"This doesn't look like any training ground I've seen," Ren muttered, nudging a loose stone with his foot. His voice had that nervous, analytical tone of someone cataloguing oddities as they appeared. "There's no target range, no sparring logs… nothing."
Mariko brushed a strand of hair from her face and laughed softly. "Maybe it's abandoned. What if we got the wrong directions?"
Satoru gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. "I doubt it," he said evenly. "More likely, this place was left to rot. Or someone wanted it forgotten."
That last thought lingered, unspoken but heavy. His eyes, dark and calm beneath his messy fringe, drifted over the clearing ahead. The air was still—too still. No sound but the cicadas. No breeze. Even the birds seemed reluctant to intrude. A wide clearing stretched before them, ringed by tall, ancient trees whose trunks were scarred with faint kunai marks; reminders of battles long past. Broken logs lay scattered, half-swallowed by moss and vines. The faint metallic tang of old chakra hung in the air, barely perceptible but distinct to someone like Satoru.
Ren frowned, scanning the edges of the clearing. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
Satoru didn't answer immediately. His chakra sense flickered—soft pulses spreading outward like ripples on a pond. Nothing obvious came back, no traps, no flares of hostile energy.
But there was something… off.
Like a whisper on the edge of hearing, faint and cold. He quietly formed the hand seal for genjutsu release. A momentary pulse of chakra radiated through his system, dispelling any illusion that might have lingered.
Nothing changed.
His eyes narrowed slightly. '
No illusions. Not yet.' Still, the unease refused to fade.
Mariko kicked at a fallen twig, breaking the silence. "You think she's late?"
Satoru's gaze swept the treeline again. "Or she's already here."
The wind answered before anyone else could.
It came suddenly—a low, whispering gust that stirred the leaves into a quiet hiss. The temperature seemed to dip, subtle but tangible, as though the clearing itself exhaled after years of silence. The cicadas stopped. Shadows deepened along the edges of the clearing, stretching, bending. Then, without a sound, a figure stepped forward from the shade of the trees.
Kurama Sayuri moved like mist—soft, unhurried, and yet every step seemed to hum with quiet control. Her long, dark-blue hair shimmered faintly where the sunlight broke through the canopy, strands catching the light like liquid ink.
Her eyes—deep crimson, too calm, too knowing—swept over the three young genin with the detached scrutiny of someone reading a book she already knew the ending to.
Her forehead protector, rather than sitting on her brow, rested loosely at her hip; a casual defiance that spoke more of confidence than arrogance.
The three genin instinctively straightened, the atmosphere shifting with her arrival. The faint scent of lavender hung around her—subtle, oddly incongruous with the sharpness in her gaze.
"So…" Her voice was smooth, silken, carrying easily across the clearing. "You three are my new genins?"
The tone wasn't cold, but it held an airy detachment—an undercurrent of amusement, like she already doubted the answer would impress her.
Mariko was the first to recover, bowing slightly. "Yes, Sayuri-sensei! We're Team Five."
Sayuri's crimson eyes flicked from Mariko to Ren, then lingered briefly on Satoru. Her gaze felt like it cut deeper than sight—like she wasn't just looking at them, but peering into the folds of their chakra, their thoughts, their fears. After several seconds of silence, she let out a soft, almost musical sigh.
"I see." Her lips curved faintly, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or disappointment.
"I have my work cut out for me."
A dry snort escaped Mariko before she caught herself, and Satoru—half in disbelief, half entertained—couldn't help the smallest smirk. Sayuri's eyes shifted instantly toward him.
"Something amusing, Satoru?" she asked lightly.
The way she said his name was slow, deliberate, like tasting a word before swallowing it. Her tone was polite, even gentle, but the air around her carried that subtle, predatory stillness—an aura that dared him to lie.
Satoru cleared his throat, schooling his expression.
"No," he said evenly. "Just impressed by your honesty."
A faint chuckle—low, quiet, almost imperceptible—escaped her. "Honesty," she murmured, tilting her head. "A dangerous virtue in a shinobi. Let's hope you know when not to use it."
Ren, perhaps thinking he was helping, interjected with a small, awkward smile. "So, um… Sensei. What happens now? Do we start training?"
Sayuri's attention shifted to him, her expression unreadable. "Training?" she repeated softly, as if tasting the word. "No. Training is for shinobi who have already proven they deserve the title." She clasped her hands loosely behind her back, pacing a slow semicircle around the three. Her voice lowered, calm and melodic. "Before I decide to accept you as my students, you'll need to impress me."
The word impress carried a faint curl of amusement, like she found the notion itself entertaining.
Ren frowned. "Impress you? What do you mean by that?"
Sayuri stopped in front of him, crimson eyes locking with his. Her lips twitched—half smile, half warning. "Simple. If you fail to do so, I'll send you to the reserves." Her tone was pleasant, conversational. "And believe me… it's far harder to become a chūnin from there."
Mariko's face fell. "That's… harsh," she said cautiously.
Sayuri arched a delicate brow. "Reality usually is." Then, without missing a beat, she added, "But look on the bright side; at least you'll have plenty of time to reconsider your career choices."
Satoru studied her quietly, every instinct alert. The cadence of her voice, the slight, deliberate stillness—this wasn't mere intimidation. Sayuri was reading them. Every breath, every twitch, every flicker of chakra. He suspected she had been doing so from the moment she stepped into the clearing.
She turned to him again, and for a moment, their gazes locked. There was something in hers—sharp, knowing, faintly sorrowful—like she was peering straight through the layers of his calm exterior. The faintest smile tugged at her lips.
"Well," she said softly, "I suppose we should begin."
Satoru blinked. "Begin what, exactly?"
Sayuri's eyes gleamed faintly. "Your test, of course." She spoke the words as though they were obvious, almost bored. Then, tilting her head slightly, she added, "When you wake up… fight—and win."
The silence that followed was almost surreal. Mariko blinked, confused. "When we—wait, what do you mean by—"
There was a soft sound. Shff. Sayuri vanished from sight, replaced by a faint blur of motion. Mariko barely had time to gasp before a precise strike landed at the base of her neck. She collapsed instantly, falling to the grass with a dull thud.
"Mariko!" Ren shouted, reaching instinctively toward her, but before he could take a step, the world seemed to tilt. His vision swam—trees bending, sky flickering. He staggered, blinking rapidly.
"Wh—what's happening—"
Sayuri's voice came from somewhere behind him, smooth as silk. "Shh. You'll ruin the atmosphere."
He crumpled, unconscious.
Only Satoru remained upright, Sharingan flaring to life with a flicker of red and black. His heartbeat thudded once, twice, steadying as the world slowed. The air around Sayuri shimmered faintly; her chakra flow was delicate, almost invisible. Illusion and reality seemed to intertwine around her presence, her form both tangible and not. He caught a flicker of her outline—standing just behind him, hands loosely clasped, head tilted in quiet amusement.
"Genjutsu," he muttered under his breath. His chakra surged in response, trying to disrupt it—but the sensation was slippery, layered, too subtle to grasp. His body felt heavy, his eyelids thick. He turned his head, Sharingan tracking the faintest distortion in the air.
Sayuri's lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile. "You saw through the veil," she murmured. "Better than most." Then, softer still, almost fondly, "But not quite enough."
Darkness then swallowed Satoru whole.
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