Morning sunlight slipped through the classroom windows, landing softly on wooden desks scratched by years of boredom and secrets.
For the first time in a long while, the room felt… normal.
No cracked walls.
No seals glowing faintly.
No sense of something about to explode.
Tobi sat by the window, chin resting lightly on his hand, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky.
So this is how mornings used to feel, he thought.
Iruka was two seats away, half-asleep, flipping a pen between his fingers with no real goal.
Mizumi was chatting quietly with a group of girls, laughing in that way that made the room feel lighter without trying.
Sumi sat near the back today, quietly reading. She didn't look tense. That alone felt strange—in a good way.
Then—
The classroom door slid open.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just… confidently lazy.
A boy stepped in, stretching both arms over his head like he'd just woken up from the best nap of his life.
"Waaah~ mornings should be illegal," he yawned.
Miss Shiratori raised an eyebrow. "You're late."
The boy bowed quickly—too quickly.
"Yes ma'am. Deeply sorry. Completely regretful. Will absolutely do it again."
The class snorted.
Even Miss Shiratori paused before sighing. "Just sit down, Ren."
"Bless you, sensei."
The boy—Ren Aokawa—grinned and scanned the room for an empty seat.
His eyes landed on Tobi.
"Oh," Ren said, brightening instantly.
"You look like a quiet guy."
Before Tobi could react, Ren dropped into the seat beside him, slinging his bag down like they'd known each other for years.
"Name's Ren," he said, offering a hand. "Professional slacker.
Amateur philosopher. Full-time idiot."
Tobi blinked.
"…Tobi."
Ren's grin widened. "Nice. Short names are trustworthy."
Iruka glanced over, suspicious. "You're loud."
Ren leaned back. "And you look like you haven't slept since last century."
Iruka opened his mouth—then closed it. "…Fair."
Ren laughed, genuinely, like he didn't care about impressions or hierarchy or anything hidden beneath the surface.
Tobi felt something strange in his chest.
Not pressure.
Not power.
Relief.
During lunch, Ren talked. A lot.
About random things.
About bad convenience store food.
About how he once tried to cook curry and nearly set off a fire alarm.
"And that," Ren finished proudly, "is why I am banned from kitchens."
Mizumi laughed openly. "You're stupid."
Ren nodded seriously. "Thank you."
Tobi found himself smiling before he realised it.
Ren noticed.
He leaned closer and whispered, "Hey."
Tobi looked at him. "Hm?"
"You always look like you're carrying something heavy," Ren said casually. "You don't have to tell me what it is. Just saying."
Tobi froze.
Ren immediately waved his hands. "Ah—sorry, that sounded deep. I meant like… emotionally heavy. Or physically. You kinda slouch."
"…I see."
Ren grinned. "Anyway! Friends?"
Tobi hesitated.
Then nodded. "…Yeah."
Ren pumped a fist. "YES. Achievement unlocked."
Across the room, Sumi looked up briefly.
She saw Tobi laughing—really laughing—for the first time since everything had happened.
Her expression softened.
Iruka watched too, arms crossed, thoughtful.
Maybe, he thought, this is what he needed.
Outside, cherry blossoms drifted past the window.
No swords stirred.
No shadows whispered.
Just a normal day.
And for now—
That was enough.
The day ended gently.
When classes were over and the school grounds emptied, Sumi didn't go straight home.
She walked alone.
The city noise softened the farther she went, replaced by the sound of water moving over stone. The river curved calmly beside an old temple, its wooden pillars darkened by age and prayer. Paper charms fluttered faintly in the evening breeze.
Someone was already there.
A woman sat at the river's edge, posture straight despite the years pressing quietly into her shoulders. Her sleeves were folded neatly, hands resting in her lap, fingers marked faintly by ink and incense burns. Her hair was tied back simply—no ornaments, no excess.
She watched the water as if it were answering questions no one else could hear.
Sumi slowed.
She didn't call out.
She never did.
Instead, she sat a little distance away, close enough to share the space—but not the silence.
The woman's gaze shifted briefly, resting on Sumi, then returned to the river.
"You're late today," she said—not accusing, not warm. Just observant.
"…School ran long," Sumi replied.
A pause.
"The air around you feels unsettled."
Sumi's fingers tightened slightly in her sleeves. "It's nothing."
The woman hummed softly, neither agreeing nor denying it.
Across the water, lanterns began to glow—small, steady lights reflecting against the current. The temple bell rang once, low and distant.
"Be careful who you walk beside," the woman said after a while.
"Some paths change you without asking."
Sumi looked down at the river.
"I know."
The woman didn't ask more.
She never did.
When Sumi stood to leave, the woman spoke again, quietly this time.
"Faith is not something that bends easily."
Sumi paused—just for a moment—then bowed respectfully before turning away.
As she walked back toward the city lights, her steps were calm.
But her thoughts weren't.
Far away, laughter still echoed faintly in her memory—Tobi's voice, unguarded, light.
And for reasons she didn't yet understand…
The river felt colder tonight.