The clearing lay quiet after she vanished; only the rustle of leaves betrayed that time had not stopped with her. Sayuri's body flicker had left behind a faint swirl of disturbed air, a whisper of chakra that dissipated into nothing.
The three genin remained where they were, unmoving, each too dazed to speak. The hush that followed was heavy; it pressed down on them like the humidity before a storm.
Ren's hand twitched toward his side pouch as if expecting another test, another attack, but none came. Even the wind seemed reluctant to intrude upon their silence.
Ren finally broke it, his voice low and uncertain.
"Was that… really a genjutsu?"
Satoru turned to him slowly. The boy's face was pale, his eyes wide in that hollow way that came from confronting something more psychological than physical. Satoru studied him quietly for a moment. 'He's rattled, he thought; and if he saw what I saw, it's no wonder.'
The weight of the experience still clung to him, a faint nausea that refused to fade. His fingers flexed absently at his side, muscle memory recalling the sensation of the kunai colliding with his mirror self. The clang of steel against steel still echoed in the back of his skull.
He exhaled slowly, his breath forming a faint mist in the cooling air. "Yeah," he murmured, voice rough. "It was a genjutsu. I… struggled to break it. I knew it wasn't real, but it didn't matter. It felt too real."
Ren nodded slowly; the motion was almost mechanical. His gaze drifted toward the trees as though afraid that looking at the ground might summon what he had just seen.
Satoru's mind ticked quietly behind his expression. 'If my illusion was at my father's grave… then theirs must've been something just as personal.' Sayuri's genjutsu hadn't been random. It had burrowed deep into their memories, their regrets; it had chosen what to show them.
The thought made his skin crawl.
Ren let out a trembling breath and sat down heavily, elbows resting on his knees. "Mine… took me back to when my mother died," he said at last. "I thought I'd moved on, you know? But… she was there again. Talking. Smiling. And then I had to—" his voice faltered "—fight myself."
The confession hung in the air, raw and brittle. Even the insects seemed to pause their droning, leaving a vacuum of quiet around the words.
Satoru's gaze softened. "Same here," he said quietly. "I fought myself too."
Ren gave a short, humourless laugh. "Guess she has a theme."
Neither of them spoke for a long while after that. The grass swayed faintly at their feet, the light dimming as the sun dipped lower behind the treeline.
Satoru turned toward Mariko. She had been silent all this time, her eyes distant, her posture oddly rigid. She hadn't moved since Sayuri left. Her normally soft expression was blank, the kind of emptiness that comes from being too full of something unspoken.
"What about you, Mariko?" he asked gently.
Her head tilted slightly, but she didn't look at him. A breeze stirred her hair, brushing it across her face like a curtain. Slowly, she dusted off her skirt, movements precise and deliberate.
"I'll see you both tomorrow morning," she said finally. Her tone was even, almost polite, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
Before either of them could respond, she turned and began walking away, her steps light and quiet. The sound of her sandals on the packed earth faded quickly into the rustle of the woods beyond.
Ren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That must've been hard on her."
"Yeah," Satoru murmured. "I think it was."
They stood there for a while longer, neither in a hurry to leave. The training ground, once alive with chakra clashes and shouted commands, now seemed almost sacred in its silence. The fading sunlight caught the tips of the grass, turning each blade into a sliver of molten gold.
Satoru stretched, the motion slow and tired. His limbs still felt heavy, like the genjutsu had left residue in his muscles. "I'm heading home," he said quietly. "Too tired to think straight."
Ren nodded, forcing a weak grin. "Yeah… see you in the morning."
As they parted ways, the clearing fell silent again, as though swallowing their presence whole.
Dawn crept over Konoha like a reluctant promise. The air was cool, mist curling low around the trees as the first rays of sunlight painted the horizon in muted gold. Training Ground 17 was quiet again, but this time, it felt less oppressive; the heaviness of the previous day had thinned, leaving only anticipation in its place.
Satoru arrived first, his breath visible in the chill air. He wore a fresh shirt, though his eyes still carried faint shadows of fatigue. He had barely slept.
He kicked lightly at the ground, dislodging dew from the grass.
"Too early," he muttered.
Ren appeared a few minutes later, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was wrinkled as though he had simply rolled out of bed and sprinted over.
"Morning," Satoru greeted dryly.
"Barely," Ren grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "You think she's really coming this early?"
Satoru shrugged, glancing toward the mist-covered treeline. "I don't know. But she doesn't seem like the type to make idle threats."
A soft rustle behind them announced Mariko's arrival. She looked more composed than either of them; neat, alert, eyes calm, but there was something distant about her demeanour, as if a piece of her still lingered elsewhere.
The three stood together in awkward silence, the faint chirping of morning birds their only company.
After a few moments, Satoru sighed. "Do you think she's actually going to show up?"
A voice, smooth and amused, answered immediately from behind them. "Why wouldn't I?"
All three spun around instinctively. Sayuri stood a few meters away, serene as ever, as if she had been there all along. The faint morning light caught on her deep blue hair, strands glinting like wet silk. Her expression was unreadable; her lips curved just slightly, the ghost of a smirk.
"Your reaction times are acceptable," she said lightly, stepping forward. "At least you didn't freeze."
Without another word, she tossed a heavy burlap sack at their feet. The thud echoed through the clearing, followed by the metallic clank of something dense and solid inside.
Ren blinked, glancing down. "Uh… what's this?"
Sayuri arched an eyebrow. "Weights," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll be wearing them for the next stage of your training."
Ren looked horrified. "Weights? Like… all the time?"
"Of course." Her tone carried faint amusement, though her eyes remained cold. "You think strength comes from convenience?"
Satoru crouched, examining the sack. He could feel the chakra residue woven into the metal, chakra-suppressing alloy by the faint tingle it left on his fingertips.
'Of course,' he thought. 'She'd make it harder than it looks.'
Mariko spoke softly, her voice even but wary. "And what's the next stage supposed to be?"
"Endurance," she said simply. "You can't control your chakra if your body fails you. You'll wear these until your muscles remember what your mind refuses to accept."
Ren frowned, confused. "Which is?"
"That control and comfort rarely coexist," she replied. The faintest curl of a smile ghosted across her lips.
Sayuri's eyes flicked to Satoru briefly. "You look like you have questions, Satoru."
He straightened slightly. "Just one," he said. "Yesterday — that genjutsu. You called it basic. But it didn't feel basic. What was the point?"
Her expression did not change. "The point," she said, "was to see whether you break, or bend." She paused, her gaze sharpening. "You didn't break. That's promising."
"Promising," Satoru echoed, tasting the word.
She smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "Don't let it go to your head. Strength is not survival; it's the refusal to die quietly."
The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of wet leaves and morning mist. The three genin shifted uneasily under her gaze.
"Now," Sayuri said, "Let's begin."
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