Chapter 1 : A chance meeting.
--
It was a cold winter day in an unnamed empty park.
A little girl, no older than five, sat curled up on the snowy ground. Her dark indigo hair hung limply around her small frame as she trembled with silent sobs. Her pale, white eyes were fixed on the dirt beneath her, tears streaking her cheeks. She didn't cry out or resist, but the sadness surrounding her was heavy, impossible to ignore.
Towering over her stood three older boys, their laughter sharp and cruel, their grins filled with malice. They were bigger, stronger—and utterly unkind.
"Look at those creepy white eyes," said the tallest boy, his messy brown hair falling into his face. His voice was full of mockery. "They're disgusting."
"And her hair?" another boy added with a sneer, his black hair covering one eye. "She's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."
The third boy, wearing a cap pulled low, laughed loudly. "Total freak," he said, his voice full of hate, as if just looking at her annoyed him.
The little girl hugged her knees close, trying to make herself invisible. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound. Her downcast eyes seemed to beg for someone to help, but no one came.
The boys grew bolder, their bullying getting worse, until a voice rang out from behind them, firm and clear.
"...Stop picking on her," the voice called out from behind, filled with anger. "You damn cowards."
The bullies stopped and turned, their mocking smiles replaced by annoyed looks. Behind them stood a boy about the same age as the girl they had been tormenting. His tan skin shone slightly in the sunlight, and his spiky dark orange hair moved gently with the breeze. But it was his eyes—blue-violet and full of fire—that caught their attention and made them pause.
He was smaller than them in height, He wore a plain black T-shirt and olive green shorts. Nothing about his clothes was impressive, but the steady, fearless look in his eyes made the bullies uneasy.
"What did you just say, you little punk?" the brown-haired boy growled, stepping forward to look tough.
"...I said you're weak," the boy replied calmly. His voice was sharp, and his words cut like a knife. "Only cowards pick on someone who can't fight back."
The black-haired boy sneered, his lip curling as he tried to look scary. "You'd better walk away, kid, unless you want to get hurt."
The boy didn't flinch. "...Try me."
For a moment, the bullies didn't move. The air grew tense and heavy, the silence like a storm about to break. Then the brown-haired boy shouted, "That's it!" He charged at the boy, fists ready to strike. His friends followed close behind, their faces full of anger.
The orange-haired boy stayed where he was, standing firm. His eyes flicked to the girl, silently telling her to run, but she was too scared to move.
'Damn it,' he thought, his fists tightening. He had hoped to distract the bullies so the girl could run away, but now he had no choice. He would have to fight on three older, stronger bullies—Shinobi academy students, no less.
As the bullies moved closer, his heart raced, but he refused to back down. 'Here goes nothing,' he thought, clenching his fists as he ran toward them.
The first attack came quickly—a wild punch from the black-haired boy aimed at his head. The orange-haired boy ducked just in time, the fist whizzing past him. But before he could react, the brown-haired boy's fist slammed into his cheek.
"Take that, you runt!" the bully shouted as pain exploded across his face. The orange-haired boy stumbled back, his vision spinning, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay standing.
He steadied himself, dodging the next swing by stepping to the side. This time, he threw a quick punch at the brown-haired boy's stomach, aiming to fight back.
Before the punch could connect, strong arms suddenly wrapped around his neck from behind. The boy in the cap had grabbed him in a tight chokehold, pinning his arms and pulling him off balance.
The orange-haired boy gasped, struggling to breathe as the hold tightened. His legs kicked, and his arms flailed, but the grip was too strong.
The brown-haired bully didn't wait. He stepped forward and started throwing punches. The first hit the orange-haired boy's left cheek, the second hit his right, and the third slammed into his nose, sending sharp pain through his head. Blood dripped from his lip.
As the brown-haired bully raised his fist to punch again, the orange-haired boy gritted his teeth and acted quickly. Using the boy holding him as support, he jumped and twisted his body. With all his strength, he kicked both feet into the brown-haired boy's chest.
The force sent the bully flying backward. He hit the ground hard with a loud thud, groaning in pain as he held his ribs. His face twisted in anger and shock. "What the hell?" he gasped, struggling to breathe.
The orange-haired boy didn't stop. Before the boy in the cap could tighten his grip, the orange-haired boy threw his head backward with all his strength. His skull smashed into the boy's nose with a loud crack.
The boy in the cap screamed in pain. "My nose!" he yelled, stumbling back as blood streamed down his face. His grip loosened, and the orange-haired boy broke free, stumbling forward as he gasped for air.
Without wasting a second, the orange-haired boy turned and swung his arm. The back of his fist hit the side of the cap-wearing boy's face hard. The impact made the boy stagger and fall back, his balance completely lost.
But there was no time to rest. The moment the orange-haired boy's fist connected with the cap-wearing bully's face, the black-haired bully charged in and landed a hard punch to his chest. The impact knocked the boy backward, leaving him gasping for air. As he doubled over, struggling to breathe, the brown-haired bully seized the opportunity. Grabbing a handful of the boy's orange hair, he yanked him forward with brutal force.
The bully lifted his knee, aiming for the orange-haired boy's nose. Despite the pain and dizziness, the boy managed to cross his arms in front of his face just in time. The knee slammed into his forearms with a painful force that shook his whole body but protected him from worse damage.
The brown-haired bully growled and tightened his grip on the boy's hair, forcing his head down and keeping him trapped. His grin widened as he got ready to throw another attack. But before he could, the sound of heavy footsteps cut through the chaos.
The orange-haired boy glanced up just in time to see the black-haired bully rushing toward him. Before he could move, the older boy's kick smashed into his ribs. The force was so strong it lifted him off the ground. A loud crack rang in his ears as sharp pain shot through his chest, leaving him gasping for air.
He hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his body like lightning. His arms trembled as he tried to push himself up, each movement a struggle against the pain. But before he could rise, a shadow loomed over him. The orange-haired boy looked up.
The larger bully stood above him, his grin twisted with anger. "That's for my nose, you bastard," he growled, then punched the side of the orange-haired face boy with all his strength. The force of the punch sent him sliding across the dirt.
He barely had time to breathe before the black-haired and brown-haired bullies grabbed him. Their eyes glinted with cruelty, showing they weren't finished yet.
Without waiting, they started their attack. Punches and kicks came from all directions. The black-haired boy landed a hard punch to his side, making him double over in pain. The brown-haired bully didn't waste the chance, slamming a fist into his cheek and snapping his head to the side.
The pain didn't stop, each hit hurting more than the last. Blood dripped from his mouth, and every breath sent sharp pain through his ribs. Despite it all, he tried to stand, his body bruised but his spirit refusing to give up.
Even though his vision blurred and his body screamed at him to stop, the orange-haired boy refused to give in. Summoning the last bit of strength he had, he swung his fist wildly. It connected with the taller boy's shoulder, causing him to pause briefly, but it wasn't enough to halt the attack.
The three older boys kept attacking, their punches and kicks landing one after another without mercy. The orange-haired boy stumbled back, trying to block them, but there were too many blows, and he couldn't stop them all.
Then, in the middle of the chaos, he acted without thinking. With a sudden burst of energy, he reached out and grabbed the brown-haired bully by the throat. His grip was strong and firm, and the bully froze in shock, his eyes going wide.
The brown-haired boy started choking, struggling to breathe as his gasps grew weaker. He clawed at the orange-haired boy's arm, trying to break free, but the grip wouldn't budge. For the first time, the bullies hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden shift in control.
"Damn it! Let him go!" the black-haired bully shouted, panic creeping into his voice. Beside him, the bigger bully with the cap joined in, their fists flying as they pounded on the orange-haired boy's arms and face, desperate to free their friend.
Blow after blow landed, but the orange-haired boy held firm, his grip on the brown-haired bully's windpipe unrelenting. The brown-haired boy gagged and clawed at his hand, his face turning red as his gasps for air grew weaker.
Finally, a particularly hard punch to the orange-haired boy's jaw sent him crashing to the ground. The impact broke his hold on the brown-haired bully, who collapsed alongside him, clutching his own neck and coughing violently.
Both boys lay there for a moment, the tension in the air thick, the struggle briefly paused as they fought to recover from the chaos.
The brown-haired bully lay on the ground, holding his throat and struggling to breathe, his face twisted in pain. But the black-haired bully and the fat one didn't stop. They turned their anger toward the orange-haired boy, who was still lying on the ground.
They kicked him again and again. Each kick sent sharp pain through his body, but he didn't cry out. Instead, he curled up tightly, covering his head and chest with his arms and knees to protect himself as much as he could.
The pain was like fire spreading through him, but he refused to give up. His body hurt, and his breathing was shaky, but his spirit stayed strong. Even through the pain, his blue-violet eyes glared at the bullies, full of determination.
Not far away, the indigo-haired girl stood frozen in fear, her small body shaking as she watched the terrible scene. Her wide eyes were full of tears, darting between the bullies and the boy on the ground. She wanted to help, to scream, but fear kept her from moving.
Her lips trembled as she silently mouthed the words, "Please, stop." But no sound came out. Her quiet pleas were ignored, drowned out by the heavy sound of their kicks landing.
In the middle of the pain and chaos, the orange-haired boy spotted a chance. Desperation and determination pushed him to act quickly.
As the black-haired bully pulled back for another kick, the orange-haired boy's hand shot out fast, like a snake striking its prey. His fingers grabbed the bully's groin, squeezing with every bit of strength he had left.
The black-haired bully froze, his face twisting in shock and pain. A loud, high-pitched scream escaped his mouth, cutting through the noise. He dropped to the ground, rolling and squirming, his hands clawing desperately to break free from the boy's grip.
The fat bully stopped suddenly, his head turning toward the sound of the black-haired boy's cries. For a moment, everything was still, except for the black-haired boy's loud screams.
The orange-haired boy saw his chance. He let go of the bully and rolled away, putting some distance between himself and the others. He lay on the ground, breathing hard, his chest hurting with each breath. His ribs ached, but he refused to stay down.
Nearby, the black-haired boy was on the ground, groaning and holding his groin. His face was pale and sweaty.
"Itsuki, are you okay?" the big bully asked, his voice filled with concern as he knelt beside his friend.
The black-haired boy gave a weak nod, but his face showed pain, and he couldn't sit up. His body was too weak. The fat bully looked worried as he stayed close to his injured friend.
The bigger boy in the cap slowly stood up, his face full of anger. He sneered and spoke in a low, angry voice. "This brat's gonna pay for that," he growled, his eyes locked on the orange-haired boy like a predator watching its prey.
"Y-yeah..." The brown-haired boy coughed but managed to get up, still confident despite the pain. He and the bigger bully stepped forward slowly, enjoying the thought of getting revenge.
The orange-haired boy, hurt and tired, dropped to one knee before pushing himself back up. His body shook with effort, but he refused to give up. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away quickly. His eyes glowed with defiance as he watched the bullies come closer, ready for whatever happened next.
"..." He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice rough and tired, yet unwavering. "Bring it on, motherfuckers..." he spat, his breath heavy but brimming with determination. "...You'll be joining your friend on the ground soon enough."
His words hit a nerve, and the bullies' faces twisted with even more anger.
The boy in the cap snarled, fists clenched. "You've got a death wish, runt."
What the bullies didn't know was that the orange-haired boy had secretly grabbed a sharp, heavy stone from the ground a moment ago. He kept it hidden behind his leg, the cool weight of it helping him stay calm.
The fight had shifted, and the orange-haired boy wasn't going to let it end without making it memorable.
"You little bastard!" the fat bully with the cap snarled, his face full of anger. He and the brown-haired bully rushed forward.
The orange-haired boy stayed firm, breathing steadily despite the pain in his body. His sharp eyes watched their every move, studying their angry rush. When they got closer, he acted quickly.
In one smooth motion, he threw the rock he had been holding. The weight and sharp edges made it fly with power.
The rock hit the brown-haired boy right in the forehead with a sickening crack. Blood poured from the wound, dripping down his face as he stumbled back, holding his head. "Aaaagh!" he screamed, his knees giving way. The pain was too much, and he fell to the ground, his cries turning into painful groans.
"Isamu!" the fat bully yelled, his eyes full of panic as he looked at his fallen friend.
That brief moment of distraction was all the orange-haired boy needed.
Taking advantage of it, he charged forward, his body springing into action. His fist shot up quickly, moving like a missile.
The fat bully turned just in time to see it coming toward him. His eyes widened in fear, and his thoughts froze with one word: Shit.
"EAT THIS!" the orange-haired boy shouted, his voice full of rage as his fist hit the bully's mouth.
The punch was loud and powerful. The bully's lip split open, blood and spit flying, and two of his teeth broke. The force of the punch sent him flying backward, his heavy body crashing hard into the dirt.
The fat bully grunted in pain, struggling to stand as he held his bleeding mouth. '...shit, that hurts,' he thought, wincing as he looked up to see the orange-haired boy approaching with steady, determined steps.
The orange-haired boy's voice grew cold and confident as he spoke, "...It's just you and me now, you fat piece of shit."
Fury twisted the bully's face. "Y-You, motherfucker!" he screamed, charging at the orange-haired boy with surprising speed.
He swung a powerful punch, but the orange-haired boy was ready. With a quick, fluid motion, he ducked under the punch, narrowly avoiding it. The fat bully swung again, but the orange-haired boy dodged to the side.
The bully's attacks grew more wild, his fists and feet swinging fast, but the orange-haired boy easily dodged them, moving with quick, controlled steps. He watched the bully carefully, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Then, in one quick move, the orange-haired boy charged forward and landed a hard uppercut to the bully's stomach.
The punch hit with a loud thud, lifting the bully off the ground. His feet left the dirt, and his body flew into the air before crashing back down. He fell to his knees, holding his stomach and gasping for breath, pain spreading through his body. He shook from the impact and could only kneel there, too hurt to move.
The fat bully, still on his knees and clutching his stomach, looked up just in time to see the orange-haired boy's fist hurtling toward him. 'Oh no...' he thought, panic flashing across his face.
The punch landed with a sickening crack, sending the bully flying backward. His body slid across the dirt, and he clutched his face in pain, his head spinning from the force of the blow. He looked up to see the orange-haired boy walking toward him, his expression cold and determined.
The bully's face twisted with fear as he scrambled backward. "Please! I swear I won't hurt anyone again! Just don't hurt me!" he pleaded, his voice shaking.
The orange-haired boy stepped closer, towering over him. His voice was cold, almost cruel. "...What's wrong trash? Not so tough now, are you?" he said, his breathing heavy and his fists trembling with barely contained anger.
The fat bully's eyes widened with fear as the orange-haired boy grabbed his collar with one arm and yanked him off the ground, lifting him with ease. The bully's legs dangled in the air as the orange-haired boy's other fist hovered, ready to strike.
"Please, wai-" the bully began, but before he could beg for mercy, the orange-haired boy's fist slammed into his face with brutal force. The bully's body hit the ground, his vision swirling and blurring from the impact.
Dazed and struggling to comprehend what was happening, the fat bully didn't even realize when the orange-haired boy pulled him up by the collar once more. Before he could react, another powerful punch sent him crashing back to the ground, this time completely unconscious.
With that last punch, the final bully fell to the ground. The orange-haired boy stood over them, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of the fight catch up with him.
His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. Winning didn't feel good—it hurt, and the pain was real. The black-haired bully was curled up on the ground, still holding himself and making quiet sounds of pain. The brown-haired bully groaned, barely moving, while the fat bully with the cap lay still, defeated.
The orange-haired boy looked around at the mess, his face bruised and bloody. He stayed alert, waiting for any sign that the bullies would fight back. But nothing happened.
Feeling sure the fight was over, he let out a deep breath and turned toward the girl he had fought to protect. He moved slowly toward her, each step making his body ache. Blood from a cut on his forehead dripped down, mixing with the dirt and sweat on his bruised face. His skin was marked with cuts and bruises from the fight.
Despite the pain, his expression softened as he got closer. The anger in his eyes was replaced by a look of concern. "...Are you okay?" he asked, his voice raspy but calm.
The girl nodded, her big white eyes filled with tears she hadn't let fall. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her chest, but she kept her gaze on him.
Gently, he reached out and helped her stand, wincing a bit as he pulled her up. For a moment, he looked at her closely, his gaze drawn to her pale, shiny eyes. They were different from anything he had ever seen—
"...You've got those white eyes," he said quietly, his voice curious even though he was tired.
The girl nodded softly, her gaze lowering as her cheeks flushed pink. "I... I..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, soft as a breeze. "I-I'm sorry for causing you trouble. You got hurt because... because I was too weak."
The boy dismissed her apology with a small wave, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his split lip. "...Don't worry," he said, his tone light despite the pain evident in his voice. "...I'm just glad I could help."
She blinked, surprised by how calm he seemed after such a brutal fight. Before she could say anything, a shadow fell over them.
A tall man appeared, his presence strong and commanding. He had the same eyes as the girl, and his chunin uniform with a Konoha forehead protector showed he was a shinobi from the village.
"Hinata-sama," the man said, his voice firm but not unkind. His eyes scanned the scene—the defeated bullies, the injured boy, and the tear-streaked face of the girl now identified as Hinata. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Where did you go?"
Hinata flinched and lowered her head under his stern look. "S-Sorry, Ko-san," she said softly. "I... I went farther than I should have."
Ko's serious face softened a little, but his worry was still clear. "It's alright," he said kindly. "But we should head back. Hiashi-sama is waiting for you and has been worried."
The orange-haired boy shifted awkwardly as he noticed the older Hyuga near Hinata, his hands slipping into his pockets. Taking a cautious step back, he glanced between Hinata and her protector. "...Looks like it's time for me to go," he muttered, his voice low, already turning to leave.
"W-Wait!" Hinata's voice, shaky but urgent, stopped him. He turned halfway, raising an eyebrow in curiosity as he looked at her. "Y-You didn't tell me your name," she said, her cheeks turning pink.
For a moment, he said nothing. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable, as if debating whether to answer.
Finally, he spoke.
"Kazuma"
--
Six Months Later...
Early morning, before sunrise...
A voice rang in his mind, full of anger and sadness.
In a small, dimly lit room, Kazuma's blue-violet eyes snapped open wide. His breaths came quick and shallow, as if he had been running. Sweat clung to his small, five-and-a-half-year-old frame. Outside, the world remained cloaked in darkness—it was only 4:00 a.m.
He sat up quickly, his heart racing. The voice was still there in his thoughts—sad and angry, yet somehow familiar.
'That voice again,' he thought, pressing a shaking hand to his chest. It was always the same: a woman's voice, desperate and full of pain. She begged him to take revenge for her, Her words felt like an echo of something he should remember but couldn't.
Who was she? Why did he keep hearing her in his dreams?
ma rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the sleep, but the voice stayed, clinging to him like a shadow. Was it all in his head? Is something wrong with him?
He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping, and let his feet touch the cool wooden floor. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floorboards, hoping for some kind of answer.
'Who are you? Why do you keep calling me?' he thought.
The room was quiet except for the soft sound of the wind outside. There were no answers, only his racing thoughts and the emptiness around him.
Kazuma gazed out the window, watching as the world outside remained shrouded in darkness. The village of Konoha was still asleep, peaceful and quiet in the early hours of the morning.
His eyes wandered to the Hokage Monument carved into the mountainside. The giant stone faces of past leaders seemed to watch over the village silently, guarding it. Menma stared at them for a long moment.
On the far left of the monument was the face of Senju Hashirama, the First Hokage, and one of Konoha's founding fathers.
Beside him stood the face of Senju Tobirama, the Second Hokage, Hashirama's younger brother.
Next in line was Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage—the current leader of Konoha and the longest-serving Hokage in the village's history.
Kazuma's gaze lingered on the fourth stone face—Namikaze Minato, the Fourth Hokage, the man who had saved Konoha from the Nine-Tailed Fox.
After the Fourth Hokage's death, the Third Hokage was forced to take up the mantle once again.
He turned away from the window, his gaze drifting as he swung his legs off the bed. Walking toward the washroom in just a pair of black shorts, he felt the cool morning air brush against his skin, but his mind remained undisturbed. The quiet rhythm of his daily routine had already set in.
As he passed the mirror in the hallway, Kazuma paused and looked at his reflection.
"I need to cut my hair," he muttered to himself, tilting his head to inspect the wild strands. His dark orange hair had grown past his shoulders, unruly and untamed.
'It's been over six months since I last cut it,' he thought, frowning slightly. He hated cutting his own hair—it always ended up uneven and messy. But as always, there was no one else to do it for him.
With a soft sigh, he dismissed the thought and stepped into the washroom, closing the door behind him.
--
Kazuma jumped from rooftop to rooftop, the cool morning air brushing against his face. Dressed in a black T-shirt and olive-green cargo shorts, he had been awake for over an hour, heading to his usual training spot—the one he had been using for more than a week now. His restless energy wouldn't let him stay still.
He avoided the streets below, choosing the rooftops instead. The reason was simple but painful. For as long as he could remember, the villagers had looked at him with anger and hatred he didn't understand. Over time, he started to avoid their stares and whispers by keeping out of sight as much as possible.
The rooftops became his safe space, a world apart from the one that rejected him.
As he moved toward the outskirts of the village, a memory flickered in his mind—the girl he had saved from the bullies six months ago. She was the only person he could remember talking to, the only connection he had in his lonely life.
'I wonder what she've been doing,' he thought as he leapt to the next roof.
--
A wooden training stump shook under Kazuma's relentless punches and kicks. He hit it again and again, sweat running down his face, his breathing heavy but steady. For the past hour, he had been pouring all his energy into it, his small frame moving with surprising determination.
More then a week previously he had found this quiet training field on the edge of the village, far from the busy settlements. It was peaceful here, away from the harsh looks and whispers he had grown used to.
For nearly nine months, this had been his routine. He didn't know why he felt the need to train so hard, but he knew one thing—the physical pain in his body was easier to handle than the solitude and the hatred that followed him everywhere.
As he raised his fist for another strike, he suddenly sensed multiple presence far way behind him. He stopped and turned around to see who it was.
An older man was approaching, dressed in the standard ninja uniform Kazuma had seen many times before. Behind him were three teenagers, about twelve years old, following closely. They walked with confidence, their movements showing they had been trained.
He stared at them, unsure of what they wanted. He tightened his fists and stood still, ready for anything.
--
"What are you going to teach us today, Eisuke-sensei?" asked one of the teenagers, a silver-haired boy of average height walking beside his teacher. His tone was casual, as if he already knew the answer.
Eisuke, their jonin instructor, gave a small smile. "We'll start with physical conditioning, then move on to chakra control."
"Chakra control? Again? That's so boring," another boy groaned, his impatience clear. "When are you going to teach us some ninjutsu?"
"Hachirō, you can barely manage three—" Eisuke began, his tone half-scolding, but the only girl on the team cut him off.
"Eisuke-sensei, there's a kid over there," she said, her voice calm but curious as she pointed toward the distance.
The group turned to look. About a hundred meters away, a young boy stood by a training stump. His orange hair was long and messy, and he looked small compared to the empty field around him, he was too far away from them to get a good look of his face.
Eisuke's expression shifted to a slight frown. "What's a child doing out here so early?" he muttered, more to himself than the others.
As the group approached, the child's face came into clearer view. Eisuke's eyes narrowed as recognition struck him. 'That kid... The Jinchuriki'
The boy's dark orange hair and intense gaze brought memories rushing back—memories of that fateful night. The night the Nine-Tailed Fox attacked.
Eisuke could still see the chaos in his mind: the colossal beast, its tails wreaking destruction with every swing, and one of those tails crashing down onto his home. His wife and newborn child had been inside. The crushing weight of the fox's tail had ended their lives in an instant, leaving Eisuke with nothing but grief and anger.
He knew, rationally, that the boy standing before him wasn't the Nine-Tails itself. The child was merely the vessel, the one cursed to bear the burden of the beast sealed inside. Yet, seeing him now, it was impossible to separate the boy from the memories.
The dark orange hair, the feeling of his chakra—both were painfully reminiscent of the monster that had taken everything from him. Despite himself, a part of Eisuke's chest tightened with unease, bitterness and anger.
"Sensei?" the girl's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He took a breath, steadying himself, and forced his expression into one of calm neutrality. "It's nothing," he said curtly, though his mind continued to churn with the past.
--
Kazuma's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in the older man's expression. His gaze darkened, and his jaw tensed—a familiar sight, one he had endured far too many times. It was the same look of hatred and disdain the villagers always threw his way, a silent reminder that no matter how much time passed, they would never see him as one of their own.
His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides, the weight of frustration pressing down on him like a storm waiting to break.
'Those eyes again…' he thought, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
The older shinobi finally spoke, his voice cold and sharp. "What are you doing here, boy?" The words were measured, but Kazuma could hear the bitterness laced within them.
He straightened, forcing himself to stay calm despite the slight tremor in his hands. "I'm training here, Shinobi-san," he said evenly, his tone betraying none of the resentment swelling inside him.
The man's lips curled into a faint sneer, his disapproval as clear as the rain on a windowpane. "brats like you has no place here. This training ground is meant for shinobi." His voice carried an edge, his words precise and deliberate, as if each one was meant to remind Kazuma of what he was—and what he wasn't.
Kazuma's jaw tightened, but he refused to let his anger take over. Instead, he met the man's gaze with unwavering resolve.
"I've been training here for over a week, Shinobi-san," he said, his voice calm and steady. Then, with quiet defiance, he added, "And I don't see any sign saying it's for shinobi only."
The jonin's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and dismissive. "Are you accusing me of lying, boy?"
Kazuma held his ground, his expression unchanging.
The man paused before sneering. "But it doesn't matter. These training fields belong to those who serve the village. So either leave on your own… or I'll throw you out myself."
Kazuma's fists clenched at the man's words. "You can't do that," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I found this place first."
The jonin scoffed, his expression hard. "I can, and I will—unless you leave right now," he said, his tone sharp. Then, with a dismissive glance, he added, "Kids like you never amount to anything. No point in wasting your time."
His mind drifted to the past, recalling the cases of Jinchūrikis who had abandoned their villages.
The words landed like a fist to the gut. Kazuma's fingers curled so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, but he willed himself to stay calm. His knuckles turned white, every muscle in his body wound tight with restrained emotion. He refused to let them see how much their words got to him.
A slow breath. A steady gaze. And then—
"...You don't know that," Kazuma said, his voice quiet but laced with unshakable resolve.
The weight of his words lingered in the air, Behind the jonin, the three teenage genin shifted uneasily. Their gazes flickered between their teacher and the young boy standing before them.
"I know enough," the jonin snapped, shutting down any argument before it could start. His voice was sharp, final. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, "Now leave. Or I'll make you."
One of the teenage genin hesitated, glancing uneasily between Menma and his teacher before speaking up. "S-Sensei… maybe he can train somewhere nearby?" the boy suggested, his voice laced with uncertainty. "This field is pretty big, and we're only working on taijutsu and chakra control today. He wouldn't really be in the way."
Eisuke's expression darkened as he turned to his student, his tone cutting like a blade. "No," he said firmly. "He will get in the way."
His gaze shifted back to Kazuma, colder now, more dismissive. "Now, get lost."
The orange haired boy stood still, his hands clenched into fists tightly, The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating. A part of him wanted to say something, to fight back—but what was the point?
Finally, he exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to relax. His voice was quiet, distant.
"…Sorry for bothering you."
Without saying another word, Kazuma turned and walked away. His steps were slow but firm, his chest heavy with unspoken anger.
As he got farther from the training field, the voices behind him faded, but their words still stung. His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. 'Why is it always like this?' The same rejection, the same hatred—it never left him.
With each step, the anger inside him grew, swirling like a storm ready to explode.
--
Outskirts of Konoha, Past Noon...
After being forced to leave the training field, Kazuma wandered aimlessly, his footsteps heavy with frustration. He didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to hear another dismissive voice telling him he didn't belong. The thought of walking into another training ground—only to be turned away again—made his blood boil. Being alone was better. At least then, he didn't have to endure those looks, those whispers.
Now...
He stood in front of a massive tree, his fists slamming into the rough bark with unyielding force. Each strike sent tremors up his arms, but he didn't care. Pain didn't matter. The dull sting in his knuckles was nothing compared to the anger burning inside him.
"Kids like you never amount to anything."
The words echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting, refusing to fade. He grit his teeth, his punches coming faster, harder. The impact rattled his bones, but he welcomed it. The rhythm of his fists against the tree was the only thing keeping his emotions from spilling over.
"Get out of my shop boy, the likes of you aren't allowed here"
The bark cracked slightly under his relentless assault, but still, he didn't stop. He couldn't. Not until the storm inside him had settled—or until his body finally gave out.
His legs burned with every kick, each strike splintering chunks of bark from the tree stump. His muscles screamed for relief, but he ignored them. The pain was nothing. It was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of rejection pressing down on him.
"Don't go near that… thing, Tatsuki."
Kazuma clenched his teeth, his fists and feet moving faster, harder. Each strike came with more force, more desperation. He had to drown out the voices. He had to make them stop. The tree groaned under his relentless assault, holes beginning to form where his knuckles had struck over and over.
"Isn't he that kid? What was Hokage-sama thinking, keeping him here, right in the middle of the village?"
His strikes turned wild. His hands throbbed, raw and bloodied, but he didn't care. Crimson smeared across the bark, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except pushing through. Pushing past the whispers, past the suffocating doubt clawing at his chest.
Each punch, each kick, was a silent scream—a defiance against everything they made him feel.
His fists struck the tree again and again, each blow harder, stronger, more desperate. He couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. The fire inside him burned too hot, too wild, demanding an outlet.
"Demon."
"Monster."
"Get out, no one wants you here."
"Why don't he just die?"
The voices echoed mercilessly in his mind, fueling the storm within him. His breathing grew ragged, his chest tightening as his vision blurred with rage. Then, without warning, his eyes glowed red—slits forming where round pupils had once been. A sinister, burning chakra seeped from his body, twisting in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.
His body trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force of the fury clawing its way to the surface. His hands bled freely now, but the pain was distant, meaningless. The red chakra pulsed around him, numbing everything but the overwhelming need to release the weight crushing his chest.
Then, he screamed. A sound raw and primal, His voice ripped through the air, wild and unrestrained, his fists slamming into the tree again and again. Blood smeared across the bark, dripping onto the ground, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
With a final, desperate roar, the red energy flared violently, surging into his right hand. The energy crackled, its power unbearable, and he threw a punch that tore through the air like a shockwave.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
The impact was deafening.
The massive tree groaned before cracking clean in half, the top portion crashing to the ground with a thunderous boom. Splinters rained down around him, dust rising in thick clouds. All that remained was a jagged stump, standing as a silent testament to the storm that had raged within him.
Kazuma stood still, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. The red chakra that had once raged around him slowly faded, dissipating like mist in the wind. The forest was eerily silent, as if the trees themselves had paused to witness the raw power he had unleashed.
Before him, the broken stump stood jagged and splintered, its height now level with his own. His gaze lingered on it, unfocused, as his glowing red eyes gradually dimmed back to their usual violet-blue. He didn't notice that his torn knuckles—once raw and bleeding—had already healed. The skin was smooth, unmarked.
A deep exhaustion settled over him. The weight of his own emotions pressed down on his shoulders, heavier than any physical strain. With slow, weary movements, he turned and leaned against the ruined stump, letting his body sink to the ground.
The adrenaline that had fueled his fury was gone, leaving only emptiness in its wake. His limbs felt leaden, his breath slowing as fatigue pulled at him like an unseen force. His eyelids drooped, the world around him fading into a distant blur.
With a final, quiet exhale, Kazuma let his eyes close, surrendering to the quiet stillness of sleep.
--
"Hey, wake up! What are you doing here?" The voice was sharp and filled with annoyance.
His eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice. He woke up quickly, his body tensing.
He looked up and saw a girl standing a few meters away. Her long, dark hair fell down her back, and her dark eyes stared at him with a mix of curiosity and irritation.
She looked older than him, by two or three years, and was much taller. She carried herself confidently, which caught his attention. Her clothes were simple—black pants and a plain T-shirt—and they were clean and neat, unlike his own dirty, worn-out training clothes.
Her scowl deepened as she kept looking at him. Despite her obvious annoyance, Kazuma felt a strange feeling inside him. He didn't know why, but something about her made him feel uneasy in a way he couldn't understand or admit to himself.
"I... I was training," he said quietly, his voice shaky as he stood up, still catching his breath.
The girl raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I can see that," she said coolly, her voice steady but firm. "But why here?"
Kazuma's fists clenched again as memories of the jonin's harsh words came flooding back, but he forced them down. "...I got kicked out of my last spot," he replied, trying to keep his tone neutral despite the anger still bubbling inside. "This place was empty, so I thought I could use it."
The girl's expression hardened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "So, because you were kicked out, you think it's fine to just take someone else's spot?"
Kazuma's jaw tightened, his frustration growing. He straightened his back, his gaze locking with hers as he felt his anger flare. "I'm not taking anyone's spot!" he snapped, his voice rising slightly. "I'll leave when the people who actually use this place show up."
The girl's cold, sharp gaze remained fixed on him, and for a moment, it felt as though she could see straight through him. A chill ran down him spine, but he fought to keep his composure, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
"Then leave," she said, her voice clear and firm, as if giving an order.
He blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of her words. "What?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Her expression didn't waver. "This place belongs to my family," she replied, her tone calm but unwavering. "So, you need to go. Now."
Kazuma froze, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical force. His fists clenched involuntarily, and frustration stirred in his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to argue. Her confidence, her commanding presence, made it clear she wasn't going to budge.
After a long silence, he let out a slow exhale, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "...Sorry for bothering you, Uchiha-san," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes. Mentally, he was far too exhausted to put up any resistance.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, a bitter mix of shame and anger swirling inside him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed somehow, that he had let her push him around so easily.
The girl was about to start her training when she noticed Kazuma walking away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Something about the sight made her pause. A small, unexpected wave of guilt washed over her. 'Shit, I snapped again,' she thought, her lips pressing into a tight line. 'I shouldn't take my anger out on others.'
She hesitated, watching him for a moment longer before calling out, "Wait!" Her voice was softer this time, quieter, with a hint of something she hadn't meant to show.
Kazuma stopped and turned around, confusion in his eyes. "Huh?"
The girl hesitated again, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she studied him more carefully. "How did you know I'm an Uchiha?" she asked, her tone now curious instead of harsh.
He shrugged slightly, his voice was steady. "...I felt your chakra." He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. "...It has a unique feeling. Only those people from the Military Police Force have it."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. 'He can sense chakra?' The thought lingered in her mind, and curiosity replaced her earlier annoyance. She hadn't expected him to be so perceptive.
"Where did you learn that?" the Uchiha girl asked, her tone steady but laced with curiosity.
He held her gaze for a few seconds before replying quietly, "…I didn't."
Her eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief. "You're telling me you have this ability naturally?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of surprise.
He gave a small nod in response, his expression calm but guarded.
The girl watched him for a moment, her sharp eyes studying him carefully. Then, with a quiet sigh, she crossed her arms, her posture relaxing just a little.
"You can stay and train if you want… just for today," she said, her tone unsure.
Kazuma met her gaze, looking for any sign she didn't mean it. But she seemed serious.
"...Thank you, Uchiha-san," he said, bowing slightly. His voice was calm, but he truly meant it.
The girl chuckled softly, shaking her head with a small, amused smile. "You don't have to be so formal," she said, a playful edge in her voice.
Kazuma straightened up slowly, only to bow again. "...Sorry, Uchiha-san," he said, his tone just as serious as before.
She let out a quiet sigh, watching him for a moment before rolling her eyes. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she muttered under her breath, "This kid is weird."
Still, she couldn't help but find it a little amusing.
She looked at the tree stump nearby, her sharp eyes noticing the jagged edges. 'Strange,' she thought, her brow creasing. 'This tree was fine just a few days ago.'
Curiosity stirred for a moment, but she quickly brushed it aside. Whatever happened didn't matter to her—not now. Without another glance, she turned away and got back to her training, her focus shifting to her own goals.
--
The Uchiha girl stood a short distance away, watching the orange haired boy's wild training with a mix of amusement and frustration. His movements were all over the place—unfocused and sloppy, like he was just flailing his arms and legs around, hoping to hit something. There was no rhythm or technique, only raw, frantic energy.
But as she kept watching, she started to feel a bit of respect. For over hours hours, he hadn't stopped. His fists were bleeding, his feet were bruised, yet he kept going, never slowing down. Even though his moves were reckless, one thing was clear: the boy had determination. She had to admit, it was impressive.
She let out a small sigh and stepped closer. "What are you doing?" she called out, her voice firm but curious.
Kazuma froze mid-swing, his fist hanging in the air as he tried to catch his breath. His chest heaved, and sweat dripped down his face. Wiping his forehead with his arm, he turned to look at her. "...I'm practicing taijutsu, Uchiha-san," he said, his voice tired and hoarse.
The girl raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on her lips. "First off, stop calling me 'Uchiha-san.' My name's Matsuri," she said, walking closer with her arms crossed. "Second, whatever you're doing, it's not training. We'd call it 'crippling yourself' where I'm from."
Kazuma blinked, his confusion clear. He paused before tilting his head slightly. "But… aren't you from the Uchiha clan, Matsuri-san?" he asked, still breathing hard.
Matsuri stopped in her tracks, momentarily stunned by his question. She stared at him for a moment, caught between disbelief and amusement. 'Is this kid serious?' she thought, resisting the urge to slap her forehead. A faint laugh almost slipped out as she smirked. 'Great. I didn't think I'd meet someone denser than Shisui-nee.'
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and composed herself. "Just call me Matsuri, okay?" she said, her tone firm but slightly softer now.
Menma's simply nodded. "...Got it, Matsuri-san!" he said, before spinning back to the stump, he began attacking it again, his movements as wild as ever.
Matsuri watched him, a small smile forming as she held back a laugh. 'This kid doesn't quit,' she thought, shaking her head. Letting out a sigh, she walked to a nearby stump and shifted into a combat stance. "Alright, watch closely, brat," she called, her voice firm but encouraging. "Try to follow my lead."
Kazuma turned to Matsuri, his tiredness fading as his face grew serious. Matsuri began moving, her strikes clean and controlled. Each punch and kick flowed smoothly into the next, showing how much experience she had. The power in her movements was clear, each strike cutting through the air with a soft, sharp sound.
He watched her with wide eyes, completely impressed. 'That's amazing,' he thought, feeling a new surge of determination. Without thinking, he started copying her moves. His punches were messy, and his kicks wobbled at first. He lacked Matsuri's balance and precision, but he kept going.
Again and again, he tried. Slowly, his movements began to improve. His punches became stronger, and his kicks steadier. While he still wasn't perfect, he started finding a rhythm, which encouraged him to keep pushing.
Matsuri stayed focused on her own practice, but she glanced at orange haired boy now and then. She noticed his small improvements—the way his punches had more focus and his stance more stability. A faint smile appeared on her lips. 'He's got determination,' she thought, a hint of approval shining in her eyes.
Kazuma didn't see her watching him. He was too busy training, proud of the little progress he was making. 'She's actually helping me,' he realized, feeling both surprised and grateful. He'd been happy just to train nearby, but now Matsuri's quiet guidance felt like an unexpected gift.
Matsuri gave him one last look before turning back to her drills. His form was still rough and filled with mistakes, but he was clearly improving. She nodded to herself slightly, feeling satisfied. 'Maybe letting him stay wasn't such a bad idea after all.'
--
Evening...
As the evening came, the sun lowered in the sky, casting a warm orange light over the training area. Matsuri packed up her things, ready to head home after a long day of training, when she saw Menma walking toward her.
He stopped a few steps away, looking unsure, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.
Matsuri raised an eyebrow, her patience wearing thin. "Do you want to say something?" she asked, her voice sharp but curious.
Kazuma hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "...Thank you for letting me train here, Matsuri-san," he said softly, his voice sincere. After a short pause, he added, "I'll always remember that."
Matsuri blinked, surprised by his words. "Uh, okay… it's nothing, really," she replied, her tone uncertain. She didn't fully understand why her small gesture meant so much to him, but something about the way he spoke made her pause and think.
He nodded quietly, his face unreadable, then turned away. His steps were slow as he walked toward a nearby tree.
Matsuri stared at her backpack for a moment, her mind elsewhere. Then, almost without thinking, she looked up again and saw Kazuma crouching to make his jump.
"You can train here if you want," Matsuri suddenly called out, her voice firm but with an unexpected hint of uncertainty. She hadn't planned on saying it, and she wasn't sure why she did. But in that moment, it felt right.
Kazuma froze, surprised, and turned back to look at her. His eyes were wide, clearly shocked. "W-what?" he stammered.
"I said, if you want, you can train here," Matsuri repeated, her voice calm but firm.
He stood still for a moment, a mix of confusion and hope on his face. Finally, he spoke, his voice unsure but full of disbelief. "A-are you sure?"
"Yes," Matsuri replied without thinking, a small grin appearing on her face. "But there's a condition."
Kazuma frowned. "A condition?" he repeated, still uncertain.
Matsuri's grin grew as she crossed her arms. "You'll have to do all the chores here," she said, her tone playful but firm. "Clean up after training, pick up any weapons I leave behind, bring food from my house, and do anything else I need."
He looked at her for a moment, his face hard to read. Then he nodded slightly and said, "Alright."
Matsuri's lips curved into a small smirk, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Good," she said with a hint of satisfaction, then turned to leave.
Kazuma stood there, watching her walk away. It felt strange—this was the first time he had spent the whole day with someone.
After a few seconds, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and turned to walk away.
--
Next day, Afternoon...
The afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows over the training ground. Kazuma's eyes were fixed on Matsuri as she practiced her shuriken jutsu. Each throw was quick and precise, the weapons spinning through the air and hitting the tree stump with a solid thud. Her movements were smooth, focused, and controlled. It was impressive, and he couldn't look away, forgetting his own training as he watched her closely.
It wasn't just her skill that captivated him—it was her eyes. They glowed with an intense red light, unnatural and mesmerizing, each iris marked by a three-tomoe design. Kazuma's heart raced. He had heard the stories about the Uchiha clan's legendary eye powers, but seeing it in person was something entirely different. 'Is that... the Sharingan?' he wondered, his curiosity sparking to life.
Before he could think more about it, Matsuri's sharp voice cut through the air. "Stop staring and get back to your own training!" she said, her eyes full of irritation.
Kazuma jumped, surprised by her sudden shout. His face turned red with embarrassment as he quickly looked back at the wooden stump. With a fresh sense of determination, he flipped into a handstand, carefully positioning his hands. His body wobbled for a moment before he steadied himself and began to push up in a smooth rhythm. "One… two… three… four…" he counted quietly, focusing on each push-up and trying to ignore the distractions.
Even though he was focused, his thoughts kept drifting back to Matsuri. Her movements were so smooth and easy. Each throw, each strike, showed years of practice. Kazuma couldn't help but look at her sometimes, still amazed by how skilled she was and the quiet strength in her eyes. He could tell there was more to her than what he saw, and he wondered how far her abilities really went.
Still, he knew he had to stay focused. 'No time to slack off,' he thought.
--
Uchiha District, Kagami Household, 9:00 PM
The sound of cicadas filled the air outside the Kagami household, their song blending with the quiet of the Uchiha estate. Inside, the warm glow of lanterns lit a simple dining room where Uchiha Shisui and his younger sister Matsuri sat together, sharing a peaceful meal.
Since their parents passed away, the two had relied on each other, their bond made stronger by the loss. Shisui's missions often took him away, leaving Matsuri to manage the household, focus on her Academy studies, and train as a shinobi. Despite all the responsibility, Matsuri thrived—her intelligence and hard work led others to compare her to Itachi and even the famous Senju Minato.
As they ate, Shisui leaned back in his chair, smiling warmly at her. "How was your day?" he asked, his voice casual but protective.
Matsuri shrugged, poking at her food with her chopsticks. "Nothing special," she said. "I skipped class to do some chores, then spent the rest of the day at the training grounds."
Shisui chuckled, shaking his head. "Skipping class again, huh? You're going to give your instructors gray hairs."
Matsuri smirked faintly but didn't look up. "I don't see the point of sitting through lessons I already know. Besides, it's not like I wasted my time."
Shisui chuckled, shaking his head in mild exasperation. "You're going to make them think you're some kind of rebel, you know."
"I'm not a rebel," she replied, a touch of defiance coloring her tone. "I just don't see the point in wasting time on things I've already mastered." A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she added, "Besides, you're starting to sound like an old man, nii-san."
Shisui laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright, alright. You've made your point. But honestly, your day sounds way more exciting than mine. Babysitting some rich client all day? I'd take on a dozen enemy shinobi over that any time."
Matsuri's brow furrowed, and she let out a small huff. "So, we train for years, push ourselves to the limit, and for what? To babysit? If that's what being a shinobi boils down to, I'd rather quit than waste my time on chores like that."
Shisui chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Hey, don't say that. The pay's good, and low-risk assignments like this are actually blessing." He paused, a smirk creeping onto his face. "That is, as long as it doesn't involve dealing with snobbish jerks."
As they ate quietly, the soft sound of cicadas filled the air. Matsuri suddenly spoke up. "I met a strange kid at the training grounds..." she said, her voice calm but curious. After a moment, she added, "I told him he could train there if he wanted. You don't mind, do you?"
Shisui stopped eating, looking at her with a mix of amusement and surprise. He set his chopsticks down and gave her a playful smile. "Matsuri," he said, his tone light, "you're nine years old. You can't really call someone else a 'kid.'"
"Nii-san!" Matsuri shouted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Shisui always seized any opportunity to tease her, and this was no exception.
"Alright, alright," Shisui said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender, a playful grin still on his face. "I'm sorry, okay?" He paused, letting her glare at him for a moment, before adding, "As long as the kid doesn't cause any trouble, I don't have a problem with it."
"But why was a kid so far from the village anyway?" Shisui asked suddenly, his brow furrowing. "It's unusual for anyone to come to that part of Konoha."
"I don't know," Matsuri replied, her tone indifferent. She poked at her food before adding, "When I got there, he was either sleeping or unconscious from training. At first, I thought about kicking him out, but then I decided not to."
"Why?" Shisui asked, his curiosity piqued. He found it strange that his sister, who hardly got along with anyone her age—whether from the clan or the academy—would want some random kid hanging around.
"I don't know," Matsuri said with a shrug. After a moment, she added softly, "It just felt right."
Shisui leaned back in his chair, a teasing grin on his face. "Well, at least you're finally talking to someone," he joked. "When was the last time you talked to anyone who wasn't me?"
The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Shisui's grin faded. His eyes widened as realization struck. 'Oh no.'
Matsuri's expression changed. A flicker of sadness crossed her face, and she lowered her gaze to her plate. Her voice was quiet and distant. "Father," she said softly.
Her words brought a heavy silence between them, the memory of their father's death filling the room. Shisui's heart sank as he saw the sadness in her eyes, guilt weighing on him.
"Matsuri," he said gently, leaning forward. "I didn't mean—"
"It's fine, Nii-san," she cut him off, forcing a small, tight smile. But her eyes still held a trace of sorrow. "Let's just finish eating."
--
Five days later, 12:30 PM
The sun was high, making the training grounds feel warm. Matsuri walked onto the field, still holding her Academy books, a little sweat on her face from the busy morning.
"923... 924... 925... 926..."
She looked in the direction of the voice and saw Kazuma hanging from a thick tree branch. He was pulling himself up and down, moving non-stop. His hair was wet with sweat, his shirt soaked, and his muscles—strong for his age—tightened with every pull.
Matsuri slowed down, watching him closely. She silently counted along with him. 'How long has he been doing this?' she thought, watching him move like a machine.
She leaned against a nearby stump, crossing her arms as she watched him with a mix of curiosity and surprise. This was far more than she'd expect from someone his age.
Just as Matsuri was about to say something, she heard a soft cracking sound. Her eyes went to the branch Kazuma was using for pull-ups. It was breaking under his weight, and within seconds, it snapped.
For a moment, Matsuri thought Kazuma would hit the ground hard. But instead, he let go of the branch as he fell, twisting his body smoothly. In one quick motion, he flipped in the air and landed softly on his feet, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Before Matsuri could fully take in what she had seen, Kazuma turned to face her.
"...Good afternoon, Matsuri-san," he said with a deep bow. His voice was calm and steady, as if nothing unusual had happened.
Matsuri raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You're pretty polite for someone who just fell out of a tree," she said with a dry tone, though there was a hint of respect in her voice.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, studying Kazuma with a skeptical expression. "How long have you been out here?" she asked, her tone curious but doubtful.
Kazuma straightened his posture, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination. "Since 5 a.m.," he replied, his voice steady and confident.
Matsuri's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That early?" she thought, struggling to hide her shock. 'Is this kid serious?'
"Wait a second," she said, narrowing her eyes as she looked him over more closely. "Are you telling me you've been training that early every day for the past five days?"
Kazuma hesitated for only a moment before correcting her. "...For the past eight or nine months," he said matter-of-factly.
Matsuri blinked, momentarily speechless, as she processed his words. 'Eight or nine months? This kid might actually be insane.'
"How old are you again?" Matsuri asked, her tone full of disbelief.
"Five and a half," Kazuma said simply, his voice calm and steady.
Matsuri blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. 'How can someone be this determined?' she thought, feeling a mix of admiration and frustration.
Her confident stance softened, and her arms fell to her sides. Her expression shifted, showing a rare hint of concern. "Don't your parents say anything about you working so hard? Staying out here all day?" she asked, her voice softer, almost kind.
Kazuma didn't answer right away. He stood still, his gaze distant, Then he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and empty. "...don't have any."
Matsuri stood still for a few seconds, her expression softening. She could understand his pain—she had lost her parents too.
"Do you have any other relatives?" she asked gently.
"None," Kazuma replied, his voice calm but distant.
Matsuri let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Oh," she said softly. It was just one word, but it carried her understanding. She felt his pain, though she was grateful that she still had her brother.
Matsuri didn't let herself stay emotional for long. She straightened her back and spoke firmly, though her voice was still a bit gentle. "Alright, enough talking," she said. "Get back to training."
Kazuma nodded and went straight back to his exercises. Sweat dripped down his face as he moved with sharp, focused motions. Every punch and kick seemed like he was trying to block out the world.
Matsuri turned to her own training, forming hand seals as she practiced her chakra control. She tried to focus, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but her gaze kept wandering back to Kazuma.
His determination was hard to ignore. Even so, she noticed small mistakes in his movements. His grip was too tight in some punches, and his stance wasn't quite right.
With a small sigh, Matsuri adjusted her own movements while making a mental note of his errors. Whenever they crossed paths during training, she casually pointed them out. "Fix your back," she said, not even looking directly at him.
Kazuma glanced at her briefly and quietly corrected his posture, never losing focus. Matsuri smirked to herself, a little amused by how easily he listened.
As the hours went by, Matsuri found herself watching Kazuma more than she planned. His endless effort, pushing through his exhaustion with pure determination, made her feel a mix of admiration and concern.
His movements slowed as he grew tired, but he refused to stop. Matsuri couldn't help but wonder, 'What's driving him so hard?'
Matsuri finally broke the silence, her voice cutting through the quiet training ground—casual yet sharp.
"Hey, brat! What's your name again?"
Kazuma froze mid-swing, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. 'She never asked for my name in first place,' he thought.
Lowering the makeshift weight he had been lifting, he turned toward her. Wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, he answered in a firm voice, steady despite his exhaustion.
"Kazuma."
Matsuri tilted her head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Kazuma, huh?" she repeated, drawing out the name. "That's a good name you've got there."
Kazuma's face immediately flushed red. For a moment, he looked caught off guard before mumbling quietly, "Y-Yeah."
No one had ever praised him for anything before.
Matsuri chuckled softly at his reaction, then turned back to her training, the smirk still lingering on her lips.
Kazuma watched her for a few seconds before returning to his own training. He didn't show it, but for reasons he couldn't quite explain, talking to her... felt oddly nice.
--
Somewhere in Konoha – 8:15 PM
The moon shone brightly, covering the village in soft silver light. Shadows stretched across the rooftops, and the quiet sounds of the night mixed with the rustling leaves.
Kazuma moved quickly, jumping from building to building. His body ached—his muscles burned from a long day of training, and his breath was heavy. But even though he was exhausted, his mind was elsewhere.
He was thinking about her.
Matsuri-san.
She was different from everyone else.
As he made his way home, the energy from training still buzzed inside him. But something felt different tonight. It was small, but he could feel it. The air felt lighter, and the heavy feeling he always carried wasn't as strong.
A quiet excitement grew in his chest. The thought of seeing her next day again, training with her, spending time with her... it made him feel warm in a way he didn't understand.
'I can't wait to see her again.'
As he jumped across the rooftops, the village below him, the world didn't feel so heavy.
For once, it felt a little brighter.
--
To be continued...