Morning came without ceremony.
No dramatic sky.
No warning signs.
Just a pale sun filtering through the curtains of the temporary dorm room Tobi had been assigned after the school's destruction.
Tobi opened his eyes.
For a moment, he didn't move.
His body remembered pain—but it didn'tthe flinch anymore.
He sat up slowly, placing his feet on the floor.
The room felt… smaller.
Not because it had changed.
Because he had.
When he stood, there was no surge of power, no pulse of light or shadow. Yet something followed him as he moved—like gravity itself had learned his shape.
He reached for the practice jacket folded neatly on the chair.
As his fingers brushed the fabric, Kaien stirred.
Not loudly.
Not impatiently.
Just present.
You are awake earlier than before, the sword observed.
Tobi paused. "…Yeah."
He didn't ask why Kaien was calmer now.
He already knew.
---
The Consequence
The training ground was quiet when he arrived.
Too quiet.
A few students stood near the edges, whispering—not hiding it well. When Tobi stepped onto the stone floor, their conversations faltered.
Eyes followed him.
Not in awe.
In caution.
Iruka was already there, arms folded, expression unreadable.
"You're late," he said.
Tobi blinked. "I thought I was early."
Iruka glanced at the sun. "…You are."
He hesitated, then added, "They moved your spar to first session."
Tobi felt it then.
The consequence.
Not punishment.
Expectation.
Across the ground stood his opponent—a second-year named Kenzu. Broad-shouldered, confident stance, lightning-element user. He'd always been loud.
Today, he wasn't smiling.
"So," Kenzu said, cracking his neck. "You're the one everyone's scared of now."
Tobi shook his head. "I'm not—"
"Save it," Kenzu snapped. "Just don't hold back."
That word landed wrong.
Tobi exhaled slowly.
Miss Shiratori's voice echoed across the field.
"Begin."the
---
The Change
Kenzu moved first.
Fast. Sharp. Lightning snapped under his feet as he closed the distance in a blink.
Before, Tobi would've reacted late.
Before, Kaien would've pulled him forward.
Now—
Tobi stepped aside.
Not back.
Not aggressive.
Just enough.
The lightning blade passed where his chest had been.
Kenzu spun, surprised. "Huh—?"
Tobi didn't counter immediately.
He watched.
Not the weapon.
The person.
Kenzu's breathing. His footing. The slight tremor in his left hand.
Fear.
Not of Tobi.
Of losing control.
Kaien shifted.
You are not reaching for dominance, the sword noted.
"I don't want to," Tobi replied quietly.
Kenzu attacked again—harder this time.
Tobi raised Kaien.
Light did not flare.
Dark did not surge.
Instead, the blade absorbed the strike.
Not by force.
By acceptance.
The lightning dispersed harmlessly into the ground.
Everyone watching froze.
Kenzu staggered back, wide-eyed. "What—what did you do?!"
Tobi lowered the sword.
"There wasia dn't stop you," he said. "I just didn't let it hurt anyone."
Kaien hummed.
Not powerfully.
Proudly.
This is your answer, it said.
Not conquest. Containment.
The match ended there.
Not with defeat.
But with silence.
---
Kaien's Response
Later, alone beneath the shade of a half-rebuilt sakura structure, Tobi sat with the sword resting across his knees.
For the first time, Kaien felt… light.
Not weaker.
Unburdened.
You have stopped asking what you deserve, Kaien said.
And started asking what must be protected.
Tobi looked down at the blade. "I used to think power was something that took people away from me."
And now?
"…Now I think it's something that stays," he said. "Even after they're gone."
Kaien did not respond immediately.
When it did, its voice was quieter than ever.
Then I will no longer test you.
Tobi's breath caught. "You won't?"
No, Kaien said.
I will walk with you.
---
The Weight That Remains
That evening, Sumi walked beside him along the outer path of the grounds.
They didn't speak at first.
They rarely needed to.
"You changed today," she said eventually.
Tobi nodded. "I remembered someone."
She didn't ask who.
"That kind of memory doesn't fade," Sumi continued. "It settles."
He glanced at her. "Is that… bad?"
She shook her head gently. "No. But it makes your steps heavier."
Tobi looked ahead. "I think I can handle that."
Sumi allowed a small smile. "You don't walk like someone running anymore."
They stopped.
Lantern light flickered in the distance.
Somewhere unseen, eyes were watching again.
Not attacking.
Measuring.
Tobi rested a hand on Kaien's hilt.
The sword did not pulse.
It waited.
And for the first time, so did he.
The lanterns had been lit when Iruka finally allowed himself to stop moving.
He stood alone at the edge of the training grounds, boots planted where the stone still bore scorch marks from earlier battles. The field was quiet now, but Iruka could still hear it—the crack of lightning, the way it had vanished without resistance.
He exhaled slowly.
"That wasn't normal," he muttered.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Miss Shiratori didn't speak at first. She joined him, eyes fixed on the place where Tobi had stood.
"He didn't overpower his opponent," she said. "He redirected intent."
Iruka's jaw tightened. "That's not something students are taught."
"No," she agreed. "It's something survivors learn."
Iruka glanced at her. "The Council won't like this."
She gave a thin smile. "The Council rarely likes anything it can't label."
---
Iruka's Doubt
Later that night, Iruka sat at the long table inside the temporary command room, fingers steepled, gaze unfocused.
Reports lay scattered before him.
Awakening: Stable.
Elemental interference: Non-hostile.
Psychological shift: Unclassified.
Unclassified.
That word bothered him more than any danger rating ever had.
A younger instructor leaned in from across the table. "Sir… do you think he's dangerous?"
Iruka didn't answer immediately.
His mind replayed the moment Tobi had stepped aside—not fearful, not reckless. Just aware.
"…I think," Iruka said slowly, "that he's learning restraint faster than most adults."
The instructor frowned. "That doesn't answer the question."
Iruka looked up sharply. "It does."
He stood, gathering the reports. "Because the most dangerous people aren't the ones who lose control."
He paused at the doorway.
"They're the ones who choose not to use it."
---
Confrontation
Iruka found Tobi near the outer wall, sitting where broken stone met grass. Kaien rested beside him, half-sheathed, quiet.
"You're avoiding the dorms," Iruka said.
Tobi looked up, startled. "Sorry. I just needed air."
Iruka folded his arms. "You didn't apologize after your match."
"I didn't know if I should."
"That's the problem," Iruka replied. "You don't know what you're becoming yet."
Tobi lowered his gaze.
For a moment, Iruka saw not the Last Swordsman—but a boy standing at the edge of something vast.
"You held back," Iruka continued. "Not because you were ordered to. Because you decided to."
"Yes, sir."
Iruka's voice softened. "Do you understand what that means here?"
"…That they'll test me harder?"
Iruka shook his head. "That they'll test us."
Tobi looked up again. "Us?"
Iruka crouched so they were eye level.
"If you fall," he said quietly, "they won't call it a tragedy. They'll call it proof."
Tobi's fingers curled slightly. "Then I won't fall."
Iruka studied him for a long moment.
Then—unexpectedly—he placed a hand on Tobi's shoulder.
"That confidence," he said, "is exactly why I'm worried."
---
Iruka's Resolve
As Iruka walked away, Kaien spoke—not to Tobi.
He carries the weight of command, the sword observed.
And the fear of history.
Tobi watched Iruka's back. "He doesn't trust me."
He does, Kaien replied.
Which is why he stands between you and them.
Iruka didn't stop walking.
But his grip tightened around the folded reports in his hand.
"Secondary main character," he thought bitterly. "No."
If the world insisted on pushing Tobi forward—
Then Iruka would be the one to make sure he survived what came next.
And somewhere beyond the walls, unseen forces shifted again.
Not toward Tobi alone.
But toward those who chose to stand beside him.