"Eyes up," Shinji said. "Pick a spot and walk to it."
"I have one," Ren said, and he started walking.
They crossed against the pull, turned with it, and did it again to prove it was not luck. On the bank, Hana rubbed her palms and squinted at them like there was something written there.
"I can feel it now," she said. "It is not bright, but it stays where I put it."
"That is more than enough," Shinji said. "Just make sure to keep it steady."
He did not add more. A few months ago she had felt nothing and had tried to pretend it did not bother her. This was great progress, and he really was happy she unlocked her chakra. If that's what you can call it.
They finished with a short drill on the packed dirt, sprint as fast as you can, turn left, sprint as fast as you can, and then turn right, three times at the same speed. At first they did it at a slower pace but now they have gotten so good at it that they can do it at their max speed. Especially Hana was good at this. She really had a talent for taijutsu. She would've been a great gymnast in his previous life.
They took the footpath back toward the village. Talk fell into its usual rhythm. Ren started, because he always did. "If the shop still has thread, I am buying blue," he said. "My mother will say brown is better, and I will say I do not care, and she will pick blue anyway."
Shinji waited for the right beat. "If Masato has nails, we should buy a handful," he said. "The shelf by the stove is loose. It rattles every time the pot boils."
They left the trees and stepped into the small sounds of work. Smoke rose straight from vents. A hammer knocked, paused, knocked again. The well rope squealed. Masato's shed door stood open, the plane on the bench surrounded by thin curls of pine. The clean smell of new wood cut through the cold and eased Shinji's shoulders.
They turned into the square. Shinji would have walked past Masato's hut, had he not been standing by the door with his hands tucked into his sleeves and his jaw set the way it set when he had decided not to say something. The door curtain lifted, and four shinobi stepped into the pale light.
The square thinned its sound. Metal plates flashed on their foreheads and went dull again. The one in front wore a black vest over dark clothes, he was long-limbed with a faint scar under his cheekbone. Beside him stood a girl a little older than Hana with a two kunai's neat at her hip. Behind them came two boys with Leaf headbands tied straight. One was... just there, there was honestly nothing impressive about that guy. He has black hair and looks average without anything noticeable about him. the other had his scarf pulled to his nose and his fingers wrapped. just a standard shinobi team. nothing strange until you remembered this is Kinsen. Why would shinobi be here? The monster was probably already gone.
Ren shifted half a step closer without thinking. Hana's fingers found Shinji's sleeve for a heartbeat and let go. Masato glanced at them and gave the smallest shake of his head, do not call attention.
The long-limbed man stepped one pace ahead and leaned toward Masato. His voice was so low it folded into the well's squeal and the soft thud of the hammer. Masato just listened eyes steady and mouth tight. Then he gave a short answer, and let the silence settle.
The man's eyes went over the square once. No rush. He took in the roads, houses, faces. he looked around as if he wanted to memorize every part of this village. His gaze paused long enough to count Shinji, Hana, and Ren, three kids and moved on as if he had expected exactly that number.
The girl's eyes flicked to Hana's wrapped knee. Quick, neat. She read the way Hana stood steady, how her legs carried weight. Her fingers tapped the edge of her belt twice, and she looked away like it didn't matter.
The quiet boy behind her wrote while he walked. He held a folded slip to his palm and the brush made a dry whisper on the paper. He did not lift his head. Somehow he slid past elbows and baskets and the plane shavings at the door without touching a thing, body turning a half inch here, a half inch there, like he'd walked this path before.
The scarfed boy stood too straight, shoulders pulled high as if that made him older. He almost hit a crate stacked with kindling. His foot turned and he rolled past it on the ball of his heel, coat hem barely brushing the wood. He didn't say sorry. None of them did. Their sandals set down light, toes first, heels soft. Dust rose and fell. It felt as if the way across the square had been drawn for them in chalk before they arrived and they were only tracing it, step by quiet step.
The long-limbed shinobi said one more thing to Masato before they suddenly disappeared.
No hand signs. No shout. The four of them just moved. A tilt of a shoulder, a lean into the next step, and they were already going. Dust puffed. The door curtain flipped up and dropped. By the time Shinji's eyes chased them, they were at the far side of the square. He blinked, and there was only light where they'd stood.
Ren blurted, "What the hell, did they just… teleport?" He heard himself and winced, color rushing up his neck.
Hana stared, mouth a little open. "I didn't even see their feet," she said. "It was like… we blinked and they were gone."
Shinji's palms were damp. His tongue felt dry. "They were just fast," he muttered, not sure if he believed it.
Ren ran a hand through his hair and laughed once, short and nervous. "Fast," he said, "Super fast."
Hana nodded, eyes shining the way they do when a kid walks past a candy merchant. "I want to learn that," she whispered.