The cheerful voices filled the classroom at Konoha Academy, blending laughter, whispers, and the scratch of pencils across parchment. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust particles that lazily danced in the air.
At the back of the room, nearly leaning against the wall, a pale-eyed boy sat, his posture far too straight for someone his age, yet his gaze seemed lost, as if he didn't belong there.
Hyūga Akihiro.
That was the name he went by now. A name he had grown used to hearing, though inside, it still echoed strangely, reminding him that once, long ago, he had another name, another life. An entire world separated him from the "before."
Beside him, almost clinging to the edge of the desk, was Hinata. Her delicate face was partially hidden behind her bluish bangs, but Akihiro couldn't help noticing the way she nervously fiddled with her fingers. Every time he turned his head even slightly, she would blush, look away, and shrink into herself.
"Nothing's changed… she's still that same shy little girl I pulled away from the bullies years ago," he thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And now… here she is… blushing just from breathing the same air. A waifu ready, but still in beta. Just needs to mature."
It was funny to think about. To him, she wasn't just Hinata Hyūga, the timid girl who would one day play a crucial role in Naruto's story. To him, she was Hinata, the first girl to ever look at him with something beyond pity or disdain.
And it was all because of that day, so many years ago.
The memories came back vividly. The village kids surrounding little Hinata on the street, laughing at her for being strange, fragile, unable to defend herself. He remembered the blood boiling in his veins, the almost automatic instinct to step in. It wasn't about heroism. It was… maybe because he already knew how important she would be. Maybe because, deep down, he couldn't stand to see someone living with her head down the same way he felt destined to live.
He protected her that day, but he knew his thoughts weren't pure; he had fervently wished that she would fall for him, just like she probably had for Naruto.
Hinata never forgot.
Now, years later, she still looked at him like a shield. And that… that warmed something in his chest.
But it wasn't just warmth he felt. There was also the cold of reality.
"Ninja world… wonderful and terrifying," he murmured to himself, resting his chin on his hand as Instructor Iruka explained something about chakra theory. "When I woke up as a Hyūga baby, I thought I'd hit the jackpot. Byakugan, noble clan, powerful ninjutsu. But I quickly realized: I'm not the protagonist. No plot armor. One lost kunai, and game over. No 'hero protected by the script' here. If I want to survive, I'm going to have to bleed for it."
At first, the discovery had been a mix of thrill and terror. He remembered the confusing sensation of waking in a crib, tiny arms, his vision flooded with the blinding light of the Byakugan accidentally activated. A baby, yet already aware he was in one of the most dangerous worlds he had ever read about or seen.
"It's beautiful, but it's hell," he thought now. "Superpowered ninjas, tailed beasts, constant wars… and me, trapped in a fragile body, fated for a cursed seal on my forehead. What a joke, destiny."
This was a wound that never healed: being from the Hyūga branch family. He knew the sealing ritual was approaching. The cursed seal, the invisible cage that would trap him forever, ensuring he would never dare defy the main family's will.
"To be a caged bird… I won't accept that."
No matter how many times he thought it, the knot in his throat returned. He could laugh at himself, mock his own failure at taijutsu — because yes, even in that, life had dealt him a blow. The Byakugan was powerful, but his hands had no talent for the Gentle Fist. Clumsy movements, weak strikes, lack of coordination. Compared to Neji, he was a joke.
He remembered well the words of his clan training master:
— "Akihiro, you were born with noble eyes, but not with noble hands. The Gentle Fist is not for everyone."
That day, he laughed. Outwardly, as always. But inside, the weight of the sentence sank like a stone.
Iruka tapped the chalk on the blackboard, calling the class to attention.
— "Chakra control is fundamental for any jutsu. Focus on today's exercises, because without control, none of you will leave here as a genin!"
The children straightened, some excited, others sleepy. Akihiro, however, was miles away in thought.
"Chakra control… Senjutsu…"
The thought struck his mind like lightning. He had already felt something different within himself, something beyond normal. Small moments when he could sense the world breathing around him, as if the wind had weight, as if the trees themselves pulsed with energy. It wasn't just ordinary chakra. It was something… greater. Natural.
And it gave him a glimmer of hope. If he couldn't be a prodigy at taijutsu, perhaps there was something even the Hyūga dared not explore.
But it was still early. For now, it was just a whisper at the back of his soul.
He blinked and glanced sideways. Hinata kept her head down, scribbling on her parchment, her hands trembling slightly. When she realized he was watching, she nearly dropped her brush and flushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears.
Akihiro exhaled, a small smile escaping.
"At least… I'm not alone here. Destiny may want to cage me, but I already have guaranteed fan service. And if Hinata grows up the way I know she will… then, yes, I already have a waifu secured."
It was almost comical to think this amidst all the tension. Almost. But humor was the only way he had to avoid drowning.
And time ticked on. Each day at the academy was a countdown to the seal, to the inevitable. The nostalgia of what had passed mingled with the anxiety of what was still to come.
"I need to find a way… I need to beat this destiny before it crushes me."
As Iruka continued his explanation, Hyūga Akihiro clenched his fists under the desk. Outwardly, he was just another distracted student. Inside, he was a survivor preparing to fight his own fate.