Kaina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not saying we should ignore it. I'm saying we should be careful. If he's hiding something, we need to find out what it is—but we can't just assume the worst. Maybe he's scared. Maybe he's protecting someone. We don't know. And until we do, we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
Kato crossed his arms, his tone skeptical. "Benefit of the doubt? After what happened in District 69? That's a big risk, Kaina."
"And treating him like a criminal without proof is an even bigger one! If we push him away or accuse him without knowing the truth, we might just create the very problem we're trying to avoid."
If Eichi was connected to the District 69 incident, then he wasn't just a transfer student with a tough past. He was someone who had been through hell—and survived. Someone who might still be running from something, or someone.
"So, what do we do? If he's that dangerous, we can't just sit around and wait for him to do something."
Kaina hesitated, then nodded. "We keep an eye on him. But we do it carefully. No accusations, no confrontations. If he's hiding something, we'll figure it out—but we'll do it the right way. Agreed?"
Kato sighed, clearly still skeptical, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But if he does anything suspicious, I'm not waiting around to see what happens."
Kenta nodded as well, though his expression remained uneasy. "Alright, fine. That's good enough."
"That's all I'm asking. Let's just... give him a chance. If he's here to start over, he deserves that much."
The group fell silent again. Kaina's defense of Eichi had shifted the dynamic, but the unease remained. Eichi might have seemed like just another student, but now there were too many questions, too many pieces that didn't fit. And as the evening wore on, the mystery of Eichi Uzuchi only deepened.
The day after, a tired Eichi walked out of his room, his steps slow as he made his way toward his class. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his shoulders slumped slightly in exhaustion. His black hair was disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it too many times in frustration.
Last night, like every night, had been the same. Nightmares had jolted him awake, his body drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding as the memories of Uzushiogakure burning flashed before his eyes.
The explosions, his brothers voices, the screams, the blood—it was always the same. The images were seared into his mind, as if his subconscious refused to let him forget.
And every time, he'd forced himself out of bed, his body moving on autopilot as he trained.
Push-ups, sit-ups, Seal studies, chakra control exercises—anything to keep his mind occupied, to keep the memories away. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, the nightmares always came back.
His routine had been the same since he first stepped onto the battlefield as a shinobi of Uzuchio during the war, before being recalled to protect the Uzumaki heir. Train, wake up from a nightmare, train again.
Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when every moment of rest brought the risk of those haunting visions. Four hours of sleep—if he was lucky—was all he allowed himself.
But even that was starting to take its toll. His body ached with a deep, persistent fatigue, and his mind felt like it was constantly on the edge of collapse.
As he walked down the hallway, the faint buzz of chatter from other students filled the air, but Eichi barely registered it. He'd pushed himself harder than usual, his body screaming in protest, but it still hadn't been enough to quiet the storm in his head.
His movements felt sluggish, his reflexes dulled, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it affected his performance in class.
His body was a machine running on fumes, and even machines broke down eventually.
As he reached the classroom door, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
He couldn't let anyone see how tired he was, how close he was to breaking. He straightened his posture, masking his exhaustion with the same stoic expression he always wore, and pushed the door open.
The classroom was already half-full, students chatting and laughing as they prepared for the day. Eichi ignored them, making his way to his seat in the back of the room.
He slumped into the chair, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, noting the exits, the potential threats, the faces of his classmates.
Aiko glanced up from her conversation, noticing the faint shadows under Eichi's eyes. She frowned slightly, but she didn't say anything. She knew better than to push him, at least not in front of everyone.
Eichi leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the window as he tried to ignore the growing ache in his muscles and the fog in his mind. He couldn't afford to let his guard down, not even for a moment.
But as the minutes ticked by and the teacher began the lesson, he found it harder and harder to focus. His eyelids felt heavy, his thoughts drifting despite his best efforts to stay alert.
The teacher's voice droned on, a monotonous stream of information that Eichi struggled to follow. He blinked hard, trying to shake the fog from his mind.
His notes were sparse, the words on the page blurring together as his hand moved sluggishly across the paper. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this drained—thishuman.
"Looks like someone partied too hard last night," Said Kenta, smirking. "Guess even the mighty Eichi has his limits."
Kato chuckled, but his eyes flicked to Eichi, curious. "Or maybe he's just not as tough as he pretends to be."
Eichi heard them, of course. He always did. But today, their words barely registered. His mind was too preoccupied with the heaviness in his limbs, the way his thoughts kept slipping away like water through his fingers.