Morning came without warning.
No explosions.
No alarms.
Just the dull weight of awareness pressing against Tobi's chest the moment his eyes opened.
For a second, he forgot everything.
Then his body reminded him.
The ache in his ribs.
The faint tightness around his heart.
The presence—still there, silent but watchful.
"…Right," he muttered.
He sat up slowly, breathing through the discomfort. The room felt smaller than usual, like the walls had crept closer overnight. Outside, the city was awake—traffic, voices, normal life continuing without him.
The thought made his stomach twist.
At the training grounds, the atmosphere was tense long before anyone spoke.
Students stood in loose formation, whispering among themselves. Some stared openly at Tobi. Others avoided looking at him at all.
The rumours hadn't died.
They'd multiplied.
Yanshi stood at the front, arms crossed, his presence alone enough to quiet the crowd.
"Today's exercise is controlled sparring," he announced. "No lethal intent. No domains. No outside interference."
A pause.
"And no relying on unstable awakenings."
Several students glanced at Tobi.
He felt it. Pretended not to.
"Pairs will be assigned," Yanshi continued. "This is not about winning. It's about discipline."
A name was called.
"Shahito."
The same boy who had laughed at him before stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a grin. Lightning flickered faintly around his fingers.
Yanshi's gaze shifted.
"…Against Takahashi."
Silence.
Tobi stiffened.
Iruka shot him a look. Mizumi's expression darkened. Sumi's fingers curled slightly at her side—but she said nothing.
Tobi stepped forward anyway.
The arena seal activated with a low hum. Transparent barriers rose around them, faint symbols glowing along the edges.
Shahito rolled his shoulders. "Try not to faint again, swordsman."
Tobi didn't answer.
Yanshi raised a hand. "Begin."
Shahito moved first.
Fast.
Lightning snapped across the ground as he closed the distance, his fist aimed straight for Tobi's chest.
Instinct screamed.
The sword did not answer.
Tobi barely dodged, the strike grazing his shoulder. Pain flared. He stumbled back, barely keeping his footing.
"Too slow," Shahito laughed.
Another strike came—then another. Tobi blocked one with his forearm, the impact numbing his hand. He twisted away from the next, heart pounding.
Move.
Think.
Do something.
He reached inward.
Nothing.
No light.
No shadow.
Just silence.
Shahito kicked him hard in the ribs.
Tobi hit the ground, breath knocked out of him.
Gasps rippled through the students.
Yanshi did not intervene.
Tobi forced himself up, vision swimming.
"I thought you were special," Shahito sneered, lightning crackling brighter. "Guess legends exaggerate."
The next hit landed clean.
Tobi fell again—this time staying down.
The barrier faded.
"Match over," Yanshi said calmly.
No cheers.
No laughter.
Just an uncomfortable quiet.
Tobi stared at the ground, fists trembling—not from pain alone.
From shame.
Later, far above the city, behind layers of wards and silence, the council chamber glowed dimly.
Three figures sat around a circular table etched with ancient sigils.
"The awakening is unstable," one said. "He failed a basic spar."
"A failure doesn't erase potential," another replied. "It confirms humanity."
A third figure leaned back, fingers steepled. "Humanity is precisely the problem."
A projection shimmered above the table—Tobi falling, over and over.
"He hesitates," the voice continued. "Power that doubts itself is dangerous."
"Or controllable," the second countered.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Observe," the first said. "Do not intervene. If he breaks, we act."
"And if he doesn't?"
A pause.
"…Then the world changes."
Back at the grounds, Tobi sat alone on the steps, head bowed.
His hands still hurt.
But worse was the emptiness.
Iruka approached first, hesitating before sitting beside him. "You didn't use it."
Tobi laughed quietly. "I couldn't."
Mizumi stood nearby, arms crossed. "You're not weak."
"That didn't look strong," Tobi said.
Neither of them argued.
Time passed.
Footsteps approached softly.
Sumi.
She sat beside him without a word, leaving a small space between them. For a while, they just listened to the wind move through the trees.
"…Priests lose their connection sometimes," she said at last.
Tobi looked at her.
"When faith wavers," she continued, "the voice goes quiet. That doesn't mean it's gone."
He stared at his hands. "What if it doesn't come back?"
Sumi shook her head slightly. "Power tied to blood doesn't abandon easily."
A pause.
"But it demands honesty."
Tobi swallowed. "I'm scared."
She nodded. "That's honest."
The silence returned—but it was different now. Lighter.
Above them, clouds drifted slowly across the sky.
Unaware.
Unconcerned.
Far away, Hideo watched the city lights flicker on.
"He fell," the shadow beside him said.
Hideo smiled faintly. "Good."
"Good?"
"Yes," he replied. "Because now he knows what it means to stand without the blade."
The wind carried distant laughter from the city below.
"And when he stands again," Hideo murmured, "it will be his choice."
The petals fell.
And somewhere deep inside Tobi, something listened.
Not awakening.
Waiting.
They left the training grounds together without announcing it.
No one stopped them.
The path beyond the academy curved gently, lined with trees that hadn't yet learned about destruction or legends. Fallen leaves crunched softly underfoot. The late afternoon light filtered through branches, broken into slow-moving shadows.
Tobi walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.
For once, the presence inside him felt distant—not gone, just… quiet.
"Does it always feel like this?" he asked suddenly.
Sumi glanced at him. "Like what?"
"Like everyone's waiting for you to fail again," he said. "Even when they don't say it."
She thought for a moment before answering. "Yes."
That surprised him. "Even priests?"
She nodded. "Especially priests."
They walked a little farther.
"The moment people believe you're chosen," Sumi continued, "they stop seeing what you're struggling with. They only see what you're supposed to be."
Tobi let out a slow breath. "I didn't choose any of this."
"I know."
Her reply was immediate. Certain.
He looked at her then—not searching, just acknowledging. "You didn't hesitate."
Sumi kept her eyes forward. "Because hesitation is louder than denial."
Another stretch of silence followed.
Birds fluttered up from the trees ahead, disturbed by something unseen. The sky was clear, almost painfully calm.
"Back there," Tobi said quietly, "when I fell… I felt empty. Like the sword decided I wasn't worth answering."
Sumi stopped walking.
He noticed a second later and halted too.
She turned to face him—not sharply, not dramatically. Just honestly.
"The sword didn't refuse you," she said. "You refused yourself."
Tobi frowned slightly. "I don't understand."
"You were afraid of hurting someone," she said. "Afraid of losing control. Afraid of becoming what everyone else expects."
Her voice softened. "Power listens to intent before strength."
He looked down at the ground. "So what am I supposed to do?"
Sumi considered him carefully.
"Walk," she said simply. "Learn how heavy your steps are without it."
He blinked. "…That's it?"
"For now," she replied.
They started walking again.
The academy buildings were barely visible from here, hidden behind trees and distance. For the first time since the awakening, Tobi felt like he wasn't being watched.
"Sumi," he said after a while.
"Yes?"
"Why did you stay?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"When people like you appear," she said finally, "the world shifts. Priests exist to notice that shift… and to stand nearby when it hurts."
He absorbed that quietly.
"…Thank you," he said.
She gave a small nod. Nothing more.
The path ahead stretched on, ordinary and unremarkable.
And for the first time since the blade had awakened—
That felt enough.