---

  Reiji walked into the ring with an easy, unhurried pace, as though he had all the time in the world. He was smiling too which, in Reiji’s case, was never a comforting sign.

  Arata was already waiting. He held his stance with practiced discipline, eyes steady and expression controlled.

  They stopped a step apart and stared.

  “Why are you smiling?” Arata demanded at last, as though Reiji had committed some unforgivable breach of etiquette.

  “What?” Reiji blinked innocently. “I can’t smile now?”

  “Stop it. It’s disgusting.”

  “I don’t want to,” Reiji said pleasantly. “I’m in a good mood right now.”

  The teacher opened her mouth probably to remind them of rules, sportsmanship, and the general principle that Academy students were not supposed to maim each other before lunch but both boys raised their arms at the same moment, as though they’d made an agreement without words.

  She narrowed her eyes, then decided to let them get on with it. “Ready… Go!”

  Nothing happened.

  They simply stood there, measuring each other with their eyes.

  Seconds stretched. The class began to fidget.

  “Arata, go!”

  “What are you waiting for?!”

  “Reiji, are you scared?!”

  Reiji looked, if anything, more relaxed. Arata, on the other hand, began to show tiny signs of strain an adjustment of the feet, a faint tightening in his jaw.

  Reiji lifted an eyebrow. “We don’t have all day,” he said. “I’m getting bored.”

  “Why should I move first and give you the advantage?” Arata snapped. “You move.”

  Reiji sighed loudly, as if burdened by the stupidity of the situation, and then did something that even made the teacher blinking.

  He spread his arms wide.

  It was not a stance. It was not even pretending to be a stance. It was the posture of someone inviting a hug.

  “Fine,” Reiji said, grinning. “I won’t move from this position.”

  Arata stared. He knew, quite clearly, that this was a trap. The trouble was that traps were much easier to avoid when a crowd wasn’t shouting your name behind you.

  His teeth clenched.

  Then he dashed.

  He got as far as three steps before Reiji flicked his foot up and kicked a neat little cloud of dust straight into Arata’s face.

  It was not, strictly speaking, a powerful attack. It was not impressive. It was not even clever.

  That was the point.

  Arata stumbled back, eyes squeezed shut, arms snapping up defensively. He braced himself for the blow that should have come next.

  It did not come.

  He blinked through the stinging grit, rubbed his eyes, and looked up.

  Reiji was still there. Arms still spread. Smile unchanged.

  “I told you,” Reiji said lightly, “I wouldn’t move.”

  A heat rushed up Arata’s neck so fast it was a wonder it didn’t catch fire. He lunged again, this time with real anger, and threw a quick feint into a pivoting kick.

  Reiji raised his knee and met it as though he’d been expecting it all day.

  Arata hissed, shook the pain out, and tried to force the pace with a flurry of kicks, jabs—anything to make Reiji stop looking like he was enjoying himself. But Reiji moved with infuriating calm: a palm here, an elbow there, a tilt of the head that let a fist skim past his hair.

  Arata’s frustration spilled out of him. He launched into a flying kick.

  Reiji caught it.

  For a brief moment, Arata’s leg was locked under Reiji’s arm like a trapped branch. Arata, to his credit, didn’t panic. He planted a hand, twisted, and snapped a counter-kick toward Reiji’s head.

  Reiji blocked it with his free arm. The impact loosened his grip just enough for Arata to wrench himself free and retreat, breathing hard.

  Reiji didn’t chase him. He watched, relaxed, as though Arata were the one being assessed.

  “Why aren’t you attacking?!” Arata shouted.

  “Why am I obliged to?” Reiji replied. “I’m enjoying myself.”

  “Stop mocking me! Take it seriously!”

  “I don’t want to,” Reiji said—and because he was Reiji, he stuck his tongue out.

  “Reiji,” the teacher snapped, “stop taunting your opponent and take this spar seriously.”

  Reiji sighed, the long-suffering sigh of someone being asked to complete a chore. “Fine.”

  He finally began to set his feet properly.

  Arata saw the opening and threw himself forward at once, fist aimed for Reiji’s jaw.

  The pain that shot through Arata’s knuckles was immediate and shocking.

  Reiji had blocked the punch with his forehead.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Before Arata could decide whether this was brave or stupid, Reiji caught his wrist, stepped behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.

  Arata hit the dirt on one knee.

  Reiji twisted his arm behind his back and pinned it tight, tight enough that Arata’s shoulder screamed in warning.

  Arata struggled, teeth clenched. Reiji’s grip did not loosen.

  Then Reiji leaned close, voice low.

  “You said yesterday,” he murmured, “that nothing good happens to people who associate with me, didn’t you?”

  Arata’s breath caught.

  He didn’t get to answer.

  Reiji kicked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Arata lurched forward, thrown toward the edge of the ring, stumbling certain he was about to be ejected.

  And then, at the last second, fingers grabbed his collar and stopped him right on the line.

  For half a heartbeat, Arata hung there, balanced between falling out and being dragged back, his humiliation paused like a cruel joke.

  Reiji’s voice came again, quiet as a knife sliding free.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  His grip tightened.

  “I don’t associate with losers.”

  And he yanked.

  Arata was dragged back in and hurled toward the center so hard the world spun. He hit the ground, scrambled up on instinct—

  —and found Reiji already there.

  A foot filled his vision.

  There was a thud, bright and final.

  Arata’s thoughts vanished.

  ---

  The ring stayed silent for a beat then the teacher’s voice cut through it.

  “Reiji. My office. Now.”

  The teacher’s expression gave nothing away.

  Reiji lifted an eyebrow, but he didn’t argue. He only nodded, as if the order didn’t concern him.

  He stepped out of the ring.

  The students parted as he passed. Nobody spoke to him; they simply watched him with wary eyes some angry, some frightened, some pretending very hard they weren’t looking at all.

  Someone blocked his path.

  “Are you happy now?”

  Reiji turned.

  Mikoto was standing there, her face tight with anger. Aya Shirakawa hovered at her side, tugging at her sleeve with a worried expression.

  Reiji looked at Mikoto for a moment, inwardly amused.

  “If you want to say something,” he said, “say it. Don’t beat around the bush.”

  Mikoto’s hands clenched. “Why are you like this?”

  Reiji’s smile was small and irritating. “Like what?”

  “Like… you.” She made an exasperated gesture at him. “Why do you enjoy being mean? Why do you enjoy ridiculing your classmates?”

  “Why not?” Reiji replied.

  Mikoto blinked, thrown off by the simplicity of it. “Huh?”

  Reiji shrugged, spreading one hand as if she’d asked an obvious question with an obvious answer.

  “We’re children being trained to kill people,” he said calmly. “Not to cuddle each other and play at being friends. If you can’t accept a bit of violence now, what do you think you’ll do later?”

  Mikoto’s mouth opened, then shut again.

  Reiji’s gaze shifted past her over her shoulder to where Minato was still surrounded by people. Minato looked surprised to find Reiji staring at him. Reiji watched him for a second, expression sharpening.

  “Don’t you find it absurd?” he continued, voice still even. “They keep telling us to ‘protect the village’ and ‘take care of our comrades’… but this entire system is built on making sure there are enough killers to send out when the village wants something done.”

  He paused, as though genuinely considering it.

  “Who decided someone’s life was worth less than the village’s?”

  Mikoto stared at him, momentarily speechless.

  Reiji looked back at her, and his smile returned, arrogant, almost pleased with himself.

  “You’re angry because I humiliated your friend,” he said, “not because humiliation is some great moral crime. You’re angry because he’s important to you. Because he the same name as you. Fine. I can understand that.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “But don’t play saint. If it were some random kid, you’d have looked away.”

  Mikoto’s face flushed.

  “And if that’s really what this is about,” Reiji added, nodding toward Kushina, “then you should be angry at her too. She did something far worse, and everyone clapped.”

  Kushina, who had been listening with the rest of them, went red from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears.

  Reiji tilted his head at Mikoto.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Nobody answered.

  Mikoto’s hands lowered slowly, as if she’d only just realized she’d stopped him and still had no good way to finish this.

  Reiji stepped past her, as if she were no more than a chair left in the wrong place.

  “I like what I like,” he said over his shoulder, voice almost bored now. “I hate what I hate. I don’t need some profound reason for it.”

  He glanced back once—briefly, dark eyes calm.

  “I just didn’t like his face,” he added. “Same way some of you don’t like mine.”

  He stepped past her, already moving again.

  Mikoto turned sharply, hair swaying with the motion, and stared at his back as if she couldn’t decide whether to grab him or let him go. Her hands clenched at her sides.

  “You think this makes you strong?” she hissed.

  Reiji didn’t stop. He didn’t even look over his shoulder.

  “It doesn’t,” Mikoto continued, voice tight. “It just makes everyone wait for the day you finally get what you deserve.”

  Reiji’s pace never changed. Only his head tilted a fraction, as if he were listening to something mildly interesting.

  “In this village,” he said, “everyone gets what they deserve. Just not always from the person they expect.”

  He kept walking, sandals soft against the floor, leaving Mikoto and the others behind in a silence that felt uncomfortably loud. Then he disappeared into the school building, heading for the teacher’s office.

  ---

  The hours blurred into chores and scolding until the sun was gone.

  It was already night when he finally emerged from the school building.

  Reiji stretched, every muscle protesting. “Seriously,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, “making me scrub the entire floor at my age… don’t they have any shame?”

  The streets of Konoha were quieter now, the shops shuttered, the lantern light turning everything soft around the edges. Reiji wandered through the emptier lanes and, for once, didn’t mind being alone. The village felt almost peaceful when nobody was whispering.

  He was also, inconveniently, late.

  Which meant he needed an excuse.

  Reiji turned the problem over in his head as he walked, already hearing his father’s voice—calm, disappointed, far worse than shouting.

  Mikoto had still deserved it.

  She had that irritating, polished sort of confidence like she’d been born knowing the correct thing to say at the correct moment, the perfect little role-model girl who thought being righteous was the same thing as being right.

  And anyway—Reiji hadn’t been trying to make a point. He wasn’t trying to change the world.

  He just enjoyed watching their faces when he said things they didn’t know how to answer.

  Sometimes, he wondered whether they were all idiots… or whether he was the problem.

  He didn’t like that thought, so he shoved it away.

  But one part of what he’d said was true.

  There was no grand meaning behind what he did.

  No noble reason. No tragic excuse.

  He did it because he wanted to.

  Because he could.

  And because, if he was being honest with himself, he was petty like that.

  ---

  Soon he was standing in front of his house, turning his alibi over one last time before going in.

  He slipped inside, removed his sandals without a sound, and started to creep toward his room as though the floorboards might betray him if he moved too quickly. Unfortunately, the kitchen door was still open and light spilled into the corridor in a way that made sneaking feel foolish.

  Reiji sighed, abandoned the idea of escape, and stepped inside.

  “Where were you?” his father asked.

  He sat, as always, in the same chair, posture perfectly composed, gaze unreadable. In front of him were two sets of dinner—still hot, steam rising as if to prove the point.

  Reiji bowed quickly. “Sorry, Father. I was practising my kunai skills outside and… somewhere along the way I didn’t notice the time. I’ll be more careful next time.”

  His father lifted an eyebrow, and something like amusement flickered across his face.

  “Practising with kunai,” he repeated mildly. “Stop me if I’m wrong, but your kunai set is still in your room. And today is not your weapons day at school.”

  Reiji’s stomach dipped.

  “I borrowed someone else’s set,” he said, grasping for the nearest excuse.

  His father’s eyebrow rose a little higher. “You have a friend who gave you his set willingly?”

  Reiji frowned, as if offended by the accusation. “Huh… I stole it.”

  There was a pause.

  “And where is the set now?” his father asked, tone unchanged.

  “I lost it in the dark,” Reiji said.

  His father shook his head slowly, not in anger but in that calm, disappointed way that felt worse.

  “You did not steal it from a young Uchiha named Arata, did you?”

  Reiji froze.

  He looked up, eyes a little too wide, and tried very hard to appear innocent. “Huh… no?”

  His father regarded him for a moment, then sighed.

  “It’s good that you’re beginning to train in deceiving people,” he said, almost conversational. “It’s an important part of a shinobi’s skillset. But you’re still too immature to fool me.”

  Reiji’s shoulders dropped. He bowed his head, guilty. “Sorry…”

  “Sorry for what?” his father asked.

  Reiji hesitated. “For… shaming you with my actions?”

  “No.” His father shook his head. “For not thinking of the bigger picture. Of the future.”

  Reiji blinked. “The future?”

  “Yes.” His father’s eyes sharpened slightly. “When you graduate, you’ll be assigned to a team. There’s a very real chance that the people you look down upon will become your teammates. The people who will protect you if you’re in danger. Who will watch your back.”

  Reiji’s mouth tightened. “I know,” he said, and then added, “but they’re so boring. And weak. I just… I can’t comprehend them.”

  He lowered his voice, as if the walls might be listening.

  “And they say mean things about you.”

  For the first time, his father’s expression softened.

  “They’re children,” he said quietly. “Repeating what their parents say. They don’t understand what they’re saying.” His gaze held Reiji’s.

  “But I’m a child too!” Reiji protested, before he could stop himself.

  “Yes,” his father replied. “You are.”

  He said it plainly, which somehow made it worse.

  “But you are also special,” he continued, voice steady. “You are more talented and more intelligent than the average student in your class. So, it becomes your burden to be more patient with them.”

  Reiji’s hands curled in his lap. “I… I really can’t,” he admitted. “I did try, believe me. But they aren’t like me. I can’t sympathise with them.”

  “They treat training like a game,” Reiji said. “Then they’re shocked when it hurts.”

  His father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And that makes them unworthy of you?”

  “It makes them stupid,” Reiji said flatly. “They spend all day worrying about silly things, saying silly things… and when I say something true, they get mad.”

  “Because you say it to wound,” his father replied, calm as ever.

  Reiji looked away. “Even when I try to talk normally, it’s boring. It’s… nothing.”

  His father watched him for a moment. “Then stop looking for entertainment,” he said. “Look for value. You don’t need to like them. You need to know who can help you when it matters.”

  His father was silent for a moment, then asked, “And Minato? Does he not get along with his classmates?”

  Reiji’s face scrunched up as if he’d been forced to swallow something bitter. “Yes,” he said. “But I can’t be like him. It’s practically torture just watching it.”

  His father let out a long sigh.

  “Is it really the curse of the Homura family?” he murmured, more to himself than to Reiji. “Where did I go wrong…”

  Reiji shrank in his seat.

  “Reiji.”

  He jumped at the sudden firmness in his father’s voice.

  “Yes?”

  “When I was your age,” his father said, “I thought like you. I believed teammates would only drag me down. That I was better alone.”

  Reiji leaned forward slightly, listening despite himself.

  “But I was wrong,” his father continued. “Somewhere along the way, you will need someone. You can’t achieve anything alone. You must create bonds with people.”

  His gaze settled on Reiji—direct, unflinching.

  “It is because of those bonds that you are here with me now,” he said quietly, “alive. Never forget that.”

  Reiji’s eyes trembled. Something complicated moved across his face—understanding, reluctance, and the discomfort of being touched by a truth he didn’t like.

  “I know,” he said, voice small. “I know.”

  His father’s tone eased, just slightly.

  “I’m not asking you to respect your classmates,” he said. “I know that’s too much to demand of you. But at least pretend. Try.” He paused. “Or try befriending Minato. He could be a valuable ally later.”

  Reiji nodded without looking up.

  His father watched him for a moment, then gave him time to breathe.

  Finally, he gestured toward the steaming plates.

  “Enough about that. Eat.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “Tell me about your day. Did anything unusual happen apart from the incident with the Uchiha boy?”

  ---