Kizashi pushed aside the curtain of the barbecue restaurant. The place was warm, noisy, and filled with the delicious smell of grilling meat. Long wooden tables were filled with families, all laughing and talking over the sound of sizzling food.
"A table for three!" Kizashi said proudly to the hostess. "We're celebrating my son's entry into the Academy!"
The woman smiled kindly at Ryu. "Congratulations! We heard you did very well."
They sat down in a comfortable booth. Mebuki watched her son with a happy look in her eyes. She was proud of how hard he had worked.
Soon, a large platter of fresh meat was brought to their table. Kizashi took the tongs and started laying slices of beef and pork on the hot grill. The meat sizzled loudly, and the smell was wonderful.
"My son fought the Uchiha boy to a draw!" Kizashi told the family at the next table, puffing his chest out. "He was so fast, you couldn't even see him move!"
Ryu ate the tasty food and listened to his father tell the story. With each telling, the fight sounded more and more amazing. While he enjoyed the meal, a part of him was still thinking about the exam. He remembered the look in Itachi's eyes when they turned red. The Sharingan. Itachi was a genius, and Ryu knew he couldn't afford to fall behind.
He looked at his parents, who were laughing together. They looked so happy and safe. He knew that in about a year, a terrible event would happen that would threaten everything. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach, and for a moment, he lost his appetite.
"Are you alright, Ryu?" Mebuki asked softly. She had noticed he had stopped eating. She reached over and gently wiped a bit of sauce from his cheek with her thumb.
The simple, caring touch made him feel better. He leaned into her hand for a moment. He had to protect this. He had to protect them.
Kizashi, not noticing his son's quiet thoughts, expertly flipped a piece of meat. He placed the perfectly cooked slice on Ryu's plate.
"Here you go, champ," his dad said with a wide, happy grin.
Ryu looked at the piece of meat, then up at his smiling father.
"Thanks, Dad," he said, and picked it up with his chopsticks.
The world was still asleep, bathed in the soft, grey light that comes just before the dawn. In this quiet, Ryu moved. He stood in the clearing behind his house, the cool morning air a sharp presence against his skin. He took a slow, deep breath, and then the world was no longer quiet.
A low, electric hum filled the air, the sound of a thousand hornets trapped in a jar. A crackling, blue-white aura erupted around his small frame, his pink hair standing on end, each strand alive with static. This was his secret weapon, the Lightning Armour. But today, he pushed it further. He focused, pouring more and more chakra into the technique, forcing the crackling energy to compress, to become a tighter, denser, more violent sheath around his body. The hum intensified into a near-deafening buzz, the light of the armour so bright it cast dancing shadows that stretched and warped around him.
He fixed his gaze on a thick, sturdy oak tree at the edge of the clearing. It would be his measure. With a single explosive push, he was no longer standing still. The world became a violent, blue-streaked blur. He covered the distance in less than a heartbeat and slammed his foot into the tree's trunk.
The impact was not a simple thud. It was a sharp, percussive CRACK like a bolt of lightning striking the earth. The tree shuddered to its roots. When Ryu flickered back, a deep, ugly wound had been carved into the oak. The wood was blackened, splintered, and cauterized, a concave gash that looked as if it had been gouged out by a giant, burning claw.
Satisfied, Ryu released the jutsu. The instant the armour vanished, a wave of profound fatigue crashed over him, and his legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, panting heavily, his muscles screaming in protest. The dense armour was devastatingly powerful, but the chakra cost was immense. At his age, with his still-developing reserves, he could only maintain it for a few seconds. It was an ace in the hole, not a constant state.
He rested for a moment in the cool shadow of the wounded tree, letting his breathing return to normal. His lightning affinity was his trump card, but his wind affinity felt neglected. He needed more tools in his arsenal. But what? Another standard wind jutsu felt… uninspired.
He closed his eyes, thinking. What was the essence of wind? It could be a gentle breeze or a destructive tornado. It could be a shield or a blade. A memory from his past life, a flicker of an old animated show, sparked in his mind. Benders who could manipulate the very air around them. An idea, sharp and clear as a bolt of lightning, hit him.
He stood up and gathered a swirl of green-tinged chakra into his palm. He tried to shape it, to compress the swirling wind into a sharp, invisible blade. He visualized it, willed it, then thrust his palm forward. A gust of wind shot out and slapped against another tree, rustling the leaves and kicking up some dirt. It was unfocused, lacking any real cutting power. He understood immediately. Air was too formless on its own. He needed a medium, a weapon—like a kunai or a trench knife—to serve as the vessel for his sharpened wind. It was a project for another day.
An hour later, clean and dressed in a simple, high-collared blue shirt and black shorts, Ryu sat at the kitchen table. The house was filled with the warm, comforting smell of brewing tea and toasted bread.
"Are you excited for your first real day, my baby?" Mebuki asked, placing a plate of eggs and rice in front of him. Her smile was bright, but her eyes held a familiar glint of worry.
"I am," Ryu said, returning her smile. "I'm in the same class as Itachi and Hana."
"That's wonderful!" Kizashi boomed from behind his newspaper. "Stick with the clan kids, son. They know what's what! Though, from what I saw yesterday, they'll be trying to stick with you!"
Ryu chuckled and ate his breakfast, soaking in the easy warmth of his family. His mom handed him a neatly wrapped bento box. He took it, stood on his tiptoes, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, Mom. I'll see you later."
He met Hana at the end of her street. She was practically vibrating with energy, her ninken puppies tumbling around her feet.
"Are you ready? I heard our teacher is some super-strict old guy!" she said, falling into step beside him. "I hope we get to do some serious sparring today!"
They walked together, their chatter a familiar and comfortable rhythm. At the Academy gates, they spotted Itachi. He wasn't alone. A girl with dark, kind eyes and black hair stood beside him, looking a little shy.
"Ryu, Hana," Itachi greeted them with a slight nod. "This is Izumi Uchiha. We're in the same class."
"Hi," Izumi said softly, giving them a small wave.
"Hey! After class, you and me," Ryu said, looking at Itachi. "A proper spar this time. No holding back."
Itachi's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "I'll be waiting."
As they walked towards the classroom, Itachi's mind drifted back to the day before. He remembered the blur of pink and blue, the shocking force of the blow that had sent him flying. He remembered his father's hand, stopping a strike that his own newly-awakened Sharingan had barely perceived as a threat. Later that night, his father had been stern. "His speed is not natural, Itachi. He is channeling his chakra nature, transforming it to enhance his body. It is a high-level application most Jonin struggle with. Do not ever underestimate that boy." Itachi marveled at the thought. How could a boy his own age, a civilian no less, have achieved such a thing?
Their thoughts were interrupted as a large man entered the classroom, his presence immediately commanding silence. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a short brown goatee and a Konoha forehead protector worn like a bandana.
"Alright, settle down," the man said, his voice a low rumble. He scanned the faces of the children, his gaze lingering for a moment on Itachi, then on Ryu. "My name is Daikoku Funeno, and I will be your homeroom instructor. Welcome to the Ninja Academy. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives."
He let the weight of his words settle in the quiet room.
"Before we touch a single kunai, before you learn your first jutsu, you will learn what it means to be a shinobi of the Leaf. Your first assignment is an essay."
A collective groan went through the room, Hana's being the loudest.
Daikoku ignored it. "I want you to write about the Will of Fire. What does it mean to you? How will it guide you? I want to see your conviction on the page. I want to see the spirit that will one day inspire you to lay down your life for this village."
He placed a stack of paper on the front desk.
"You may begin."