[ Riku & Kōten: Hidden Garden Behind the Slums]
Mist hung like a curtain, soft and silent. Riku knelt in the damp grass, chalking a small summoning circle into the dirt. At its center sat a squat black beetle with a crystalline shell that shimmered faintly with pink veins.
Kōten.
Riku's first summon. A scout-class Crystal Jade Beetle. Small, fast, and eerily intelligent.
"You drag me out of my realm again, little summoner," Kōten chirped, voice echoing faintly through chakra resonance. "Is it for battle? Or more talking?"
Riku grinned. "Planning. And training. I need your input."
Kōten's antennae twitched. "Very well. What weakness are we pretending not to have today?"
Riku took a breath and rolled out a scroll across the grass, marked with a diagram of his Crystal Release jutsu—Prism Confinement and Fang Barrage.
"I want to use your speed with my crystal traps. Not just summon you, but move with you—sync attacks. Can you act as a decoy or bait?"
Kōten scuttled to the diagram. "I am a scout. We are not meant to brawl."
"But you're fast, and you can turn invisible for brief windows. If I embed crystals in you—or link them through chakra threads—you could become part of the trap."
Kōten paused.
"…Risky. But clever. You'll need to sync your jutsu timing perfectly. If you delay, I shatter."
"I won't."
Riku pressed his hands to the ground, forming a single seal. Small crystal shards bloomed around Kōten in a radial pattern.
"Let's test a mock pincer."
And so, the planning began—trial after trial, failure after failure—but slowly, they began to move together. Man and beetle. One mind.
[ – Hozuki Compound: Training Grounds]
Elsewhere, in a walled courtyard hidden within the compound of the Hozuki Clan, Shiroku stood shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin, steam rising from the remnants of a liquified clone he had just dispelled.
Before him stood an older shinobi, arms folded, expression carved from stone.
The Clan Head—Shiroku's great-uncle. A survivor of many wars. Cold as the sea that birthed their blood.
"You lost," the man said, voice quiet and sharp. "To a civilian-born upstart with a forgotten bloodline."
The clan hand reminded with a sharp tone.
Shiroku's eyes flickered. "He was stronger than expected."
"And you were weaker than required."
The clan head motioned to the stone tiles.
"Again."
Shiroku launched into the water clone sequence. Three perfect copies emerged, circling the old man.
A blur of motion. The elder dashed forward, slamming a palm into the base of one clone's neck—it exploded in a splash. Another grabbed at his leg. He spun, lashing out with a kunai made of frozen mist.
Two clones down. The third retreated, and Shiroku reformed beside it, breathing heavily.
"You're relying too much on trickery. Hozuki are predators, not stage magicians."
"I've already started developing a new hydration variant," Shiroku snapped, trying to keep frustration from showing. "Low-pressure mist form—can slip through tight spaces, reform faster."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"…Good. You're not stupid. But remember—every fight you lose shames this clan. Every action you take echoes beyond your own shadow."
Shiroku bowed stiffly. "Understood."
The clan head stepped back into the mist, voice fading with him.
"Train harder. Or next time, you won't get a duel. You'll get a funeral."
[ – Both Boys, Different Paths]
Riku watches Kōten vanish into the mists, the beetle having executed a flawless trap trigger test.
"One mind," Riku whispers, smiling faintly.
Meanwhile, Shiroku collapses in the courtyard, blood dripping from his lip, hands raw from too many clone drills. But his eyes burn.
"Next time, I'll break your crystals, gem boy."
END