3RD POV

At the break of dawn, Training Ground 9 was quiet, the mist of early morning still clinging to the air. Standing in front of their sensei, Kushina, the three young Genin—Ryuichi, Fuyumi, and Haru—looked both eager and a bit uncertain.

"Good morning, students," Kushina greeted them warmly. Each of the three responded with their own version of a "Good morning," reflecting their personalities. She smiled, observing them thoughtfully.

"From today," she began, "I'll be focusing on helping each of you develop individual skills tailored to your strengths and interests. Alongside that, we'll also be training for team-coordinated attacks." She glanced at each of them, excitement sparking in her eyes as she introduced the new challenges awaiting them.

Turning to Fuyumi, she said, "Fuyumi, you'll be focusing on seal techniques and kenjutsu. I'll also help you develop your sensing abilities."

"A sensor?" Fuyumi repeated, tilting her head in curiosity.

"A sensor," Haru interjected, "is a shinobi who can detect others by sensing their chakra."

Fuyumi nodded slowly, processing this. "But…what makes you think I'm a sensor?" she asked, skepticism in her voice.

Kushina chuckled. "I don't think you're a sensor, Fuyumi—I know it. It's something you have naturally, even if you don't fully realize it yet."

Fuyumi blinked in surprise, and Kushina moved on, addressing Haru.

"Haru," she said, "you'll be focusing primarily on taijutsu. Alongside that, I want you to develop skills in shuriken-jutsu, kunai techniques, and the basics of senbon."

"Weaponry?" Haru asked, clearly surprised. "I've never heard of a Hyuga who specializes in weapons."

Kushina smirked. "Well, I've never heard of a Hyuga who dreams of becoming Hokage, either." She snorted playfully, earning a chuckle from Fuyumi.

Haru raised an eyebrow, "Hey, don't underestimate the Hyugas."

Kushina laughed, "I'm not. I'm just saying that every Hokage has always had at least two areas of mastery. I want you to become versatile, especially if you're serious about being Hokage someday."

Finally, she turned to Ryuichi. Her expression softened slightly, turning empathetic. "Ryuichi, I heard about your grandfather. My condolences."

Ryuichi waved a dismissive hand. "We weren't close…but his passing did remind me of how far I still have to go if I'm going to accomplish my dreams."

Kushina nodded approvingly. "You're taking it well. Now, for your training…" She reached into her pouch, pulling out a small slip of paper, and handed it to him.

Ryuichi frowned, examining the slip. "What's this?"

"It's chakra paper," she explained, noticing his blank expression. Chuckling, she elaborated. "This paper is used to determine your chakra nature affinity. When you send chakra into it, it will respond in a specific way, indicating your affinity. If it catches fire, it means fire. If it splits, that's wind. If it wrinkles, that's lightning. If it crumbles into dirt, you have earth. And if it becomes damp, it's water."

Ryuichi raised an eyebrow. "It's obvious I have a fire affinity, right? I mean, with my Uchiha background and all the fire jutsu I can do?"

Kushina nodded. "Maybe. But there's no harm in confirming. Sometimes, shinobi excel at elements that aren't their primary affinity, so let's just see."

With a skeptical look, Ryuichi focused a bit of chakra into the paper. To his surprise, it immediately wrinkled tightly in his hand.

Kushina's eyes lit up. "See?" she said proudly.

"So I have a lightning affinity?" Ryuichi asked, still processing it.

"Yes, you do," Kushina confirmed. "But there's no need to worry. Learning a second chakra nature is considered essential for shinobi anyway. I myself have mastered both wind and earth."

Ryuichi nodded thoughtfully, but Kushina wasn't finished. "But before we jump into elemental jutsu, I want to start you with something else—a technique I think is perfect for you."

Ryuichi looked at her with interest. "What technique, sensei?"

Kushina studied him carefully. "With your ability to reduce hand seals in other jutsu, have you ever considered the possibility of eliminating them altogether?"

Ryuichi tilted his head. "Removing hand seals completely? I don't think it's possible for most jutsu, especially with all the shape and elemental changes involved in even a C-rank jutsu."

Kushina gave him a knowing smile. "True for more complex techniques, yes. But what about a simpler, non-elemental D-rank jutsu?"

Ryuichi's brow furrowed, considering it. "It…might be possible, I suppose. What jutsu did you have in mind?"

She grinned, pleased to see his mind turning over the possibilities. "The Body Flicker Technique—the Shunshin no Jutsu."

-{0}-

A few days later

Inside the cozy, modest home within the Uchiha compound, Ryuichi, Fuyumi, and Haru had settled into their first D-rank mission: babysitting. It was a surprisingly quiet task, given that they were all shinobi in training during an active war. Ryuichi lay sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, with a toddler—a young Uchiha boy named Shisui—comfortably napping on his stomach. As Ryuichi's chest rose and fell with each breath, Shisui's tiny form rose and fell in rhythm, seemingly lulled by the steady movement.

"Ryuichi and Shisui really do get along, don't they?" Fuyumi observed, smiling a bit as she watched them.

"They're practically family," Haru replied with a chuckle, watching the two boys as well.

Fuyumi sighed, dropping her stoic facade for a moment. "But I still don't understand why we're assigned missions like this. Babysitting—during a war, no less. Shouldn't we be doing something more... I don't know, significant?"

Haru gave her a sympathetic nod. "I get what you're saying. But remember, Shisui's parents are highly ranked shinobi. They're out there fighting, and by helping them with their family, we're indirectly supporting the war effort."

Fuyumi frowned, folding her arms. "Still, couldn't regular civilians handle something like this?" She softened slightly, allowing herself to show her frustration. "It feels strange to be trained as a shinobi only to end up doing what feels like a civilian chore."

Haru gave a small laugh, noticing how Fuyumi let her guard down around him and appreciating that she felt comfortable enough to speak openly. "Well, maybe we just got the short end of the stick on this mission. It is a little silly, but... at least it's peaceful?"

Just then, Ryuichi jerked awake, pushing Shisui off his chest in the process. His eyes darted around the room, chest heaving as he clutched his heart, clearly startled. Shisui let out a small yelp as he landed on the floor, rubbing his head in protest.

"Ouch!" Shisui pouted, looking up at Ryuichi with a mildly betrayed expression.

"What happened, Ryuichi?" Fuyumi asked, her eyes wide with concern as she knelt down beside him.

"Are you okay?" Haru added, leaning forward with a look of worry.

Ryuichi took a shaky breath, gradually focusing on his surroundings and realizing where he was. He rubbed his temples, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Sorry… I just… had a dream. It felt so real." He swallowed, trying to shake off the unease lingering from whatever had jolted him awake.

Fuyumi's expression softened. "Are you sure you're alright? You seemed… really freaked out."

Ryuichi nodded, though his face was still a bit pale. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just one of those dreams that sticks with you, you know?"

Shisui, having recovered quickly, tugged on Ryuichi's sleeve, his face scrunched up with concern. "Are you scared, Ryu-nii?" the little boy asked innocently, using the affectionate nickname he had for his friend.

Ryuichi managed a reassuring smile for Shisui, ruffling the young boy's hair. "No, not scared. Just… surprised." He chuckled, patting Shisui's head to show he was fine.

Ryuichi's pov (5 minutes ago)

I was back in the void again. That dark, hollow place so completely absent of light that it felt like reality itself was missing. The silence was suffocating, pressing in on me with a weight that made me doubt there was even air to breathe. No scent, no sense of gravity—just an endless, haunting nothingness.

Then, without warning, there was light.

Suddenly, I was standing inside a house I knew all too well: the Hatake clan's main residence. The familiar worn wood, the lingering scent of incense, the quiet hum of Kakashi's family home. But something was wrong—terribly wrong.

My eyes fell on Kakashi's silver hair, strikingly pale in the dim light as he knelt on the floor, staring forward with a look that sent a chill through me. His face twisted with emotions I couldn't even begin to name—fear, disbelief, revulsion. His usually steely eyes were wide, shimmering with a kind of horror I'd never seen on him before. He looked utterly broken, like the very world had crumbled around him.

My gaze followed his, and that's when I saw it.

Sakumo Hatake, Kakashi's father, hung from the ceiling by a rope looped around his neck. His lifeless body swung gently, almost imperceptibly, like a grotesque pendulum, and the sight hollowed out my insides. It's one thing to imagine death, but to see it—to see someone you know, someone you've shared meals and stories with, reduced to this empty, swinging shell—it's something else entirely. His face was pale, drained of all color, and yet contorted as if he'd suffered in those final moments. His lips, blue and parted, seemed almost to be mouthing words that never came, his eyes half-closed, blank, forever caught between life and death.

I couldn't look away. My stomach twisted as I realized that this wasn't just some abstract scene. This was Sakumo. I'd seen him smile, laugh, train with Kakashi under the warm light of day. And now here he was, a man so full of strength and kindness, reduced to nothing more than a haunting figure suspended in death's grip.

I felt trapped, unable to breathe, my legs heavy, as though the floor was pulling me down. The silence pressed in again, thicker now, like the weight of his death had seeped into every corner of the room, sucking all the warmth and familiarity from it.

And Kakashi… his whole body seemed to be trembling as he knelt there, hands clenched into tight fists on the floor, his eyes glistening with a grief too deep for tears. He looked so small, so fragile, his usually unwavering mask shattered in the presence of this horror.

Seeing him like this made me ache in a way I didn't know was possible, the pain sharper than any wound. This was his father—the person meant to be his pillar of strength—and now he was nothing more than a lifeless shadow, swinging, fading, gone.

-{0}-

Back to present

"How's it being a ninja, Ryuichi-nii-san?" Shisui asked, his small hands cutting through the air in mock martial arts moves, his face scrunched up in fierce concentration.

Ryuichi chuckled, watching the younger Uchiha with a soft smile. "Hmm, it's pretty good," he replied, nodding with a warm smile. "There's a lot to learn, though. And a lot of responsibility."

"When I grow up, I'm going to be a ninja too!" Shisui declared, puffing up his chest with pride.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and all three genin instinctively dropped into a semi-alert stance, ready to react to whatever might come through. But they quickly relaxed when Shisui's parents entered the room, followed by Kushina. The mood instantly shifted, tension easing as everyone returned to the warm, easygoing atmosphere.

"You all look pretty cozy," Kushina said, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she took in the group sprawled comfortably across the hallway.

"Well, Shisui is surprisingly calm for a five-year-old," Ryuichi replied with a smile, looking fondly at the younger boy.

"No way! Shisui? Calm?" His mother, Hae Uchiha, laughed, feigning disbelief. "Who are you, and where is my son?"

Shisui's cheeks reddened, and he rushed over to his mother, hugging her around the waist. "Mom! Don't embarrass me in front of Ryuichi-nii-san," he whispered, his face still flushed.

Hae laughed softly, resting a gentle hand on her son's head. She turned back to Ryuichi, her smile turning thoughtful. "Ryuichi, if you wouldn't mind, could you show Shisui a few things? With my husband and I often on the frontlines, we haven't been able to start his training properly."

Ryuichi blinked, surprised at the sudden request. "I'd be happy to help, but… I'm not sure if I'm ready to teach anyone yet. And Shisui will be going to the academy soon, right?"

"He will, but I don't want him to fall behind the other clan kids. Besides, I haven't seen him this calm and focused around anyone else and you don't even have to teach him anything complex, just the basics." Hae replied, her gaze hopeful. She turned to Kushina as if silently asking for her opinion.

Kushina, always quick to encourage, nodded. "I think it's a great idea, Ryuichi. Teaching him could help you see things in a new way, and training someone younger can really push you to understand techniques on a deeper level."

Ryuichi looked back at Hae, then at Shisui, who was watching him with wide, excited eyes. "Alright, I'll give it a shot."

Shisui's face lit up, and he pumped his fists into the air. "Yay! Ryuichi-nii-san is going to teach me ninja stuff!" he shouted happily.

"Only if you're willing to work hard," Ryuichi said, trying to sound stern, but he couldn't help smiling at the boy's joy.

After exchanging goodbyes, Kushina ushered her genin squad toward the exit. As they left, Hae waved them off, calling after Ryuichi, "Thank you, Ryuichi! I'll be counting on you to make a strong shinobi out of my boy!"

As they walked toward the training grounds, Fuyumi gave Ryuichi a curious look. "I didn't know you were good with kids."

"Uh… well, just Shisui, I guess. We clicked pretty easily," Ryuichi admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Really now?" Fuyumi replied with a slight smirk, clearly amused.

They picked up their pace and ran toward the training ground. As they reached the clearing, Fuyumi glanced at Ryuichi. "How's the Shunshin training coming along?" she asked curiously

"The jutsu itself was pretty easy to get down," Ryuichi said, a hint of pride in his voice. But then his expression turned more serious. "But getting rid of the last seal is… harder than I thought. When I try, I can't concentrate on where I want to go, so I end up a little… off target."

Fuyumi's eyes widened. "Wow, that does sound tough. I mean, I've barely managed to learn Shunshin, and here you are trying to get rid of the hand seals for them entirely."

"Alright, that's it for today, kids," she said, her warm tone bringing their attention back to her. "Ryuichi, Tsunade-sama is expecting you at the hospital, so don't be late! Fuyumi, we'll keep working on that barrier scroll technique today. And Haru, make sure you continue practicing with the senbon." Kushina said, clapping her hands together.

-{0}-

In the ruins of her village, Mai sat by the same patch of dry earth she had visited every day since her mother's death, her small hands resting over the soil, feeling its emptiness. It was cold beneath her touch, barren and unyielding, like the promises her mother had whispered to her that fateful night before she had vanished into the dark.

When the flowers bloom, I'll come back to you.*

The words haunted Mai, lingering like the ache of a broken bone. They were a small flame she clung to, a hope that kept her alive through days that felt empty and nights that seemed endless. Yet the seeds had not sprouted. The ground remained stubborn, cracked and dry. Every morning, she returned to water it with her tears, whispering to the earth as if her mother might hear her. But nothing grew, and in time, even her tears dried up. The days blended together, marked only by the silence of the fields and the emptiness that pressed down on her like a heavy stone.

The villagers passed her by with looks of quiet indifference. In a world ravaged by war, she was just another orphan, another forgotten face among the countless others who had lost everything. No one gave her food or shelter; no one looked at her with warmth. She was a ghost among the living, a silent witness to the ruins around her. As she grew thinner, her hair tangled and matted, her clothes turned to rags, and her small, thin frame blended in with the barren landscape, just another forgotten shadow in a land of ashes.

One evening, as the sun set in muted colors over the wasted fields, Mai knelt by the patch of dirt, her head bowed, her hands trembling with the weight of her despair. She no longer had the strength to cry, no words left to beg for the flowers that never bloomed. The promise had turned hollow, a cruel whisper that now filled her with a bitterness she was too young to understand.

As she knelt there, an old man approached her, his footsteps soft on the dry earth. His face was weathered, his dark skin lined with the marks of time and hardship. His eyes were a piercing, steel gray, filled with a sadness she recognized all too well. He watched her quietly for a moment, then knelt down and held out a small piece of bread, rough and slightly stale, but to Mai, it was a gift that felt almost sacred.

She hesitated, looking up at him, unsure if she should take it. She had seen strangers pass by before, but none had ever stopped for her. He nodded gently, his face softening.

"Take it," he said in a low, gravelly voice, his eyes kind. "You look like you haven't eaten in days."

Mai took the bread with trembling hands, her fingers brushing against his rough ones. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, though it was simple and dry. Her hunger was too deep to care. The old man sat beside her in silence, his presence somehow comforting in the desolate landscape. She wondered why he had stopped for her, why he, a stranger, would care.

After she finished, she looked up at him, her voice quiet and tentative. "Why did you help me?"

He sighed, looking out over the barren fields, his gaze distant. "Because once, a long time ago, someone did the same for me," he said. "When I was alone, when no one else cared."

They sat together in silence, and she found herself grateful for the quiet, for the simple warmth of another person beside her. The man introduced himself as Raiden. He said he was a traveler, that he had seen many lands and survived countless battles, though he didn't say where he was from. She didn't need to ask; she didn't need answers. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt the smallest glimmer of warmth in her heart.

The next day, Raiden returned. He brought her another piece of bread and a small jug of water. He didn't ask her why she kept returning to the barren soil or why she wore the tattered remains of a once-bright kimono. He just sat beside her, sometimes in silence, sometimes telling her stories of distant lands where the rivers glowed like fireflies and the mountains touched the sky.

As the weeks went by, Raiden kept coming back. Slowly, Mai began to speak with him, telling him about her mother, about the seeds she had planted. She told him about the promise her mother had made, how she was waiting for flowers that would never grow.

Raiden listened patiently, his face solemn, as if he too understood what it meant to hold onto hope in a world that offered so little of it.

"What was she like?" he asked one evening, his voice soft.

Mai looked down at her hands, clutching the pouch of seeds as she remembered. "She was kind," she whispered. "She used to sing to me when we walked through the fields. She… she had a smile that felt like sunlight. She told me… she promised… she promised she'd come back."

Raiden's face darkened, his gray eyes glistening. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his grip warm and steady. "Sometimes, people make promises they can't keep, even if they want to," he said gently. "But that doesn't mean she didn't love you."

Over time, Raiden became more than just a stranger to Mai. He was a steady presence, a comfort in the darkness. Each day, he would bring her a bit of food, sometimes an old blanket or a small carved trinket he had made. She began to think of him as family, a protector in a world that had abandoned her.

One evening, as they watched the sun dip below the mountains, Mai finally asked him something that had been weighing on her heart.

"Why do you stay with me?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Raiden sighed deeply, his gaze distant. "Because you… you remind me of someone I lost a long time ago," he admitted, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Someone who looked at me the way you do… without fear, without judgment."

Confused, Mai tilted her head. "Why would I fear you?"

Raiden hesitated, his hand reflexively touching a mark that lay hidden beneath his collar. "Because… people think I carry a curse," he said slowly. "They call me a jinchuriki. They think I'm a monster, a vessel for something dark."

Mai's brow furrowed. "But you're not a monster. You're… you're my friend. You… you've been kinder to me than anyone."

For a moment, Raiden's hard expression softened, his eyes filling with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. He looked at her with something close to gratitude, and she saw in him a kind of brokenness that mirrored her own.

"You are the first person," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "who has looked at me and seen… a person."

In that moment, a deep bond grew between them, one that needed no words, no promises. Mai no longer felt the loneliness that had once clung to her like a shadow, and Raiden found a family in the girl who looked at him with eyes full of trust and innocence.

As the days turned into months, Raiden taught her how to care for the soil, how to tend to the earth so it might finally yield the life she had been waiting for. They planted new seeds together, side by side, and she watched as small green sprouts slowly pushed through the ground. For the first time since her mother's death, she felt a glimmer of hope.

One evening, as they sat beneath the old oak tree that marked her mother's grave, Raiden handed her a single white flower he had grown from a seed. It was small and delicate, its petals pure and soft in the dying light. Mai took it in her hands, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him.

"You've taught me to grow again, Mai," he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. "You've given me something I thought I'd lost… family."

She clutched the flower to her chest, her heart swelling with a mixture of sorrow and joy. She felt as though her mother was there with them, watching over them, her promise fulfilled in a way Mai had never imagined. The flowers might not have bloomed from her mother's seeds, but life had returned to the barren soil. She had found a new family in Raiden, a man once feared by all, yet who had shown her the gentlest kindness she had ever known.

In the quiet of the evening, as they sat together beneath the starlit sky, Mai felt something she hadn't felt in years: peace. She looked at Raiden, her heart full of gratitude, and in the darkness, his weathered face softened, his eyes glistening as he looked at the girl who had become his light in a world that had always shunned him.

And there, in the shadow of the old oak tree, two lost souls found solace in each other, like two fragile blooms growing side by side in a scarred but healing world.

=chapter end=