"I know boys like to act strong," Kushina whispered at my shoulder, "but I don't want to see you get hurt. You could live an ordinary life. That's good, too."
An ordinary life. I'd had one once. It ended with smoke and a door that wouldn't stop burning. I had a second chance now, and a power that asked for rules, not fear.
"I'm not going to get hurt," I said. I meant it.
Instructor Nakamoto strode in and snapped the room quiet. "Outside. Evaluation pairs today."
We filed into the yard. Chalk squares. Dust. A rack of practice staves and wooden kunai for the kids who'd lost steel privileges. Clan crests dotted the crowd—Uchiha fans, Aburame collars, a few Hyuga wraps. Minato stood near the back, half listening, still drawing eyes like a lantern.
Nakamoto read names. Fights started, ended. Cheers rose, fell. A boy bowed to Minato and then bowed to the dirt.
"Naito Yu," the instructor called. He didn't look at me when he said it. "Opponent: Uchiha Izumi."
Kushina's breath hitched. "That's not fair," she hissed, but she didn't move.
Izumi stepped into the far square like a cat who knew the whole yard was his. One head taller than me. Calm eyes. No wasted motion. He wore the fan on his sleeve like iron.
Nakamoto's mouth twitched. "Naito, would you like to surrender? We can spare you the bruise."
He wanted me to say yes in front of everyone. He wanted the lesson that came with it.
I met his eyes. "No, sensei."
Something in the way I said it made him glance away first. He lifted a hand. "Begin."
Izumi didn't give speeches. He drew two handfuls of shuriken and sent them in a smooth ripple—first four for my centerline, the next four for the routes I'd use to dodge.
Whoosh—
I moved without leaving the square. One step left had me eating the second wave. One step back fed my throat to the first. He'd thrown the pattern to cage me.
I snapped a kunai out and met the first star on the flat, letting the quake skin run a hair's breadth over the steel.
Tink—krk. Fine cracks winked in the air as I redirected, shaving a finger's width off its path. The star whistled past my ear. The others skated by close enough to tug at cloth.
Gasps from the edges. Not because they'd seen anything—only because I hadn't bled yet.
Izumi had already closed. He tested the edge with a jab. I parried and felt the clean line in his shoulders. Good structure. Good training. He pivoted into a low kick for my calf.
I stepped in rather than out and let a tight halo bloom at my knuckles, invisible unless you knew what to watch for. I punched the empty air two handspans from his ankle.
Pff. Chalk dust jumped.
The tremor ran under his lead foot like a wrinkle in a rug. His balance rocked an inch. An inch was enough. My forearm slid to a guard and I tapped his shoulder with the handle of my kunai—just to mark the beat.
His eyes narrowed. So you're tricky, they said. The Uchiha fan on his sleeve did not approve.
He raised the pace. A one-two to pull my guard high, then a hook that would've rung my bell. I kept my frame small. Let the first two touch glove. Slipped the third. My ears popped with each correct pulse, soft and right.
He changed levels without telegraphing and scissored at my legs. If he took me down, he'd control the rest.
I stomped.
Grk. A palm-sized quake snapped through packed earth. The chalk line rippled. His front foot slid half a shoe's length to nowhere.
We both knew he should have had me just then. We both pretended not to notice why he didn't.
The watching kids started to murmur. Someone laughed, unsure.
Izumi reset faster than I liked. He lunged to clinch and drive a knee. I blurred my open palm across the air where his ribs would be, keeping the halo small enough to hide in the movement.
Pff—grm.Not a shove—just a wobble at the moment his weight wanted to settle. His knee thudded into my thigh instead of my gut. Pain flashed bright, honest. I took it and grinned because my legs were still under me.
"You're fast," I said.
"You're lucky," he replied. His voice stayed even, but his eyes were working now, cataloging.
He broke range and snatched two more shuriken. This time he staggered the release—high, then low, then a delay so I'd flinch early. Smart.
I answered with steel. The kunai met the first on the flat. The quake skin flickered. I used the contact as a bridge and sent a tiny pulse along the line of metal toward him.
He was too far for it to hit clean, but he felt the air hitch and adjusted wrong by a hair. Second shuriken sailed wide.
He didn't waste time being surprised. He rushed on the error he thought he saw. His fist flashed. My ears popped. I chose now.
I let him through my guard. Half step back. Heel kissed chalk. Tightest halo yet.
I punched past his head.
Pfft. The faultline bloomed between us, right where his lead foot would land after his step. The ground did not move much. It only changed how it wanted to carry weight.
He found that change the hard way. His foot slid. His hips turned a fraction too far. His guard opened.
I caught his wrist, turned it, and set my wooden kunai to his throat in the same breath I planted my back foot to stop the recoil from eating my elbow.
We froze together.
A leaf tumbled through the square and kissed the dust between our shoes.
Izumi's breath came in short, controlled draws. His pride hated what his body knew. After a heartbeat he eased his hands open to show he wasn't fighting the lock.
Nakamoto waited a beat longer than usual. Then he lifted a finger. "Point. Match."
Sound came back to the yard. It wasn't cheering. It was the sound people make when something doesn't match the picture in their heads.
I released Izumi and took two neat steps back. My joints sang. My ears still rang. It felt like victory and a warning in the same note.
Izumi rolled his wrist to test the strain and met my eyes. There was heat there, but also something like respect.
"What was that?" he asked low, for me alone.
"Good footing," I said.
He snorted once, a sound that could have been a laugh if he let it, and walked out of the square.
Kushina let out a breath so big it had to have been hurting her chest. She waved both hands at me like I was across a river. The jar of salve bounced in her pouch.
I gave her the smallest nod. Not a hero. Not a ghost. Just a boy who had learned the shape of a line only he could feel.
Nakamoto's mouth was a thin slice. He marked something on his board that didn't look like a compliment. "Next pair."
I stepped off the chalk and flexed my fingers. The ache was there, deep and familiar. The cost made the win feel real.
I had stayed small. I had kept it quiet. And I had not been hurt.
That would have to be enough—for today.