Of the slaughter. But for a few weeks, they could pretend peace still existed.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and strong tea filled the small kitchen, warmed by the gentle morning light that filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls. The sound of steam rising from the kettle was the only disturbance in that expectant silence, while the tight space seemed to absorb every gesture with an almost sacred reverence.
Akemi, with her usual precision, distributed the bowls of rice, dried fruits, and a thin broth that thawed the body on the cold morning. Each of her movements was executed with the same efficiency as a trained kunoichi, but behind that precision lay a silent fatigue that she hid masterfully. Her hands remained light while handling the utensils, but her eyes — always alert — held the same tension and distrust as always, especially when they turned to Tekka. In recent days, conversations about Riki's safety had taken a far more tense turn, reinforcing the fragility of their newly gained peace. Still, Akemi made a point of playing the role of matriarch with a fierce and controlled calm, as if every gesture were part of a strategy to maintain the fragile balance that sustained the family.
Tekka sat at the table, watching his wife with a gaze mixed with admiration and apprehension. He absorbed each of her movements, every almost imperceptible contraction of her facial muscles — a slight furrow of the brow upon noticing a small stain on her sleeve, for example, which under normal circumstances might have gone unnoticed. He knew Akemi well enough to understand that every choice, every expression, carried extra meaning; he could discern the weight of every thought behind that composed expression.
Riki, seated at the table with his usual upright posture, focused too intently on his food to spare any attention for his parents. His penetrating, deep gaze betrayed the activated Ketsuryūgan — although unnecessary at that moment — making his red eyes shine with an intensity that went far beyond mere hunger. Despite his fragile appearance, there was something fierce about the child, something even his own childhood couldn't mask. He knew, from a very young age, that he was in control of that family gathering and that, at any moment, he could use his knowledge from the future to divert the dark fate that awaited him in that world.
— You don't need to use the Ketsuryūgan now, Riki — said Akemi in a calm tone, though marked by a slight touch of exasperation. She had already noticed the unnecessary activation of his ocular technique. She knew that the warning wasn't just for the current moment, but also a subtle reminder to her son: all power carried responsibility, and he must always keep that in mind.
Riki let out a quiet chuckle and, in the blink of an eye, released the seal that kept his Ketsuryūgan active. The red glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the calm outline of a child pretending — or believing — to be innocent.
— Sorry, Mom. I forgot to turn it off. — He blinked at her in return, with that mischievous smile that seemed to say it was nothing more than a small childish mistake, even though he was fully aware of the impact of his abilities.
Tekka, watching the moment almost as if he were an investigator analyzing clues, maintained a restrained smile. He couldn't tell whether he felt pride or apprehension at how easily Riki manipulated the situation. The child before him was definitely not ordinary; there was intelligence in every gesture, as if he were playing a game on a board he had designed himself. Tekka wondered constantly how much Riki was still just a piece in that mysterious plan — or whether he had already become something much more active, much more complex.
Knock, knock.
Firm knocks echoed at the front door. Akemi furrowed her brow in discomfort: she wasn't expecting anyone so early, much less someone with the prestige and weight of Takeshi. Tekka rose almost instinctively, his hand moving toward the coward's side of his sword's sheath, the automatic reflex of a Konoha policeman always on alert. Old habits died hard.
Akemi, however, raised her hand in a calm gesture, indicating that she would answer the door herself. When she opened it, there stood Takeshi, the clan elder, with his ember-colored hair glowing under the morning sun. He fixed his gaze on hers with the same penetrating intensity of days gone by, without needing to say a word. His blue eyes expressed an entire story without speaking. The ancestral armor, though old, was impeccably maintained, and the scar that marked his face was a permanent reminder of the price the Chinoike clan had paid to ensure their survival. Men like him spoke little, yet could shake armies with their mere presence. And that always made Tekka uncomfortable, for it reminded him of everything he couldn't control.
Takeshi offered a slight bow — respectful, yet firm.
— Good morning, Akemi. I've come to get Riki. Today we begin the practice of advanced sealing techniques.
Akemi nodded briefly, stepping aside just enough for Takeshi to enter. The gesture was fluid and natural, like the rehearsed choreography of someone who knew every inch of that shared space. Takeshi then cast a quick, weighty glance at Tekka, conveying the wary respect that had existed between them since Tekka began frequenting the Valley. That silence, in turn, grew heavy: both knew their intentions remained partially hidden from each other.
Riki, upon seeing Takeshi, immediately smiled. With a nimble jump, he leaped from his chair, his eyes sparkling with a contained energy that carried the memory of every sealing lesson he had learned. He fully understood what it meant: the beginning of the advanced seals session, a rite that calmed and tested him at once. It was a chance to show Takeshi — and indirectly, everyone in the Valley — that he possessed capabilities far beyond the expectations for a five-year-old.
— I'm ready, Takeshi-jii! — he exclaimed, raising his fists in a gesture of childlike enthusiasm and, at the same time, full of determination.
Takeshi smiled back, but there was a hardness to that smile — the understanding of someone who knew that youthful energy did not belong to an ordinary child. His expression conveyed the awareness that Riki carried in his eyes the seed of a greatness that extended far beyond the ability to seal jutsus. There was an indomitable spirit beneath that small figure walking forward with steady steps.