Step.
A rapid series of footfalls rang out as a black-haired boy ran almost straight up the tree trunk. His momentum carried him skyward before he snapped his waist tight and halted in an instant. He twisted midair, wrist flicking lightly.
Three dark streaks burst forward.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Each kunai struck the red center cleanly. Fast. Precise. Clean enough to draw gasps.
Cheers erupted from the gathered children.
The boy landed smoothly and turned back with a detached expression. In his crimson eyes, a single tomoe rotated slowly.
Uchiha Wataru.
"Tch."
Senju Mayū looked away, unimpressed.
Two years at the Academy had done little to sand down the edges of most of these kids. Praise made them puff up. Scolding made them sulk. A rare few were different.
Wataru was one of them.
Originally from a side branch, he had awakened the Sharingan early and been pulled into the clan's focus. Quiet, aloof, reliable. Among the children, his words carried weight even when he barely spoke.
And unfortunately, that combination of pale skin, sharp features, and undeniable ability made him popular with the girls.
"Hey," a voice chimed beside him. "What're you staring at?"
Mayū glanced sideways at the round face practically glued to his shoulder. After learning his own chakra naturelessness, he had settled into a calmer rhythm. If raw talent was out of reach, then survival required different choices.
Standing alone in this world was difficult. Standing beside the right people was easier.
Still, he eyed Minato's cheeks with suspicion. "Nothing. Just kids being kids."
He brushed Minato's hand off his shoulder and stretched.
Three years into the Academy, circles had formed naturally. Mayū and Minato remained inseparable and consistently earned praise from instructors. In theory, Mayū dominated the written exams. With his help, Minato's scores climbed steadily.
In practice, it was the opposite.
Minato moved with an instinctive sharpness. When most people stepped back from an incoming strike, he stepped in. Close. Tight. Efficient. Even untrained, his style carried danger.
Mayū could see it clearly.
Unfortunately, even with that advantage, his own combat grades remained average.
Details, details.
"Today's exercise is kunai throwing," Mayū muttered, rolling his shoulders. "I still don't get why we need all these warmups."
He drew a kunai from his pouch, narrowed his eyes, and aimed.
Thunk.
The blade struck the target. Clean, but nothing special.
He drew another.
Thunk.
Same arc. Same result.
Compared to him, Minato's side of the field was chaos.
Minato hurled his kunai in rapid succession. Not all hit the center, but every throw carried shocking speed. The air shrieked with each release. Twenty seconds later, he finished the first set, jogged forward to retrieve the blades, then surprised everyone.
His hand dropped.
Kunai vanished from his grip almost instantly.
Six throws in the blink of an eye.
Accuracy dropped, blades scattering around the target.
Mayū didn't bother watching. He continued practicing at his own pace.
Fast enough beats strong enough.
By the time training ended, the field emptied quickly. Minato stayed behind to help Mayū collect the three kunai he had used all afternoon.
They laughed and talked on the walk back to the Senju compound.
Minato had no parents left. The village helped, but living alone was harsh for a child. Over time, Mayū simply brought him home. The Senju were not an insular clan, and without bloodline secrets to guard, there was little reason to refuse.
Before long, Minato felt like a second son.
Dinner was generous. Homework was light. With Mayū around, assignments took little effort. After night fell, the two trained lightly in the yard, bathed, and turned in.
That was how the day ended.
For Minato.
For Mayū, the night was just beginning.