Itachi appeared on time. Again.

She stepped into the lecture hall like nothing was unusual. Pocket mirror in one hand, lip tint in the other. Her bangs had curled a little too far to the right today—not a crisis, but it needed adjustment. She smoothed it, snapped the compact closed, and slid into her seat at the back beside Deidara.

Deidara turned her whole body toward her, mouth open in disbelief.

"You actually sweated?"

Almost fainted. She repeated it again, clutching her chest like Itachi had committed a federal crime.

Konan raised an eyebrow from the front row.

"You're telling me you ran around playing arcade games and didn't break a nail?"

Nagato, stoic as ever, muttered something that sounded like: I don't believe it.

Hidan leaned back in his chair and grinned.

"I do. Princess is unhinged when she wants to be. I like that."

Kakuzu didn't even look up. "How much did you spend at the arcade?"

Itachi smirked and crossed her legs slowly.

"About the same as one of your limited edition knives."

That shut him up.

The Akatsuki were in full chaos mode when Deidara suddenly leaned forward like she was about to drop a tactical nuke.

"Have you guys heard the latest?"

Everyone paused. Even Konan glanced over her shoulder.

Deidara grinned. "Hatake-sensei? Totally gay."

Sasori looked up from polishing his ring. "Based on?"

Deidara waved a hand. "Gossip board. Apparently, he's never dated anyone. Not even when he's surrounded by female professors like Kurenai and Rin."

Konan gave her a skeptical look. "That just means he's picky."

Izumi added: "Or celibate. He gives off ascetic monk energy."

Hidan: "Or maybe he just has a secret girlfriend in another university. Or in the government. Or a secret husband. I'd pay to see that."

Itachi tapped her fingers lightly against her Dior notebook, rolling her eyes.

Deidara leaned in, whispering like she was sharing state secrets.

"You know, even Kurenai tried once. At the faculty fundraiser. Three glasses of wine in and she dropped the full smile treatment."

Konan raised a brow. "Didn't work."

"No one's ever seen him with anyone," Nagato said. "Not even walking next to someone after class. Guy's practically a phantom."

Hidan gave a sharp grin. "Rin-san's into him though. Always bringing him snacks. Still gets zero reaction."

Sasori mused, "Maybe he's just not interested in women."

"Or people," Kakuzu muttered.

Izumi added, "What if he's just broken?"

"Or waiting," Deidara said, looking straight at Itachi. "For someone who doesn't fold in one move."

The silence around the table sharpened. Everyone turned.

Itachi tilted her head. "You think I care enough to flirt with a professor?"

"You're the only one he's ever challenged," Sasori said. "He shuts down everyone else. You? He talks back. That means something."

Konan smirked. "Sounds like you've already made it through round one."

"It's not about interest," Itachi said, retrieving her mirror. "It's about pride."

Deidara grinned. "So prove you can crack him."

"I don't chase men," Itachi said, smoothing her lipstick.

"You wouldn't be chasing," Izumi chimed in. "You'd be hunting."

Kakuzu: "I bet he falls in two weeks."

Sasori: "Next Friday."

Itachi stood, adjusted her blazer.

"Well," she said, voice velvet and venom, "let's see how long it takes the untouchable to touch back."

The door opened with that slow, deliberate pace he always had.

Kakashi Hatake stepped in, crisp black shirt, gray slacks, silver hair slightly tousled like it had been styled by God and chaos at the same time. He walked to the desk, opened his tablet, and didn't look up when he spoke.

"Good morning. I assume no one has died since yesterday. Let's begin."

The Akatsuki barely held back their collective wheeze. Hidan murmured, "Damn. Even his sarcasm is hot."

Itachi crossed her legs.

Kakashi scanned the class. "Any questions regarding this week's material before we continue?"

A single hand lifted.

Itachi's.

Kakashi looked up. "Yes, Miss Uchiha?"

She rested her elbow on the desk, voice poised and casual. "It's not about the material, actually. More of a… pattern I've noticed."

He blinked once. "Go on."

She tilted her head. "You've worn the same jacket three times in the week. Is that a statement of brand loyalty, or part of the university's budget cut strategy?"

The room exploded.

Deidara's shoulders shook violently. Hidan let out an audible "ohhhhhh."

Even Sasori cracked a grin.

Kakashi, to his credit, didn't flinch. He blinked once. Closed the tablet. And leaned a little against the desk, expression unreadable.

"I find simplicity effective," he said dryly. "Unlike some students who confuse Prada for personality."

The room hissed. Konan bit her knuckle to stifle a laugh.

Itachi smiled, slow and deliberate. "Good. I like efficiency in men."

Kakashi straightened. "Then let's not waste any more time."

Kakashi turned back to the class, tapping his stylus against the edge of his tablet.

"Today marks the last day of your first week at Kanzaki University."

Half the Akatsuki sat up in quiet dread. Hidan immediately whispered, "He's gonna drop a bomb, isn't he?"

"To celebrate this milestone," Kakashi continued, "we'll be having your first exam."

Groans. Gasps. A soft "what the hell" from Hidan.

Kakashi didn't even blink. "Ten questions. No multiple choice. If you've paid attention this week, it should be easy."

Itachi, of course, had not paid attention.

Not a single lecture. Not one graph. Not one equation. She'd been too busy texting, scheming, or staring out the window at delivery boys on motorcycles.

But still, she picked up her pen like royalty lifting a sword. No fear. Just calculation.

She glanced at the first question.

Then the second.

Okay, maybe this would be harder than she thought.

Still, she smirked. He's trying to trap me with logic. I'll answer with strategy.

Kakashi walked the rows slowly, like a general surveying his battlefield. His gaze passed over her once, but he said nothing.

She kept her face composed, posture elegant, pen gliding in perfect strokes. What she lacked in knowledge, she made up for in tone. She phrased each answer like a negotiation. Like she was selling brilliance and hoped no one noticed the receipt was blank.

By the fifth question, she didn't even pretend she knew the topic.

She started writing metaphors. Abstract economic philosophies. Half-flirtations wrapped in business language.

If she was going to fail, she was going to do it with style.

—

POV Obito Uchiha:

Obito walked through the pristine hallways of Kanzaki University like he owned the place.

He didn't. But he belonged to a family that owned most things that mattered.

He stopped at the polished oak door labeled Director Namikaze, raised a knuckle, and knocked once.

A warm voice called from inside.

"Come in."

He opened the door and stepped inside with easy confidence. The office was bathed in soft light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bookshelves. Neat desk. A small bonsai in the corner, perfectly trimmed.

Minato Namikaze looked up from a folder. Blond, bright-eyed, dressed like a magazine editor who accidentally became a bureaucrat. That same unfailing, infuriatingly polite smile curved his lips.

Obito matched it with one of his own. The kind of smile you wear when both parties know things that shouldn't be said aloud.

"Obito," Minato said, standing. "Didn't expect a visit from the Uchiha today."

"I'm full of surprises," Obito replied, walking in with a calm that bordered on insolent. "Thought I'd check on my niece. You know, make sure she's not burning down your university."

Minato gestured to the seat across from him. "From what I hear, she's doing that quite artistically."

Obito sat, crossed one leg over the other, and glanced briefly at the student files neatly stacked on the director's desk.

"And from what I hear," he said mildly, "you're still keeping this place neutral."

Minato's smile didn't waver. "The university has always been a place of peace."

Obito's tone didn't change either. "Let's hope it stays that way."

For a moment, the room was quiet—just the hum of power lines outside and two men with too many ghosts in common.

Then Minato leaned back.

"Coffee?"

"Only if you brewed it yourself," Obito said. "I don't trust government machines."

Minato chuckled, standing. "Smart man."

Minato poured coffee into two simple ceramic cups—no creamer, no sugar, no extra hands in the room. He handed one to Obito and resumed his seat across the desk.

Obito held the cup but didn't drink yet.

"You always did have a thing for clean lines and clean hands," he said casually, eyes scanning a framed photo of graduating students on the wall. "Nothing like the blood-soaked mess the rest of us play in."

Minato's smile thinned just slightly. "Education runs cleaner than politics."

Obito's gaze drifted back to him. "Still… politics leak into everything, don't they? Especially when people from… certain families start enrolling."

Minato sipped. "You mean Itachi?"

Obito smirked. "You said it. Not me."

Minato set the cup down gently. "She's a bright student. Unconventional, but promising."

Obito leaned forward, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair. "You know how my family operates. When we send someone somewhere, it's never just for education."

Minato met his gaze now, blue eyes sharp beneath the warmth.

"And when I accept someone like her into this school, it's never just for her grades."

The silence stretched.

Obito finally took a sip.

"Good coffee," he said. "Almost makes me forget how many knives are hidden behind polite smiles."

Minato chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many smiles have kept this place safe."

Obito stood, smooth and slow, and adjusted his leather jacket. "Just be sure your knives don't start pointing at my family."

Minato's voice stayed calm. "Then make sure your family keeps things peaceful inside my university."

Obito opened the door but paused.

"You know, sometimes peace dies not with a bang, but with silence."

Minato didn't answer.

Obito left.

Obito stepped out of the director's office, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. The polished floor of Kanzaki University gleamed under the midday light as he adjusted his collar, mentally filing away every coded word from the last five minutes.

He didn't get far before he nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.

Soft perfume. A stack of folders.

And a familiar face.

"Oh—sorry," she said, adjusting her papers.

Obito blinked.

Dark brown hair tied in a loose bun, gentle eyes, fitted blouse in earthy tones. Psychology department—he remembered her from the day Itachi got her phone confiscated. But more than that—he'd seen her photo earlier.

On Minato's shelf.

Next to a graduation frame.

So this is one of his former students…

He let out a smooth, harmless smile.

"Apologies, I wasn't looking," he said, voice soft. "You're… Rin-sensei, right?"

She tilted her head, curious. "Yes… Have we met?"

"We spoke briefly. I'm Obito. Itachi's uncle."

Recognition lit her face. "Ah, yes. You were at the lecture hall. You have quite the dynamic niece."

Obito chuckled. "That's one word for her."

Rin's smile came easily. "She's sharp. A little chaotic, but sharp."

Obito stepped aside slightly, but didn't move away. "I remember your lecture on psychological negotiation. It stuck."

"Oh?" Her brow rose. "Surprising. Most of my students are either asleep or daydreaming about their startup empires."

He shrugged. "I've always had an interest in human nature. Especially how people decide which mask to wear."

Rin laughed softly. "Well, if you ever want to sit in again, I don't take attendance."

He held her gaze for a moment longer.

"I might just do that."

And with a gentle nod, he turned and walked down the hall, hands in pockets.

Still smiling.

Getting close to Minato's favorite people might prove useful after all.

Obito turned to leave, then paused, his eyes flicking to the edge of Rin's folder where a folded receipt peeked out—university logo, small handwriting, donation number scrawled at the bottom.

"You're generous," he said lightly.

Rin followed his gaze and blinked, tucking the paper back in. "Ah. Just a small scholarship fund I've supported since I started teaching. It's nothing."

Obito tilted his head, interest sharpening just a little.

"Nothing," he repeated. "Funny how often people say that when they're doing something meaningful."

Rin offered a modest smile, unsure how to respond.

Obito reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black card embossed with a silver fan symbol, and handed it to her.

"We're hosting a charity event at the end of the month. The Uchiha Foundation does it every year—raises funds for youth programs, scholarship pipelines, art therapy. All the things politicians forget about."

Rin accepted the card carefully. "Sounds important."

"It is," Obito said. Then added, smoothly:

"I thought of you, actually. Thought you might give a short speech. Something to inspire the younger generation to pursue their dreams. If you want, of course."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Me?"

"You're one of my niece's professors," he said, expression sincere. "And since Itachi's attending this university now, it'd be good to have someone she looks up to there. Someone who actually believes in making things better."

Rin blinked, genuinely moved. "That's… really kind of you, Obito-san."

He gave her a slow smile. "Not kindness. Just good instincts."

She tucked the card into her folder. "I'll think about it."

"I hope you do," Obito said. "You'd make a strong impression."

And with that, he finally left, footsteps quiet down the corridor.

Rin stood still a moment longer, then looked down at the silver fan gleaming on the card. She didn't know much about the Uchiha beyond headlines and hallway rumors.

But Obito?

He made her curious.

Obito stepped out of the main building, sunlight slanting across his face. The easy smile he wore with Rin dissolved the moment the university doors closed behind him.

His car—sleek, black, discreet—was already waiting by the curb. The driver stepped out and opened the door.

Obito slid into the back seat without a word, the door shutting behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final.

Obito exhaled slowly, the engine purring quietly beneath him as the car pulled away from the curb.

He unlocked his phone again, thumb gliding over the screen.

He opened the message thread marked:

Onii-san Madara.

Typed:

"Just left Kanzaki," he said. "Minato didn't flinch. Still walking his neutrality line like it's sacred ground."

He stared at the message a second longer before hitting send.

Then locked the phone and slipped it back into his jacket.

The ride was silent.

Obito leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes—not to rest, but to think.

—-

POV Itachi Uchiha:

Pens dropped. Chairs squeaked. The room sighed with collective trauma as the exam ended.

Kakashi moved silently down each row, collecting papers like a grim reaper in tweed.

No expression. No comments. Just his silver hair and that perpetual calm that somehow made it worse.

Once the last paper slid into his folder, he returned to the board and tapped the screen of his tablet. The projector flickered back on.

"While I'm grading your tests," he said, "you'll have an assignment."

Groans.

"Next week's topic list is up," he continued. "You'll vote for five out of ten."

The list appeared on the board:

Kakashi crossed his arms.

"Whichever five you don't choose," he added dryly, "will be the content for the following week."

He gave them a long, unreadable look.

"So. If you're trying to cheat the system by picking the easy ones… expect the storm to follow."

Itachi tilted her head, just a fraction. That was clever. He was challenging them not only to think—but to strategize. Play the long game.

So, he does have a brain under that silver fluff.

Kakashi set the folder of exam papers down and tapped the projector again.

"You'll have twenty minutes," he said. "But this isn't individual work. I want a collective decision. A class-wide consensus."

Groans.

"You must present five topics as a unified group. Welcome to your first lesson in business management—internal negotiation."

He didn't smile. But something about the way he stepped back from the desk said enjoy the chaos.

The room exploded in arguments. Konan and Nagato immediately took over one side. Kakuzu and Sasori tried pushing for numbers-heavy topics. Hidan just said "pick the one with the word crisis, that sounds fun."

Deidara leaned toward Itachi, whispering through a grin.

"This is how countries collapse."

Itachi, one hand supporting her chin lazily, flicked her pen cap.

"I feel like he wants us to crack," she said, voice smooth, "just so he can say 'told you so' over coffee with the director."

She didn't hide it. She glanced up at the front of the room, and sure enough, Kakashi was watching her.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

She gave a small, bored smile and turned back to the group.

"Number five," she said. "Psychological Branding."

Izumi raised an eyebrow. "Why that one?"

Itachi's eyes lingered on the board for a moment before answering.

"Because that's how power works," she murmured. "Not by being loud. By knowing how to be seen."

Konan looked like she understood.

Deidara looked like she wanted to high-five her.

From the front of the room, Kakashi didn't comment.

But he definitely heard.

—-

POV Shisui Uchiha:

The salt wind off the coast ruffled his collar as Shisui stepped onto the unfinished balcony of the top floor. Steel beams, half-laid tile, and the soft hum of progress stretched below him. His men were working. The glass walls would come next.

This place would shine soon.

Uchiha money never stayed quiet for long.

His phone buzzed.

Tsunade:

"Heard the news. Grandfather says the Uchiha staged the whole thing for drama.

Tobirama called you all emotionally unstable again.

Guess I can't use the 'oops I was gambling in your casino' excuse to see you for a while.

Miss you, babe."

He smirked, thumb hovering for a second before replying.

Shisui:

"Thought you were the untouchable Senju princess.

You texting me from your throne?

I miss your tits…"

Then:

Tsunade:

"I'll try to sneak out next week."

Shisui:

"You better do."

The scent of salt and steel faded the moment Shisui caught movement below.

A figure approaching—confident steps, long coat, hair slicked back with the kind of precision that screamed Hyuga.

Neji, he noted instantly. Young, but already neck-deep in the Hyuga business web. His pale eyes swept over the site like a scanner. Cool. Clinical. Dangerous in the way only those born into power could be.

Well. This was interesting.

After the murder. After the whispers. After Madara's patience had worn paper thin.

And yet here he is. No warning. No invitation.

Shisui descended the half-built staircase like a man arriving at a gala, not a crime scene.

He walked straight up to Neji, sharp smile cutting through the tension like polished glass.

"You know," Shisui said, voice pleasant, "when a Hyuga walks into Uchiha property unannounced after one of ours ends up dead on Senju land…"

He stopped in front of him, letting the weight of silence settle.

"…some might call it a confession."

Neji didn't flinch. His expression didn't even shift.

"I came to offer clarity," he said calmly.

"Is that what the Hyuga call it now?" Shisui's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Clarity, delivered with white gloves and hidden blades."

Neji folded his hands behind his back. "If we wanted you dead, Shisui-san, there wouldn't be a body left for mourning."

"Mm," Shisui hummed, gaze drifting toward the half-built oceanview balcony. "But you see… we're sentimental people. We prefer names to ashes."

He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now.

"So. Clarity. Offer it."

Neji's gaze didn't waver. Not even under Shisui's smile, which by now had turned cold as coastal wind.

"We believe," Neji began, voice smooth as lacquered steel, "that your family has been misled."

Shisui tilted his head, mock-intrigued.

"Oh?"

Neji stepped closer, hands still folded behind his back—military posture, deliberate restraint.

"We suspect the same hand that spilled Uchiha blood on Senju soil is the same hand that placed Hyuga fingerprints on the weapon."

Shisui's eyes narrowed slightly, the smile dimming.

"Careful, Neji-kun," he said softly. "That sounds dangerously close to a declaration of innocence."

"It is," Neji replied, unblinking. "But not without offering balance."

He reached into his coat and produced a sleek black folder, embossed with silver ink.

"We'd like to lease one of the commercial spaces in your upcoming resort. Ichiraku Ramen has expressed interest in an exclusive location under the Hyuga name. A long-term partnership. Revenue split, fifty-one to forty-nine. Uchiha favored."

Shisui took the folder, casually flipping it open.

"Ramen?" he echoed, tone mild. "How very… humble."

"Symbolic," Neji said. "Comfort food. Peaceful setting. A place where people eat instead of bleed."

Shisui let out a low chuckle.

"And here I thought the Hyuga didn't care for sentiment."

"We don't," Neji said. "We care for survival."

There it was. Naked, beneath the elegance.

Shisui looked up from the contract and met his gaze.

"I'll take this to the table," he said. "But understand—if the ink on this offer is hiding blood, I'll have the walls of your compound painted in it."

Neji inclined his head with quiet dignity.

"And if it isn't, then perhaps… we both survive what's coming."

Shisui closed the folder, letting the polished cover catch a glint of the afternoon sun.

"I'll pass this along to my uncle," he said, slipping it into his coat with practiced ease. "Though it's a shame, isn't it?"

Neji arched a brow. "What is?"

"That our uncles don't drink together anymore." Shisui's voice was pleasant again, almost amused. "Back in the day, it would've been a bottle of sake, not a signed lease, that settled trust between clans."

Neji's mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite.

"Times change," he said.

Shisui took a slow step back, his eyes still locked on Neji's.

"They do. And now the younger generation has to carry all the charming conversations."

Another step.

"Make the polite threats."

Another.

"And do the dirty work."

He offered a lazy two-fingered salute.

"Drive safe, Neji-kun. Wouldn't want another… accident on Senju turf."

Neji gave a small bow, perfectly formal.

"Likewise, Shisui-san. May your project rise without collapse."

Shisui turned, the wind tugging at his coat as he walked back toward the concrete skeleton of the future resort.

Peace is so fragile, he thought, you can rent it by the square foot now.

—-

POV: Itachi Uchiha

The classroom finally settled. Konan stood as unofficial spokesperson, list in hand.

"We've selected our five: Risk Analysis, Consumer Psychology, Crisis PR, Monopoly Case Studies, and Psychological Branding."

Kakashi glanced at the list. Then, slowly, looked back at the group. His gaze slid across the room like a scalpel—sharp, quiet, and clinical.

When his eyes landed on Itachi, he spoke.

"Psychological Branding," he said. "Interesting choice."

The room held its breath.

He walked toward the board, almost absentmindedly, and picked up a marker.

"You know," he continued, tone deceptively casual, "that topic covers how people create identities to manipulate perception. To craft illusions of control."

He turned slightly—just enough to let Itachi know he was still watching her.

"Let's hope, when the time comes, you remember that branding works both ways."

He uncapped the marker. Began to write the selected topics.

"And not all brands survive the market."

Then he returned to the exam sheets and looked up.

"We'll begin today with an example," he said flatly. "Of what not to do."

The class shifted, curious. Hidan grinned already, sensing blood.

Kakashi set the tablet down and leaned back slightly.

"This submission earned the lowest score in the class. A shining example of philosophy replacing facts. Empty flair instead of usable strategy."

He didn't say the name at first.

Then: "Miss Uchiha."

The air snapped.

Itachi didn't blink. Her spine straightened, her expression unreadable—but her hands rested on the desk like blades she was resisting the urge to draw.

Kakashi didn't care.

He tapped again and read aloud:

"Question one: Define the difference between fixed cost and variable cost in business operations."

A pause. Then, in a perfectly flat tone, he read her answer.

"'Fixed costs are the unchanging burdens, like inherited bloodlines. Variable costs are the emotional shifts within a transaction—if you understand your client well, everything can be adjusted, even their resistance.'"

The class erupted.

Even Konan's lips twitched.

Hidan cackled. Deidara choked.

Kakashi didn't smile.

"F," he said. "Not because you lack intelligence—but because you lack discipline. You treat this classroom like a stage. And the economy doesn't care how eloquently you fail."

Silence.

Itachi's face didn't change. Not a flinch. Not a twitch.

But inside—there was heat. Quiet, elegant rage.

Mocking me? In front of them?

She inclined her head slightly. Calm. Controlled.

"Hatake-sensei," she said, voice smooth, "if the goal was to build businesses like you build minds, then I see why most of them collapse after one bad season."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

There was a beat of silence after Itachi's retort. The air held it like a suspended blade.

Then Kakashi looked up again, slow and deliberate.

His gaze landed on her with surgical focus.

"Thank you, Miss Uchiha," he said, voice low. "For proving that arrogance is, indeed, a variable cost."

A few chuckles broke out—but quieter this time.

He closed the tablet with a soft click.

"And since you've clearly retained nothing of value this week…" His voice shifted back to its usual cool boredom. "You'll remain after class today."

Itachi's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"You'll spend the afternoon in the library," he continued, already turning toward the whiteboard. "Studying what you failed to grasp."

He wrote Operational Cost Models in fluid script across the board.

"I'll check on your progress personally. Five p.m."

No further discussion. No room for protest.

Just a dismissal veiled as instruction.

The room simmered. And for once—even the Akatsuki didn't laugh.

The door clicked shut behind Kakashi.

And the room immediately stirred like a shaken beehive.

Izumi leaned over, her whisper razor-sharp.

"You were supposed to flirt, not trigger his academic trauma."

Itachi didn't answer. She just uncapped her Chanel lipstick and reapplied it with surgical precision. Crimson and control.

Hidan snorted. "He said five p.m., though. Sounds like he wants to spend quality time."

Deidara raised both brows. "What if he's into power play? You know… cold professor, hot student, forbidden tension—classic storyline, yeah."

Kakuzu didn't even look up from his notes. "Since no one's ever seen him after class, maybe him visiting Itachi is his version of confessing."

Nagato finally muttered, "Or maybe he just wants to make sure she doesn't burn down the library."

Konan, watching Itachi closely, finally spoke. "What are you going to do?"

Itachi snapped her compact shut.

"I'm going to study," she said simply.

A beat.

Then she stood.

"And make sure Hatake-sensei regrets assigning me the role of his personal disappointment."

Deidara slumped against the desk dramatically.

"Well," she groaned, "the next class is sports."

Konan's eyes narrowed like she'd just been sentenced.

"I hate sports. Why can't we do yoga? Stretch, breathe, be pretty."

Izumi tugged on her jacket with a sigh.

"I heard the instructor is… energetic."

The room stilled.

"Volleyball?" someone whispered, horror blooming.

"Volleyball," Izumi confirmed.

Every girl groaned like it was their funeral march.

The Akatsuki slowly rose and shuffled toward the changing rooms like condemned prisoners. Itachi walked with them, perfectly composed—but as they entered, her lips pursed in visible offense.

The uniform wasn't the problem. Her sport attire was flawless: black Prada leggings, a white fitted Balenciaga tank top, and a perfectly coordinated towel with the Uchiha crest embroidered in gold thread.

But the sneakers.

Even if they were Alexander McQueen's limited edition—custom white with crimson laces—Itachi stared at them like they'd insulted her entire bloodline.

She stepped into them slowly, as if accepting defeat in a war she hadn't agreed to join.

"I hate these things," she muttered.

"You hate sneakers?" Deidara asked, adjusting her ponytail.

"They make me look…" Itachi hesitated, then sighed. "Average."

She tied her hair back—high, tight, not a strand out of place—and stood with the quiet fury of a queen going into battle without her crown.

The girls gathered near the mirror, forming a prayer circle with their eyeliner still sharp.

"Let us survive," Konan intoned.

"Without sweating," Izumi added.

"And without falling on our asses," Deidara whispered.

"Amen," they all said.

And then, they walked out like stylish lambs to slaughter.

They stepped into the gymnasium, and for a brief, fleeting second, there was hope.

Empty court. Soft light through high windows. The polished floor gleamed.

"Maybe it won't be that bad", Konan whispered, adjusting her sports bra like it was battle armor.

Then the door on the far end slammed open.

Wind howled. Somewhere, a hawk cried.

And from the blinding backlight emerged a green blur.

"YOUTH!"

The voice cracked like thunder. A tall man in a full emerald bodysuit, orange legwarmers, and a bowl cut that had somehow defied time and good taste marched onto the court.

"I am your instructor—Might Gai!"

Silence.

Only the squeak of someone's sneaker.

Then he threw both fists into the air.

"Today, my radiant students, we shall ignite the flames of passion within our hearts through the sacred bond of—volleyball!"

Deidara blinked.

"Is this guy okay?" she murmured to Itachi.

"No," Itachi said flatly.

Gai spun on one heel and pointed at them, the whites of his teeth nearly glowing.

"But before we hold the ball, we must earn the right to touch it! Run, my youthful warriors! Five laps! Each lap for one virtue: endurance, perseverance, kindness, respect… and GLORY!"

The whistle blew like it came from God himself.

The Akatsuki stared at him.

Hidan was the first to groan.

"Go!" Gai shouted, already jogging backward faster than any of them could move forward. "Deidara! Let your legs explode like your art!"

Deidara muttered something about war crimes but started running.

"Konan! Float like a paper crane—fly with your willpower!"

Konan ran. Elegantly. Hatefully.

"Nagato! Run like your trauma is behind you!"

Nagato somehow looked more traumatized.

"Uchiha Itachi!"

She froze mid-step.

Gai pointed at her, eyes blazing.

"Every queen must sweat before she can wear the crown of strength!"

Itachi exhaled slowly. Then began running with perfectly controlled breath—high ponytail slicing the air behind her like a ribbon of vengeance.

As they rounded the third lap, Gai clapped and shouted with joyful fury:

"This is not just fitness—this is BONDING! You are not students, you are comrades in the sacred battlefield of cardiovascular glory!"

By the fourth lap, Deidara was done.

Not physically—her legs could keep moving. But emotionally? Spiritually? She'd already written Gai's obituary three times in her head.

"Now!" Gai announced, as if fueled by their collective exhaustion. "We bond. You will now choose a partner. Someone you trust. Someone who will not let you fall!"

Deidara turned immediately—

"Izumi?"

Izumi had already claimed Konan. "Sorry."

Hidan grinned at Nagato and got flipped off. Again.

Deidara scowled and muttered, "Great. I'm gonna get Kakuzu and die from a lecture about spine posture."

Then—

"I'll take you."

Sasori. Calm as always. Already standing beside her with his arms crossed like he hadn't just sprinted five laps in total silence.

Deidara blinked.

"You sure?" she asked. "I'm not light."

"You talk a lot," he said. "Makes up for my silence."

She smirked. "You're such a romantic, yeah."

"Back-to-back push-ups!" Gai boomed. "One partner lies down, the other holds a plank over them. Then switch!"

Deidara dropped to the mat first.

Sasori leaned over her like it was nothing. Zero effort. Stable arms. Measured breathing. Focused gaze.

Too focused.

Deidara stared up.

"Are you counting?" she asked.

"No. I'm timing myself based on how long you keep your mouth shut."

She grinned. "Told you—romantic."

Nearby, Itachi was watching all of this while trying not to fall off Kakuzu's back during the "partner piggyback sprint." (She refused to carry anyone, of course.)

Konan was yelling encouragements while Izumi tripped and took Hidan down with her.

Gai, meanwhile, wept actual tears of joy.

"This is the power of teamwork! This is the soul of friendship forged through sweat!"

Just as the Akatsuki began to suspect they might survive this class with only mild humiliation, the gym doors creaked open again.

Enter: Hatake Kakashi.

Gray joggers, loose black shirt. His silver hair looked somehow more chaotic in motion, wind-blown and effortless, like he hadn't just waltzed in thirty minutes late to hell's bootcamp.

The room paused. Some sweat-streaked stares. A dropped water bottle.

Itachi blinked, and her ponytail almost came loose from sheer surprise.

Gai's head snapped toward the door like he sensed a disturbance in the Force.

He gasped. Audibly.

"KAKASHI!"

Kakashi sighed. "Hello, Gai."

"My eternal rival has arrived! The youth of this day has reached new heights!"

Gai dashed forward and gripped Kakashi's hand with both of his own like they were about to burst into tears. Kakashi let it happen with the dead-eyed patience of a man regretting every life choice.

"I proposed your faculty dean join today's class!" Gai shouted to the students. "So your professors and pupils may bond through sportsmanship and mutual perspiration!"

Hidan nearly tripped laughing.

Konan whispered to Itachi, "He's glowing."

Itachi, expression unreadable, just said, "I noticed."

Kakashi turned slightly, gaze sweeping the room. Landed on her.

No nod. No smirk. Just the subtlest lift of one brow. A silent of course you're here for this.

He turned back to Gai. "So what are we doing, exactly?"

"Volleyball!" Gai cheered. "Professors vs Students!"

Deidara clapped her hands. "Now this is education."

Sasori muttered, "Only if we survive."

It took exactly three minutes of gameplay for everyone to realize something was off.

It wasn't just that Itachi didn't play volleyball.

It was that she moved like it was a combat simulation.

The ball flew toward her.

She dodged.

Not stumbled. Not flinched.

Dodged.

With clinical precision. Tilted her head two degrees, stepped lightly sideways, and the ball whistled past her like she had Sharingan for projectiles.

Gai blew his whistle. "Uchiha Itachi! You must catch the ball, not evade it like an assassination attempt!"

Itachi raised a hand in elegant protest.

"It's unhygienic," she said flatly. "The ball touches the floor. Floors carry bacteria."

A pause.

"And it might hit my face. I refuse to be bruised for this."

Konan and Izumi were wheezing.

Hidan shouted, "She moves like she's in the damn Matrix!"

Gai looked personally betrayed. "But the youth, Itachi! You must embrace it!"

"I embrace it just fine. From a safe distance."

And then—

A blur. A ball.

Right at her.

She turned—just in time to see Kakashi, still casual in motion, retract his arm after a long-range pass that absolutely did not need to go near her.

She caught his look.

Unbothered. Hands in pockets. But that single raised brow again.

Another ball. Again—her direction.

She dodged with even less effort this time.

Izumi stage-whispered, "He's targeting you."

"I know," Itachi muttered. "It's war."

Deidara shouted, "He's flirting with dodgeballs!"

Sasori dryly: "It's still more chemistry than what we had in physics class."

Kakashi passed again—closer.

Itachi leapt back like a ghost, and this time, she didn't dodge silently.

"Hatake-sensei," she said coldly, "Are you trying to damage school property?"

He stopped mid-jog and looked at her, impassive.

"Just trying to encourage participation."

"By throwing unclean spheres at my head?"

"You seem to respond well to adversity."

Gai was crying again. "This—this is true rivalry! This is youth!"

Gai clapped his hands like thunder.

"The final test of spirit! Tug-of-war!"

The Akatsuki groaned in unison.

"Two teams!" Gai bellowed. "Led by me—the flame of perseverance—and my eternal rival, Hatake Kakashi!"

Kakashi, arms crossed, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He muttered, "This is undignified."

Gai winked. "Which is why it builds humility!"

They formed lines on opposite ends of the rope.

Gai's team: Hidan, Konan, Deidara, Nagato, and Gai himself, practically vibrating at the back.

Kakashi's team: Kakuzu first, then Sasori, Izumi, Itachi—and last, Kakashi.

Itachi stared at the rope like it was bacteria-infested. "If I get rope burn—"

Kakashi, behind her, said dryly, "You can borrow my gloves."

She didn't turn around. "How generous."

The whistle blew.

It was chaos.

Gai's team surged. Hidan screamed war cries. Deidara cursed dramatically. Konan glared at everyone like they were beneath her.

But Kakashi's team?

Strategic.

Kakuzu anchored with silent fury. Sasori barely moved, but didn't need to—he knew where to hold tension. Izumi squeaked, nearly slipped, but held on.

And Itachi?

Itachi gritted her teeth. Her nails were immaculate. Her shoes were not designed for soil traction. But something in her snapped.

She leaned back. Dug in.

Kakashi behind her, a silent force of gravity.

They pulled.

And pulled.

And—

Victory.

Gai's team collapsed forward in a heap of limbs and curses.

Kakashi's team fell back.

Kakuzu cursed. Sasori adjusted his hair mid-fall. Izumi landed with a shriek.

And Itachi?

Landed directly on Kakashi.

Chest against chest. Her ponytail against his jaw. His arms instinctively wrapped around her waist.

To stabilize her.

That's all.

She froze.

He didn't move either.

For half a second too long, they stayed like that.

Then she slowly pulled back, adjusted her shirt like nothing happened, and stood.

Kakashi stood too. Unbothered. Silent.

But the corners of his mouth were almost smirking.

Deidara from the side grinned wide.

"Pretty sure I saw your soul leave your body for a sec, Itachi."

Hidan whooped. "Man, that fall was hot."

Izumi whispered, "He totally grabbed you."

Itachi said nothing.

But her lips curved up, just barely.