Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being the runt of the litter wasn’t easy. But you’d grown up used to it: always the little baby of the family, always in need of rescue, always the smallest in class, a permanent footnote in every group photo and class roll.

But being the baby of the family wasn’t for the weak either.

“Trust me,” your mother would always say, stiffling a laugh right after your brother pulled some ridiculous prank on you, “growing up with siblings builds character.”

And it did. Though sometimes, you swore they made you cry more than they made you laugh; always teasing, always messing with you, like it was their full-time job.

Once, your brother had told you that he and your sister were the only two people in the world who shared everything with you; no one else in the world shared what you three did: same blood, same roots. And you clung to that thought like it was sacred. You couldn’t imagine your life without them. They shaped you.

You grew into the perfect blend of them both; your sister’s sharp focus and perfect discipline, your brother’s energy and bizarre sense of humor. Whatever you were becoming now, it was a fusion of them first.

Your earliest memories as a child—as a little baby—were filled with chaos. Mischievous ‘shinobi’ adventures they dragged you into. Ridiculous circus acts you all performed in the living room for your parents, complete with costumes and bad cartwheels. Fights over who got to cuddle you until you fell asleep. Secret pacts with your brother to scare your older sister, just to hear her scream and chase you both through the house. Inside jokes you’d create about your weird cousins after family meetings.

You never got over some of the things they did.

“I am the Hokage of this house!”  

Your brother, Itsuki, declared, standing tall on the couch with one foot planted on the armrest like he was surveying his kingdom. He had a blue blanket tied around his neck like a cape, flapping dramatically every time he spun around (which he did a lot). 

“And as the rightful leader of this household, I demand respect!”

You blinked at him from the floor, where you were building a puzzle with Ayame, your sister.

“No, you’re not. I’m the Hokage,” she shot back without missing a beat. “I’m older—and you’re literally just the middle child.”

“Hokage,” he corrected, lifting his chin. “Supreme protector of this village. You two are just civilians.”

“Whatever,” Ayame muttered, not even looking up from the puzzle. “We’re done here.”

“Come on. Let’s leave him to whatever delusion this is.” 

You nodded and pushed yourself to your feet. 

“Deserters!” Itsuki called after you both as you walked off. “You’re turning your backs on Konoha! TRAITORS!”

It was one of those days where she was in a mood, so she just rolled her eyes and grabbed your hand as you walked off together.

The two of you ignored him and made it to the hallway.

Then—BOOM .

A huge thud echoed through the house like a thunderclap: loud and messy. You and Ayame froze mid-step, wide-eyed.

You didn’t need to speak. The silence that followed was thick and unnatural. Something had just gone terribly, unmistakably wrong.

“What the hell was that?” she yelled, gripping your hand tighter as her older sibling instincts kicked in like muscle memory.

No answer.

You had to jog to keep up with your sister as she dragged you toward the noise before you could even make sense of what was happening.

Rounding the corner into the living room, your jaw dropped.

The living room was a mess. One of the wooden display shelves had collapsed, splintered at the base, picture frames and scrolls scattered across the floor. Glass crunched under Ayame’s sandals as she stepped forward carefully.

The bookshelf. The entire bookshelf. On the ground.

And buried beneath it all, in a tangle of arms, legs, and red blanket-cape—was your brother.

His voice was muffled, but unmistakable.

“…I’m okay.”

“ARE YOU STUPID?!” Ayame shrieked, already yanking books off him, eyes blazing as she lifted part of the shelf. “What were you even doing?!”

“I was trying to summon my chakra from the high ground,” he groaned. “It’s a Hokage thing.”

“You climbed the bookshelf?” you asked, wide eyed. “Like a cat?”

“I was gonna do a jutsu,” he muttered, tossing away a copy of The Chronicles of Narnia as he crawled out of the mess of books. You could see a cut on his cheek, small but red.

Ayame shoved a thick encyclopedia on his head, the strength made him fall back on the floor. “The only thing you summoned was death!”

Still flat on the floor, he raised a weak hand.

“Hokage never dies.”

“GO GRAB THE BROOM, DAD IS GOING TO KILL US!” Ayame roared, snapping him out of his dramatic last words with sheer panic.

You wish that was the last time he broke something.

It wasn’t.

“Shadow Clone Whirlwind Attack!” Itsuki yelled for what must’ve been the fifth time that day perched at the highest point of the playground’s wooden house like it was some sacred summit. He had that same blue blanket tied around his neck like a cape, fluttering behind him with every dramatic movement. His eyes were glowing as he thought about some stupid idea.

You were barely catching your breath after an earlier round of tag when Ayame suddenly sprinted past you, arms flailing.

“Itsuki—GET DOWN!” she screamed. “It’s too high—!”

“YOU’RE NEVER GONNA CATCH THE HOKAGE!” Itsuki yelled, crouching low like he was preparing for some kind of death-defying stunt, fingers forming messy hand signs. “Witness the glory of—FLYING THUNDER GOD NO JUTSU!!”

“ITSUKI, NO!” Ayame yelled, trying to scale the side of the house before he leapt.

Too late.

He soared off the house like a bird with absolutely zero aerodynamic sense. For half a second, you all believed—maybe he’d might stick the landing.

He did not.

Instead, there was a sickening CRACK followed by a sharp, blood curdling scream.

You and Ayame both froze, the breath sucked out of your lungs.

Then you ran.

He was on the harsh ground, clutching his arm, the blue cape twisted around his legs like a net. His face had gone pale, and his eyes were wide and wet with panic.

“Oh my god—Itsuki!” you cried, dropping to your knees beside him.

“I heard it! I HEARD IT BREAK!” he wailed. “I LANDED ON IT WEIRD!”

Ayame looked like she was about to throw up— or kill him. She crouched beside him, hands shaking.

“IDIOT! I told you not to—does it hurt?! WHERE?!”

“My arm!” he sobbed. “My good one!”

“That’s BOTH of them, idiot!” she shrieked.

You started crying.

“GO CALL DAD!” Ayame ordened, and you’ve never ran so fast before in your entire life. 

A few hours later, after a panicked hospital trip, a very awkward walk home with your dad muttering how his ‘rest day had been ruined ’ under his breath, and a terrifying scolding that nearly made even you cry, Itsuki returned to the house, his arm now locked in a bright blue cast.

“No jumping. No stunts. No running. No flipping. No pretending to be a ninja on furniture.” Your father had made him repeat it twice.

“I was injured in the line of duty,” Itsuki muttered as soon as your dad was out of earshot, holding out his arm for you and Ayame to sign. “Hokage sacrifices everything for the village.”

“You sacrificed your brain cells,” Ayame muttered darkly, scribbling a sad-looking bunny on his cast.

You drew tiny bandages on it.

You thought he’d learned his lesson.

But less than 24 hours later, there he was again. One foot on the couch armrest, blanket fluttering, dramatic hand signs already in progress.

Ayame didn’t even get the chance to yell ‘CAREFUL!’ before he leapt again.

This time, the landing was even worse. He rolled weirdly. There was another ugly THUD.

Silence.

Then a shout: ‘I BROKE MY CAST!’

You laughed remembering the look of pure disappointment on your parents faces that night.

Itsuki was such a troublemaker, you were impressed that he managed to survive his entire childhood, only ending up with just a few scars and funny stories.

Like the time when you were halfway to the fridge, already dreaming about the cold slice of cake waiting inside, when a hand suddenly grabbed your shoulder.

You barely had time to turn around before Itsuki’s face was way too close to yours.

“Psst, little soldier,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. “I have an S-rank mission, just for you.”

You didn’t even blink.

“Okay,” you said immediately.

He grinned like the lunatic he was. “You didn’t even ask what it is.”

“Don’t care, Hokage, I’m in.”

“God, you’re perfect,” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder like you were about to go infiltrate enemy territory. “Here’s the mission: you’re going to fake a fainting spell. Right here. Middle of the kitchen. Boom—collapse . I’ll make a noise, scream your name, and Ayame will come sprinting like it’s a life-or-death emergency.” He snickered quietly.

“Okay,” you nodded, despite being only four years old at the time, you were up to no good. “Dramatic death?”

“Dramatic. Like you’ve just been hit with a genjutsu from hell. Sell it.”

You took position.

He grabbed a thick book from the counter, looked at you, and gave a sharp nod.

WHAM.

The sound of the book hitting the floor echoed through the house.

“AYAME!!!” Itsuki bellowed. “THEY’RE DOWN! THEY’RE NOT MOVING!!”

You dropped like a sack of potatoes, hitting the tile with a very realistic thud. Arms splayed, eyes closed and tongue out for extra effect.

Ayame’s door slammed open.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!” she shouted, skidding into the kitchen. “OH MY GOD—”

She dropped to her knees beside you, already shaking your shoulders as her eyes watered. “What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“They just—they collapsed!!” Itsuki cried, voice full of tragic urgency. “I think they saw something cursed! A ghost or—OR A HAUNTED BANANA—”

Ayame blinked. Her eyes narrowed.

Then she looked at your face.

“Wait—why are they smiling?”

You tried to hold it together, you really did—but a snort slipped out before you could stop it.

Ayame’s jaw dropped. “No. NO.”

“She fell for it!” Itsuki howled, already laughing as he backed away. “You should’ve seen your face—!”

“You guys are the dumbest people alive,” Ayame hissed, standing up. “You think this is funny? You think I’m not gonna get revenge for this?!”

“We accept the challenge,” you said from the floor, still giggling.

“THE HOKAGE ACCEPTS NO CONSEQUENCES,” Itsuki yelled, diving for cover as she picked up a dish towel like it was a weapon.

“TODAY YOU DIE.” Ayame promised, flinging it full force at his face.

It wasn’t even the funniest prank that week. With your siblings, there was always something. Some new scheme, some wild idea, some borderline catastrophic mission that started with “Trust me, I saw it in a manga—this will work.”

But that was just how it was.

Your sister was seven years older, your brother six. The age gap was wide, but it never put distance between you. If anything, it only made the bond tighter. They weren’t just siblings—they were your best friends , your first role models, your whole world.

Most of your days were spent counting the minutes until your siblings returned from the Academy, just so the three of you could run off together and play until the sun dipped behind the rooftops.

The mornings felt lonely, you’d watch your parents head off for work and missions, the front door closing behind them with a soft click.

Sometimes your father would be gone for days—out on longer missions—and the house felt even emptier without him. You’d watch them go by windows with your chin resting on the sill, eyes scanning the path outside. Everyone else from your family had responsibilities. And you, still too young for that life, had to stay behind. So they left you where you were, at home.

And that meant having so much free time. 

You had the whole morning and afternoon to yourself, and it meant playing alone. Making up stories where your siblings were still there, imagining their voices, pretending they hadn’t left for the day, talking to your toys like they were teammates.

But being an imaginative child gave path to something special; slowly, having half of the day to yourself started to mean something else, because the loneliness gave you just enough time to fall in love with something just as deep as your love for your family:

Art.

You couldn’t remember the first time you picked up a pencil, but you remembered the first time the page felt like a door.

You’d spend hours lost in your own little world, drawing and doodling until your hands were sore. Filling page after page with messy sketches, coloring outside the lines, creating whole adventures in graphite, colored pencils, and even the occasional smear of watercolor.

You would always return to the same seat by the window, knees tucked up, the heel of your palm blackened with pencil smudges.

The paper curled slightly where you pressed too hard, and the quiet scratch-scratch of graphite was your only companion. You found comfort in drawing away your loneliness, your wildest dreams, even your fears; it eased the boredom. Time began to pass more gently alongside your new best friend.

You’d draw until the best part of the day would come and the front door would open; footsteps, familiar voices, everyone was home again.

✦ ✦ ✦

You were five when Ayame graduated from the Academy and became a genin. You still remember how bright the sun was that day, how it painted everything golden, the rooftops, the courtyard, even the smiles on people’s faces.

That morning, you’d sat cross-legged on the same spot by the window with your colored pencils spread around you, tongue poking from the corner of your mouth as you drew her in her new ninja headband. The lines were a little wobbly, the colors spilling past the edges, but to you it was perfect. You clutched the paper in both hands, careful not to smudge the still-bright colors, excited to hand it to her.

The Academy grounds were crowded with students and proud parents, the air filled with excitement. New, fresh headbands gleamed in the sunlight, tied tightly around foreheads, symbolizing everything these kids had worked for. Ayame’s smile shone brightest to you.

She ran toward your family with the biggest smile on her face, her eyes lit up with pride, cheeks flushed from joy. And before she could even say a word, Itsuki had already sprinted ahead of you, laughing as he tackled her into a hug that nearly knocked her off her feet.

Ayame stumbled back a step, arms wrapping tight around him, laughing into his shoulder.

Then she turned to you, cheeks flushed with pride, and without hesitation, she showed off her clone jutsu right there in the middle of the crowd, and it was perfect. Ayame was always dedicated to everything she did, and she couldn’t wait a second longer to prove she had truly made it.

“Ayame! Ayame!” You grinned, leaning forward, and spreading out the drawing in front of her. “Congrats big sis! I made this for you!” 

“Thank you! Thank you! This is so sweet!” Her smile widened even more as she looked at the drawing, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You could still hear the way your parents laughed in delight, how your mother clapped her hands together, how your father gave Ayame that rare, warm smile of his. 

And in that moment, something stirred inside you.

You wanted this. Not just the headband—but the feeling. The pride and the belonging. The way Ayame stood there like she had earned her place in this village.

You couldn’t help but imagine yourself in her shoes; your own headband, your own jutsu, your parent’s faces lighting up because of you. The thought made your chest swell with something bright, you couldn’t even wait for the next year.

For the rest of the week, it was all you could think about—and draw about too.

Ayame had started going on missions with her team and their new sensei, which meant the house felt a little different, and you were already missing her screaming fits and laughter in the halls, but it also meant you had more time with Itsuki after he came home from school.

And you lived for it. 

Every day, you’d beg him to play ninja with you. You’d pretend it was real training, running drills across the backyard or racing down the hallway, throwing crumpled paper like they were shuriken. You took it so seriously because in your head, this was preparation to becoming a future genin.

When Itsuki wasn’t around, you’d busy yourself by making drawings of yourself as a ninja, fully geared, headband firmly tied across your forehead, bravelly fighting off enemies.

You could already see it so clearly: your life at the Academy, new friends, learning how to use chakra, practicing hand signs, getting your very first sensei.

To you, it had already begun.

The months passed quickly when you spent most of them daydreaming about becoming a ninja.

One day you were begging Itsuki to play ninja in the backyard, laughing as you tumbled through grass and shouted out imaginary jutsus, and the next, your first day of the Academy was just a night away.

You could barely contain yourself. That morning, you’d filled a page with a drawing of yourself in an Academy uniform, standing beside a few new friends you’d made up in your head. You were so happy, though your smile in the picture came out a little stiff, you didn’t mind—it was still you, ready for something big. 

You’d even packed your bag early, scribbled your name into the corner of your new notebooks. Carefully arranged your perfectly sharpened pencils and a set of colored pens your mom had bought just for the occasion, lining them up neatly inside your pencil case like precious tools.

You were so excited you even made Itsuki play ‘academy’ with you in the living room at night, pretending the hallway was a training course and the couch was enemy territory.

Ayame and Itsuki had promised they’d be there to walk you to school. Ayame had even delayed a mission for it.

“It’s important,” she said softly that night as she tucked you into bed, brushing a hand through your hair with the same gentleness your mother used. “I’m not missing your big day.”

That night, you couldn’t even get proper sleep. Not exactly from fear, just a mix of excitement and nerves that sat tightly in your chest. But eventually, you were able to lull yourself to sleep.

In the morning, itsuki woke you up with gentleness. 

“Little soldier,” He whispered, nudging your shoulder with a grin, “get up—it’s today.” 

Your eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the brightness. Sunlight poured through your window in soft, golden beams lighting up Itsuki’s face as he leaned over you, hair tousled and eyes bright.

The wooden floorboards seemed to shine in the light, still cool beneath your feet as you sat up. Outside, cicadas hummed and from the kitchen, the smell of rice and miso drifted in.

You were ready—so ready—you put your shoes on with a little bounce, running to toss your bag over your shoulders. Your shoes were squeaky clean, still stiff from being brand new, and your bento box was packed with all your favorite things, neatly wrapped with a napkin folded by your mother’s careful hands, her handwriting scrawled on the corner in tiny ink: Good luck, my love.

The walk to the Academy felt shorter than it should have. Ayame and Itsuki each held one of your hands the entire way, and you smiled the whole time, swinging your arms between theirs, listening as they told stories about their first day, what to expect from your teachers, how you’d make new friends, what jutsu training would be like, and it all sounded like the beginning of the best story ever drawn—your story.

The Academy came into view, it stood tall in front of you, the building bright under the morning sun, surrounded by laughter and children racing up the steps with their backpacks bouncing behind them.

Everywhere you looked, kids were beaming, saying quick goodbyes to their families before disappearing inside without hesitation.

And then, without warning, your hands were empty.

You didn’t notice right away, but Ayame’s fingers weren’t holding yours anymore. Itsuki wasn’t either. Ayame gave your shoulder a squeeze, smiling down at you, and Itsuki bent close with that lopsided grin of his. Their eyes were kind and proud. So calm it made something in you tighten. They believed in you completely.

But you, on the other hand, were starting to realize that you weren’t so sure you believed in yourself.

You froze.

All around you, children walked with confidence. Their eyes wide with excitement, their steps certain, as if they’d been waiting their whole lives for this moment. Like none of them were scared at all. They laughed, waved and ran through the gates like they already knew who they were going to become. 

But you—your chest tightened, your throat closed. The blur behind your eyes thickened into tears.

You’d never been apart from the comfort of your family before; not like this, not completely. And now, gates were so close, but your family felt too far away already. You didn’t want to let go, not even for an hour.

You turned and ran.

“AYAME!” 

Straight into Ayame’s arms, burying your face in her uniform, clinging to her like the world would swallow you whole if you let go. Somewhere deep down, you hoped she’d take pity on you. That maybe, just maybe, she’d carry you back home and tell you it was okay to wait a little longer.

Instead, she gently lowered herself to your level, her arms still around you as she knelt in front of you. Itsuki followed, crouching beside her, both of them placing warm hands on your shoulders.

Ayame gave you a soft smile, brushing your hair away from your face as she spoke.

“Hey… I know it’s scary,” she said gently, “but this is something only you can do. We can’t go in with you. That part’s yours now.”

You sniffled, trying to speak, but no words came, just a thick, panicked breath.

“I have to go too,” she continued, softly, “I have a mission waiting for me—and you have yours. This is going to be your first one, okay?” 

She gave your shoulders a light squeeze.

Your lip wobbled. “I—I don’t wanna go,” you sobbed, hiccuping. “I’m not ready. I want to go back home—“

“You’ve been training for this, haven’t you? With me, with Itsuki.. you even played ‘academy’ yesterday, remember?” 

Itsuki chuckled softly beside her. “You kicked that couch’s ass, by the way.”

You let out a weak, hiccuping breath, your eyes lifting to meet theirs, glassy and unsure.

“You’re ready,” Ayame said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if you don’t feel like it yet. You’ll find your courage once you walk through that gate—I promise .”

“We’ll be home after school. Waiting for you.” Itsuki added softly.

You nodded slowly, your throat too tight for you to speak normally. “You promise?” 

“We promise.” Itsuki reassured, helping you wipe away your tears, and you threw your arms around them both in one last, desperate hug, clinging like it might somehow carry you through the day.

“I love you Ayame and Itsuki” You mumbled in their clothes, before letting go. 

And then, finally, you turned toward the Academy.

“Good luck!” Ayame waved. “You’ll do just fine!” 

Itsuki cheered beside her. “Don’t forget we love you!” 

Your footsteps were small, your hands clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms, but you didn’t cry again. Your heart was racing and knees trembling.

It didn’t take long to find your classroom.

The hallway was filled with life. And inside the classroom, it was even louder; kids talking, laughing, sliding into chairs and bouncing with the kind of energy you couldn’t quite match.

You hovered in the doorway, blinking at the sight, turning your head from one side to the other like maybe someone would tell you where to go, but no one did.

They all seemed to know exactly what they were doing, like they’d already been here for weeks. You stood there, clutching your bag, stomach twisting, heart racing, shoulders tight. Then you took a breath and moved.

Your shoes barely made a sound as you stepped between desks, eyes darting around anxiously, careful not to bump into anyone. You didn’t know where to sit, so you kept walking past rows already full of loud voices and confident smiles until you reached the back corner, near the window. The last row.

Quiet and safe just how you liked it.

You slid into the seat, placed your bag carefully at your feet and your pencil case over the desk. You folded your hands over your lap, trying to look smaller than you felt.

The room buzzed around you, but none of it seemed to touch you here. 

Then the classroom door closed, and a tall man, in which you presumed was the sensei entered, his eyes casted down to a clipboard, his voice calm as he began calling names for roll. You sat straighter, trying to listen, your nerves softening just a little at the sound of order.

It wasn’t so bad.

You weren’t crying. You hadn’t run. You were in.

Though what surprised you the most that day was… yourself.

At home, with Ayame and Itsuki, you were always the loud one, the silly one, the brave one. You shouted the loudest during games, laughed the hardest at the dinner table, made up stories and plays and bossed your siblings around like a little commander.

But now… sitting here in a room full of strangers, without them… you felt different. Out here, you shrank.

Your chest felt heavy, like all the brave parts of you were still standing outside the gates with them.

It took venturing out into a completely different place to make you realize how much of your courage was built on the people who’d always been by your side.

And now, without them… it felt like starting over.

The sensei had begun introducing himself at the front of the room, telling us his name, and then proceeding to talk about his favorite foods and things to do. You tried to pay attention at first, but eventually his voice drifted through the classroom like background noise, all you could focus on was the uncomfortable weight of being extremely self-aware. 

It took you a few moments to notice someone had just taken the seat beside you. You didn’t look up right away, but a quiet voice spoke through your cloud of thoughts.

“Did you get here early too?”

You turned slightly. The boy beside you had glanced down at your hands, still clutched tightly in your lap, then back at you. His tone was soft and friendly, and he offered you a small grin, like he was trying to make sure he didn’t spook you.

Before you could answer, a thud hit the desk on the other side of him—someone else dropping into their seat, slightly breathless.

“Ugh, made it,” he muttered to himself, catching his breath. “Barely survived the hallway stampede.”

The first boy gave a low chuckle. “You always cut it close.”

“Please,” the second boy replied, his voice playful, “I’m a master of perfect timing.”

Then his attention shifted to you. “You’re new too, right?”

You nodded, still unsure what to say.

“I’m Minari,” the first boy offered, gesturing toward the other. “That’s Sora. He’s always late.”

Sora didn’t argue. “Hey—running makes it more fun!”

They both turned their attention to you, expectant. You swallowed, nerves softening just enough for you to speak your name.

“Cool,” Minari said, resting his arms on the desk. “You can sit with us at lunch.”

“Yeah,” Sora added. “We don’t bite. Well—Hinari doesn’t. I’m still deciding.”

You laughed quietly. 

The rest of the day passed faster than you’d expected and easier than you feared.

You were still getting used to the rhythm of a classroom, but at least it wasn’t as scary as it had seemed from the gates.

And it was because of them: Minari and Sora. They stuck by your side all day; They shared snacks at break like it was the most normal thing in the world, and by lunchtime, you felt like you’d known them for longer than just a few hours.

Turns out they’d been friends since before they could even write their names and now, apparently, they’d made room for one more. You didn’t know how or when it happened exactly, but you’d been adopted.

And that feeling (what you considered impossible just a few hours before) Was enough to keep you smiling all the way home.

That afternoon, your feet barely touched the ground as you ran. The moment you stepped through the front door, you kicked off your shoes, tossed your bag aside, and ran straight into the kitchen where your mother was stirring a pot on the stove.

“I made friends!” you blurted, out of breath, voice bubbling with joy. “Two of them!”

She turned, smiling already, and you knew the best part of the day was just beginning.

That evening, during family dinner, you retold every detail; how Minari sat beside you, how Sora gave you half his snack, how you weren’t scared anymore after the first ten minutes because you weren’t alone. Your siblings listened with full attention, nodding, grinning and teasing you when you got too excited and started talking with your mouth full.

They were proud. You could see it in their faces.

And later, when the table was cleared and you were getting ready for bed, you couldn’t help but think maybe tomorrow would be even better.

Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all.

✦ ✦ ✦

A few weeks into the school year, things were going surprisingly well; though sitting still for so long is harder than you ever imagined. You were still figuring out how to read the teacher’s tone, learning when to speak and when to listen. School isn’t exactly how you pictured it, but you’re managing—through challenges you’re sure you’ll never get used to. 

Like how time seems to open into an endless void the moment your sensei starts teaching math, yet vanishes in a blink when recess begins. Or how some words in your new textbooks look like they were written in a foreign language. 

But thankfully, with Minari and Sora around, you never have to stand still in your uncertainty for long. It’s like it had been decided from the very first day, that you were part of their little pack.

When you didn’t know where to line up, Minari’s hand would close around your sleeve, tugging you into place without a word. When you forgot what the teacher just said, Sora would lean over and murmur the instructions like it was no big deal. 

They kept the days light. Sora had a talent for making everything look fun, he’d invent ridiculous games for the walk home and In class, he’d sometimes pretend to fall asleep mid-lecture, forcing you to jab him in the ribs to keep him from actually getting called on—risking both of you getting caught. At lunch he and Minari would playfully argue about whose food smelled the best.

You thought about it as you worked through your breakfast, idly stirring the last grains of rice in your bowl. Itsuki had already left for an early mission, so you hadn’t had a chance to talk to him this morning. Ayame, however, had the day off. Which meant there was no escaping her idea of a “proper” morning routine—you knew it the moment you climbed back up the stairs to your room.

“Sit,” she says, pointing to the stool by the dresser before you can even grab your bag.

You rolled your eyes, but you sit either way. Ayame always takes her time with your hair, combing through each strand like she’s untangling something far more delicate than hair. You watched her in the mirror, the way her brows pull together when she finds a stubborn knot, the way she smooths it down with the side of her palm afterward.

“I don’t have all day,” you grumble under your breath.

“Mm,” she hums, ignoring you completely. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

You leave the house with your hair exactly the way she likes it. And somehow, you feel a little more confident because of it. 

At the Academy, the morning drifts by without much thought. You move from one theory lesson to the next, your pen tapping quietly against the page as the hours stretch on. 

After shuriken practice, the bell rang for lunch break. The sun was high overhead, warm and persistent, casting long shadows over the training field, the air shimmered with heat, cicadas chirping loudly in the trees lining the far wall of the yard.

You and the boys made your way out with the rest of the class, laughing about how awful your aim had been. Minari and Sora were red-faced and breathless, panting from the drills.

Without a word, you dropped down into a patch of grass near the edge of the field, back first, then butt, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as you collapsed under the shade of a tree. The spot was perfect: soft grass beneath you and a breeze so faint it barely touched your face, but still managed to feel like heaven.

“We’re dying,” Sora groaned dramatically, tugging at his collar. “Water. Immediately.”

Minari laughed, bending down to nudge your arm. “You coming?”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, I’ll stay. This spot’s too good to give up.”

“Alright,” Minari called, already halfway across the field. “Don’t finish eating without us! We’ll be back!” 

And just like that, they were gone.

You leaned back against the tree, pulling your bento box into your lap. Carefully, you slid the lid open and placed it to the side before unpacking your food.

Everything felt peaceful for a moment. The sun dappled through the leaves above you, scattering little patches of light over your legs. You could hear the distant chatter of other students in the courtyard, the wooden clack of bento boxes being opened, senseis laughing somewhere behind the buildings. 

You breathe in the scent of the meal your mother packed for you that morning. Nestled beside the food is a folded slip of paper, her neat handwriting looping across it: ‘Study hard, my love!’

But before you could start eating, you heard footsteps. 

Heavy and slowing as they approached, breaking the stillness. Two older kids walked past, one of them slowing down just enough to lean toward you, smirking.

“Wow, nice hair,” he said, loud enough for the other to hear. “Did you style it yourself… or did your mom help?”

You looked up, startled. Your eyes meeting his. Older, taller and grinning like he already knew he was going to ruin your day. 

Your fingers tightened instinctively around your bento. You glanced around the field, searching for Sora or Minari—any sign of them—but they weren’t back yet.

You hesitated. A retorted hovering in your mouth but it wouldn’t come out. You sighed instead, shoulders sinking— maybe, he was trying to be nice. Maybe you were about to make new friends.

“My sister, actually.” You replied with a tentative smile.

“Seriously?” The boy’s grin widened, more like a sneer now. He laughed, exaggeratedly tugging at imaginary strands of hair putting on a performance for his friend.

The other boy barked a laugh, leaning in. “Looks like she didn’t do a very good job. This is… wild.”

The first one nodded eagerly. “Yeah, you look ridiculous.”

The words hit harder than you expected; your chest tightened instantly. You froze, unsure how to react. What were you supposed to say? You tried to smile, forcing out a nervous chuckle, but your face felt stiff. You wished you could disappear.

Heat crawled up your neck, spreading hot to your ears. You raised a hand, almost without realizing it, tugging at your hair as though smoothing it down might somehow make you less of a target.

“It’s… it’s fine. It’s just hair,” you mumbled, but even as you said it, your throat felt tight.

They laughed again, louder this time. Then, just as casually as they’d appeared, they turned and walked off, leaving you sitting there with your bento untouched.

By the time Sora and Minari came running back, cheeks flushed from chasing each other across the yard, your appetite was already gone. You forced a smile when they asked if you were finished eating, but the words from earlier clung stubbornly to your thoughts, replaying in loops for the rest of the day.

When you finally made it home, you retreated to your room as quickly as you could. You dropped your bag in the corner and sat on the edge of the bed, avoiding the dresser on purpose. The mirror loomed there, waiting, and you told yourself you wouldn’t look.

But curiosity—and an itch to fix it—won. Slowly, you stood, crossing the room and facing your reflection. Your fingers twitched as you tugged at your hair, smoothing it this way, pushing it that way, trying to “fix” whatever it was they had seen. But every adjustment made it look worse. No matter what you did, it wasn’t right.

A sharp knock on the door startled you. Before you could respond, Ayame was already pushing it open.

You scrambled, turning around and putting your hands behind your back. 

“There you are!” she said cheerfully at first, but her expression changed the moment she saw your tousled hair. “What are you doing?”

“Oh—” You blinked, fumbling to smooth your hair back the way she had styled it. “I’m just… trying new styles… heh…” You offered a weak smile.

Ayame’s brows furrowed, her older-sibling instincts kicking in full force. Without a word, she stepped closer, taking the loose strands between her fingers and carefully rearranging them. You didn’t move, just let her hands work. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, tilting her head as though the answer was already written on your face. “You liked it when I did your hair this way…” Her voice was a hum, careful and coaxing.

“Ah…” You let out a shaky sigh, her tone so soft that the words spilled out before you could stop them. You focused on her gentle eyes, eyebrows furrowed in that specific way that always made you feel safe.

“Ryuto and Daiki from the upper grade… They…” You mumbled. “…They made fun of my hair at lunch. I… I didn’t know what to do.”

Ayame’s expression hardened slightly, and she tugged lightly at a stray lock, making sure it fell perfectly into place. “I see,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, she added after a moment. “Look… Don’t pay attention to what they said. Their words don’t define you. You know that, right?” 

You nodded slowly, feeling a lump in your throat. “I know… but it still… it hurt.”

Ayame’s faint smile was full of something warmer than words. She brushed one last strand behind your ear, her fingertips lingering just long enough to remind you she meant it. “Of course it did. But you’re not alone. I’ve got you. Always.”

You let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Some of the heaviness in your chest eased. “Thanks…” you mumbled.

Ayame gave a small nod, then patted your head gently before slipping toward the door, leaving you with the warmth of her reassurance.

The next day, you arrived at school with your hair perfectly styled, exactly the way Ayame had fixed it. For a moment, walking through the gates, you felt a flicker of confidence—like maybe, you could face the day today.

But as soon as you slipped into the empty bathroom, the reflection staring back at you felt wrong. The neat lines, the smooth strands—it all looked… too ‘ridiculous’. You reached up, tugging at your hair until it fell into a more “natural” mess, the kind that felt like you.

For a moment, you just stared at your reflection, fingers buried in your hair, half-expecting the strands themselves to scold you. 

You leaned closer to the mirror, staring into your own eyes as if you owed them an explanation. “…Sorry, sis,” you muttered under your breath. Sorry for undoing her care and disappointed with your own lack of confidence. 

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, and stepped away from the mirror. 

Pushing open the bathroom door, you forced yourself to lift your feet and move, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor as you made your way down the hallway toward your classroom. 

Halfway there, you stopped. Your chest tightened as your eyes flicked upward—and met the kids from yesterday. Your heartbeat quickened, and your palms itched to curl into fists. Every nerve in your body screamed for you to turn and run, but your legs betrayed you, rooted in place. You could feel the old knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach, your mind already bracing for the mockery that was about to come.

One of them tilted his head, eyebrows shooting up as a smug sneer crept across his face—like the mere fact that your hair looked different today was proof he’d made his point. “Oh?” he drawled, eyes darting to your hair. “What happened? Did—“

The other one cut him off, leaning in and whispering something into his ear, his expression suddenly shifting from mischief to unease. The grin faded, replaced by a flicker of worry. 

Their eyes trailed over to you, widening in fear—as if your presence alone had turned dangerous. The tension in the air shifted, and his eyes flicked over your shoulder, scanning the hallway as if he’d suddenly thought better of being there. “Whatever—whatever! Let’s just go.”

And just like that, they were gone; scrambling past you in a rush, footsteps fading quick around the corner.

“What—?” You blinked, starting to feel more confused than scared. But either way, you exhaled in relief. Your fingers drifted up, brushing through your hair, tugging at the strands as though checking if they had been the trigger after all.  “Weirdos…” you muttered under your breath.

Today, at least, they hadn’t found the words to hurt you.

✦ ✦ ✦

The school gates were still open, the late afternoon sun casting long, stretching shadows across the stone tiles. You sat on a low wall, sketchbook carefully balanced on your knees, lost in the swirl of your pencil strokes. Today, you were waiting for Ayame and Itsuki; the three of you had agreed to meet after school to eat together. A soft hum escaped your lips as you concentrated, entirely absorbed in your own little world.

A burst of laughter cracked that stillness. A group of kids wandered past, tossing a ball back and forth. You tried to tune all the noise out, eyes fixed on the page.

THUD.

The ball slammed into you before you even saw it coming. You gasped, the sting blooming against your arm, sketchbook and pencil slipping from your lap and scattering across the ground. Your chest clenched as the sound of laughter doubled, sharper now, directed at you.

The boy who had kicked it sprinted forward, grin bright with mischief. “Watch it, loser!” he barked. His eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat you couldn’t breathe. Heat burned the corners of your eyes, spilling tears. 

His expression faltered instantly. The grin vanished, replaced by something uneasy. He glanced around, as if someone might’ve seen it happening. Then he dropped to his knees, fumbling for your things. “Oh—oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” His hands moved frantically, brushing dirt from the sketchbook before placing it clumsily back on your lap. 

“It hurts!” You sobbed. 

“Here, here, shhh—don’t cry! Please! Just… don’t tell anyone, okay?” His words tumbled over themselves, desperate, almost panicked. He backed away as soon as your sketchbook was safe in your hands, scrambling to his feet.

“Let’s go!” someone from his group shouted. The kids grabbed their bags in a rush, and within seconds they were gone—bolting out through the school gates, their laughter fading into the distance, leaving you only with the uneven beat of your own heart.

You sat there, stunned. Your eyes dropped to your sketchbook, and your stomach sank—the drawing you’d been working on was ruined. The bear’s face had ugly lines through it now, sharp and crooked where your pencil had slipped.

The two boys who laughed at your hair… hadn’t they done the same thing? One day they were smirking, teasing, poking fun—then the next, their faces changed. Scared. Like they’d seen something terrible and they never came near you again.

It always ended like that. Every time.

Someone laughed, mocked. And then suddenly, like magic, they didn’t anymore. They’d look at you with wide eyes, and run.

But… why?

You weren’t scary or strong. You couldn’t even fight back. So what made them stop?

You pressed your fingers against the paper, smudging graphite across your hand as you tried to fix the drawing.

It didn’t make sense, but… still, you felt a little spark of something warm in your chest.

Maybe… that was a good thing.

Even if you didn’t understand why, the kids who picked on you never tried again. They always ran.

Then it means that you weren’t someone to be messed with, right?

“Little soldier!”

Itsuki’s bright voice called out for you. 

You looked up, startled, to see him jogging toward you with that lopsided grin of his, the setting sun catching on his hair. Ayame trailing close behind. 

The sketchbook snapped shut under your palms. You pushed yourself up to your feet and wiped your sleeve across your eyes before they could notice.

“Itsuki! Ayame!” you called, a smile forming over your face. Slinging your bag over your shoulders, you ran to meet them halfway, pretending nothing had happened at all. “Hi!”

Itsuki reached you first, ruffling your hair without slowing his pace. “You look like you’ve been waiting forever.”

You swatted his hand away, though not very convincingly. “I wasn’t,” you muttered.

Ayame caught up a moment later. She gave you a look; the kind only an older sibling could manage. “Let’s go. I’m starving,” she said, though her eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, like she was checking for any cracks, then flickered around your surroundings.

The three of you left the gates together, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. Itsuki filled the silence almost immediately, rambling about some ridiculous “mission” he had to take for the evening, about how a crazy lady’s cat had run away and he and his team had to get it back. Ayame scolded him while he only laughed and bumped his shoulder against yours, as if daring you to join his side against her.

You rolled your eyes, but a laugh escaped before you could stop it. Your earlier confusion; the ruined drawing, the kid’s laughter faded into the background. Being with them always made the day feel lighter. The things you couldn’t explain, the strange way people reacted around you… it didn’t matter so much when they were near.

✦ ✦ ✦

The days started to blur together, soft and steady, like beads sliding on a string. Morning bells, lectures, training drills, lunches under the shade of the courtyard trees. Evenings spent walking home with Sora and Minari, their chatter filling the gaps in your silences. And then home again, where Ayame’s watchful eyes caught what you missed and Itsuki’s energy made the house feel alive.

Life at the academy wasn’t one big story all at once. It was little pieces—tiny victories and quiet mistakes stitched together. The disappointment of a shuriken thrown too wide. The way the class burst into laughter when a sensei made a silly joke. The messy notes in your textbook, growing thicker with each passing week, until even the words that once looked like another language began to make some sort of sense.

And though those strange moments; the stares, the way other kids sometimes tripped over their own confidence when they looked at you still left a knot of questions at the back of your mind, you let them drift. After all, they didn’t last. 

It was in the quiet parts that you found your footing. When nothing strange was happening, when the world stopped buzzing, you could finally hear yourself think. There was safety in knowing what each day would bring, in letting the routine catch you before you stumbled too far.

It wasn’t just the games or the lessons on the tiny victories in shuriken practice, but the comfort of routine, of being safe in your little corner of the academy.

But comfort has a way of making your gaze wander, and it wasn’t long before your attention drifted somewhere else.

The midday sun was high and hot, its sharp glare spilling through the open windows and casting streaks of light across the wooden floor. The air inside the training hall was thick with heat, the smell of worn tatami mats and sweat. A few lazy cicadas buzzed outside, their hum rising and falling like a lullaby.

Everyone had just finished their morning drills, and the weight of exhaustion hung heavy across the room.

Then, the sensei clapped his hands once, cutting through the haze.

He started talking about stance and follow-through, weight distribution, and proper grip—but your attention had already begun to drift, all you could think about was how tired you were. His words felt like background noise, soft and repetitive, blending into the hushed whispers and the creaking of students shifting their feet.

Most of your classmates groaned quietly, shuffling where they stood, their postures slouched with dread. No one wanted to be called. Not when their arms still ached from morning form practice, and everyone already knew how easy it was to miss a mark and become the joke of the week.

You heard muffled giggles and saw a few kids nudging each other, guessing who’d be the first to embarrass themselves.

But someone had already stepped forward.

He didn’t raise his hand or make a sound, just rose from his seat near the front, like it was expected of him, and walked to the demonstration line with unshaken steps.

He was no taller than the rest of you, still small with the soft roundness of childhood, but the way he moved made him feel older and taller somehow. His hair was long and dark, neatly tied back, not a strand out of place. But it wasn’t that that made your breath catch.

It was his eyes.

Pale; so pale they looked almost colorless from where you stood, touched faintly with a hint of lilac. It was something that you had never seen before. And just above his brows, a strip of clean white bandage was wrapped tightly across his forehead.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

One by one, each blade cut through the air in a perfect line, snapping you out of your thoughts. Every strike of shuriken hitting the wooden targets with an identical thunk, dead center. Not off by a millimeter or a single twitch of effort wasted. The final one hit the smallest mark at the very top, barely even visible from where you stood.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath. And the whole class fell silent for a moment. Not in awe, exactly, but in something close to it. A moment of collective pause.

Even the teacher paused for a second longer than usual before marking his clipboard. “Again… perfect form.”

He lowered his hand and stepped back from the training line, calm and unbothered like he hadn’t just nailed one of the hardest drills in class.

You blinked.

“Okay,” Sora muttered beside you. “So that just happened.”

“He’s not even trying,” Minari added, voice low with something between disbelief and annoyance. “Did you see that grip? That’s—that’s literally page twelve of the manual. Perfect weight shift and perfect stance. I thought that was just theory.”

You leaned toward Sora, still watching as he walked back to his seat, eyes lowered. Not proud or smug. Just… efficient. “How did he do that?” you whispered, eyes still trailing after him.

“Training from the womb?” Sora offered, like he didn’t really expect an answer. “Maybe he was born with a shuriken in his hand.”

He sat again in the front row, posture unnaturally straight for a six-year-old, back tall, shoulders squared, his posture was so good it made your own spine ache in comparison.  His hands rested lightly on his lap like he was already preparing for the next exercise. He didn’t look around to check if anyone was watching him—Or grin, nor made any sigh of relief. His face remained focused, as if none of this had mattered.

And somehow, that was more impressive than anything else.

You shifted in place, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your own hands still trembled sometimes during drills; how your stance needed constant correction; how you stayed quiet in class not because you were smart enough not to speak, but because you didn’t know what to say.

But him?

Something tugged at your chest. Not sharp like envy. Not warm like when you felt proud of your siblings. Just… strange.

Just the smallest, strangest thought:

That’s amazing. 

And for the first time in days, your eyes weren’t on your drawings on your notebook or your shoes, much less on the clock on the wall. They were on him.

Nowadays, you winced every time the memories crept back: The way you used to watch him from the back of the classroom; quietly, curiously. How he sat so still, his long hair tied neatly tied in the end, his posture always perfect, eyes so different from the rest. He looked so sure of himself. There was something about that confidence that drew you in; It wasn’t loud or showy, it was quiet and absolutely amazing. 

You didn’t know his name at first, but it didn’t take long to learn it.

Neji Hyuuga.

That’s what Sora told you, casually, in between bites of his favorite jagariko; those crunchy little potato sticks he insisted tasted better straight out of the cup. The three of you were walking home together, bags slung over your backs, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the dirt path.

“The guy who humiliated the rest of us that day?” Sora said through a mouthful of his snack. “Hyuuga clan. Super traditional, kinda scary. His name’s Neji.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared ahead, thinking about it.

Minari snorted beside you, kicking at a pebble on the path. “Sora says he’s scary but he’s never even talked to him.”

“I don’t need to,” Sora replied. “His eyes talked to me. They said, ‘Shut up.’”

You laughed, but it was soft; your thoughts were already drifting again.

The way he nailed every shuriken in aiming class, the way his name was always at the top of the test scores, the way he won—easily—every single sparring match in taijutsu.

Every movement he made, every answer he gave, came with an ease that made it feel like he was born for this life. Like he belonged here in a way you still weren’t sure you did.

You, who hesitated before speaking. You, who still stumbled through jutsu names and lost focus when too many people were watching. You, who always second-guessed yourself. 

Even though you were actually good at something, you rarely shared your drawings with others, no one ever really noticed or admired your skills.

You were the kind of kid who lingered at the edge of the group, who let others speak first, who stood behind taller classmates during group activities. You watched more than you talked, hesitated before joining games even when you wanted to be part of them.

You’d sit in the back, clutching your pencil like it might break, and glance toward him—wondering how someone could exist so far from fear.

Neji never looked scared. Not even once. He sat tall, his back straight, his long hair tied neatly, eyes always focused. He answered without fumbling, moved without stopping to think.

He wasn’t just good—he was untouchable. Like the normal struggles you felt never touched him. It didn’t matter whether it was a logic puzzle, a sparring round, or even a math problem: he had already figured it all out.

And you… hadn’t.

Somehow, that difference didn’t make you angry, it inspired you.

You didn’t want to be him. You just wanted to be a little braver. A little more certain. To lift your head without flinching when called on in class. To move like you knew what you were doing even when you didn’t. And for some reason, when you looked at Neji… you thought: That. I want to understand what that feels like.

You’d imagined what it would be like to be his friend—not in any dramatic way—but maybe just to walk beside him after class. To ask what he thought about the lesson, listen to the way his mind worked. You thought about how good it would feel to be noticed by someone like him; not as a mistake, not as an annoyance, but as an equal.

Because deep down, some part of you thought maybe if you stayed close enough to someone like him, something would rub off on you. That you could learn just by watching. Maybe that confidence was something that could be caught, like warmth from standing near a fire.

✦ ✦ ✦

“No way, frogs can beat snakes in a fight,” Sora was insisting, wagging his pencil in Minari’s direction. “They’ve got legs. Four. That’s double the dodge.” 

You were all huddled at your desks after a long writing exercise, the air inside the classroom thick with heat and boredom. Minari was half-asleep, chin propped on his palm, and Sora had started doodling a terrible drawing of what he claimed was a ninja toad with six arms and a kunai in each paw.

“Snakes don’t need legs,” Minari muttered. “They slither. That’s, like… evolutionary genius.”

You smiled faintly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your sketchbook, only half-listening. You looked at the little doodle of a certain delicate boy with long hair you’d made a few moments ago before your eyes drifted forward, head somewhere else entirely.

“Don’t you think he’s nice?”

The question came out before you could stop it.

Both boys blinked. Sora turned his head toward you like you’d just spoken another language.

“Who?” Minari blinked.

You tilted your chin toward the front of the room.

Neji was sitting in the front as always, completely still, focused on whatever notes he was writing like the world didn’t exist outside the lines of his paper. Though you couldn’t see his face, only the back of his head.

“Him,” you replied.

Sora barked out a laugh. “Nice? Seriously?”

Minari gave you a side glance, one brow raised. “What do you mean?” His gaze landed on your sketchbook, making you snap it shut right away.

You shrugged, a bit embarrassed now that you’d said it out loud. “I don’t know… he just seems… We could be friends with him..”

Sora rolled his eyes as he leaned his head against his hands. “What’s with the sudden interest in him anyway?”

“It’s not like that,” you insisted, but your voice was already losing the battle to him. “Im just curious!”

Sora’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Ohhh, so it’s curiosity now? Is that what we’re calling it?”

You groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You know he’s scary, right?” Sora leaned across the desk, voice low and conspiratorial. “Like… Don’t you remember last week? That one kid sneezed near him and Neji looked at him like he was about to start reciting funeral rites.”

“And you want to be friends with that?” He gestured toward the front of the room, like the concept itself was cursed.

Minari sighed loudly, finally straightening in his seat. “Sora, will you stop being dramatic?”

“Maybe they’re right,” Minari said, more thoughtful now. “You never know, he might actually be nice. You’re just judging a book by its cover.”

That earned a groan from Sora.

“Okay, teacher Minari, thanks for the moral lesson,” Sora grumbled, dramatically slumping across his desk. “Next you’re gonna tell me he actually just needs a hug.”

Minari rolled his eyes but smirked. “Maybe he does. Maybe you do.”

“I just think…” you began softly, “He looks kind of lonely. That’s all.”

Sora looked like he wanted to argue again, but then didn’t. He just gave a half-hearted shrug and mumbled something under his breath.

Minari rested his arms on the desk and looked at you with a small smile. “If you want to talk to him… then talk to him.”

You didn’t answer right away, but you didn’t deny it either.

“Fine. Just don’t come crying to me if he dismembers you with his Byakugan or whatever.” Sora grumbled under his breath. 

Your eyes drifted back toward the front of the classroom where he sat, head slightly bowed over his notebook. 

You wanted so bad to be brave like him. It made you want to try. 

So you did.

For days, you worked on it in secret. You had to find out a way to make him admire you as much as you admired him. 

So your best bet was to do what you’d always done best—You took out your colored pencils after dinner and hunched over your paper on your usual spot by the window, tongue between your teeth, careful not to press too hard or mess up the lines. It wasn’t perfect, but you worked hard: Him in the middle of the page, standing straight and tall, with little stars and swirling clouds around him. You even wrote his name at the top in careful lettering.

It was the best thing you’d ever made. 

You picked the colors one by one, spending far too long on the little details; the lines of the bandages wrapped around his forehead, the folds in his clothes, the shine of his hair. You weren’t just drawing how he looked, you were drawing how he made you feel: brave. You made the clouds soft and the stars bright, like they were orbiting him. He looked strong in your drawing. He looked like how you wanted to be.

You practiced writing his name over and over again on scraps of paper before you dared to put it on the real one. You wanted it to be perfect. You wanted him to see it and understand, even just a little, how much you admired him.

You folded it into quarters and tucked it gently into your sleeve. The paper was soft from how many times you’d held it. For the rest of the day, your hand stayed pressed against that paper like a secret; it felt like something too fragile to show the world.

You waited until the moment was right. For the perfect second when you could walk up and offer it without the whole classroom watching. You rehearsed what you’d say, practiced it under your breath. Smiled at the thought of what his face might look like when he saw it.

It was after lunch; when the classroom was still half empty, sunlight filtering in through the windows in soft stripes. Most of the students were still outside, voices echoing faintly down the hall, but a few had wandered back in, slouched in their chairs or flipping through notebooks.

You had told Sora and Minari you needed to go to the bathroom, but in reality, you rushed to the classroom and spotted him immediately, stopping right by the door. 

There he was, sitting in his usual seat, already working through the homework. His posture was perfect, one hand propping up his chin while the other moved smoothly across a workbook, the page beneath his fingers already half-filled with even strokes.

He looked so calm.

And in comparison, you felt like your heartbeat was loud enough to be heard down the hall.

Your fingers curled tight around the edge of your sleeve—the one where you’d carefully hidden the folded paper—and you took a deep breath.

Okay. Okay. Just walk. Just say it.

One step. Then another. The soles of your shoes felt too loud against the floor as you moved to the front of his desk. You could feel your knees tremble, but you forced your back straight, shoulders held with as much grace as you could manage. You even tried to mimic his posture a little, the way he always looked so put-together and sure.

You looked at him, offered a small smile. He didn’t look up.

Still, you tried.

“Hi,” you said, voice quiet.

…

Nothing. He didn’t flinch, didn’t shift, didn’t raise an eyebrow. Just the faint scratch of his pencil against the page, firm and uninterested.

You stood there a second longer, unsure if he had even heard you. So you cleared your throat, tried again.

“I always see you working ahead in class,” you said, forcing the words out before you could lose them. “You’re really… good at this stuff.”

…

Still nothing.

Your voice wavered. But you’d come this far, you could not stop now.

“I—I… thought maybe we could be friends…?”

That was when you reached into your sleeve and gently pulled the drawing out. Carefully folded. The corners a little soft from being held all day, but still neat. You opened your palms and held it out toward him, both hands offering it like it was something precious.

“I made this for you.”

Your eyes didn’t meet his. You couldn’t risk it. You just stared down at the paper, arms stretched forward, waiting—for a response, for a movement, for something.

He didn’t even glance up. Just flicked his pale eyes toward the paper in your hands. There was a pause. Maybe half a second. Long enough to fill your chest with a tiny, flickering hope.

“…What is this?” His voice was quiet, flat.

But the way he said it made your stomach twist.

“A… drawing,” you mumbled, your voice barely there. “For you…”

Your hands were shaking, but you hoped he didn’t notice.

He plucked the paper from your hands without care. Not roughly, but not kindly either. His fingers brushed yours in the brief exchange, then gripped the corners of the paper like it was dirty.

He unfolded it once, with a single flick of his wrist. Looked at it. Just once.

Then exhaled slowly, as if your effort—your hope—was tiring to look at.

“Are you seriously trying to waste my time?” He said, voice sharp.

You could hear the few children in the classroom turn quiet as you stared at his face. 

You didn’t get a chance to answer.

“This is ridiculous,” he scoffed, eyes on the page like it offended him. “Thinking I’d be friends with a person like you?”

Your heart dropped and lips wavered. “I—“ 

And then he ripped it.

One clean tear through the middle.

Then again.

And again.

The sound of paper tearing—three times—cut through the quiet of the classroom like a knife. You weren’t the only one who heard it. A few students nearby had turned their heads, eyebrows raised, half-curious, half-shocked. Someone near the back let out a breath of laughter.

Neji dropped the torn pieces on the desk between you. They fluttered slightly before settling; scraps of something you’d poured your whole heart into, something you’d held onto like a secret, now just discarded trash in front of him.

“Why would I even want something like that?” he muttered, finally looking at you—but it wasn’t the kind of look you were expecting.

He looked at you like you were stupid.

“Don’t talk to me again, I’ve got more important things to do.”

He turned back to his notebook. Pen moving. Like none of it had happened. Like you’d never been there.

And that was it.

Door closed.

No explanation or room left to hope.

From that moment on, you felt something inside you wilt as you swore to yourself to never try again. 

You didn’t even notice your hands had curled into fists, nails biting into your palms.

You heard someone murmur, “Did they seriously draw him?”

Then a snort. “Like that would impress a Hyuuga.”

That’s when the tears came.

You didn’t want them to. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, not in school. Or over something so small, but they came anyway. Soft and hot, sliding down your cheeks without permission.

You turned.

Walked out of the classroom with stiff legs, head down, as quietly as you could. You didn’t want anyone to see your face. Especially not him.

And the second you were out of view, you ran.

Down the hallway. Around the corner. Toward the restroom, your feet slapping against the floor, your vision already blurred with tears you couldn’t stop. You pressed your hands to your eyes, trying to hold it all in, but your chest ached. It was too late.

He made you feel like your presence alone had crossed some invisible line.

For most people, starting a conversation wasn’t that hard. But for you? It took everything. All your courage, all your heart, all the little strength you had built up over days…

He ripped it apart in seconds.

As you were about to round the corner, moving too fast to see anything through the blur of your own tears, you slammed straight into someone—hard enough that the impact knocked you both off your feet and onto the hallway floor with a thud.

“Hey—!” Sora barked, halfway through a complaint, but the second he saw your face, everything about him shifted.

“W-What’s wrong?!” he gasped, scrambling toward you on his knees. His hands reached for your face before you could even speak, cupping your cheeks with his palms as he frantically brushed at your tears with the sleeves of his shirt.

“Sora!” You hiccuped.

“You’re crying—why are you crying?! Did someone say something? Was it that jerk from Class C? I’ll literally fight him.” His voice cracked, panicked. “Are you hurt?”

“No! I—“ 

Before you could even answer, a second set of footsteps came pounding down the hall—Minari, out of breath and frowning with confusion. “What happened?”

Sora just looked up at him, wide-eyed, still crouched beside you. “I don’t know—”

“Can we go somewhere else?” You sniffed, interrupting them. It would be a nightmare if anyone else saw you crying like that.

Minari didn’t ask for more details. He just bent down, slung one of your arms gently around his shoulder, and pulled you up with the kind of efficiency that made it clear he wasn’t leaving without you.

Without a word, he led the three of you out of the hallway, through the back doors of the building, past the courtyard and down toward the far end of the academy grounds, to a quiet, overgrown corner near the fence line; where the teachers rarely checked, and no one else ever wandered.

Once there, tucked between the long grass and shaded by trees, they both waited. And eventually, in stops and starts and tearful hiccups, you told them everything.

Somehow, it hurt more than it should have. You’d dealt with mean kids before; mocking, exclusion.. That wasn’t new, but the sting of disappointment was. Maybe it was because, deep down, you expected better from him.

They listened without interrupting, without laughing or making it worse. Sora’s face had twisted somewhere between fury and annoyance, and Minari just looked… disappointed.

“AH! My fellow soldier!”  

Itsuki grinned from the couch as you slammed the front door behind you, the wood rattling in the frame. He was sprawled sideways with one leg hanging off the cushions, a bag of half-eaten chips on his chest. “You’re back! How was school?”

“It was fine. I—” You hesitated, voice wobbling as you tossed your bag into the floor. The memories flooding back into your head.

“ITSUKI! AYAME!” you suddenly cried out, the words escaping in a cracked, broken sob.

The chips flew everywhere as Itsuki flinched upright, wide-eyed. “Whoa—what happened?!” he asked, already getting up.

Footsteps thundered from upstairs. Ayame appeared at the landing in a blur, her hair tied up in a messy loop and her face hardening with worry the moment she saw you standing in the doorway with your eyes full of tears.

You sat on the couch between them and, between hiccups and gasps, It took a few stuttering breaths until everything came spilling out—what Neji did, how saddened you felt.

By the end of it, you were clutching the hem of Ayame’s sleeve, and her jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking just beneath her cheek. Itsuki looked like he was trying to decide whether to storm out the door or hug you again.

Your mom poked her head out from the kitchen at some point, eyebrows raising when she saw the three of you huddled on the couch.

“I’ll warm something up,” she said quietly, already turning back inside.

Dinner that night came a little earlier than usual.

Your mom made your favorite: warm miso soup with tofu and seaweed, soft rice with sesame, and lightly salted fish, all in a tray she carried over herself, setting it gently down in front of you as you sat at the table with your eyes red from crying.

You went to sleep early and woke up with a pit in your stomach, unsure what the next day would bring—but once you got to school, it wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. 

Sora and Minari were waiting for you at the gates, both already talking over each other. Minari offered one of his kind smiles while Sora made some ridiculous joke that did wonders to calm your nerves down. 

Class had ended about ten minutes ago. Most of the students had already left, their voices echoing down the hallways; laughing, complaining, stretching sore arms. You had left too, slipping out with your bag slung over your shoulder as you walked between Minari and Sora, the afternoon sun spilling across the stone walkway ahead.

Sora was mid-rant about the final exercise.

“I swear the teacher has it out for me,” he huffed, stretching his arms over his head. “He’s always looking right at me when he says stuff like ‘some of you clearly aren’t putting in the effort.’ Like—what is that supposed to mean?!”

Minari didn’t even bother to spare a glance at him. “Maybe it means you shouldn’t spend the entire class drawing kunai with wings.”

“They’re warbirds, thank you.”

You were only half-listening, smiling softly at the way they bickered without really arguing. But just before reaching the academy doors, you paused.

Why did you have the eerie feeling that you were forgetting something?

Your sketchbook.

Your smile dropped, replaced by a small grimace as you quickly slipped your bag off your shoulder and rummaged through the inside. Minari and Sora both stopped a few steps ahead, glancing back at you.

“What’s wrong?” Minari asked.

You let out a sigh, already turning back toward the corridors. “Forgot my sketchbook.”

“Seriously?” Sora groaned. “I’m starving—”

Minari nudged him before he could finish. “We’ll wait.”

“I won’t take long!” You gave them both a grateful nod, then slipped back inside alone, footsteps echoing slightly in the now-empty hallway.

The walk through the academy’s corridor was strangely silent. A few doors were already shut, classrooms emptied out and dark. But luckily, yours wasn’t. The door creaked faintly as you stepped back in.

Your sketchbook was right where you left it; sitting on top of your desk, slightly curled at the corners. You let out a breath of relief as you opened it, flipping through the pages, thankfully everything was intact. 

You slid it into your bag, zipping it closed with a soft click and slinging it over your shoulders.

“Do they still wipe your nose for you too?”

A voice made your heart nearly stop. 

You turned your head slowly, dread tightening your spine. 

Neji Hyuuga.

He was there—leaning casually against one of the desks near the front of the classroom. His expression was twisted in a scowl, dark eyebrows drawn low, lilac eyes narrowed like you were something foul stuck to the bottom of his shoe. It was the second time he had ever even looked at you and it was even worse than the first time.

“What?” you asked, blinking in confusion. Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag as you thought about what had happened yesterday.

“Your brother. Your sister. They’re always so eager to speak for you. I wonder if they’d take your exams for you too.” He crossed his arms.

“Or maybe they already do.” He tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely considering the idea. “That would explain a lot.”

Your stomach dropped. You shifted, frowning and uncertain. “What?” 

“Didn’t you know?” he added, raising a brow, like he was putting something obvious together. “They’ve already come to me. Not once. Twice .”

You blinked slowly. “They did?”

He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Told me to ‘be nicer.’ To ‘leave you alone.’ Said you were still figuring things out.” His tone curled with sarcasm. “ Touching, really.”

Neji tilted his head, as if gauging your reaction. “It’s adorable, how they keep rushing in to save you. You don’t even know it’s happening.” He continued, tone so calm it made it worse.

Wait…? Ayame…? Itsuki…? 

You blinked, the words sticking in your ears. They… talked to him? They talked to people about you? 

Things started clicking into place.

The kids who laughed in your face one day, but the next couldn’t even meet your eyes. The boys who called your hair stupid, then looked scared the next morning. The ball that smacked you, the boy who went pale and begged you not to tell.

‘Here, here, shhh—don’t cry! Please! Just… don’t tell anyone, okay?’

The desperate stammering. The fear in his eyes.

‘don’t tell anyone’ 

Was it them all along? Was it always them? The frightened stares. The nervous glances. The sudden panicked retreats.

Now it made sense. It was them. It had to be them. You were never really strong . You were just being protected all along, without even knowing it was happening.

Your face burned hot as you swallowed hard. You wanted to say something back—to tell Neji he was lying, that he didn’t know anything—but no words came. 

His eyes narrowed.

“Must be nice. Getting your protection handed to you. Bet if you ever stood alone for five minutes, you’d fold like paper.”

Your chest squeezed tight. Panic bubbled up like it was going to spill out of you. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn’t hear him anymore. You had to go back to Sora and Minari. Without another word, you tried to leave—fast. Eyes locked on the classroom door—but he shifted just slightly, stepping into your path. Not touching you or blocking you.

You stepped back instinctively, your back brushing the edge of a desk. He didn’t follow, but the look in his eyes said he didn’t need to. You were already cornered, and he knew it.

“I didn’t know they—I didn’t ask them to do that,” you said quickly, almost defensively, but your voice was shaking and quiet. It sounded like an excuse.

He scoffed. “Of course not. You don’t need to ask. That’s the whole point. Everyone already knows you can’t handle anything on your own.”

You just blinked at him, face hot with embarrassment, your vision started to blur with wet tears that threatened to spill.

He smiled—not kindly. It wasn’t even a smirk. Just the barest curl of his lip, like he’d found a flaw in a weapon and was mildly disappointed. He stepped closer, just a little, his arms still crossed, his voice dropping into something more deliberate. 

“I mean, look at you. Standing here like you’re about to cry just because someone said your name the wrong way.”

Every word was terrifyingly deliberate and measured for a child his age. He didn’t yell, he didn’t need to. His tone was far worse. It sounded like truth.

“I’m sorry, Neji.. I never wanted any of this—“

“You’re sorry?” He sneered, interrupting you. “You should be.”

“You wanted your siblings to come after me, didn’t you? And now you’re apologizing?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“People like you will never make good shinobi…” he muttered, saying words that you couldn’t even quite understand, slowly circling toward the door, his hair swaying behind him as he turned on his back.

“It’s obvious that you won’t survive in this world without someone holding your leash,” He paused in front of the classroom exit, turning slightly to look at you over his shoulder. “So I’ll warn you once… ” 

“Cross me again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

You didn’t respond. You felt like the ground beneath your feet was dissolving.

“Because once they stop protecting you… I’ll be the first to prove you were nothing all along.” 

And then the worst part:

His smirk widened.

“So let’s hope your siblings never get tired of dragging you around.”

Then he walked out, leaving you standing in the empty classroom, completely dumbfounded. You wiped away a few tears that managed to escape, trying to comprehend what had just happened and calm down your racing heart.

“There you are!” 

Minari’s voice rang first as he burst through the door, snapping you out of your daze. His brows were raised. “Why are you taking so long?”

Sora skidded in behind him, his eyes narrowing almost instantly. “I just saw Neji walking out of here—”

They both stopped at once, their gazes landing on your face.

You didn’t even realize you were still holding your breath until Sora’s eyes widened and Hinari took a step closer.

“ …What happened?” Minari asked softly.

You shook your head once. “Nothing.”

Sora didn’t buy it for a second. “What did he say to you?” he demanded, already bristling. “I swear, if he—”

“… Nothing happened—Can we just go, please?” you interrupted quickly, trying to smile—but it barely passed.

Minari didn’t push. He just gave a quiet nod as Sora reached for your bag, slinging it over his shoulder with his own. “Yeah. Of course.”

The three of you left the classroom, walking down the hallway. Minari stepped in beside you, tapping your shoulder lightly. “Next time we forget something, we all go. Deal?” 

You sighed. “Deal.”