Different enough to be interesting. - Naruto: Mindfire

"Team Five," Shikara read clearly, "Satoru."

There was a murmur — soft, brief, but perceptible; the name carried weight.

"Sarutobi Mariko," she continued.

This time, the reaction was sharper; an audible "oh" rippled through the crowd. The Sarutobi name still commanded respect; the legacy carried with it both prestige and pressure.

"And Yamashiro Ren."

The murmuring grew again, quieter this time, more curious than surprised. The Yamashiro family was known for keen intellect and sensory awareness, but rarely for flashiness; their inclusion was interesting.

Finally, Shikata announced, "Jōnin sensei: Kurama Sayuri."

That name struck the air like a quiet bell. Even the students unfamiliar with the Kurama line felt a subtle change in the atmosphere. Those who did know leaned toward each other, voices dropping to hushed tones.

"The Kurama clan?" one boy whispered. "From the genjutsu family?"

"I thought they were all gone," another muttered. "Didn't they vanish after the war?"

"Not all," someone else replied knowingly. "There are still a few left."

At the front, Shikata resumed her composed rhythm, continuing to announce Teams Six through eighteen. Her voice was crisp, unwavering. Satoru, whose expression had not changed since his name was called, faintly furrowed his brows.

'Kurama Sayuri.' The name stirred something in his memory.

'Kurama…' he thought, his fingers absently brushing the edge of his sleeve. 'So they're still around. I thought by Naruto's time they'd faded into legend. This must be… what, ten years before everything really starts? Maybe more.'

His gaze flicked upward toward the platform. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, throwing red glints from the faint tomoe in his eyes. He'd expected many things; perhaps being assigned to a tactical team, or grouped with someone like Ito or Airi from class — but not this. A Sarutobi? And another civilian? And a Kurama sensei. It felt deliberate. Balanced, precise. Too precise.

A faint smirk ghosted across his lips. 'Minato's touch, maybe. Always building bridges before the cracks show.'

Still, he couldn't help the flicker of curiosity. The Kurama clan's talents were rare and dangerous; genjutsu so immersive it bordered on the tangible. A sensei from that bloodline could mean only one thing: he was about to be tested, and not gently.

The crowd's noise returned as Shikata finished the final teams, rolling up the scroll with a quiet snap. The new genin teams dispersed into small clusters; some celebrated loudly, others groaned or whispered their doubts.

Satoru remained seated, quiet amid the buzz. His mind wandered through speculation; what his sensei might be like, what the training might involve. Then, suddenly, a tap on his shoulder pulled him sharply back to reality.

He turned, almost on instinct, and found himself staring into a pair of lively brown eyes and an irrepressible grin.

"Hey, you're Satoru, right?" the girl asked, hands on her hips. "I'm Sarutobi Mariko."

Her energy radiated warmth; her short chestnut hair framed a face bright with confidence. She wore her headband tied snugly around her arm instead of her forehead, a small act of individuality that suited her.

Satoru blinked once before nodding, his expression polite but measured. "That's me," he said evenly.

Mariko tilted her head, appraising him for a moment. "You're quieter than I expected," she said, amusement flickering in her tone. "I thought someone with a Sharingan would be more… dramatic."

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from him. "You might be confusing me with someone else," he replied, voice mild. "But I'll take that as a compliment."

She laughed; a bright, easy sound that drew a few curious looks from nearby students. "I like you already. Guess we're teammates now, huh?"

Satoru gave a small shrug, his gaze steady. "If it works, it works."

Mariko grinned wider. "You're the calm one, aren't you? Every team needs one. I talk too much, and our third guy looks like he's allergic to eye contact."

At that exact moment, someone cleared their throat behind them.

They turned to find a boy standing there, short and dark-haired. His face was composed, though his posture betrayed a hint of discomfort at the attention.

"…Yamashiro Ren," he said, voice quiet but firm. "I suppose that makes me the third guy."

Mariko snorted, half apologetic, half amused. "You heard that, huh?"

Ren adjusted his glasses, not quite meeting her eyes. "Hard not to. You're… not subtle."

Satoru's eyes flicked between them, gauging. Mariko, extroverted and fiery; Sarutobi blood through and through. Ren, logical, restrained — the analyst type. And himself, somewhere in between, equal parts patience and precision.

'Not bad,' he thought. 'Different enough to be interesting.'

The awkward silence that followed was mercifully short-lived. Mariko broke it first, of course, crossing her arms with a playful huff. "Well, we're Team Five now, so we might as well start acting like it. Does anyone know where our sensei is?"

Ren shook his head. "They didn't say. Maybe we're supposed to wait here?"

Satoru opened his mouth to reply, and then, with no warning, a sharp gust of wind cut across the courtyard.

"Whoosh."

The air swirled violently around them, stirring dust and leaves into a brief cyclone. Several genin yelped and ducked. Satoru reacted on instinct, eyes flashing red as his two-tomoe Sharingan flared to life. Mariko shifted her stance, half-ready to draw a kunai, while Ren stepped back, scanning the area with sharp focus.

The gust died as quickly as it came, leaving behind a sudden stillness. And in that stillness, something small fluttered down from the air — a scroll, twirling end over end before landing upright in the dirt with a soft thunk right between their feet.

The three of them stared at it.

Satoru's gaze sharpened. He extended his chakra sense subtly, brushing against the scroll's faint residual energy. It was clean, but deliberate; someone had placed it here, precisely and skillfully.

"She's already testing us," he murmured under his breath.

Mariko crouched, curiosity overriding caution. She plucked the scroll from the ground and unrolled it in one smooth motion.

"Team Five," she read aloud, voice echoing slightly in the quiet courtyard, "meet me at Training Ground Seventeen."

No signature, no seal — just the simple instruction written in neat, feminine script.

Ren leaned closer, adjusting his glasses again. "That's… unorthodox," he said dryly.

"Unorthodox is one word," Satoru replied. "Showy might be another."

Mariko grinned, "Let's not keep her waiting."

Ren hesitated. "You're assuming she'll appreciate punctuality."

"I'm assuming she'll appreciate enthusiasm," Mariko shot back. "Come on, what's the worst that happens?"

Satoru gave her a sidelong glance. "You really shouldn't ask that question. Not in this village."

That earned him another laugh — lighter this time, tinged with something genuine. "You've got a point. Still, if we stand around all day, she might decide to test us again. And I'd rather not find out what round two looks like."

Ren exhaled quietly, defeated. "Fine. Training Ground Seventeen, it is."

The three of them began to move, weaving through the dispersing crowd of students. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone path as they passed through the academy gates — one confident, one cautious, one calculating.

As they crossed into the shade of the forest path leading toward the training grounds, Satoru's mind turned inward again, thoughts flickering in rhythm with his steps.

'Kurama Sayuri.'

The name lingered in his mind like a whisper. 'Let's see what kind of person you are.'

Chapter 55 - Different enough to be interesting.