The sound of a stab. A tear. A slash. The clang of clashing metal, followed by a muffled scream. A face filled with terror, eyes wide as I plunged the kunai into his chest.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Tsukasa awoke from his dream with a sudden jolt. His heart was pounding in his chest, the remnants of adrenaline from his dream still coursing through his veins. He sat bolt upright on his futon, his breathing slightly ragged. He turned and switched off the alarm from the small alarm clock beside his bed. Six in the morning.
He looked around his tidy room wearily. No enemies. No blood. Just the familiar wooden walls, a tightly closed wardrobe, and neatly hung calligraphy scrolls. The soft light of dawn slipped in through the shoji window, painting square patterns on the tatami floor. Everything was calm. Everything was peaceful.
They had returned from that C-Rank mission yesterday afternoon without further incident. The journey back had been quiet, each team member lost in their own thoughts, processing what they had seen and done. And now, Tsukasa was home.
With a soft groan, he stood up. Every joint in his body creaked in protest. His shoulder, where the whip-sword had grazed him, still felt sore and stiff. The fight, though brief, had taken its toll. He stretched his body, feeling his sore muscles scream.
His house was a simple yet well-maintained traditional home, made of dark brown wood that had stood for several generations. The house always smelled of green tea, a scent that was synonymous with the word 'home' for Tsukasa. He shuffled down the cold corridor, towards the warmth and aroma coming from the kitchen.
There, his mother was already awake. A frail old woman, whose hair had turned completely white like winter snow. She moved with a slow grace around their small kitchen, her back slightly stooped with age. When she heard Tsukasa's footsteps, she turned and smiled, a smile so full of wrinkles yet so sincere it could warm the entire room. She was pouring hot water into a teapot.
"Morning, Tsukasa," she said, her voice as soft as the rustle of dry leaves. "I've made you an omelet and miso soup. You should eat it while it's still warm."
Tsukasa was thirty-three years old. He was a Jonin, a veteran of many battles, a teacher to the next generation of shinobi. But in his mother's eyes, he was still treated like a toddler who had just learned to walk, who needed to be reminded to eat his breakfast. And somehow, Tsukasa loved it.
Out there, he was Tsukasa-sensei, a Jonin. Here, he was just Tsukasa. It was the only truly normal thing in his many abnormal days.
He took his own rice bowl from the cupboard. "What time did you wake up, Mom?" he asked, his voice hoarse from just waking up. "You shouldn't wake up so early. Sleep in longer so you can stay healthy. I can just have toast and peanut butter. It's no problem."
His mother clicked her tongue, a sound of loving impatience. "Don't be foolish. I'm not so weak that just making breakfast will make me sick." She placed a bowl of steaming miso soup in front of Tsukasa. "Besides, you've just come home after so many days. You're the one who must be tired. You look pale."
His mother wasn't wrong. Every bone in Tsukasa's body now felt like it was made of fragile glass. The wound on his shoulder still throbbed, a painful reminder when he moved his arm. But he said nothing about it. He just endured the pain, pushing it to a corner of his mind where he kept all his other pains. Over the years, he had become so used to it that the pain and exhaustion felt like a part of him, like a mole or an old scar.
Tsukasa just smiled at his mother. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little stiff from sleeping on the ground." He sat at the dining table and clasped his hands together. "Itadakimasu."
He took the first spoonful of the miso soup. It was warm, savory, and full of a calming umami flavor. It was the taste of his childhood. The taste of security.
"Your cooking is as delicious as always, Mom," he praised sincerely. "The salt and spices are just right!"
"It's just a standard dish," his mother shook her head, but there was a happy smile on her lips as she sat across from Tsukasa with her own cup of tea. "How was your mission? I didn't get to ask much last night, you looked so tired."
"It went well," Tsukasa replied between bites of rice. "A little more complicated than expected, but everything was under control in the end. And we all tried our best. My students grew a lot on this trip."
"I never thought you'd end up as a teacher," his mother said, her old eyes shining with amusement as she looked at her son. "You used to be the loudest among your friends. Always running around, always causing trouble. I don't understand how your students can put up with that."
Tsukasa laughed, a free and sincere laugh that sounded so different from the tense laugh he had shown during the mission. "It's not that they can put up with it," he said. "It's that they have nowhere else to run! They're stuck with me!"
His mother let out a small laugh, her hoarse laughter like the crinkling of old paper. "Those poor children," she said, but her eyes were filled with pride.
Breakfast continued in a comfortable silence. Tsukasa finished his meal, savoring every bite, feeling the warmth of the food spread throughout his body, chasing away the remnants of the cold from his nightmare. His mother just sat there, sipping her tea, and watching him. It was a ritual they had performed for years every time he came home from a long mission. Not many words were needed. Their presence alone was enough.
After finishing his meal, Tsukasa helped his mother with the dishes, refusing her protests that it was her job. As he dried the familiar porcelain bowls, he looked out their small kitchen window, at the small, well-tended garden in the backyard.
This was where he could do it. This was where he could lower his shield. This was where he didn't have to be a tough Jonin or a competent teacher. He could be tired. He could feel the pain in his shoulder without having to hide it. He could let his mother worry about him and make him breakfast.
This was the place where the sounds of stabs, tears, and slashes from his dreams couldn't reach him. This was the place where the ghosts of his past couldn't follow him in.
This was his place to come home.
This was his home.
…
Tsukasa stood before his students who were sitting under the shade of a tree. They were now in the same training ground where their first battle as a team had taken place, but the atmosphere today was completely different. There was no tension, no challenge. Only a quiet exhaustion and the warm midday sun.
"Well, my sweet little soldiers!" Tsukasa began, his cheerful voice intentionally ironic. It was a small reminder, a gentle nudge to remind them of who they were now. "Since you all seem a little tired, both physically and emotionally, after yesterday's mission, I've decided that for now we'll just have a simple lesson."
He observed them one by one. He saw Yuji nod slightly, a silent acknowledgment that Tsukasa appreciated. He saw Kiba sitting quietly and seriously, his arms crossed over his chest, a defensive posture that showed he was still processing his failure. And he saw Masami, who hadn't moved a bit, as calm as a statue, her presence almost blending in with the tree's shadows. Yes, they were all tired. They needed something different today. Something constructive.
"That is," Tsukasa paused for a moment, then clapped his hands enthusiastically, breaking the silence, "creating or learning a new technique!"
Their reactions were exactly as he had expected. Kiba was the first to show his confusion. "We can do that now? Sensei?" He raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear in his voice. Akamaru, who was sleeping on his lap, tilted his head as well, sensing his master's mood change.
"Yes, why not?" Tsukasa shrugged casually. The academy had given them the foundation. The mission had given them reality. Now it was his job to help them build their own house on that foundation. He decided to start with the most obvious potential. "Masami," he said, turning his attention. "You have a flute, right?"
The girl blinked, looking a little surprised at being the focus of attention. She nodded slowly. "I'm very good at playing it," she said, her calm voice sounding like a fact, not a boast. "Want to hear?"
"I'd love to," Tsukasa smiled sincerely. He really wanted to. But there was a time and place for everything. "However, this is for another purpose. After analyzing and having enough time to get to know you, you seem to be a long-range type full of potential. You are calm, you are precise, and your genjutsu is quite good. We can rely on that flute to maximize your potential."
Before he could continue, another of his students had already interrupted.
"You want Masami to use the flute to perform genjutsu or attack enemies through sound, Sensei?"
Tsukasa turned towards Yuji, his eyebrows raised in impression. Of course. Of course Yuji would immediately understand. The boy's brain worked on a different frequency.
"Exactly!" Tsukasa said, pointing at Yuji with delight. "All this time, Masami, you've only relied on your genjutsu through the usual methods, by directing your chakra directly into the enemy's nervous system through eye contact or proximity. Sometimes, this will reduce its effect because it's not very deep. It's like trying to shout through a wall; some of the sound will be blocked by the opponent's skin, muscles, and will."
He became more excited as he explained the concept. "But with sound," he continued, "you don't need to break through the wall. You can go straight in through the window. By using your flute, Masami-chan, you can directly penetrate your opponent's brain's defenses through their ears."
"How do you do that?" Kiba asked, his curiosity finally overcoming his confusion.
"You have to have very, very good chakra control," Tsukasa explained, now pacing back and forth in front of them like a professor at the academy. "By infusing a small amount of chakra into your flute, whether through your breath as you blow, or through your fingers as you play the notes, the chakra will merge with the sound waves themselves. The sound becomes a carrier for your chakra."
He stopped and looked at Masami intently. "There, someone with control like you can control their chakra to activate or deactivate the 'effect' of the genjutsu in a certain area. You could play a melody, and only the enemy standing on your left will be affected, while your friend standing on the right will feel nothing. Once the genjutsu is in, like any other genjutsu, you can feel their thoughts. You will be connected to your opponent."
Kiba snorted loudly, a sound full of impatience. "Sounds very troublesome," he said, which made Akamaru bark in agreement. "Too much thinking."
Tsukasa smiled lightly, a smile that was not mocking, but full of understanding. He had expected this reaction. It was part of his plan.
"That's why," he said. "This isn't for you."
Masami nodded, her dark eyes showing a rare glint of interest. "That sounds very good, Sensei," she said, her calm voice carrying a weight of seriousness. "You'll teach me how to do that?"
"Of course," Tsukasa winked, feeling the satisfaction of a teacher whose plan was well-received. Masami's potential in genjutsu was already clear; all she needed was the right medium to channel it, to turn her skill from a scalpel into a wave that could engulf the entire battlefield.
But before he could continue, an impatient voice interrupted.
"What about me?"
Tsukasa turned. Kiba was leaning forward, his wild eyes filled with a mixture of jealousy and a burning spirit. "I want to be stronger too! I don't want to just sit here and listen about a magic flute!"
Tsukasa smiled nervously inside, a movement he didn't show on his face. This kid. So enthusiastic, so straightforward, and a bit rough. He was like an uncontrolled bonfire; if you didn't give him the right firewood, he would burn the whole camp.
"Patience, patience, little soldier," Tsukasa said, his usual smile returning, trying to calm his student's overflowing energy. "You think I'd forget about you? You are the core of this team." He approached and patted Kiba's shoulder friendly. "Your real weapon is in your claws, right?"
Pride immediately showed on Kiba's face. He raised his hand, showing off his nails which were slightly longer and sharper than an ordinary boy's. "Of course," he confirmed arrogantly. "It's as strong as iron. Because I also use my chakra there to strengthen it."
"Good, good," Tsukasa nodded, as if he had just heard the best news. "That's a perfect foundation." He paused for a moment, letting Kiba enjoy the praise. "Well then, for the beginning, I want you to add something new to the mix. Something that will turn your scratches from just a blow into something far more deadly."
He lowered his voice slightly, making it sound like he was sharing a big secret. "I want you to add your basic chakra element. The Wind Element."
Kiba frowned. "Wind? But that's for long-range jutsu, right?"
"Not always," Tsukasa said. "Imagine this, Kiba. Don't think about creating a big storm. Think small. Let's make a very strong little wind, that spins like a drill, that will be all over your arm when you attack. Every time you swing your claws, it won't just tear. It will drill. It will be a small typhoon concentrated at the tip of your fingers."
Tsukasa could see it in his mind, the image of Kiba attacking, his arm covered in a sheath of spinning wind chakra, each attack not just leaving a scratch, but a deeper hole.
There was a flash of understanding, then pure excitement, in Kiba's eyes. He looked at his own hand as if he were seeing it for the first time. "A typhoon... on my arm..."
"You'd better show me how to do it later," Kiba said, his tone no longer a whine, but a demand full of determination.
Tsukasa gave him a thumbs-up. "Of course." He had successfully channeled that storm. Now, for the final puzzle.
He turned and his eyes met Yuji's calm ones. The boy just sat there, observing, analyzing, as usual.
"You," Tsukasa said, walking closer and sitting cross-legged in front of Yuji. "Have you tried using that Chakra Blade of yours properly?"
The question immediately drew the attention of Kiba and Masami. They both glanced at the strange black metal hilt that was now always tied to Yuji's back. They knew it was a gift from the old blacksmith, but they had never seen it used. Their curiosity was palpable.
Yuji, whose mask he always hooked on the side of his head like a strange pair of glasses when not in combat, just smiled slightly. It was a smile full of secrets.
"It's sharp," he said briefly.
Tsukasa laughed. A very Yuji-like answer. "I'm sure it is. But we don't just want 'sharp', do we?" He leaned forward. "Let's make it sharper."
"The raw chakra you channel into it is indeed strong," Tsukasa continued, "but it's like using a hammer to cut wood. It can be done, but it's not efficient. It would be stronger if you could change that raw chakra into its elemental form. That is, the Lightning Element. You can use that, can't you?"
Yuji nodded. "Yes," he said. "It's my second element. I've never really trained it. I can't do any jutsu with it yet. All this time, I've often relied on water because it's also useful for healing."
"Makes sense," Tsukasa said. Pragmatic, as always. "But that Chakra Blade is your chance to sharpen a different weapon. Forget about big and flashy lightning jutsu for now. Focus on the small. Channel your lightning chakra into that blade. Don't just make it shine. Make it vibrate. Create a high-frequency vibration along the edge of the blade. A blade that not only cuts, but also vibrates every cell it touches to pieces."
Tsukasa could see the understanding light up in Yuji's eyes. This kid didn't need images of meteors or typhoons. He just needed the concept, the physics behind it.
"A vibrating scalpel," Yuji said softly, more to himself.
"Exactly," said Tsukasa.
"Alright," Tsukasa nodded, satisfied. He had planted the seeds. The path for each of them had been set. The path of sound for Masami. The path of the storm for Kiba. And the path of vibration for Yuji. The three were unique, the three were customized, and the three would make them far more deadly. He stood up and stretched his body. "The simple lesson is over."
He looked at his three students, his three projects, his three responsibilities, and grinned. "Let's begin the training."
AN: With this Arc 2 begins, and I announce that I will be taking a break for a while, maybe a month. I'm still planning the plot, thank you for reading!