At first, it seemed harmless—at least that's how Mizuki interpreted it. Shin Yamanaka was just another quiet, disciplined student, different from the others, but still within acceptable limits. Kids fought, tested their strength—that was normal—and Shin just seemed better than the rest. Too fast, too precise, but still just a child… or so he thought at first.
As the days passed, something began to bother him. It wasn't just the results of the fights, it was the way they happened. Shin didn't merely react—he led, created openings, forced mistakes, as if he already knew what the other would do before the movement even began.
Mizuki began observing more closely, first out of curiosity, then out of suspicion. During a theory class, he asked a question, and a student answered correctly without being called. Mizuki accepted it, but found it odd. Minutes later, another question, another student answered—again correctly, again without being called. This time, Mizuki watched more carefully, his eyes shifting from the student to Shin, who sat as always, motionless, silent.
In the following days, he tested it further, asking harder questions, observing the pattern—and then it became clear. The answers weren't coming from the students—they were coming from him. Without moving his lips, without any visible sign, Shin was using telepathy.
Mizuki's unease grew—but the worst was yet to come.
During paired training, he approached to observe closely. The fight started normally, simple exchanges, basic movements, until Shin paused for a nearly imperceptible moment—and the other student froze for a second. It was brief, but enough. Shin advanced and finished the combat without resistance. Mizuki felt the weight of it immediately. This was not normal—not at that age.
In the following days, the signs accumulated. Shin began using Yamanaka Clan techniques—not perfectly, but enough to interfere, read intentions, and influence the flow of others' actions. He wasn't just fighting—he was using his peers as tools, shaping each fight as if they were experiments. What had been ordinary training became too controlled, too calculated. Mizuki could no longer ignore it.
Before Hiruzen Sarutobi, he reported everything clearly: every detail, every abnormal behavior. The Hokage listened in silence, without interruption, simply analyzing. When Mizuki finished, there was a brief pause before the response.
The decision came quickly. Shin's graduation would be accelerated. Mizuki was surprised, remembering that Shin had not yet learned the three basic techniques, but the Hokage was direct: if he was already at this level, he would pass regardless. And he would not be placed on a regular team.
ANBU.
The name was not spoken with surprise, but with weight.
Then came the most important point. This had to be kept secret. Hiruzen's gaze shifted slightly, more serious, deeper. He did not want others to know, did not want certain interests to focus on the boy so early. A thought passed through his mind, clear and unsettling.
Danzo.
Mizuki understood without it being said.
As he left the room, the weight of the situation became clear. This was not just talent or discipline. It was something beyond, something dangerous if left uncontrolled.
Back at the Academy, his eyes found Shin again, sitting as always, quiet, observing everything around him. But now he no longer looked like a child. He looked like something being shaped, growing too fast, too silently, and if not guided correctly, capable of surpassing any control.