Isshin stood there for a while, watching the black SUV disappear down the winding road with his daughter and the Uzumaki kid inside.
Once they were out of sight, he let out a long breath and sat down on the steps, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What a damn day," he muttered.
Everything he thought he knew about history, shinobi, even his own daughter—was now a little more complicated than it was this morning.
He glanced down at the training scroll beside him. It felt weird, almost funny. All the years he spent keeping a low profile, hiding behind the reputation of a "Wise Clan Head" when deep down, he'd never really let go of that old part of himself.
Yeah, he played the quiet role. The calm guy. The head of the Hattori Clan who didn't get involved too much. But truth was, Isshin used to be a lot more like Shino.
Rebellious. Stubborn. Always asking too many questions. Chasing after the truth in a world full of lies.
He just... woke up earlier than she did. Figured out the hero system wasn't what it claimed to be—on his own, without help. And when that realization hit him, all he wanted was peace. A simple life. One without politics, council seats, or dirty history.
But life had other plans.
Especially in the wake of the Second Underworld War.
The First war was a mess. China's martial sects, the old Korean clans, the big-name families—all teamed up against the Shinobi Clans. The result? A so-called "peace" that left the Shinobi world stripped bare. They lost ancient techniques, had to pay off reparations... and worst of all, they were forced to watch as the rest of the Underworld moved on without them.
The real damage wasn't even external. It was internal. Clans turned on each other. Power got shuffled. The ones who had supported the war effort? Silenced. Their influence? Gone.
It all came with the rise of Quirks.
That's when everything really went to hell.
The greed, the power-hungry attitudes... it all grew like weed. Shinobi became tools, and worse, some of them liked it that way. That's when the Sumeragi Michi popped up—a rogue group waving the old imperial banner, talking about restoring Japan to its former glory.
People laughed at first.
Then the Sumeragi started gaining real power. Seats in the Shinobi Council. Support from clanless shinobi. Even some minor clans backed them.
It didn't take long before a new leader emerged—the Shuyō Kage. The Main Shadow. Said he was working for the future of the Shinobi. Truth was, he was setting the stage for something much bigger.
They said it was to bring back the emperor.
But first, they wanted to crush the Martial World.
Of course, Isshin never told Shino the real story. No way he could say, "Hey sweetheart, all those Hattori Shinobi that disapeared? Yeah, they died for a lie."
So yeah. He lied.
He told her just enough to keep her curious, but not enough to break her.
However, after the attack on the Tang Clan fourty years ago, unjust suspicion grw toward the Shinobi again. About how the Tang Clan's Flying Daggers technique was almost stolen and seizen.
Distrust bred hatred, and eventually their suspicions became reality. The Shinobi Council began plotting an insurrection on the mainland, seeking to strike first and gain back what they had lost.
The technique itself wasn't unheard of among Shinobi, but the essence of that style... its poison infusion, remote control, and explosive reach... had crippled many great talents in the war.
The Shiranui Clan suffered the most. The poison casualties alone gutted their numbers.
And among the first strike group to land before everything collapsed... was the Hattori Clan's heir.
Isshin Hattori.
He clenched his fists, still remembering the blood-stained mountains. The silence before an ambush. The weight of returning home to a world that yet again started preparing the young for war.
That war never really ended. Ceasefires came and went, names changed, politics danced around the truth, but the tension remained.
And now?
Now that same war was inching closer to his daughter's generation.
If this truce breaks again, if the tide rises just a little more... Shino might find herself called up. Drafted. Just like he was.
And that, more than anything, terrified him.
He was still lost in thought when a man in black protective gear appeared beside him, kneeling quietly. His helmet resembled that of a biker.
Sleek, practical, and devoid of identity.
"Isshin-sama, shall we begin?" the man asked.
Isshin glanced at him, then down at the scroll still resting in his hand. He sighed softly.
It was the one Eichi had left behind, the training system he wanted to implement for the new task force.
On paper, it seemed straightforward. But the more Isshin read through it, the more impressed—and slightly unsettled—he became.
The proposed loadout was stripped down, efficient. A lightweight vest, arm guards, black robe with a hood, and ptorected gloves. A blade, preferably one capable of conducting chakra.
Simple, minimalist and deadly.
But what stood out most wasn't the armor or the weapons.
It was the mask.
Each Shinobi would wear a blank mask representing an animal, something not unfamiliar to Isshin. The design was ancient.
He remembered the old texts. When shinobi were myths more than men. Shadows with no faces, only whispers. The boogeymen of the Sengoku era.
Unlike the modern standardized gear handed out by the clans to Jonin and Chunin—built bulky for protection and designed for flashy quirks or chakra displays—this set had none of that.
No built-in electronics. No sensors. No GPS trackers. No invisibility cloaking.
And that was the genius of it.
No electronics meant no digital footprints. No hacking. No radio interception. No radar detection.
Just clean, silent movement. Old-school stealth, reborn in a new world.
It reduced maintenance, simplified logistics, and made them practically invisible in long-distance, deep-infiltration ops.
To others, it might seem primitive.
To Isshin, it was brilliance.
Or maybe just a copied memory from another life, from the Uzumaki boy's original world.
Either way, he could already see the myth returning. The shadow masks. The quiet ghosts that stalked the battlefield.
It would bring fear back into the hearts of their enemies. The fear of the unknown. The masked specters from the dark.
He looked back at the kneeling operative and gave a nod.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Start preparing for recruitment. Prioritize non-clan shinobi first."
The man straightened slightly, surprised. "Non-clan?"
Isshin gave a wry smile. "They've been chasing contracts for the Association long enough. It's time they served a real purpose."
The man bowed and vanished into the shadows.
---
Some time later, after meeting Isshin, Eichi and Shino returned to the hotel.
It was already dark by then. The courtyard between the two wings of the building—where the boys' and girls' rooms were—was glowing under a few scattered paper lanterns. Most of the group had gathered there, lounging around on beach chairs, benches, and the low wall near the fountain.
Laughter echoed, mixed with the faint crack of a soda can—or something that sounded like soda.
Eichi blinked as they stepped closer.
"...Is that alcohol?" he asked, watching Haru discreetly hand off a silver can to one of the others.
Haru flinched, nearly spilling it. "Wh—no! Just sparkling grape juice!"
"Sparkling grape juice doesn't come in a steel can with a label that says '14%'." Eichi deadpanned.
Shino gave him a look. "Wait, you can read the label?"
He shrugged. "I've been here a year. I can read labels."
Aiko raised a hand from where she was sitting, holding a plastic cup. "Technically, the legal drinking age here is 20, not 21. But yes, this is very illegal."
"So it is illegal." Eichi looked between them all, confused. "Then why are you drinking it?"
She smirked. "Because someone," she leaned slightly toward Shino, "has connections."
Shino was already sitting down, casually sipping from her own cup, legs crossed like this was a perfectly normal night.
While Eichi never cared much for rules back in his world—and to be fair, shinobi above a certain rank were often expected to drink—there was still something odd about this society. They paraded their morals like holy scripture, yet broke laws the moment it suited them.
Eichi turned. "You smuggled alcohol?"
"I didn't smuggle it," Shino said innocently. "I... rerouted a care package."
"You serious right now?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
Eichi narrowed his eyes. "That's exactly the kind of answer that makes me want to ask more questions."
Shino just grinned and offered him a drink. "You in or not?"
He stared at it, then looked around at everyone else. Aiko was laughing about something with one of the kids. Haru was trying (and failing) to look cool leaning against the wall. Even Kenta, who's usually loud, had come out and was sitting on a cushion with his arms resting over his knees, watching the group with a rare smile.
It was... weirdly peaceful.
"... Why the fuck not." Eichi muttered to himself.
"That's the spirit," Shino said, gently clinking her cup against his before he even agreed.
He sighed and took a sip—then exhaled sharply. "Damn. Good shit."
"Not your first time?" Shino asked, raising an eyebrow.
He gave a lopsided grin. "You think I graduated under a jōnin and never got offered sake?"
"Fair enough," she said, leaning back. "This just felt overdue."
Eichi tilted his cup slightly, watching the surface ripple. "Yeah... feels like we earned a moment."
"Yup Yup." Shino glanced around.
"Mm." He took another sip, settling into the quiet buzz of voices and clinking cups. "You're slowly turning into a mini-me."
Shino chuckled. "Figures. I am under your wing, remember?"
Eichi smirked. "It was actually a hollowed-out skull. Very traditional."
That earned a full laugh from her. Aiko overheard and perked up. "Wait, is this the part where Eichi starts telling cryptic horror stories from his hometown?"
"I swear last time he said his neighbor turned into a bear and ate his cousin," Haru said, inching closer with his cup.
"That's not how I said it," Eichi replied, mock-offended. "She summoned a bear, and it ate my cousin's cat. Completely different situation."
"I'm still not convinced any of you had a normal childhood," Aiko muttered, sipping her drink.
Eichi shrugged. "We had festivals."
"Where people got possessed and lit themselves on fire," Shino added.
"Oh yeah. Those too."
They all laughed again, the kind that came easier with each sip of whatever cursed drink Shino had brought. For a moment, everything else faded into background noise.
The courtyard had gone quiet. The paper lanterns still flickered gently in the summer air, casting long shadows on the stone floor. Most of the group had already turned in for the night, but four cups still sat full—or halfway there—on the ground.
Aiko stretched her legs out and leaned back on her hands. "Alright," she said with a sly grin, "we're doing horror stories or what?"
Haru groaned. "Why is it always horror stories when it's past midnight?"
"Because it's tradition," Shino replied, swirling her drink. "Also, you scare easy and it's funny."
"I don't scare easy," Haru muttered, eyes already glancing at the darker edges of the courtyard.
Aiko cracked her neck and nodded. "I'll go first."
She took a sip, cleared her throat dramatically, and began.
"So, back in middle school, we had this weird old gym locker that always creaked open no matter how hard you shut it. Everyone thought it was busted or the hinge was loose. One day, we're all changing after PE, and our teacher suddenly freaks out and tells everyone to go back outside. Turns out, she saw someone inside the locker room in the mirror—but there was no one actually there. Like, fully visible reflection, standing behind us."
Shino tilted her head. "Creepy, but are we sure she wasn't just dehydrated?"
Aiko shook her head. "Come one. But seriously, here's the part that gets me: after that, the locker stopped creaking. Dead silent."
Everyone went a little quiet.
Then Shino smirked. "That's lame. Wanna hear mine?"
She didn't wait for a yes.
"This one's from my grandma," she said, tucking a leg under her. "So, she grew up in a rural area, really out there. No power lines, no cell service. When she was young, she and her older brother used to walk through a bamboo forest to get to school."
Shino's voice dipped a little lower.
"Every so often, she said they'd see this old man sitting at the edge of the forest—bald head, hunched back, wearing white, never moved, never blinked. Always in the same spot. Her brother told her never to speak to him. Said he wasn't human."
Haru shifted uncomfortably.
"One day, she got curious. Asked him why he was always sitting there. He smiled—only smile she ever saw from him—and said, 'I'm waiting for you to come back.'" Shino paused, then shrugged. "Her brother grabbed her and ran, and after that, they never saw him again."
"Okay, that one's actually messed up," Haru muttered.
Aiko laughed and nudged him. "Your turn."
Haru looked around like someone might jump out from the bushes. Then he sighed and sat up.
"Fine," he said, "but mine's not really horror. It's just... weird."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"This was maybe two years ago. My family used to rent this old cabin in the mountains during winter. Big place, creaky floors, no neighbors for miles. One night I wake up and see this light outside, like someone holding a lantern in the snow. Just moving back and forth."
"Foxfire?" Shino asked.
"I don't know. But then it stops. And I swear, I see a hand pressed against the glass from the outside. When I blinked, it was gone."
Aiko frowned. "Did you check outside?"
"Hell no," Haru said immediately. "I threw a blanket over my head like a normal person and waited for morning."
Shino snorted. "Damn."
Then all eyes turned to Eichi.
He hadn't spoken much during the others' stories, just sipping quietly and listening with a calm expression.
Now he leaned forward, setting his cup aside.
"It's not really a horror story," he said. "But it's a pretty one."
Shino tilted her head. "Those are sometimes the worst kind."
Eichi's voice stayed steady as he began, eyes fixed on the flickering lantern light.
"A long time ago, in the mountains of the east, a blacksmith worked alone in his forge. One night, someone came to his door—silent, dressed in black, and carrying a rusted kunai and asked him to sharpen it. A Shinigami."
The others went still.
"The blacksmith was terrified, thinking that the Shinigami had come for him."
Eichi let a small pause hang.
"As he worked on the Kunai, he looked closely at it and said: 'I can't believe am holding in my hands a weapon that is mowed down so many peoples.'"
He glanced toward the others.
"Suddenly, the Shinigami leaned in slowly and said, 'I didn't killed anyone. Not a single person. It's not me, it's you who kill eachother and blame me.'"
Shino's expression shifted. Aiko stayed quiet.
"'Once,' the Shinigami said, 'I was handsome man before I met peoples souls... and escorted them to their resting places. Today... I wear black clothes to hide the blood on me. I wear a hood to conceal the tears that I've cried because I cannot stop the horror of human hatred. The wars... and the rivers of blood.'"
Eichi's voice didn't waver, but something in the way he spoke made the air feel heavier.
"Then the Shinigami picked up the kunai, bowed slightly, and turned to leave. But as he stepped away, the blacksmith asked, 'Then why do you carry a blade at all?'"
He let the silence drag for just a second.
"The Shinigami stopped, looked back, and said, 'Because the road to heaven... has long been overgrown with grass.'
No one said anything.
Even the wind had quieted.
Then Haru muttered, "That's not a horror story, man, that's just... sad."
Shino stared into her drink. "It's both."
Eichi leaned back and shrugged. "Told you it was pretty."
Aiko exhaled slowly, then raised her cup. "To the overgrown road."
They clinked quietly, and the night went on.
---
A cramped office inside the precinct smelled faintly of old paper and bitter tea. The single ceiling light hummed above, casting pale shadows across the desk where stacks of files leaned like tired men.
Detective Naomasa sat slouched in his chair, hair uncombed, tie hanging loose. His eyes were red from too many sleepless nights. Across from him, Aizawa drank in silence, his scarf bunched at his collar, his expression unreadable.
"Anything new on him?" Aizawa asked, voice flat, as though the words cost him nothing.
Naomasa rubbed at the lines under his eyes, exhaling slow. "No. The photos we pulled from his gear—dead ends. Every lead, dried up."
Aizawa set his cup down, ready to push, but Naomasa raised a hand.
"...But there's something else."
Aizawa's gaze sharpened. A flicker of interest, small but there. "Go on."
"The autopsy incident footage," Naomasa said, lowering his voice. "The cameras burned out, yeah. But we salvaged audio. Just before everything cut."
"Audio?"
"Messy. Smoke, fire, metal breaking. But you can still hear them talking." Naomasa opened his notepad, its pages creased and stained. "A struggle. Then a man laughing. Says he's not here to fight. Tells the boy... his 'mission' is over."
Aizawa's brow twitched. "...Mission?"
"That's the word. And then—it gets stranger. He starts ranting. Mentions 'nations,' complains their birds won't work, summons don't exist here. Says, quote, 'we're not in our homeworld.'"
Naomasa gave a tired chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "Homeworld. Who the hell talks like that?"
Aizawa didn't smile. He tapped the rim of his cup once, slow. "...Keep going."
"He calls this place weak. Says it's crawling with—his words—'filthy kekkei genkai users.' Sounds like a slur. Boy doesn't take it. Calls him a psycho. They fight again, though it's clear the guy's holding back. Then he makes... an offer."
Aizawa leaned forward slightly. "An offer."
"Yeah. Says if they work together, they can find their way back home. The boy loses it—screams at him not to say his family name. Just before leaving, the man promises he'll be back. 'Until next time.' Then nothing. Audio cuts."
The only sound was the buzz of the light above.
Naomasa shut his notepad. "I've handled strange cases, Aizawa. But this? Kids talking about missions, worlds that don't exist? Either I'm listening to a delusion or—"
"Don't dismiss it." Aizawa's tone was calm, firm. "Write every word. I'll take it from here."
Naomasa frowned. "...You know this puts us against Association directives, right?"
Aizawa loosened his scarf and leaned back. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"That's easy for you to say," Naomasa muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "You've got tenure, reputation, that teacher of yours. Me? They find out I'm digging this kind of—"
"They won't," Aizawa cut in. "Because you're not digging up anything. You're doing your job. And right now, your job is to keep this file clean. Off the radar. Understood?"
Naomasa held his stare, then sighed, defeated. "...You're a pain in the ass."
"Yeah." Aizawa pushed his empty cup aside and stood. "But you'll thank me later."
He had just reached the door when Naomasa voice stopped him.
"...There's more."
Aizawa turned his head, one brow raised.
"Couple days after the incident, patrol reported activity near the explosion zone. Association locked it down, banned even heroes from stepping in. Surveillance blacked out. No feed, no footage. Suspicious on its own." He pulled a sheet from a thin folder, edges soft from handling.
He slid it across the desk.
Aizawa glanced at the grainy image, then back at him. "...What am I looking at?"
"Leaked video. Shot by some idiot civilian who snuck in for clicks. It went viral for a few hours before vanishing. Shows two figures fighting. And here's the kicker—one of them matches the man who hit the station."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed.
Naomasa leaned forward. "The video also caught... others. Things the camera barely picked up. Invisible until the frame glitched. Nine-on-two, from what it looks like. Shadows tearing each other apart, then—gone. No casualties. No bodies."
The silence stretched.
Finally, Naomasa spoke again, his voice low. "...So tell me, Aizawa. Am I chasing ghosts? Or do you already know more than you're letting on?"
---
Time passed, and the field trip drew toward its close. With only two days left, the teacher decided it was best to stop the endless moving around Osaka and let the students enjoy the hotel and its surroundings.
They had already seen most of what the city had to offer. The museums had been walked through in slow lines, their halls filled with the quiet echo of footsteps on polished floors. Theaters, shrines, and crowded shopping streets had all been checked off the itinerary. By now, even the neon signs that blazed to life every evening had lost some of their novelty.
So the final days were meant for slowing down—taking in the scenery from the hotel balconies, wandering through nearby parks, and lingering longer over meals instead of rushing to the next tourist landmark. The group no longer moved like tourists on a schedule, but like travelers with time to breathe.
An hour from the Hotel, the four of them wandered into a grocery store tucked off the main street. The air smelled faintly of fried food from the deli counter, and the steady hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence overhead.
"This is boring," she said, her voice upside-down and lazy.
"You're the one who begged the teacher for free time," Eichi replied without looking at her.
"Yeah, and I regret it." She twisted to look at him, smirking. "You're terrible company."
Before Eichi could answer, Haru and Aiko returned from the vending machine, holding two cans of soda. He tossed one to Shino, who caught it against her chest.
"Don't blame him for your boredom," Aiko said. "You're the one lying there like roadkill."
Shino cracked open the can, feigning offense. "Excuse me? Roadkill still has more charm than you do."
Eichi allowed himself a faint smirk. "She's not wrong."
"This was your idea, remember," Haru muttered, glancing at Shino. "Hotel food's free. Why are we shopping like we're stocking a bunker?"
"Because hotel food sucks," Shino shot back. "And because Aiko said she wanted proper snacks."
Aiko didn't even look up. "This brand's better. Less oil."
"That's not an answer," Haru grumbled, but he didn't put the chips back.
They turned a corner, and the aisle ahead was already crowded. Another group of students in matching jackets were blocking half the shelves, talking too loud for the small space.
As the four approached, one of the boys stepped backward without looking and bumped square into Haru. The bag of chips slipped from his hands and hit the floor.
"Watch it," the boy snapped, spinning around. His friends quieted, eyes sliding toward the new arrivals.
Haru bent to pick up his snack, his expression tight. "Relax. It was an accident."
The boy scoffed. "Don't tell me to relax. You bumped into me."
Shino's eyebrows rose. "Pretty sure it was the other way around."
The boy ignored her, stepping closer to Haru, squaring his shoulders as if the grocery aisle were a stage. A few of his friends chuckled under their breath.
Aiko finally turned, arms full of ramen packs, her gaze flat. "Do you want a fight in a supermarket?"
That earned a laugh from one of the other students. "What are you, his mom?"
Before Aiko could bite back, Haru moved between them. "No one's fighting in here. We're sorry."
The boy smirked, looking Aiko up and down with no shame. "Didn't think you were the apologizing type. Makes sense, though—your little girlfriend looks more like a housewife than anything. Bet she's better at spreading her legs than throwing a punch."
His friends erupted with laughter.
"Say that again," he muttered, stepping forward.
The boy leaned in, smug. "What? That she's just a cheap—"
And just as Eichi was about to intervene, he stopped halfway and started watching the show.
Because before the boy could finish his sentence, Haru dropped him cold with a sharp right hook that echoed down the aisle.
"Aight, you've done it now." One of the boy's friends stepped up, fists raised.
Shino's eyes went wide. "Haru—!" She took a half-step forward, but Eichi's hand clamped onto her shoulder, voice sharp as a blade.
"Wait. Let him cook."
The group lunged all at once—except they didn't land a single blow. The first boy swung wide and clipped his own friend in the jaw. Another tripped backward, kicking out and sending a third sprawling into the snack shelf. Within seconds, the aisle was chaos: fists flying, curses echoing, chips and instant noodles exploding everywhere.
Shino's mouth dropped. "…He's making them fight each other."
Eichi smirked faintly, arms folded. "Illusions. He slipped it on them the moment he threw that punch. They can't tell what's real anymore."
"That's insane," Shino whispered, her grin growing. "He's actually good at this. About damn time he used those eyes for something other than parlor tricks."
Aiko, still holding ramen packs against her chest, was less amused. Her gaze flicked from Haru—standing unnervingly calm in the middle of the mess—to the students tearing each other apart like rabid dogs. "This isn't a joke. If someone breaks their neck, it's on us. Eichi, call him off."
Eichi didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on Haru, as if weighing something only he understood. Then he tilted his head slightly, voice dry. "You're his girlfriend, not mine."
Aiko's face went red. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Eichi said flatly, "you've got more sway over him than I do. If you really want him to stop, tell him yourself."
Shino stifled a laugh behind her hand, clearly enjoying the way Aiko bristled. "Oh, this just got way better."
Haru's eyes glimmered faintly as another student screamed, swinging at shadows. He was calm, too calm, as though the violence had settled over him like a second skin.
Shino leaned forward against the cart, clearly entertained. "I mean… it's kinda beautiful. Like street theater. Five idiots, one stage, all directed by Haru."
Aiko snapped her head toward her. "Beautiful? They're bleeding on the floor."
"And it's their own fault," Eichi cut in. "They picked the fight."
Aiko opened her mouth to argue, but then one of the boys screamed and hurled himself headfirst into a shelf, sending soda bottles crashing to the ground. Haru's expression didn't even flicker.
At that moment, Eichi blurred. A thunderclap split the air, the shockwave rattling glass jars and shaking the shelves.
Everyone froze, eyes snapping toward the source. Two figures stood locked in a clash of legs just beside Haru—Eichi, calm and unreadable, and a blond young man whose kick had been caught mid-swing.
The illusion shattered instantly, the dazed students blinking back into reality. Haru stumbled out of his trance, chest rising and falling as his eyes dimmed back to normal.
Shino's grin died, her whole frame stiffening. Aiko's ramen packs slipped in her grip, her posture tightening as the tension in the air turned suffocating. Both of them knew this wasn't some rowdy school fight anymore.
Eichi released the leg and stepped back without breaking eye contact. "…You were about to kill him."
The blond straightened, brushing dust off his sleeve like nothing had happened. His gaze was sharp. When he finally spoke, his tone was casual, but the words weren't. "You have flat eyes of a killer."
Eichi didn't flinch. His smirk was gone. "Takes one to know one."
The grocery store had gone dead quiet, the only sound the fizzing of spilled soda creeping across the tiles.
The blond finally lowered his leg, stepping back with a faint grin tugging at his lips."Relax. I just came to help my comrades," he said, nodding toward the groaning students still picking themselves up off the floor.
Eichi's arms folded, his tone flat. "Five against one, and you thought the math wasn't ugly enough? Adding yourself into that pile wasn't helping. It was making it unfair."
The boy tilted his head, eyes narrowing with interest. "…I am Ukaru from Osaka HHS by the way."
Eichi raised a brow. "Good for you. Want me to clap?"
Ukaru ignored the jab and pointed at Haru. "I want in—with him. One-on-one. Nothing against him, but you know, class honor and all that. He humiliated my classmates. That stain's on all of us until I put him down."
Haru blinked. "…You serious? You guys started the fight."
Shino snorted, covering her grin with the back of her hand. "He just wiped the floor with half your crew and now you're asking for round two? Masochist much?"
Aiko, clutching her ramen tighter, frowned. "This is childish. Haru doesn't need to prove anything to you."
Ukaru tilted his head. "He does if he wants respect. People talk. They'll say he blindsided nobodies with cheap tricks. But if he beats me head-on? No one can deny him. So are you going to let me in or not."
Eichi's eyes narrowed. "Put in the simplest of terms? I will not 'cuz I do not like you."
Ukaru blinked at Eichi's flat dismissal. "…You're joking."
Eichi shrugged. "Dead serious. You annoy me. And I don't let people I don't like have what they want."
"That's a damn childish reason," Ukaru shot back.
"Yeah," Eichi said smoothly, "but it's mine. Deal with it."
At that, Ukaru actually nodded, as if he'd been waiting for that exact answer. "Good. I like that."
Shino blinked, caught between a laugh and confusion. "…You like being told to fuck off?"
Ukaru ignored her, turning instead toward his dazed classmates sprawled around the aisles. With surprising gentleness, he crouched and started hauling one up by the arm, dusting him off like nothing happened. "Come on, up you go."
The rest of them stirred, bruised and scuffed but alive. They glanced nervously at Eichi, then at Ukaru, waiting for him to tell them what came next.
Ukaru straightened, brushing off his jacket. He flashed them—and the group—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "See you later, sir." His tone was polite, but there was something unsettlingly amused in it, like he'd just been testing the water.
Eichi's arms stayed folded. "Don't call me 'sir.' Makes you sound like you're about to stab me in the back."
Ukaru's smile widened just slightly. "Then I'll save it for when I do."
Aiko stiffened, ramen packs still hugged to her chest. Shino tilted her head, grin tugging at her lips as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or punch him. Haru just stood silent, his eyes narrowing at the blond before he finally looked away.
With a lazy wave, Ukaru guided his classmates toward the door. They followed without a word, limping but obedient. Just before stepping outside, he glanced over his shoulder one last time.
"See you later, Taichō."
And then he was gone.
The store fell into uneasy silence, broken only by the faint drip of spilled soda on the floor.
Shino's brow furrowed. "Taichō?" she echoed, as if tasting the word. "Echi?"
Eichi didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the doorway, hard and unreadable.
Haru glanced between them, confused. "It just sounded like… captain? Boss? Something like that, right?"
"Eichi?" Aiko murmured. Her eyes stayed on Eichi. "You knew him?."
Eichi finally shifted, exhaling through his nose. "Forget it," he said flatly, turning away.
But not before casting Shino a look.