A soft rustle of sheets broke my concentration.
I turned toward the second bed.
Two dark, onyx eyes met mine—steady and unblinking. Now that I knew she was related to the Uchiha, the resemblance was unmistakable. I'd only seen The Last Uchiha from afar, but still. The monochrome palette, the angular facial structure, the heavy-lidded stare—it was all there.
I glanced briefly at the window, where Kakashi still lounged like a lazy house cat, half-reclined and unreadable. His nonchalance was an act; I wasn't fooled. He knew Kuro-chan had woken up. He just chose not to interfere. Either he didn't care… or he was giving us space.
I decided not to ask. Best to split the difference.
Slipping from my bed, I padded across the room barefoot and stopped beside her. Her gaze never left mine, following every step. I reached for her hand—slender, soft—and she let me take it.
Then she smiled.
That same unnerving, razor-edged grin. Sharp canines peeking through, more predator than girl.
But in that moment? I didn't care.
She was alive—and honestly? That weird smile was starting to grow on me. It was becoming… familiar. Comforting, in a twisted sort of way.
I wasn't sure what that said about my mental health.
"Do you remember anything?" I asked, thumb rubbing gentle circles over the back of her hand.
She blinked slowly. "Yes. We were attacked."
"By Mizuki." I hissed the name, acid lacing my tone.
She frowned, the name not registering.
"An academy instructor. A chunin," I clarified.
Recognition flickered in her eyes. "Yes… you killed him."
There was a dreamy, almost reverent quality to her voice. Then she smiled again. "It was beautiful."
"…Yeah. That." Her fascination with death and violence was still as nerve-wracking as ever, but one thing was clear.
She was going to be a beast in the sac-field. Ahem, field. I meant field.
If she lived long enough at least. Which wasn't guaranteed, especially with me now marked as prime kidnapping material.
I sank down beside her bed, weighed down by everything I still hadn't processed.
"I can still see it," she murmured, "like it just happened."
"Really?" I asked, a curious suspicion stirring.
I grabbed a scroll, scribbled a long sequence of random numbers across it, and held it up.
"Remember that warmth Kakashi helped you feel?" I received a nod.
"Focus that warmth into your eyes. Just a flicker."
She looked confused, so I had to explain—chakra, how to sense it, shape it. It took a few minutes, but sorcerer blood was sorcerer blood. And Uchiha blood didn't exactly hurt either.
Eventually, her irises pulsed red—brief, but unmistakable. Like coals stirred into flame.
I hid the scroll.
"Recite the numbers."
She did. Perfectly. Every single digit.
I stared.
"…Photographic memory?" I muttered.
Just to be sure, I repeated the experiment twice more. She nailed it each time.
Impressive. But if that was all the Sharingan had to offer, I'd be disappointed. There had to be more—but she was here for chakra exhaustion. I didn't want to push it.
I turned to my so-called tutor. Maybe he could finally earn his salary.
"Kakashi-san," I called.
"Yes, gremlin-kun," he replied, not even glancing up from his book.
"I have questions."
"Don't we all?"
"It's your job to answer them."
"Hmm… is it? Is it really?"
"…Hokage-sama gave you orders," I said, my willingness to snitch not-so-subtly implied.
He sighed and closed his book with a soft clap.
"Alright. Ask away."
"What can the Sharingan do?" I asked. Kakashi might not be Uchiha by blood, but there was no way a veteran like him didn't know its tricks.
"You already figured out the photographic memory bit. That's part of the enhanced perception the Sharingan grants—along with improved kinesthetic vision and the ability to mimic movements, resulting in the ability to copy jutsu."
"Wait—mimic jutsu? how? That doesn't make sense. What about chakra control and molding?"
He shrugged. "Photographic memory and chakra vision take care of that. The Sharingan lets you see chakra. The stronger the bloodline, the stronger the abilities. It's all measured by the number of tomoe—up to three."
I let that sink in.
And then I had an infuriating thought.
How unlucky was I that my ancestors weren't freaky enough to get it on with mythical beasts? I mean, really—bestiality can't be that hard, right? All that stood between me and god-tier ocular powers was a little interspecies extracurricular activity.
"That's not all~," Kakashi said, his voice laced with schadenfreude. He could feel my rising despair, and he liked it.
"There's more?" My voice cracked with disbelief.
"Oh, absolutely." His visible eye curved into a smile. "As long as a Sharingan user can cast a genjutsu—even a weak one—with the eye, it becomes instant. Just eye contact. And at a fraction of the chakra cost."
"…Instantly?" My throat felt dry.
"Instantly." He echoed, clearly savoring my horror.
So, Itachi Uchiha could've literally murdered Mizuki with a look.
Cool. Totally fair.
I accepted that I was a sorcerer by nature of my chakra system, but this? This was a whole different level. I was playing with firecrackers while the Uchiha had ballistic missiles.
"What's a genjutsu?" Kuro asked, tilting her head.
"One of the many things I'll teach you once you're cleared for discharge," Kakashi replied.
"Izuku's my teacher," she said sternly. Smile gone. Tone firm.
"Well, I'm his teacher. So, by the transient power of pedagogy… I'm yours too."
"Oh."
There was a pause.
"Are you any good with knives?" she asked, a hopeful glint lighting up her eyes.
"I'll get you all the knives you want, Creepy-chan," Kakashi said, already flipping back to his book.
"Yay!"
—Scene break—
I rubbed my fingers against the dark blue fabric in my hand, slowly working it between my thumb and forefinger. I tested its thread count, gauged its pliability and toughness, considered its breathability and weight. If I was going to pay what—for me—was an exorbitant price, I needed to make sure it was worth it.
It was a slow, painstaking process. A sacred one, even. Unfortunately, some people were lacking in patience.
"Ugh, just pick one already," Naruko groaned beside me, her voice a dramatic whine of suffering. She clung to my sleeve, bored out of her mind but unwilling to walk off without me.
"It has to be just right," I said, eyes scanning the various bolts of blue cloth like a jeweler inspecting gems. "The perfect blue. Nothing less."
"They're all blue," she muttered, lowering her voice so the stall owner wouldn't hear her frustration.
"The perfect blue," I intoned, lifting the fabric to the light. "Dark as midnight, yet glimmering with mysteries untold. A blue that whispers ancient truths and hidden wisdoms."
Naruko gave me a flat look. "You're so weird."
I clutched my chest, staggering back as if wounded. "Such cruelty! From my precious Naruko, no less!"
She rolled her eyes.
She didn't understand. This wasn't just cloth—this was the cornerstone of an identity. A wizard's garb was no mere outfit; it was declaration, armor, and arcane sigil all in one. Every great mage had drip.
Imagine Gandalf the Grey without his iconic hat. Or the White Remix™ without those flowing robes. Dumbledore without his half-moon glasses. BBC Merlin without that eternally worn blue shirt!
A wizard without style was just a hobo with opinions. The Drip was sacred.
Eventually, I found it—a dark cobalt, nearly black in the shadows but flashing pale blue where the sunlight touched it. It reminded me of Hinata's hair, soft and mysterious, hiding more than it revealed.
"Close enough," I murmured.
I paid the stall owner, a middle-aged woman with lines around her eyes and a jaw that looked like it had never known a smile. She eyed Naruko with suspicion, as most did. I met her gaze with quiet defiance. She could choke on her prejudice for all I cared.
With our purchase made, Naruko and I began the short trek through the Konoha market district, the morning sun warming the rooftops, the scents of grilled fish and fresh mochi wafting through the streets. It was a Monday. My first day out of the hospital.
Naruko was practically glued to my side—her arm looped through mine, her head resting lightly on my shoulder. Some of the villagers glanced our way with sneers or muttered disapproval. I ignored them. Their opinions were unearned. Their disdain for Naruko born of ignorance, cowardice, and superstition. I needed no other reason to hold them in contempt.
The Third had wisely chosen not to tell Naruko the details of my… incident while I was still hospitalized. It had been the right call. The second she found out I was out, she had appeared at the hospital gates like a blur of orange and blonde and nearly tackled me to the floor with a hug that nearly cracked my ribs all over again.
She hadn't let go since.
Kuro had been released the day before. She and I would talk later. Right now, I had one last task before my own schedule resumed—drop Naruko off at the Academy.
We made a quick stop at my apartment to stash my prize—future wizard robes safely tucked away—and then headed toward the Academy gates.
We arrived. I stopped. She didn't let go.
"…Any minute now," I said, giving her a gentle nudge.
Naruko didn't budge. Her grip on my sleeve tightened. She looked up at me, eyes unusually serious beneath the sheen of early morning light.
"I didn't know," she said quietly.
I tilted my head. "Didn't know what?"
"That you were in the hospital." Her voice wavered. "That someone hurt you."
Ah.
She looked away, teeth gnashing, her body tense with restrained fury. "If I'd known… if I'd been there, I would've—!"
"Done what?" I asked gently, cutting her off.
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She stared at the ground.
I reached out and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair softly. "Naruko… if the person who attacked me showed up right now, what could you really do?"
She scowled, frustration twisting her features. "Nothing," she said bitterly. "I couldn't do anything."
"Not yet," I said.
She looked up, blinking.
"You can't do anything yet. But one day you will," I said, meeting her eyes. "One day you'll be so strong that no one will ever be able to lay a finger on the people you care about. You'll be a force of nature. You just have to keep going. Keep learning. Keep getting better."
Naruko's fists clenched at her sides. She took a breath. Then another. And then—her eyes lit up like firecrackers.
"I will," she said fiercely. "I'll become an incredible ninja! I'll be the greatest ninja to ever live! No one will mess with the people I love! I'll be strong enough to punch the whole sky in the face if it even thinks about raining on my parade!"
I smiled.
Then I leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead.
Her rant halted mid-sentence, face frozen in surprise.
"Go on," I said. "You're going to be late."
Then I turned and walked away, letting the warm morning swallow me whole as I made my way toward civilian school.
You may ask—why was I still going to civilian school, even with everything that had happened? Even knowing, deep down, that I'd never truly be a civilian, no matter what job I took? That I was a shinobi—heart, body, soul.
So why go back?
Simple.
I was stubborn as a mule.
I had decided I would finish civilian school, and by all that was holy, I would finish it.
No matter what.