School had just finished, and students poured through the gates like a tide, chatting and laughing in twos and threes.
The clamor in the classroom faded fast, leaving only a handful of stragglers.
"Shikamaru, see you tomorrow."
Mamoru pushed himself up with one hand, and headed straight for the door. He'd only gone a few steps when Shikamaru's voice sounded behind him.
"Hey!"
Mamoru stopped and glanced back.
Shikamaru asked, puzzled, "What've you been up to lately? You bolt right after class."
Mamoru turned to face them. "What else? Training."
His gaze swept over Shikamaru and Choji. "You two sure you're okay? You'll really graduate this year? Don't end up stuck as Genin wannabes."
"Troublesome…" Shikamaru's eyelids drooped. "I'll manage, I guess."
"I'm fine." Choji thumped his chest. "Dad and I have been doing special training."
"Special training?" Mamoru raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Training to eat more, you mean. Ever think about dropping a few pounds?"
"I'm not fat!" Choji bellowed, slapping his belly. "This is plump muscle!"
"What're you guys talking about?" Naruto bounced over with his trademark goofy grin.
Mamoru looked at that radiant face and couldn't hide his pity.
"Hey!" Naruto caught the odd look, his smile collapsing. "What's that stare for?"
"Hang in there, Naruto." Mamoru offered no explanation, just clapped him on the shoulder with mock solemnity.
"What the heck does that mean?" Naruto scratched his blond spikes and turned to Shikamaru for help.
Shikamaru laced his hands behind his head, sighing at the ceiling. "Naruto… just hang in there."
"Quit the riddles!" Naruto hopped in frustration, arms flailing. "Spit it out!"
Mamoru shrugged and left without another word.
Outside the gate he bypassed the crowded main road and slipped onto a deserted side path.
A little way along, as he lifted his hands to dispel himself (this is a Shadow Clone), hurried footsteps burst from a fork beside him.
A five or six-year-old shot out, tripped on a jutting stone, and pitched forward, landing face-first with a dull thud.
"Ow…" The boy rolled, clutching his face.
Mamoru winced in sympathy, it looked painful.
He shelved the jutsu and stepped closer, wasn't this Hiruzen's blockhead grandson?
The kid wore a head-wrap and that long blue scarf, a gap in his teeth visible when he yelped.
"You okay?" Mamoru asked.
"Who put a trap here?!" Konohamaru scrambled up, cheeks puffed in outrage.
Spotting Mamoru, he pointed an accusing finger. "It was you, wasn't it?!"
Mamoru's temper flared. "Brat, which eye saw me do anything?"
"Knew it!" Konohamaru jabbed closer, utterly certain.
"Tch. Beat it." Mamoru slapped the finger away.
"You hit me!" Konohamaru clutched his hand, indignant. "Do you even know who I am?"
"Don't care." Mamoru snapped. "Scram. Now."
"I'm the Hokage's grandson!" Konohamaru puffed his chest, expecting the title to terrify.
Mamoru blinked at the familiar "my-granddad-is-so-and-so" routine.
Konohamaru smirked, sure the name had struck fear.
"Scared now?" He said, emboldened.
"Jerk! Nya-nya-nya..." He pulled down an eyelid, stuck out his tongue, and made a smug face at Mamoru, dying to see him panic.
Mamoru's gaze turned icy as he clicked his tongue in irritation. He wasn't about to humor this spoiled little brat.
He shot out a hand, grabbed Konohamaru by the collar, and hoisted him into the air. "Stupid runt, looks like you're itching for a beating."
"Y-you wouldn't dare!" Konohamaru blustered, not even a flicker of fear on his face.
"Go on, try it! You're too chicken to lay a finger on the Hokage's grandson."
"Taunting me?" Mamoru's brows slammed together.
Without another word, his free hand flew. Two crisp slaps rang out—first forehand, then backhand—solid smacks that left Konohamaru's ears ringing and his small body swaying in mid-air.
"Agh—"
Tiny palm-prints flared scarlet on Konohamaru's cheeks. "It hurts!"
He was dazed, the burning sting bringing tears to his eyes. He couldn't grasp how anyone, knowing who he was, would still hit him.
"Konohamaru-sama!" A frantic voice shouted from afar.
Mamoru recognized the glasses-wearing tutor. He narrowed his eyes and gave the dazed Konohamaru another slap. "That's for mouthing off."
Without another syllable, he tossed the snarling kid to the ground like a piece of trash.
A puff of white smoke popped and he was gone.
"Konohamaru-sama!"
Ebisu dropped from the branches, racing to his side. "Thank goodness I found you."
Only when he heard Ebisu did Konohamaru snap out of the shock, clutching his swollen cheeks, too choked up to speak.
"W-who did this?!" Ebisu gasped, furious and alarmed.
—
"Seven hundred sixty-five... seven hundred sixty-six... seven hundred sixty-seven..."
Bare-chested, skin covered with sweat, Mamoru hung upside-down from a thick branch, feet glued with Chakra. Hands behind his head, he cranked out inverted sit-ups, every rise and fall packed with power.
Halfway up, he froze as foreign memories flooded in—a Shadow Clone had dispelled.
He slowed, sorting the info: behaved at the Ninja Academy, nothing wild. As for smacking the Hokage's brat... the kid deserved it.
After a brief pause, he resumed, silently counting, "Seven hundred sixty-seven..."
He'd been training alone. Guy's squad had taken a C-rank mission—escorting a merchant to the Land of Grass—and Tenten and Lee had buzzed about it for days.
Normally C or D-rank missions were safe, but nothing was ever certain. Take Kakashi's Team 7 for example, their first C-rank mission had turned into a nightmare.
While guarding bridge-builder Tazuna, they'd learned he'd lied about Rogue Ninja targeting him, bumping the job from C to B-rank or worse.
One of the enemies had been Zabuza of the Seven ninja swordsmen, not someone small-fry Genin or Chunin could handle that.
In short, Kakashi's team had earned C-rank pay for B-rank danger, lousy risk-to-reward.
Of course, reward isn't everything. Life-and-death combat brings priceless gains: shedding fear of killing, real battle experience, sharper instincts, and the calm needed against stronger foes—none of which school or drills provide.
"One thousand."
Before he knew it, he'd hit his target. Mamoru released the Chakra in his feet and dropped from the high branch. An instant before impact, he twisted, flipped, and landed light as a feather.
He stood gasping, clothes and hair soaked, sweat dripping off him onto the dirt.
He exhaled a long, heavy breath.
Even without Guy around, he wouldn't slack off. He knew his situation: he had to outrun time and earn a seat at the board, even if only as a pawn.
Still, without Neji and Lee, his favorite sparring punch-bags, the forest felt eerily quiet.
(End of Chapter)
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