Calm down.Calm down.
Senju Mayū repeated it to himself again and again, forcing his face into something neutral. The result was… unsettling. The strange, unfocused smile he failed to suppress made more than a few classmates instinctively shiver when their eyes drifted his way.
By the end of the first school day, a quiet rumor had already taken shape. Class One had a strange boy.
Mayū did not care.
The moment the dismissal bell rang, he did something unthinkable. He did not invite Namikaze Minato to visit his family home. He did not linger. He ran.
He sprinted through the streets like the wind, straight back to the Senju compound.
This was important.
The speed at which he had extracted chakra was not something to ignore. Chakra quantity alone did not define a ninja, especially in wartime, where results mattered more than labels, but reserves still shaped everything. Endurance. Technique count. Tactical freedom.
If his intuition was right, even failing to become a jōnin would still leave him room to breathe. Special jōnin. Elite chūnin. Administrative posts. Anything less likely to involve dying in a ditch.
Call it cowardice if you wanted. Survival came first.
He threw open the door.
"I'm home!"
"Mayū, how many times have I told you to greet properly when you—"
He dropped his bag and bolted past the hall.
"Dad!"
His feet screeched to a stop just outside the sitting room.
Some rules existed for a reason.
Minaki Senju was a jōnin. His hands never shook on missions. Whether forming seals or throwing a kunai, they were steady to the point of severity. A ninja lived by composure.
Which made the scene before Mayū unforgettable.
His father sat frozen, staring in horror at a book tumbling through the air. His hands reached for it again and again, missing each time as the object bounced higher, as if mocking him.
Gravity, ever faithful, ended the struggle.
The book landed neatly at Mayū's feet.
Silence.
It took exactly one glance to understand everything.
Minaki coughed. His ears turned red. "This is… material confiscated during a mission. Enemy intelligence."
Mayū raised an eyebrow.
The excuse died quietly.
He picked the book up, expression solemn, and glanced down the hall where Mizuho was busy preparing dinner. Then he handed it back, meeting his father's eyes with the unspoken understanding of men.
"Father," he said gravely, "sensitive intelligence should be stored more securely."
Minaki stared, then nodded deeply. He accepted the book with visible regret and immediately vowed never to repeat such carelessness. He also declared, with great sincerity, that he was proud to have such a sensible son and that Mayū should come to him anytime he needed advice.
The matter was settled.
After a brief exchange that contained far more warmth than substance, Mayū finally brought up his real concern.
"Father, I wanted to ask about chakra training."
"Oh?" Minaki smiled. "Already extracting chakra on the first day?"
So they skipped straight to that now. He showed no surprise.
"Did you run into trouble?"
Mayū hesitated, then explained what had happened. The speed. The ease.
Minaki listened carefully, then nodded. "That's likely your mother's blood. The Uzumaki are known for large chakra reserves."
He ruffled Mayū's hair. "But don't get complacent. Chakra isn't everything."
Then he paused.
"Oh. That reminds me."
From his pouch, Minaki produced a thin strip of paper.
Mayū's breath caught.
Chakra nature paper.
"Since you can already extract chakra," Minaki said, "let's see what affinity you have."
Mayū accepted it with utmost seriousness.
"Channel chakra into it."
He did.
Nothing happened.
"…?"
Minaki tilted his head. "Mayū?"
"…?"
They stared.
The paper did not dampen. It did not burn, tear, crumble, wrinkle, or spark.
It remained exactly the same.
No reaction at all.
As the sun dipped low, Mayū stood in the fading light, his small shadow stretching long behind him. He wiped his face, said nothing, and gazed into the distance.
Somewhere, far beyond the horizon, his confidence regrouped.