Time passed in a strange way in Konoha. The days crawled by in the boredom of academy lessons, but the weeks and months flew by in the blink of an eye. One moment Yuji was arguing about soda pop chakra, and the next, he was blowing out the candles on his seventh birthday cake.
Seven years old. That meant his friends were growing too. Naruto was a little taller, his voice a little louder. Choji had a more impressive collection of chip bags. Shikamaru, somehow, managed to look even more tired than the year before. And Sasuke...
Seven years old meant the Uchiha Clan massacre had been carried out.
It happened three weeks ago. The event hit Konoha like a silent shockwave. There were no explosions or sirens. Just whispers that crept from one house to another like a poisonous fog. The Uchiha compound was sealed off. The Konoha Military Police Force vanished overnight. The adults spoke in low, tense voices, stopping their conversations whenever a child entered the room. Yuji knew what had happened, of course. He knew the name of the perpetrator. Itachi Uchiha. He knew the reason, at least the version the world would come to know.
Konoha was shaken. For the first week, there was a palpable fear in the air. But a shinobi village, accustomed to death and tragedy, had a terrifying ability to recover, or at least, to pretend to recover. The whispers subsided. Life returned to its normal rhythm.
Now, three weeks later, the aftershock finally reached the walls of the Ninja Academy.
Sasuke Uchiha was back in school.
The air in the classroom was thick, heavy with unspoken things. The usual morning noise—the laughter, the taunts, Naruto's shouts—had vanished, replaced by an awkward, anticipatory silence. Everyone was already in their seats, even before the bell rang. They sat up straight, hands folded on their desks, like a collection of puppets waiting for their master.
Yuji sat in his usual seat at the back, between Naruto and Shikamaru. He observed the scene with a cold feeling in his stomach. He watched Sakura and Ino, who were no longer glaring at each other. They just stared blankly ahead, occasionally glancing at the one empty seat by the window. Their childish pride and rivalry seemed so stupid and insignificant now. He watched Kiba, who was usually always fidgeting, sit still, Akamaru whining softly inside his jacket, sensing his master's tension.
And he watched Naruto, who for once, was completely silent. His friend was staring at the empty seat with a confused and slightly hurt expression, as if he could feel the sadness radiating from it even with no one there.
Then, the door slid open.
Every head turned in unison.
Sasuke stepped in.
It was the same boy, and yet a stranger. His black hair was the same, his skin was still pale, but there was no longer any trace of arrogance or cold confidence on his face. It had been replaced by a void. His eyes, the onyx eyes that were once sharp and full of pride, now looked like two black holes, absorbing all light and reflecting nothing back. He moved like an automaton, his steps steady but lifeless.
He walked to his seat by the window without looking left or right. He sat down, placed his hands on the desk, and stared straight ahead, at the blank wall. As if no one else was in the room. As if he were the only person left in the world.
Yuji watched Sasuke, and his stomach churned. He couldn't have prevented it. No one could have. He knew the date was coming. For the past year, every time he saw Sasuke in the hallways, a part of him wanted to scream, 'Run! Leave the village that night! Don't go home!'. But what could he have said? How could he have explained it? He would have just been deemed insane, and nothing would have changed.
He was just a spectator trapped in a drama whose ending he already knew.
A child so young. A child so young shouldn't have to witness something like that. He should be worrying about homework or who would win the next sparring match. Not carrying the weight of his entire slaughtered clan on his small shoulders. Not being forced to live with the shadow of his older brother, his hero, who turned out to be his monster.
The door slid open again. Iruka-sensei entered. He paused in the doorway, sensing the heavy, frozen atmosphere in the room. His eyes went straight to Sasuke, and for a moment, Yuji saw a flash of genuine pain and helplessness on his teacher's face. He didn't know what to do either. How do you teach a class full of scared children and one survivor of a nightmare?
Iruka cleared his throat, the sound shockingly loud in the silent room. "Morning, class," he said, his voice a little forced. He walked to the front of the class, standing behind his lectern. He seemed at a loss for words. Should he acknowledge the elephant in the room? Should he offer condolences? Or should he just pretend everything was normal?
He chose the latter, probably because it was the only option he had.
"Alright, let's begin," he said, opening his notebook. "Today... we'll be continuing our history lesson. We'll be covering... the Second Great Shinobi War."
A bitter, silent laugh almost escaped Yuji's lips. He choked it down, but the cruel irony felt like bile in his throat. Of course. Of course today they would be learning about war. As if the universe had the sickest sense of humor.
"The Second Great Shinobi War," Iruka began, his voice becoming steadier as he slipped into teacher mode, "was a major conflict that involved almost all the great nations and hidden villages. It was a very dark time in our history, marked by countless battles and the loss of many lives."
Yuji glanced at Sasuke. The boy hadn't moved. His eyes were still fixed on the wall, unblinking. Was he listening? Or was he trapped in that night three weeks ago, hearing different sounds, seeing different sights?
"This war," Iruka continued, "forced the villages to develop many new jutsu. It was a time of innovation born from desperation. But we must not forget the price of that innovation. Every new jutsu scroll was written in blood."
'And sometimes,' Yuji thought, his eyes shifting from Sasuke to his blank notebook, 'even the most powerful jutsu can't protect you from the person who is supposed to protect you. Sometimes, the most blood is shed not on the battlefield, but in the streets of your own home.'
"One of the most important lessons from the war is the importance of teamwork and the bonds with your comrades," Iruka said, trying to inject a positive note. "The shinobi of Konoha fought bravely, driven by the Will of Fire—the belief that the entire village is one big family, and we must protect our family with our lives."
Yuji almost snorted. Family. He glanced at Sasuke again. What did that word mean to the boy now? It was a word soaked in blood. It was a cruel joke.
"Naruto," Yuji whispered softly.
Naruto, who had been staring at Sasuke with a sad expression the whole time, turned. "Yeah?"
"Don't say anything to him," Yuji whispered. "Don't try to comfort him. Don't ask anything. Just let him be."
Naruto frowned, looking confused. "But... he looks so sad."
"I know," Yuji said. "And there's nothing we can say that will make it better. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone who is grieving is to give them space to breathe."
Naruto didn't look convinced, but he nodded slowly, turning back to Sasuke with a look that was now filled with a hesitant understanding.
The lesson continued. Iruka talked about famous battles, about legendary heroes like the Three Sannin, about tactics and strategies. His words became background noise to Yuji. He couldn't stop thinking about the contrast. The history they were learning was a clean version, a grand narrative of heroes and villains, victories and defeats.
But the reality was so much messier. The truth was a seven-year-old boy sitting by the window, his entire world destroyed in one night by the person he admired most. There was no glory in that. No heroism. Just a cold, brutal emptiness.
The bell finally rang, releasing them from the suffocating silence. The other kids began to pack their bags with slow, hesitant movements, glancing at Sasuke, unsure of what to do.
Yuji just sat still, waiting. He wouldn't be the first to leave. He wouldn't be the last. He would just be part of the background.
Today, in that cold, silent classroom, Yuji felt the full weight of the knowledge he carried. It wasn't a gift. It wasn't an advantage. It was a curse. The curse of knowing all the tragedies to come, and being powerless to do anything but watch them happen.
...
The academy hallway felt like a hollow tunnel as the children filed out of the classroom. There was no pushing, no shouting, no laughter. Just the sound of shuffling feet and a heavy silence. Yuji walked in the middle of the quiet crowd, but he felt alone, isolated by the knowledge he shouldn't have.
He thought about everything. About Itachi and Sasuke. About Danzo and the Third Hokage. About the buried lies and truths. He had long since realized that this world was harsh, a fact he had accepted with resigned cynicism. However, with this event, with seeing Sasuke's empty face, that realization was no longer an abstract concept. It was a sharp, cold reality that stabbed right at his heart. This wasn't a story anymore. This was life. And life here could be snatched away in an instant, not by monsters or great wars, but by the people you trusted.
He gripped the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. A familiar feeling, the one he had felt when he first decided to become a ninja, returned with redoubled force.
I don't want to be helpless.
The feeling was so strong, so paralyzing. The feeling of being a sheep in a pack of wolves. He had taken the first step by entering the academy, by secretly training in taijutsu. But it wasn't enough. It felt like trying to stop a tsunami with a bucket of sand. He needed more.
His mind drifted to his secret project. For the past few months, after gaining access to the Nara library, he hadn't just been reading about weapons. He had found a hidden section on Fūinjutsu, the art of sealing. He had borrowed a few basic scrolls, studying them at night. He understood the theory, he really did. The concept of sealing objects or chakra into a medium using calligraphy-based formulas made perfect sense to him.
However, the practice was a nightmare. Yuji was not a talented calligrapher, let alone an artist. His hands, more accustomed to a keyboard or a rough carving knife, felt stiff and clumsy holding a brush. And to create Fūinjutsu, you had to be able to handle that with perfection. Every line, every curve, every dot of ink had to be precise. One wrong stroke, one tremor of the hand, and the formula would fail. If you were lucky, nothing would happen. If not, you'd get a small explosion. His room had a few small scorch marks on the floor as proof of his failures.
So far, his only success had been creating a few small pocket dimension spaces for storing things. He had managed to seal a few kunai and shuriken into a small scroll. It was useful, but also incredibly difficult. It was a constant reminder of his limits.
He had also been training his Chakra, he could now create Chakra threads.
Yuji shook his head, trying to dispel his frustration. He had to get better. He had to get stronger.
"Yuji!"
Naruto's voice broke his reverie. He turned and saw his friend standing there, his usual energy seeming dim. "Wanna... play?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
Yuji looked at Naruto's face. He saw the genuine sadness in those blue eyes, a pure empathy for someone he barely knew. Naruto wanted to escape the heavy feeling of the day by doing something normal, something fun.
But Yuji couldn't. Not today. His fire had just been lit.
"Not today, Naruto," Yuji said quietly, but with a firm tone.
For once, Naruto wasn't noisy. He didn't whine or insist. He just looked at Yuji for a moment, as if he could see something different in his friend's eyes. He understood the message. With a small nod, Naruto turned and left, leaving Yuji alone in the increasingly empty hallway.
Yuji stood there for a few minutes, at war with himself. Part of him wanted to go home, hide in his room, and try again with his brush and ink. But another part, a stubborn, newly awakened part, refused. It wasn't enough. He needed guidance. He needed a challenge.
With a sudden decision, he turned and walked back to his classroom.
He paused for a moment in front of the sliding door. His heart was beating a little faster. He hesitated. This was an unusual step for him. It would draw attention. It was a drag. They weren't that close, he and Iruka-sensei. He was just the weird, lazy student in the back corner.
But Yuji's stubbornness won. His fear of helplessness was greater than his awkwardness.
He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Iruka-sensei was there, alone, tidying up books and scrolls on his lectern. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped slightly. When he heard the door open, he looked up, and a surprised expression crossed his face when he saw Yuji.
"Yuji? I thought you had gone home."
"Sensei," Yuji said, his voice steadier than he felt. "May I speak with you for a moment?"
Iruka put down the stack of papers he was holding. He raised an eyebrow, his tired expression replaced by a look of curiosity. This was indeed strange. Yuji Yamashita, his quietest and least enthusiastic student, was voluntarily asking to speak with him after class.
"Of course," Iruka said, giving him a slightly weary smile. "Sit down. What is it?"
Yuji didn't sit. He remained standing in the middle of the room, as if it gave him more courage. "It's about... taijutsu practice."
"Oh?" Iruka said, looking genuinely interested. "Is there a problem?"
"Not a problem," Yuji said. "I want more."
"More?"
"I want to train more," Yuji explained, choosing his words carefully. "I want to spar. Against you, if possible."
A silence fell over the room. Yuji watched as Iruka just stared at him, trying to process the unexpected request. He could see the confusion in his teacher's eyes. He must have seemed like the most unlikely student to make such a request.
"Why?" Iruka asked finally, his question simple but loaded with meaning. "Why this sudden desire, Yuji?"
Yuji shrugged, putting on his well-practiced mask of indifference. He searched for a plausible reason, one that wouldn't reveal the fear gnawing at his gut. It was easy. He just had to tell a half-truth.
"I'm bored," he said flatly.
Iruka frowned. "Bored?"
"Yes. Bored of fighting the other kids," Yuji continued, his tone slightly arrogant, slightly dismissive. "Iruka-sensei saw it himself, didn't you? During the sparring matches a few weeks ago? I beat them all easily. It gives me nothing."
He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "There's no challenge. I don't learn anything by pushing over kids who can barely stand up straight. I want to see my real limits. I want to know how strong I really am. And I'll never know if my opponents are just them."
It was the perfect half-truth. It was arrogant, lazy, and self-centered—all the traits he had displayed in class. But underneath, there was a sincere truth: I want to see my limits. I want to know how strong I am.
Yuji saw Iruka looking at him deeply. His teacher's gaze was intense, as if trying to see through the reason he had given. For a few long seconds, Iruka said nothing. He just observed Yuji, and Yuji felt like he was being analyzed, every word and gesture weighed. Yuji stared back, trying to keep his face flat, showing no hint of the doubt or fear he actually felt.
Finally, Iruka let out a soft sigh. His expression softened, changing from sharp analysis to something more serious, more understanding.
"I see," Iruka said quietly. "You're looking for a real challenge. You want to push yourself."
Yuji just nodded, not trusting his voice to say more.
Iruka thought for a moment, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Alright," he said finally. "I can't spar with you during class hours. That wouldn't be fair to the other students. But..."
He looked at Yuji, his eyes sharp. "If you're really serious about this, you can meet me here after class is over. Maybe two or three times a week. We can work on the basics, fix your stance, and yes... we can do some light sparring."
Yuji's heart leaped, but he kept his face flat. "That's... acceptable."
"But I want you to know," Iruka added, his tone a gentle warning. "I won't hold back like you did with Kiyoshi. If you want to know your limits, I'll show them to you. It will be hard. It will be painful."
"I understand," Yuji said. And he truly did. The pain of training was far better than the pain of helplessness.
"Good," Iruka said, a small, genuine smile appearing on his face. "In that case, we start tomorrow."
Yuji nodded once more. "Thank you, Sensei."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the classroom, closing the door softly behind him. As he stood alone in the now completely empty hallway, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He had done it. He had taken another step. A troublesome step.
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