The next morning arrived with the gray light of pre-dawn filtering through the forest canopy. Kuro had barely slept, his mind racing with possibilities and plans. The Bookmark System had changed everything—given him a path forward where before there had been only failure and shame.
He rose before the others, moving silently through the camp as his teammates slept. The enhanced awareness from Itachi's bookmark had faded hours ago, but the memory of that clarity remained sharp in his mind. He knew what it felt like to be truly capable now, and the contrast with his normal state was almost painful.
At the edge of their camp, he found a small clearing where fallen logs created natural training dummies. His hand moved to the short sword on his back—the weapon he had never properly learned to use.
*If I'm going to make impressions on people,* he thought, *I need to at least look like I know what I'm doing.*
He drew the blade slowly, feeling its weight and balance. The steel was well-made, sharp enough to cut through bone, but in his hands it felt clumsy and unfamiliar. He tried a few basic swings, the movements awkward and uncoordinated.
"Pathetic."
The voice came from behind him, cold and dismissive. Kuro spun around to find Hawk standing at the edge of the clearing, his mask already in place despite the early hour. The team leader's posture radiated disapproval as he watched Kuro's clumsy sword work.
"You hold it like a kitchen knife," Hawk continued, stepping into the clearing. "No wonder you're useless in combat. Your form is so bad it's insulting to watch."
Heat flushed Kuro's cheeks, but this time he didn't look away. Instead, he met Hawk's gaze steadily, remembering his resolve from the night before.
"Then teach me," he said simply.
Hawk's head tilted slightly, as if he hadn't expected that response. "What?"
"You said my form is bad. Then show me the right way." Kuro's grip tightened on his sword. "Unless you prefer having a liability on your team."
For a long moment, they stared at each other. Then Hawk let out a harsh laugh.
"You think a few minutes of training will fix years of incompetence?" He drew his own blade, a longer tanto with a curved edge. "Fine. But when you end up flat on your back, don't expect sympathy."
**[Emotional Response Detected: Hawk - Irritation/Curiosity]**
**[Bookmark Progress: 15%]**
The system flickered briefly in Kuro's peripheral vision, confirming what he had hoped. Strong emotions, even negative ones, were building connections. And Hawk's irritation was tinged with something else—a grudging curiosity about this sudden change in his subordinate's attitude.
What followed was less a training session than a systematic humiliation. Hawk moved like flowing water, his blade seeming to appear wherever Kuro wasn't defending. Within seconds, Kuro found himself disarmed, the flat of Hawk's tanto pressed against his throat.
"Again," Hawk said, stepping back.
Kuro retrieved his sword and tried once more. This time he lasted almost ten seconds before ending up on his back in the dirt, Hawk's blade at his throat again.
"Again."
They repeated the exercise dozens of times. Each attempt ended the same way—with Kuro defeated, humiliated, and increasingly frustrated. But he noticed something important: Hawk wasn't just beating him down. With each round, the team leader offered small corrections.
"Your stance is too narrow. You'll lose balance."
"Don't telegraph your attacks. Your shoulders give away every move."
"Stop thinking so much. Combat is about instinct, not calculation."
By the time the sun had fully risen, Kuro was exhausted, bruised, and covered in dirt. But he had managed to block one of Hawk's strikes—just one, but it was progress.
"Enough," Hawk said, sheathing his weapon. "You're still terrible, but at least you're not completely hopeless."
It wasn't much of a compliment, but coming from Hawk, it felt like high praise.
**[Emotional Response Strengthened: Hawk - Grudging Respect]**
**[Bookmark Progress: 35%]**
"Why?" Hawk asked suddenly. "Yesterday you froze at the first sign of danger. Today you're asking for training. What changed?"
Kuro met his gaze steadily. "I realized that being weak isn't a choice, but staying weak is."
Hawk studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "We'll continue this when we return to the village. Don't make me regret wasting time on you."
The journey back to the Hidden Leaf took most of the day. The team moved in comfortable silence, covering ground quickly through the familiar forests of the Land of Fire. Kuro kept pace better this time, his endurance improving with each mile.
As they approached the village gates, he felt a familiar mixture of awe and belonging. Konohagakure spread out before them like something from a dream—the distinctive architecture, the bustling streets, the massive faces of the Hokage Monument watching over it all.
But this time, he noticed details he had missed before. The subtle security measures, the way certain buildings were positioned to create overlapping fields of observation, the discrete Anbu patrols moving through the shadows. This wasn't just a village—it was a military installation disguised as a community.
They entered through a side gate reserved for returning operatives, their masks and uniforms granting them passage without question. The Anbu headquarters lay beneath the Hokage Tower, accessible through a series of hidden entrances known only to those with the proper clearance.
"Debriefing in one hour," Hawk told the team as they reached the underground facility. "Kuro, you'll report to Commander Yamato for your evaluation."
The name sent a chill through Kuro's spine. Yamato—the wood-style user who would eventually become Team 7's temporary leader. But that was years in the future. Right now, he was one of the most respected Anbu commanders, known for his ability to see through deception and his zero tolerance for failure.
***
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