Morning in Konoha still carried last night's rain-soaked humidity. The air was sticky with blood-red posters calling for vengeance against Sunagakure.
Puffy, red-rimmed eyes hadn't faded from the streets; anger sizzled like hot oil.
Ryo, hand in hand with Kushina, stepped over the battered threshold of the Ninja Academy.
A second ago the place croaked like a frog pit; the next, the air seemed sucked clean out.
Kushina's trademark flame-red hair was as bold as ever. Walking beside her was the same Ryo who had split a training ground and carved up Kumo spies days ago.
"What are you staring at?!" Kushina snapped, shooting fire at a spiky-haired kid lurking against the wall.
The boy blanched; the pouch he was polishing slipped right from his hands.
Whispers reignited behind them, clammy and uncomfortable as grease on skin.
"Hmph!" Kushina snorted, hugging Ryo's arm even tighter, like she wanted to set herself into him.
Ryo didn't even twitch an eyelid, letting her pull him along.
The war fever had rolled straight into the Academy, unsurprisingly turning class talk into a draft board.
Class 5-A was a steam box.
The ceiling fans churned in vain, stirring hot air and teenage hormones with nowhere to go.
Sweat, ink, and the faint sweetness drifting from the girls in the front row mixed into one.
"Hey, did you see the team list?" a lanky boy elbowed his desk mate, eyes gleaming. "Once we're in squads, maybe next month we can take a C-rank! If we're lucky and meet a few clueless enemy shinobi, couple slashes, fame across the shinobi world! When we get back, man, the girls will be lining—"
"In your dreams! Fresh grads killing enemy shinobi? Don't get your guts punched out your ass," snorted a buzz-cut. "I just want a reliable squad, learn something real from a senpai. Maybe do well on the front, make chūnin, hell, maybe jōnin…" His eyes slid off toward the shining allure of that flak jacket.
In the back, a few girls huddled, cheeks pink, whispering:
"Namikaze Minato has to land in an elite squad! He's so handsome, and strong…"
"Shh! Keep it down! Don't forget Ryo… gods, that day… that world-ending…" The speaker's tone dropped; color drained from her face as the memory chilled her again.
Every conversation sliced off at once, as if cut by an invisible blade.
For half a heartbeat, silence.
Thump, thump.
Boot heels, slow and heavy on hardwood, punched right through corridor noise and into everyone's ears.
The classroom fell dead quiet.
Heated debates, crude jokes, sweet fantasies, gone in a snap.
The fan's dull drone suddenly felt sharp.
At the door, two figures.
The first to step in, a red-haired boy in a black, cloud-patterned short jacket, shoulders straight.
No expression. That face was almost too handsome, and oddly lazy, like he couldn't be bothered to register the room.
One hand sank in a pocket. The other hung loose, except the long, clean fingers locked tight around a slender, pale hand.
Uzumaki Kushina, being led in, was a little flushed.
Her flaming hair still burned, but the usual prickly swagger seemed forcibly tamped down, her spicy aura reined in.
Her eyes were bright, too bright, two blue flames dancing. Whenever her gaze flicked toward Ryo, a secret pride, and a deeper sweetness, shivered there.
That posture. That distance. That blazing declaration.
The air froze; only the fan buzzed on.
All eyes were dragged by a colossal magnet to the place their hands met.
Silent.
By the window, Namikaze Minato sat in pale gold sunlight, his pale gold hair catching it.
At their appearance, the neat strokes of his pen hiccuped; a blot of ink bled on the page.
He didn't look up. His lashes trembled once. The knuckles gripping his pen whitened, then slowly released. He wrote the next character, calm as if nothing had happened.
In the corner, Uchiha Mikoto turned just enough to show the side of her face, the calm, polite silhouette of a model student.
Black hair fell smooth over her shoulder. Jawline delicate. Posture impeccable.
Only she knew how deep her nails bit into her palm inside those wide sleeves. The cool sting grounded her.
She stared at a point on the chair back ahead, fighting to keep her gentle composure. Only she heard the tiny crack somewhere in her heart.
She inhaled, shifted her breath with the slightest motion, and tore her gaze from Ryo, focusing on the textbook lines as if they were lifelines.
Bang!
Homeroom teacher Kimura Shū pounded onto the platform with bedhead and two heroic dark circles. His temper burned hotter than the fresh Suna-bashing posters outside.
"Noise! All you do is noise! Men are dying on the front! The village is bleeding! And you brats can still think about anything else?!" His eyes were bloodshot; his stare flayed the room like a bone-scraper. "Quiet! Team placements!"
He snapped open a scroll.
"Squad One: Takegawa Sō, Aburame Shimi, Hyūga Nichiya!"
"Squad Five…"
He rattled names off fast and flat, like announcing obituaries.
Those called sat on needles, eyes locked on the door, praying their famed jōnin leader would kick it open and haul them into glory.
Only low pressure and heavier breaths remained.
"Squad Seven!" Kimura barked louder than before. "Namikaze Minato, Sarutobi Shin'nosuke, Shimura Yami! Jōnin leader…" He paused, gaze lingering on Minato. "Jiraiya-sama." The last two words came out oddly small, like they had bumped something on the way out.
The tight lines in Minato's posture loosened a notch. Before he could fully exhale, Kimura's voice came down again, cold and hard:
"Squad Eight: Kamiyama Ryo, Uzumaki Kushina, Uchiha Mikoto! Jōnin leader, Tsunade-hime!"
The classroom dropped into a vat of boiling oil.
Tsunade-hime! Konoha's princess! A living legend!
But that wasn't the point.
The point was that lineup.
A monster with the Scarlet Pepper, plus an Uchiha?
Air crystallized. Every gaze glued to those three names; even breathing cut off.
Ryo propped his chin in one hand, eyes drifting past the window toward the Hokage Rock, unreadable.
Kushina's eyes flashed like they had been filled with syrup. She clung tighter to Ryo's arm.
Up front, Minato's neck creaked around gear by gear, painfully slow. His gaze brushed Kushina's radiant face; his eyes filled with loss.
"Quiet!!" Kimura's rasp ripped the shock apart. "Tsunade-hime and Jiraiya-sama are currently on the Rain Country front, return date unknown! Squad Seven will be led temporarily by jōnin Sarutobi Hoshizora!"
Then he turned toward the god statue in the back corner. "As for Squad Eight—"
Kimura drew a deep breath and forced himself to meet Ryo's gaze. Those eyes held no ripple, so calm it scraped at the heart.
"Hokage-sama," Kimura croaked, throat dry, "wants to see the three of you. Now. Immediately. Report to the Hokage Building." He snapped his head away.
"Wow!" Kushina's eyes flared with delight. She shook Ryo's arm. "Hiruzen wants to see us himself? Our squad has to be super important!"
Ryo said nothing, rising to his feet.
He didn't even look at Kimura. His eyes slid over the sky.
A black crow flapped down onto the shadow of the Hokage Rock, black wings beating twice against the pale morning.
Looked like his awakening of Conqueror's haki and the panic it caused in Konoha would be settled today. He wondered what Sarutobi Hiruzen had planned.
Worst case, become a rogue ninja. Except, Kushina.
Unless there was no other choice, he would rather not walk that path.
Kushina skipped after him; Mikoto followed half a step behind in silence.
From the moment Ryo stood, the entire room's spine seemed to bow under an invisible weight.
When he was nearly at the door and the battered panel creaked open a crack, a strained, cracking voice broke the deathly quiet. "Wait!"
Minato shot to his feet.
He stared at Kushina; his lips trembled. "Congratulations" stuck in his throat like a lump of lead and wouldn't come out.
Ryo stopped.
He tilted his head slightly. His eyes, two ice awls, drilled across half the room and pinned Minato.
No anger. No threat.
Minato felt the breath he had just drawn freeze in his lungs; his blood seemed to stall.
"Minato?" Sarutobi Shin'nosuke sensed trouble, muttering low, wary eyes flicking to the red-haired calamity at the door.
Minato didn't move.
Time stretched thin.
"Hmph!" Kushina flicked her hair, pride and a touch of smugness open on her face, like a small beast guarding its food. "Minato-kun, we're in a hurry, please move."
The two voices, so different, yet both cutting, scalded Minato into a shaky lurch. He stumbled back a step and thunked against his desk.
Ryo drew his gaze away as if he had brushed off a speck of dust. He stepped forward and crossed the invisible threshold.
"Ryo!" Kushina chirped, racing to catch up.
As Mikoto passed Minato, her steps hitched. She looked like she wanted to speak. One quick glance at his pale face and the white-knuckled grip on his desk, then she bit her lip and lowered her head, hurrying after the other two.
The door closed behind them, sealing off the sticky air, and that silent stare.
Inside the Hokage Building, the corridors were chill and drafty.
A few gray-faced administrative shinobi jogged past clutching teetering stacks of reports that looked ready to explode.
"Damn it, again!" a clerk with a fresh lump on his temple darted around a corner, nearly colliding with the stack-bearers. He cursed under his breath. "The Third just slammed the table calling Suna sewer worms! Those battle reports are about to catch fire! Now they're rushing the medical supply ledger again? We just turned it in! What are we, ghosts?!"
"Shut it!" someone snarled ahead. "The western line is dying! Three more squads wiped out last night in Rain! Corpses piling high! You think you get to clock out and go cuddle the wife?! Move!"
The shinobi with the stack clenched his teeth and sped up, back stiff like a man running explosives to a bunker.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy black-lacquered door stood ajar.
Before they even reached it, two dying beasts were roaring inside.
"Bullshit! Utter crap!" Mitokado Homura's voice screeched ragged. "Money, Hiruzen! You think you print it?! How many years have you been Hokage and you dare write this budget?! Do you know what it cost to overclock the village-wide sensing barrier last night?! Drain Konoha's funds for a decade and it won't fill that pit! Where will you find money to expand two full-strength regiments?!"
"Scrape? Scrape my ass!" Hiruzen's thunder shook the room. "Suna's filthy claws reached into my house! Listen up! Even if we pawn the village blacksmith, we're burying those bastards in sand! Money? Supplies? That's your job, Homura! Keep yapping and I'll come 'celebrate' at your mansion next!"
Thud. Thud.
The muffled blows rattled through the thick door.
"Sandaime…" a senior clerk, white as chalk and clearly rattled, tried to speak, his voice fluttering like a leaf.
"Get out!" Hiruzen's roar smashed through next.
The door jerked open a crack. The clerk practically crawled out, even paler after seeing Ryo; fear twisted his face. He squeaked and skittered along the wall like a lizard.
The storm inside poured through the gap.
"It's not just money, Hiruzen! Don't you get it?!" Utatane Koharu's sharp tone joined the fray. "The village is a busted beehive! People are terrified! Who's going to donate? Who'll send their sons to Rain to die as cannon fodder?!"
"No one? Great!" Hiruzen's voice took on a razor's edge of madness. "Then let's all stay home! Let Suna's blade rest on every neck! Today we get mowed down like wheat, tomorrow we're trussed pigs sold for cash! The next day you two hold a banquet in your mansions! You think when Konoha falls, you'll sit on the stump drinking tea? Keep dreaming!"
Silence. Only harsh, bellows-like breathing leaked through the door.
Ryo's face didn't change.
Kushina, excited, rose on tiptoe to peek. Ryo's arm slid out without a word and blocked her.
Mikoto stared at her shoes, lashes veiling every emotion, fingers pinching her skirt hem without thinking.
"Ahem…" A few awkward coughs finally sounded within.
"Enter," Homura forced out, voice wobbly with varnished calm.
Ryo lifted a hand and pushed the heavy door open.
Behind the massive desk, the Third slumped in his high-backed chair like a lion not yet cooled after rage, his red Hokage hat tossed aside, hair skewed.
Bloodshot eyes slashed toward them, still crackling with thunder.
Homura and Koharu stood rigid to left and right.
Smoke stung the air, mingled with the scorched-paper smell of ripped files.
"Kh—" Hiruzen cleared his throat hard, wrestling his face from tectonic fury to something like a smile, and ended up with a stiff grimace.
He grabbed his pipe and tried to pack it, hands shaking so badly he couldn't strike the flint.
Ryo stopped two paces from the desk, gaze dropping to the scroll listing "Squad Eight," one corner crushed under a wad of torn documents.
Kushina looked around, the oppression making her uneasy. Her fingers tugged at the back of Ryo's shirt.
Mikoto fixed her eyes on her nose, her nose on her heart, standing like the perfect statue.
For a long beat, the only sound in the big office was Hiruzen's irritable click, click of the stubborn flint.
(To be continued.)