The high moon hung over the Hyūga clan gardens, silvering the stone paths and the still cherry blossom leaves.
The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of earth and a faint trace of incense from the main hall.
The silence pressed down, broken only by the occasional rustle of distant crickets.
Akihiro moved quickly, hugging the package he had bought earlier that afternoon tightly against his chest.
He hadn't told anyone. He couldn't. If anyone found out he'd spent his allowance on a sword… he'd likely get a lecture, a punishment, maybe even laughter.
A branch Hyūga attempting to wield a sword? Ridiculous.
And yet, the absurdity only made him smirk to himself as he approached the familiar grove, the place he often retreated to when he needed to think, away from the watchful eyes of the clan.
He sat on a fallen tree trunk, took a deep breath, and carefully opened the package.
The metal gleamed under the moonlight. It was nothing extraordinary: a simple katana, an unadorned hilt, a plain blade.
The sort of weapon a chūnin might buy to look stylish, nothing more. But to Akihiro, it was more than steel. It was a chance—a tangible piece of control in a world where he often felt trapped by lineage, expectations, and fate.
For a moment, he held it up, watching his own reflection in the blade. His pale eyes stared back at him, revealing both his noble blood and the invisible cage of the branch family.
"Decided," he murmured under his breath. "If I can't be a genius with Gentle Fist… then I'll be the damn Hyūga with a sword."
He positioned himself, copying poses he remembered from films and anime. Legs apart, sword raised, expression serious. It looked impressive—until the blade slipped.
"Damn it!" he cursed, almost letting it fall on his foot.
He tried again, this time gripping the hilt firmly. He swung in a horizontal arc, but tripped over his own feet, losing balance and ending in a seated fall.
"Of course… of course it would be like this. Reincarnated, new life, special eyes… and I still fight worse than a background extra in classic Naruto," he muttered, chuckling to himself.
He pressed on. Vertical cut. Wrong. Diagonal cut. Awkward and crooked. He tried rotating his wrist like he'd seen Zoro do in the anime.
The result? Nearly nicked his own ear.
Sweat ran down his face. His arms ached. The sword felt impossibly heavy, though it was just a light steel training blade.
"This isn't easy. Of course it isn't. There's no shortcut. If there were, I wouldn't be crouching here in secret, hiding from the clan like some petty thief."
He dropped to his knees, resting the tip of the katana on the ground. He breathed heavily, looking up at the night sky, seeking strength somewhere out there.
And then he found a simple thought, a quiet spark of determination:
"These crooked swings, these ugly falls… they're mine. Not the clan's. Not destiny's. My mistakes. And if they're mine, I can make them better."
He stood, squared his shoulders, and gripped the sword with both hands. He inhaled deeply. The next swing was still imperfect—but it was straight.
A tired smile tugged at his lips.
"First step," he whispered.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, sheathed the katana, and started back toward the clan's compound.
The night had not transformed him into a swordsman, nor had it revealed any hidden prodigy powers.
He didn't topple trees with a single strike, nor discover a secret technique. But something within him had shifted: a small crack in the cage that had bound him.
As he walked, he felt a gentle presence behind him. Turning slightly, he saw Hinata standing a few steps away, almost hidden in the shadow of the trees.
She held a neatly wrapped bento, her hands trembling slightly. Her face was shy, framed by her blueish bangs, and her deep violet eyes held concern.
"You… you should eat," she whispered softly, though her voice barely carried. "Please… take care of yourself."
Akihiro's lips curved into a warm, tired smile. He took the bento from her, nodding in silent thanks.
She stayed by his side, quietly watching as he ate, hands clasped together nervously, cheeks flushed. The moonlight fell over them both, the silence now gentle instead of heavy.
For the first time in days, he felt a fleeting sense of calm, a small reassurance that even in a world full of harsh rules and dangerous destinies, there were people who cared—and that thought alone gave him a little more courage to face whatever came next.