The sun hung high above Training Ground 17, a pale coin in a sea of blue, glinting faintly through the canopy of swaying leaves. The air shimmered with heat and the faint, rhythmic hum of chakra.
Three figures moved in perfect, chaotic synchrony; darting through the underbrush, weapons flashing, chakra flaring in bursts of colour.
Sayuri stood at the centre of the clearing, calm and composed, her posture loose but deliberate, like a predator confident in its superiority. Her amber eyes tracked every motion; her hand never strayed far from her weapon pouch. The three young shinobi circling her had improved — noticeably. Their rhythm, once clumsy and disjointed, now pulsed with an emerging harmony.
Ren burst from the left first, his hair whipping behind him, a kunai glinting between his fingers. His movements were fast but measured; each step was controlled, no longer the reckless lunges of their early training.
"Haaah!"
He slashed forward, his kunai slicing through the air with a sharp whsshhh. Sayuri sidestepped effortlessly, but the strike wasn't meant to hit; it was a distraction.
Mariko darted in next, chakra pooling around her fists, a faint blue shimmer coating her knuckles. She didn't waste time with feints; her strikes came low and fast, forcing Sayuri to block with a raised arm and twist away, her sandals kicking up dust.
"Crack!" The sound of chakra colliding with chakra echoed through the clearing.
Before Sayuri could counter, a sharp hiss cut through the air. Several shuriken flew from behind her; she tilted her head just slightly, and one passed so close it sliced a strand of her hair.
Satoru stood a few meters away, his Sharingan spinning. He wasn't charging recklessly; instead, he was watching, analysing, waiting. His chakra was steady, his breathing even.
"Genjutsu again?" Sayuri murmured under her breath, half-amused.
She flipped backwards, avoiding Mariko's follow-up punch, and threw a kunai toward Satoru without looking. It split the air with a hiss, embedding itself in the trunk beside him.
But the image of Satoru flickered, then vanished.
"Poof!" Smoke burst outward in a puff of chakra.
A clone.
Sayuri's smile deepened slightly. "Clever."
Mariko took that split-second of distraction to plant a seal tag into the dirt, her chakra seeping into it like water soaking into parchment.
"Ren, now!" she shouted.
Ren didn't hesitate. He slammed his hand to the ground, activating the seal. Chakra burst outward in a wave of light; not a trap, but a flash of disorienting brilliance meant to force Sayuri off balance.
The instructor narrowed her eyes and leapt upward, straight into the air where Satoru's real form awaited.
"Caught you," he whispered.
He released a genjutsu at point-blank range; subtle, intricate, a web of overlapping illusions designed to distort perception rather than paralyse.
Sayuri felt it brush against her mind, like the flicker of a breeze; she smirked and shattered it with a flare of her own chakra.
"Not bad," she said aloud, voice calm even midair. "But not enough."
In one smooth motion, she twisted her body mid-flip, slammed her heel into Satoru's shoulder, and sent him spiralling into the grass below.
"Thud!"
Ren lunged forward to catch him, but Sayuri was already behind him, two fingers pressed lightly to his neck. "You're dead," she murmured with mock finality.
Mariko made one last desperate attempt, throwing a chakra-enhanced kunai that cracked the air like thunder, but Sayuri tilted her head and caught it between two fingers.
A heartbeat later, the field went still.
Birdsong returned hesitantly from the trees as dust began to settle. Ren lay sprawled on the ground, groaning; Mariko was breathing hard, crouched on one knee; Satoru rubbed his shoulder, wincing but still calm.
Sayuri landed gracefully in the centre of the clearing, hands on her hips. A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"At least you're not completely hopeless anymore."
Ren let out a weak laugh, still flat on his back. "I'll… take that as a compliment."
Sayuri arched an eyebrow. "It is. Barely."
Despite her teasing tone, pride flickered in her gaze. They were far from perfect, but they were finally moving like a team. Their coordination, their awareness of each other's positions, the way Satoru subtly adjusted to complement Mariko's aggressive rhythm, it was all beginning to click.
'They're finally learning to read each other's movements,' she thought.
Mariko flopped down beside Ren, wiping sweat from her forehead. "We almost had her that time," she said between breaths.
"Almost," Sayuri agreed, stretching slightly. "If you had five more years of experience, maybe ten."
Satoru chuckled quietly. "That's generous, sensei."
Sayuri gave him a sidelong look; he was always the calmest of the three, always thinking two steps ahead. It was easy to forget how young he still was.
After a pause, she straightened, brushing dust from her cloak. "That's enough for today."
Ren let out a triumphant groan and spread his arms. "Finally."
Sayuri waited until they'd caught their breath before continuing.
"Starting tomorrow," she said, "you'll take on your first shinobi mission."
Silence fell for a heartbeat; then Ren shot upright so fast he nearly fell over again.
"Wait — our first mission?! Outside the village?!"
Mariko flicked his forehead with a sharp thwack!
"Idiot. It's our first mission. It'll probably be a D-rank errand; weeding a garden or walking someone's dog."
Ren clutched his forehead. "Ow! You didn't have to hit me!"
Sayuri shook her head, amused. "Actually… you'll be heading outside the village."
That stopped all three of them cold. Even Satoru blinked in mild surprise, his calm expression giving way to a flicker of intrigue.
Ren's mouth fell open. "Wait, seriously?"
Mariko frowned, uncertain. "Sensei, isn't that a little… soon?"
Sayuri smiled faintly. "Normally, yes. But your progress with chakra control and coordination has been faster than expected. So, I requested a C-rank assignment; an escort mission just beyond the western border."
Ren's face lit up like a lantern. "Our first real mission!" he shouted, pumping his fist.
Mariko sighed, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Don't jinx it."
Sayuri smirked. "Don't worry. It's a low-risk route; a merchant caravan heading toward the river settlements. Think of it as practice for real teamwork under pressure."
Satoru remained quiet as his teammates celebrated. Outwardly, he offered a polite smile, but inwardly, his mind had already begun to churn.
'Outside the village,' he thought. 'That means… timing-wise…'
He felt a faint chill crawl down his spine. If his memory of the timeline was correct, then the Nine-Tails attack, Obito's strike, couldn't be far off. The Fourth Hokage's era was still in its golden calm, but he knew that calm was fragile; the storm was coming.
He forced the thought aside. Worrying about it now wouldn't help. But something else tugged at his mind.
The Yamanaka.
He still hadn't given them his answer.
'Even if the week isn't over, I'll have to decide now.'
He exhaled quietly through his nose. 'I'll go to the compound tomorrow morning, before we leave, and tell them my choice.'
Sayuri's voice brought him back to the present.
"That's enough for today," she said, clapping her hands together once. "Go rest. Be ready by sunrise tomorrow. Same place."
Ren groaned. "Sunrise? Do shinobi ever sleep in?"
Mariko rolled her eyes. "Not if they want to stay alive."
Sayuri chuckled softly. "Listen to her. She's right."
As she turned to leave, she paused, glancing back at the trio. Her eyes softened briefly. "You've come a long way. Don't waste it tomorrow."
She then disappeared down the path, her silhouette framed against the orange light of the sun.
Ren lay back again, arms spread, staring at the sky. "Tomorrow, huh? Our first mission…"
Mariko nudged him. "Try not to embarrass us."
Satoru smiled faintly, but his eyes were distant. The horizon glowed with molten gold, the treetops awash in amber.
Soon, they each went their separate ways, shadows stretching long across the path as the sun dipped below the hills.
By the time the moon rose, Konoha had settled into a soft, sleeping hush. The air was cool now, carrying the scent of rain and stone. Lanterns flickered dimly in alleyways, and the distant murmur of the river was the only sound.
Somewhere near the edge of the village, deep within the old, forgotten district, where the ruins of war still lingered and the air felt colder than it should, space itself rippled.
"Whum."
A distortion formed in the air, silent and fluid, like water bending around an unseen hand. From that ripple, a figure stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate.
The moonlight touched the smooth surface of his orange mask, gleaming faintly where it caught the single, spiralling eyehole. His cloak billowed slightly in the wind, dark against the silver light.
The stillness of the place seemed to fold inward around him, and even the air grew heavier. The faint whisper of his chakra spread outward like smoke; oppressive, suffocating, cold.
He turned his head slightly, taking in the abandoned houses and half-collapsed rooftops. His voice, when it came, was low and smooth, carrying a hint of cruel amusement.
"Now… where was Sensei's new house again?"
His single visible eye glinted faintly beneath the mask.
A stray cat darted away from the shadows, startled by the pressure of his chakra, and the masked man chuckled; a hollow sound, too calm, too controlled.
The night deepened around him, the stars hidden by gathering clouds.
And far away, unaware, a young genin slept soundly in his apartment — dreaming of the future.
While another shadow remembered the past.
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