The bell rang out from the orphanage's courtyard, clear and commanding.
Kazuki made his way back through the streets. Children were already gathering near the training ring — all about his age, give or take a year. Some were sparring with sticks, others just chasing each other, laughing.
Kazuki hung back near the fence. This wasn't shyness. This was… strategic observation.
And then she arrived.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
She moved like a shadow — silent, smooth, her steps so precise it was like she was gliding. Her black yukata hung flawlessly, the red-and-white Uchiha fan crest on her back like a warning label.
Her long, jet-black hair was tied neatly, not a single strand out of place. Skin pale like moonlight, eyes black and sharp enough to cut glass.
She was… stunning.
Not the cutesy, bubbly kind of pretty you'd see in a school romance manga. No, this was dangerous beauty. The kind that made you think, If I mess up, she'll kill me… and it'll be beautiful.
Kazuki stared for a second too long.
'Yup. This explains why I look like this now. It's not me — it's genetics. This whole clan looks like they walked off a glossy shōnen poster.'
Men, women, kids, even the auntie carrying laundry — all sharp lines, pale skin, and onyx eyes. An entire clan of walking heartbreaks.
'Eye candy… with actual eyes that can kill.'
And then, it happened.
As Director Kuroha scanned the crowd, her pupils shifted — two spinning tomoe circling her irises.
Sharingan.
Two-tomoe.
'…Of course. She's not just beautiful. She's a jōnin. That tracks.'
She stepped forward, hands clasped neatly, voice firm yet calm.
"All right, settle down. All children can go for breakfast — except the five-year-olds. Stay here for an important announcement."
The chatter died instantly. It wasn't fear. It was… respect.
Most of the children ran off, leaving just twelve behind. All five years old.
"You all know me," she continued. "I'm Director Kuroha. I oversee your care, your education… and, starting next week, your training."
The word hung in the air. A couple of kids gasped. One boy fist-pumped. Another girl whispered, "Finally," under her breath.
Kuroha's gaze swept across them, steady and piercing.
"Normally, training begins at six years old. But you are Uchiha. Civilian or shinobi, every member of this clan is part of our pride. If you wish to walk the path of the Leaf — to defend our name and our village — you must begin early."
She folded her arms, the fabric of her yukata whispering with the movement.
"If you want to train — truly train — you'll come to me after assembly. I will write your name down and place you in a beginner's group. From there, your progress will decide your path."
Some kids looked nervous, shoulders curling in. Others clenched their fists in excitement.
Kazuki, meanwhile, was in deep thought.'Not becoming a ninja here would be a crime. The Uchiha clan has the Sharingan — basically built-in hacks. And if my last life trauma counts… I might already have the potential for Mangekyō.'
Kuroha gave a small nod. "You may go to breakfast."
Breakfast was simple but filling — steamed rice, miso soup, two onigiri… and a single bright red hard candy at the corner of the tray.
Kazuki stared at the candy like it was a life-or-death decision.'Eat now and have five minutes of joy… or save for later and have future joy. Damn it, this is harder than the Mangekyō question.'
After breakfast, the children gathered in the central hall.
They knelt in perfect rows on the tatami mats, hands on thighs, backs straight. Not one slouched.
Kazuki was impressed. 'If this was my old world, half of them would already be lying down pretending to be dead.'
Director Kuroha stood at the front, Sharingan now deactivated but gaze still sharp enough to slice a rice grain.
"Today's morning lesson," she began, "will cover etiquette, posture, and proper greeting forms. Then, reading drills, writing strokes, and by noon, the history of our clan."
A collective sigh escaped a few children.
Kazuki's internal sigh was louder.'School. Again. And here I thought I escaped the "back straight, hands on desk" nightmare.'
They began with basic greetings and table manners — the kind Kazuki used to completely ignore in his previous life.
"Polite greeting to elders," Kuroha instructed.Kazuki bowed slightly, mumbling the words.
"Proper greeting to equals."Kazuki gave a lazy nod.
"Formal apology greeting."Kazuki overdid it and almost tipped over.
Then came table manners. How to hold chopsticks, how to place bowls, how to sit properly while eating without looking like a raccoon at a dumpster buffet.
By the end of it, Kazuki felt like a cat trying to be a butler.
The kid next to him — the one he almost elbowed earlier — shot him another glare. Kazuki just grinned sheepishly, 'What? This is progress!'
Next came posture drills.
"Your spine is a tree trunk," Kuroha instructed. "Your shoulders, the branches. Do not sway in the wind."
Kazuki straightened up like a soldier… for the first thirty seconds. Then his "tree trunk" started feeling more like a wilted daikon.
Finally, writing strokes. Ink, brush, paper.
"Today," Kuroha announced, "you will write a poem in proper calligraphy. If you do not know a poem, you may write whatever you wish… but it must be in perfect form."
Kazuki froze. He didn't know any poems. At all.
So… he improvised.
With the most careful brushstrokes he could manage, he wrote:
"A gaze sharper than steel,
A beauty colder than moonlight…And yet,
I cannot look away."
When Kuroha passed by, her eyes lingered on the paper for a long moment. Then, a faint smirk tugged at her lips.
"My, my… romantic, aren't we?" she said in a tone that was somehow teasing and dangerous.
Kazuki nearly dropped his brush. 'Oh no. She read it. Abort mission.'
By noon, Kazuki had learned three things:
Director Kuroha was terrifying.
Director Kuroha was stunning.
He was 100% going to sign up for training… if only to survive her lessons.