Iruka-sensei stands at the front of the classroom, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the dusty floor.
A stack of papers rests in his hand, each one a weighty reminder of the task ahead.
"Alright class," he announces, his voice a little softer than usual, a hint of weariness creeping in, "tomorrow is the graduation exam. This… this is the final hurdle. The last step before you can officially call yourselves shinobi of the Leaf Village."
A nervous flutter ripples through the room. Some students fidget, some stare blankly ahead, lost in their own anxieties. Iruka-sensei sighs internally.
He knows the pressure they're under.
He remembers his own graduation, the knot of fear and anticipation in his stomach. He holds up a single sheet of paper.
"The exam," he explains, his gaze sweeping across their faces, "will consist of one technique: the Bunshin no Jutsu – the Clone Technique."
A collective groan rises from the class. The Bunshin. For some, it's a simple exercise. For others, it's a wall they can't seem to climb.
Raizen, perched on the edge of his chair near the back, a study in quiet confidence, simply smiles.
He doesn't need to practice. He mastered the Bunshin no Jutsu months ago, painstakingly guided by his father during countless hours of training before he even enrolled in the Academy.
He is, for lack of a better word, a prodigy.
The Academy curriculum feels… slow.
He already knows most of it. He can practically recite the textbook from memory.
The final bell screeches, cutting through the tension in the room. A rush of air fills the classroom as students scramble to gather their belongings.
They're desperate to escape, to postpone the inevitable. Raizen, however, moves with his usual calm and confident deliberation.
He packs his bag slowly, methodically, his mind already drifting to thoughts of home.
He joins the throng of students spilling out onto the bustling Leaf Village streets.
The air is thick with the smells of street food and the sounds of chattering vendors. But Raizen barely notices.
He's too preoccupied with the weight of their stares. He feels them, like a physical pressure, following him down the street.
Some eyes are filled with a thinly veiled disdain, others with a palpable fear.
He's used to it now. He understands the reason, the whispers that follow him like shadows, the label he can't seem to shake.
He sighs, a small, almost inaudible sound. Just another day. Just another walk home.
He turns right onto a quieter, less crowded street, a small act of rebellion against the constant scrutiny.
He craves the solitude, the quiet space where he can simply be Raizen, not that Raizen.
Suddenly, he bumps into someone. A blonde-haired boy with startlingly blue eyes and an equally startling orange jumpsuit.
The boy stumbles backward, nearly falling."Watch where you're going, dobe." Raizen mutters, more annoyed than truly angry.
He's not in the mood for… this."Hey! Wait a minute!" the boy yells after him. He sounds… indignant.
Raizen doesn't turn around. He's heard it all before. The taunts, the jeers, the accusations. Whatever this boy has to say, it's nothing Raizen wants to hear.
He finally reaches his house, a small but comfortable dwelling tucked away in a quiet corner of the village.
He kicks off his sandals in the entryway and calls out, "I'm home!"Silence.
Raizen frowns.
His father is usually home by now. He glances around the living room, then the small, cluttered kitchen.
No sign of him.
A flicker of unease prickles at the edges of his calm facade.
He walks towards his own room, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house.
And as he reaches the doorway, he sees him. His father is sitting on the windowsill, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
He's engrossed in a small, well-worn book, his brow furrowed in concentration. A wave of relief washes over Raizen.
A small smile plays on Raizen's lips. "You missed me that much?" he teases gently, trying to lighten the sudden tension he feels.
His father turns his head, his one visible eye meeting Raizen's.
The corner of his mouth twitches in a faint smile. "I was… catching up on some reading," he says, his voice quiet.
Raizen steps into the room, his gaze lingering on his father. He takes in the familiar details: the stark white hair, just a shade darker than his own, the mask that conceals the lower half of his face, the Leaf Village headband covering his left eye. Kakashi Hatake. His father. His hero.