face for the rest of the conversation.