I'd been watching that damn fish for fifteen minutes straight.
"You know, glaring at it won't make it bite the hook any faster," Mikoto said, her voice carrying that typical Uchiha blend of amusement and condescension.
"Hush, I'm communing with nature," I replied without breaking my stare at the water. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the river's surface that made it harder to track our elusive dinner. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the fish can sense killing intent."
Mikoto snorted in a very un-Uchiha-like manner. "That's not how fishing works, Shinji."
'That's exactly what someone who can't commune with fish would say,' I thought, but kept that particular wisdom to myself. I adjusted my position on the riverbank, careful not to spill the small ceramic flask of sake I'd stashed in my jacket. Academy students weren't supposed to have alcohol, but then again, Academy students weren't supposed to be able to walk up trees either, and I'd mastered that weeks ago.
I took a quick glance at Mikoto. She was focused on her own fishing line, her dark hair tucked behind her ears as she leaned forward. Grumpy-chan's cousin—or sister, or something, I could never keep Uchiha family trees straight—had surprisingly agreed to this little expedition when I'd suggested it after class. Probably because I'd mentioned I knew how to make fish taste like something other than, well, fish.
The funny thing about Mikoto was that she was nothing like the other Uchihas. Sure, she had the look—all pale skin and dark eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—but she laughed at my jokes and didn't act like she had a kunai permanently lodged up her ass.
A sharp tug on my line yanked me from my musings.
"Got one!" I said, jumping to my feet and nearly toppling into the water.
Mikoto set down her own rod and moved closer. "Don't pull too hard or the line will snap."
"I know how to fish," I lied, yanking the rod with way too much force. The line went taut, then slackened as the fish made a desperate break for freedom. I compensated by channeling chakra into my arms and giving a mighty heave.
The fish—much larger than I'd anticipated—sailed through the air in a glittering arc, smacked me square in the face, and flopped down into my lap.
"That," Mikoto said, failing spectacularly at hiding her laughter, "was exactly how fishing works."
I peeled the wriggling fish off my trousers and held it up triumphantly. "Unconventional tactics, Miko-chan. The element of surprise works on fish too."
"You surprised it by letting it slap you in the face?"
"Tactical face-slapping," I corrected her, reaching for my kunai. "An advanced technique."
...
Setting up the cooking area was where I got to show off a bit. I'd spent enough nights at my secret training ground to elevate my campfire game from "desperate survivor" to "outdoor chef extraordinaire." I carefully arranged river stones in a circle, positioning larger flat stones at specific heights—one as a cutting board, another as a cooking surface.
I pulled three kunai from my pouch and stabbed them into the ground in a triangular formation, just the right distance apart to hold a small metal grate I fished out of my pack. Mikoto raised an eyebrow at this clearly non-standard use of shinobi equipment.
"What?" I shrugged. "Kunai are multipurpose tools."
"I'm pretty sure weapon maintenance class didn't cover 'cookware support' as an intended use," she said, but I caught the hint of amusement in her voice.
I arranged the kindling in a neat lattice pattern, then made a show of patting my pockets. "Ah, matches. Knew I forgot something."
"I could use a fire jutsu," Mikoto offered. "Basic Katon techniques are taught early to Uchiha clan members."
"No need," I said, forming a hand seal that definitely wasn't taught at the Academy. With a precise channeling of chakra—way more controlled than any genin-in-training should manage—I produced a small, focused flame at my fingertip.
Mikoto's eyes widened. "That's a fire jutsu. Where did you learn that?"
I touched the flame to the kindling, watching with satisfaction as it caught immediately. "Oh, you know. Around."
"Around," she repeated, clearly not buying it. "Like how you just happen to know how to set up an outdoor kitchen worthy of an Akimichi chef?"
I grinned as I pulled out my supplies. First came a small, worn cutting board that folded out from what looked like a regular scroll case. Then, from another pocket: a wickedly sharp knife that gleamed with care despite its obvious age. Finally, the small cloth bundle of seasonings I'd bought from Yukiko-san earlier that week, each wrapped in separate leaves and labeled with small symbols.
"I'm a man of mysteries, Miko-chan," I said, laying everything out with the smooth routine of someone who'd done this hundreds of times before
"You're a boy of suspicious behaviors," she corrected, but leaned in closer as I began to work.
I gutted the fish quickly, my fingers and knife working together in a way that spoke of muscle memory far beyond what I should have. Another skill from my previous life that raised eyebrows, but people generally asked fewer questions about knife skills than they did about complex chakra manipulation.
"First rule of fish," I narrated, slipping naturally into teacher mode, "is to respect it. Quick, clean cuts. No wasted motion." I removed the innards and set them aside in a small leaf wrap. "Even these have uses. Bait, fertilizer, or..." I glanced at her, "...emergency soldier pills if you're desperate enough."
Mikoto made a face. "I think I'll stick to the standard-issue ones."
"Wise choice," I agreed, turning back to the fish. "Now for the magic."
I reached into my herb bundle and pulled out three different leaves, crushing them between my fingers to release their oils before rubbing them into the fish's cavity. The sharp, clean scent of something like mint but not quite mint filled the air. Next came a small pinch of salt crystals.
"The secret," I said, lowering my voice as if sharing classified intel, "is to season the inside first. Everyone focuses on the skin, but that's amateur hour."
I laid the fish on the flat stone I'd positioned at the perfect distance from the flames. As the skin touched the hot surface, it sizzled satisfyingly. I reached into another pocket and produced a small vial of oil infused with more herbs and drizzled it carefully over the fish.
"Timing is everything," I muttered, more to myself than to Mikoto, as I watched the skin begin to crisp and turn golden. "Too long and it's dry, too short and it's raw. There's a perfect moment..." I flipped the fish with a deft twist of my knife, revealing perfectly crisped skin marked with precise grill lines from the stone's natural ridges.
The aroma that rose from the cooking fish was complex—herbal, slightly citrusy, with a hint of smoke. It filled the small clearing and made my stomach growl audibly.
Mikoto inhaled deeply. "That smells..." she paused, searching for words.
"Amazing? Incredible? Like the food of the gods?" I suggested.
"Different," she finished, but her eyes never left the cooking fish, and I noticed her shifting slightly closer.
I pulled out a small ceramic jar from yet another pocket. "And now for the finishing touch." I dabbed a precisely measured amount of a dark, sticky sauce onto the fish, watching with satisfaction as it caramelized instantly on the hot surface.
Then, with a flourish that was maybe a bit too dramatic, I reached into my jacket and produced my sake flask. "And now, the final touch to any outdoor meal."
Mikoto's eyes widened. "Is that sake? Where did you even get that? We're too young!"
"Age is but a number," I said sagely, taking a small sip before offering it to her. "Besides, it's medicinal."
"Medicinal for what exactly?"
"For the chronic condition of being entirely too sober on a beautiful day by the river."
She rolled her eyes but took the flask, sniffed it cautiously, then took the tiniest sip possible. Her face scrunched up immediately. "That's awful!"
"It's an acquired taste," I admitted, reclaiming my flask. "Like most worthwhile things in life."
The fish continued to cook, its skin crisping nicely. I poked it with a clean stick, checking its doneness. "Almost there."
Mikoto hugged her knees to her chest, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You're strange, Shinji."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't necessarily a compliment."
I shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Why did you invite me here? I'm not Minato or Kushina."
I paused in my fish-poking. It was a fair question. Minato was busy with extra training, and Kushina... well, things had been a bit awkward since she'd started showing interest in me, much to Minato's poorly concealed dismay.
"Because," I said slowly, choosing my words more carefully than usual, "you're interesting. You don't try so hard to be a typical Uchiha. It's refreshing."
Her dark eyes reflected the dancing flames. "I am a typical Uchiha."
"No, you're not," I countered. "Typical Uchihas don't go fishing with miscreants like me. They don't laugh at dumb jokes or try new foods or sip sake by rivers."
A small smile played at her lips. "Maybe you don't know Uchihas as well as you think."
"Maybe," I conceded, flipping the fish one final time. "Or maybe you're just special."
The words hung in the air between us, strangely weighted. I hadn't meant them to sound so... sincere. Sincerity wasn't exactly my brand.
To break the moment, I grabbed two clean leaves I'd collected earlier and slid half the fish onto each. "Dinner is served, my lady Uchiha."
Mikoto accepted her leaf-plate with a nod that was almost a bow—Uchiha manners never fully disappeared—and took a cautious bite.
Her eyes widened instantly.
"This is..." she began.
I leaned forward, unable to hide my eagerness for her verdict. One of the few genuine pleasures I allowed myself was watching people enjoy food I'd prepared. A holdover from my previous life, I supposed.
"It's good," she finally said, then immediately took another, larger bite.
I clutched my chest dramatically. "Just 'good'? You wound me, Miko-chan! I was expecting rapturous praise, declarations of my culinary genius, perhaps a marriage proposal or two."
She almost choked on her fish, covering her mouth as she laughed. "Don't push your luck, Shinji."
We ate in comfortable silence after that, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon. The sake flask made another round, Mikoto taking a slightly larger sip this time without quite the same face of disgust.
'This is nice,' I thought to myself, surprising even me with the simplicity of the sentiment. No angle, no information gathering, no pretense of being worse than I was. Just fishing, cooking, and sharing a meal with someone who didn't expect anything from me.
"We should head back soon," Mikoto said eventually, looking at the darkening sky.
"Probably," I agreed, making no move to pack up.
She nudged my shoulder. "Come on. I don't want to explain to my parents why I'm coming home after dark with you of all people."
"What's wrong with me?" I asked, feigning offense. "I'm delightful."
"You're trouble," she corrected, but there was no heat in her words.
I couldn't argue with that assessment, so I just grinned and began kicking dirt over our small fire. "Fair enough, Miko-chan. Fair enough."
As we gathered our things, I caught her watching me with that same unreadable expression from earlier.
"What?" I asked.
She shook her head slightly. "Nothing. Just... thank you for today."
The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard. I wasn't used to genuine gratitude—schemes and hustles rarely inspired it.
"Anytime," I said, and was surprised to find I actually meant it.
We walked back toward the village as the first stars appeared overhead, our conversation drifting to Academy gossip and complaints about homework. Normal kid stuff, even though neither of us was particularly normal.
And if I was walking a little closer to her than strictly necessary, well, that was just to make sure she didn't trip in the growing darkness. Nothing more.
Probably.
..
The afterglow of a good meal and even better company had me practically floating back toward the village. My steps were light, my mind pleasantly hazy from the combination of sake and the rare genuine conversation.
I absently spun a kunai around my finger as I walked, a nervous habit I'd picked up that gave my hands something to do while my brain wandered. The weight of my fishing gear bumped against my back with each step.
The sunset had long faded to dusk, stars beginning to pepper the darkening sky. Perfect end to a perfect day. Nothing could possibly ruin my good mood—
"You completely forgot, didn't you?"
I looked up, the kunai freezing mid-spin between my fingers. Minato stood on the landing of our apartment building, workout clothes still damp with sweat, and an expression that somehow managed to be both disappointed and unsurprised at the same time.
Ah, shit.
"Minato! My favorite neighbor," I said, sliding the kunai back into my pouch with a flick. "What are you doing out here? Enjoying the night air? Contemplating the meaning of life?"
His blue eyes narrowed slightly. "We were supposed to train together after school. It's nearly nine o'clock, Shinji."
He leaned against the railing, arms crossed. Even exhausted from solo training, he somehow managed to look put together. I, on the other hand, probably smelled like river water and fish guts.
"You smell like fish," he said, confirming my suspicion. "And sake."
I opened my mouth to deny it, then closed it again. No point lying to Minato. He knew me too well.
"I was fishing," I admitted, then added quickly, "It was research. For... survival skills."
"With Mikoto Uchiha?" Minato raised an eyebrow.
I froze. "How did you—"
"Grumpy-chan was complaining about his cousin slumming it with the orphan troublemaker. His words, not mine."
'Perfect. Just perfect,' I thought. 'Nothing stays private in this village for more than five minutes.'
"It wasn't a big deal," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just teaching her some basic fishing techniques. Purely educational."
"You could have just told me you had other plans," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry, I completely forgot."
He looked up, surprised by the straightforward admission.
"It's fine," he said automatically, though it clearly wasn't. "We can reschedule."
"No, it's not fine." I stepped closer, an idea forming. "Look, I've got some of that fish left. Let me make you dinner to make up for it, and we can train tomorrow instead."
Minato raised an eyebrow. "You're bribing me with food?"
"Is it working?"
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "You really think you can bribe your way out of this with fish?"
"Not just any fish," I corrected him, fishing in my pack for the leaf-wrapped package I'd saved. "Fish prepared with secret ingredients and techniques from beyond the Land of Fire. The kind of meal that would make an Akimichi weep with joy."
"You're exaggerating."
"Only slightly," I admitted. "But it is good, and I'll make that spicy rice thing you like too."
Minato's resolve visibly weakened. The boy trained like a demon, and his metabolism burned through calories faster than Grumpy-chan went through kunai.
"Tomorrow morning, before class. No excuses."
"Deal." I offered my hand, which he shook after a moment's hesitation. "I promise I won't forget this time."
"Uh-huh," he said skeptically. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Fair enough. Should we head up? I'm starving again, and this fish isn't getting any fresher."
As we walked up the stairs to our floor, Minato glanced at me. "So... how was it? Fishing with Mikoto?"
There was something careful in his tone that made me look at him more closely.
"It was fine," I said, deliberately casual. "She's actually not as uptight as the rest of her clan. Has a sense of humor buried under all that Uchiha dignity."
Minato nodded, his expression unreadable. "Kushina was asking about you today."
"Was she now?" I kept my tone neutral. The Minato-Kushina-Shinji triangle was getting more complicated by the day, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it.
"Don't play dumb," he said. "She likes you."
"She likes teasing me," I corrected. "There's a difference."
We reached our floor, and I fished my keys out of my pocket.
"If we get late training early tomorrow," Minato said as he unlocked his own door, "we're blaming it on Grumpy-chan."
I grinned. "That's the spirit. Corrupting the future Hokage one scheming session at a time."
"Heh," he muttered, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "You're ridiculous."
"Yet you tolerate me anyway," I replied, fishing my keys out. "See you in ten? Just need to rinse off this river stink."
"Don't forget the spicy rice," he called as I unlocked my door.
"When have I ever let you down?" I asked, then immediately raised my hand. "Wait, don't answer that. Today doesn't count."
Minato snorted and disappeared into his apartment.
Inside my apartment, I kicked off my sandals and tossed my gear in the corner. The fish was still wrapped in leaves, unsurprisingly fresh. I unwrapped it and got to work, slicing vegetables and heating up the pan.
Honestly, Minato was too easy to placate. Feed him, promise to train, and all is forgiven. Perks of having a friend with the metabolic rate of a hummingbird.
"Before school tomorrow," I muttered to myself as I chopped. "I'll actually show up this time."
Maybe I'd even show him that spinning kunai trick I'd been practicing. Nothing too flashy, just enough to make him think I was taking it seriously.
The rice started sizzling in the pan, and I added the spices that made Minato's eyes water but somehow kept him coming back for more. People were weird like that—they claimed to hate things they secretly loved.
Ten minutes later, I was knocking on his door with two plates of food and my most charming smile. Friendship maintained, crisis averted, and I got to eat the leftover fish. All in all, not a bad outcome for a day that started with fishing and ended with lying—my two favorite activities.
...
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My dreams of sake waterfalls and a life free of responsibility shattered at the sound. I pulled the pillow over my head.
Tap. Tap. TAP.
"Go away," I mumbled into my mattress. "It's still night."
The tapping got louder, more insistent. With a groan that expressed my profound displeasure at consciousness in general, I cracked one eye open. The faint glow of pre-dawn light filtered through my window, illuminating a silhouette that could only belong to one person.
Minato, perched on my windowsill like some kind of demented bird, pointed emphatically at his wrist where a watch would be if either of us owned one.
I glared at him, but he just smiled that infuriatingly cheerful smile that made it impossible to stay mad at him. With another groan, I rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over an empty sake bottle as I stumbled to the window.
"It's barely light out," I complained, sliding the window open.
"We agreed on before class," he said, looking annoyingly awake and put-together. "This is before class."
"By like, four hours," I grumbled, running a hand through my sleep-mussed hair.
"Perfect for extra training," he replied, tossing a small scroll through the window that I caught reflexively. "I've already set up at the pond. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes?"
I squinted at him. "Make it fifteen, and bring coffee."
"Deal." He leapt off the windowsill, disappearing into the dim morning light.
I stared at the spot where he'd been, contemplating the merits of going back to bed and claiming a sudden, debilitating illness when I saw him later. But I had promised, and contrary to popular belief, I did occasionally keep my word. Especially when it meant learning techniques that would keep me alive someday.
Besides, I had leftovers to pack.
Fifteen minutes later (okay, maybe twenty, but who's counting?), I stumbled down the stairs of our apartment building, a package of last night's leftovers wrapped neatly in cloth and tucked under my arm. Minato was waiting, as promised, with two steaming cups of what smelled like coffee but was probably that weird tea he liked to brew.
"You're late," he said, but with no real heat behind it.
"I'm exactly on time according to Shinji Standard Time," I replied, accepting the cup he offered. The liquid inside was indeed tea, but it smelled strong enough to wake the dead. I took a cautious sip and felt my brain cells reluctantly spark to life.
"What's that?" he asked, gesturing to my package as we set off toward the training grounds.
"Breakfast. Leftover fish and rice. I figured we'd need fuel for another round of falling into the pond."
The streets of Konoha were quiet at this hour, just a few shop owners setting up and the occasional ninja returning from or heading out on missions. The air had that special quality it only gets at dawn—clean and full of possibility, before the day's disappointments set in.
"So," I said, after the tea had worked enough magic for coherent conversation, "where'd you disappear to occasionally after class? I swung by your place from time to time, but you weren't home."
A calculated lie, but a small one.
Minato kept his eyes forward. "Just some extra studying."
"Studying," I repeated. "Right."
"Not everyone spends their afternoons fishing and drinking sake," he replied, but with a smile.
"Their loss," I shrugged. "But seriously, you've been disappearing a lot lately. Got a secret girlfriend I don't know about?"
He laughed. "No. Just trying to get ahead."
'Getting ahead with someone's help,' I thought, but kept it to myself. I'd noticed the pattern—advanced scrolls appearing in his possession, techniques that weren't taught at the Academy, his occasional absences that he never fully explained. Someone was taking an interest in Minato, someone with access to jutsu well beyond genin level. But if he didn't want to share, pressing would only make him more secretive.
We turned down a side street, taking the shortcut toward the Academy training grounds. The sky was lightening quickly now, the stars fading as blue pushed away the darkness.
"Oh look," I said, pointing ahead. "Isn't that Kana?"
A girl with brown hair pulled into a ponytail was walking toward the Yamanaka flower shop, a basket of carefully arranged flowers cradled in her arms. They looked freshly cut, their stems still wet.
"What's she doing up so early?" Minato wondered aloud.
"Probably coming from their greenhouse," I said. "Yamanaka flowers are supposed to be harvested at dawn for maximum potency. Those old geezers at the market mentioned it when I was buying some goodies last week."
As we drew closer, Kana looked up and spotted us. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"Minato-kun! Shinji-kun!" she called, shifting the basket to one arm and waving with her free hand. "You're up early."
"Training," Minato explained with a smile.
"Kidnapping," I corrected. "He's forcing me to exercise against my will."
Kana laughed, the sound light in the quiet morning. "You could use it, Shinji-kun. I saw you sleeping through classes sometimes."
"I wasn't sleeping," I protested. "I was meditating. Very different."
She rolled her eyes, but good-naturedly. "Of course you were."
I glanced at the flowers in her basket—vibrant blooms in shades of purple and white that looked ordinary enough, but I knew better. The Yamanakas weren't just florists.
"Those for the shop?" I asked casually.
"Yes," she nodded. "From our private gardens. Some of these varieties are quite special."
She then glanced at the brightening sky. "I should go. These need to be processed while the dew is still on them. Good luck with your training!"
With a little wave, she continued toward the shop, her long hair swaying with each step.
I watched Kana's retreating form, the basket of suspicious-looking flowers swinging gently at her side.
"So... Kana and Inoichi, huh?" I mused, giving Minato a sideways glance.
He raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"
"Oh, come on. Everyone knows the Yamanakas are planning to marry those two off the moment they hit sixteen." I stretched my arms overhead, enjoying the slight pop in my shoulders. "Political marriages. Very traditional. Very boring."
"That's just a rumor."
"Is it though? The Yamanaka clan doesn't let just anyone handle their 'special' flowers." I made air quotes with my fingers. "Ten ryo says those innocent-looking blooms can either knock you out, make you hallucinate, or spill your darkest secrets. Anyway, forget about that, why don't you tell me exactly what's in that scroll you're so excited to show me."
Minato's face lit up with that particular enthusiasm he only got when talking about new lesson. "It's a chakra circulation technique," he explained, his earlier reticence forgotten. "It's supposed to increase efficiency if mastered properly."
"And how hard is it to master properly?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.
"Most people took three months," Minato admitted. "But I think we can get the basics down faster."
"Of course you do," I muttered. Three months of training condensed into what, a week? Typical Minato optimism.
We reached the Academy training grounds just as the sun crested the Hokage Monument, casting long shadows across the practice fields. The place was deserted, as expected at this hour.
"Perfect," Minato said, scanning the empty training area. "We'll have it all to ourselves."
I set down my package of leftovers on a nearby stump. "Food first, then torture."
"Training," he corrected.
"Same thing when you're involved," I replied, unwrapping the cloth to reveal the containers of fish and rice. "Eat. We've got a long morning ahead."
Minato didn't argue, just sat down beside me and accepted his portion. He unrolled the scroll between us as we ate, both of us studying the complex diagrams while chewing.
"You know, most people bring fresh food to training," Minato said, eyeing my questionable lunch with that perfect-student disapproval he'd mastered.
I waved the fish skeleton at him. "Where's the adventure in that? Besides, it was perfectly good last night."
"Last night? Shinji, it's been sitting out for—"
"Details," I leaned back against the scarred trunk of a training post. "The way I see it, if this doesn't kill me, nothing in enemy territory will."
Minato's laugh was quiet but genuine. "Your immunity system must be as stubborn as you are."
"Speaking of stubborn," I said, "Grumpy-chan was especially touchy in class yesterday. What's got his Uchiha panties in a twist?"
"He's probably just stressed about the upcoming exams. You know how seriously he takes everything."
"That's what I said."
A breeze rustled through the training ground, carrying the faint chirps and songs of birds foraging in the distance. Perfect weather for a nap, honestly.
"Anyway, I've been thinking about the circulation technique here," I said, tapping a section of the scroll with my chopsticks. Minato glanced up from his intense study of the scroll.
"I've been thinking about the same section," he admitted, running a finger along the complex diagrams.
I twirled my chopsticks between my fingers, a habit that annoyed most of our senseis but seemed to amuse Minato. We bounced a few ideas back and forth, each of us approaching the problem from different angles.
"You know," I said, stretching lazily despite my mind working at full speed, "sometimes the traditional approach isn't always the most efficient."
Minato raised an eyebrow. "Coming from the guy who finds the path of least resistance in everything?"
"Exactly why you should listen to me," I replied with a grin. "I'm an expert in efficiency."
He shook his head but couldn't hide his smile. That was the thing about Minato—he never dismissed an idea just because it came wrapped in my casual packaging. Our differing styles somehow produced a surprisingly effective collaboration.
"We can try it on the water walking," he suggested. "Apply the same concept."
"Worth a shot," I agreed, finishing the last of my fish. "But I'm warning you now—if I end up soaking wet at this ungodly hour, I'm going back to bed."
Minato laughed. "Fair enough."
We packed up the empty containers, and I followed him toward the small pond at the edge of the training grounds. The water was still and clear in the morning light, looking deceptively solid.
"Ladies first," I said, gesturing grandly toward the pond.
"Age before beauty," he countered.
"We're the same age, genius."
...
The observation post atop Hokage Tower's eastern wing smelled of ink, steel, and the faint copper tang of blood never quite washed from ANBU armor. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the reinforced windows, casting long shadows across the tatami floor where various tracking seals had been carved into the surface. A half-empty pot of tea sat cooling on the low table, surrounded by scattered mission reports and surveillance photographs.
Hawk adjusted his mask, his fingers tracing the red markings as he leaned against the wall beside a shelf lined with coded intelligence scrolls. Across from him, Bear flipped through a stack of reports, the pages making a crisp sound in the otherwise quiet room. The distant shouts of academy students practicing shuriken throws drifted up from the training grounds below.
"Academy evaluations again?" Hawk asked, breaking the silence as he watched a messenger hawk circle above the Hokage Monument.
Bear nodded, the overhead light glinting off his porcelain mask. "Quarterly assessments. Have you seen this year's standouts?"
"I've heard whispers." Hawk moved to peer over Bear's shoulder, his sandals barely making a sound on the worn tatami. "Namikaze, right? The blonde kid?"
"Minato Namikaze. Perfect scores across the board." Bear tapped the file, brushing aside a shuriken that served as a paperweight. "His ninjutsu comprehension is off the charts, and his chakra control is exceptional for his age. The instructors are already calling him a once-in-a-generation prodigy."
Hawk let out a low whistle, leaning back against a wall covered with maps of the Five Great Nations, pins marking diplomatic outposts and trade routes. "We could use more like him. The village always needs exceptional shinobi, even in these peaceful times."
"There's another one." Bear pulled a second file from the stack, this one marked with a yellow tag. "Shinji. Just as interesting, but in... different ways."
"I've heard stories."
Bear nodded. "His taijutsu scores are... peculiar. Consistently average. Never a mistake, never excellence. Suspiciously consistent. But that's not what concerns me."
"The Akimichi connection?"
"Exactly." Bear spread out several photographs across the table, knocking aside an empty dango stick. They showed a black-haired boy with an easy smile, working alongside several Akimichi clan members in their restaurant kitchen. Steam rose from pots while the boy measured ingredients with careful attention. "He's been spending hours in their kitchens, creating recipes no one's ever seen before. Dishes that don't exist in any Fire Country cookbook."
Hawk picked up one of the images, the edges worn from handling. A talisman in the corner of the room swayed slightly, though no window was open. "Could be nothing. Kids experiment."
"It's not just food." Bear produced another report, this one bearing the seal of the hospital's research division. "He's been mixing medicinal compounds too. Healing salves, pain relievers unusual compositions. The kind of knowledge that's either passed down through clans or..."
"Or learned elsewhere," Hawk finished. Outside, a murder of crows suddenly took flight from the nearby tree, their wings beating frantically against the suddenly still air.
"We've considered the possibility of infiltration," Bear said quietly. "But his lineage is confirmed. His father's blood without question. And the surveillance shows no suspicious contacts."
"So where's he getting this knowledge?"
Bear shook his head. "That's what's troubling. He executes everything with absolute confidence. No trial and error. Like he's working from memory rather than experimentation."
Hawk flipped through more photographs spread across the table, knocking over a kunai that had been used to pin documents together, scattering a few papers across the floor.
"I interviewed his academy instructor yesterday in the classroom after hours," Bear continued, gathering the fallen documents from between the worn tatami mats. "Says the kid acts bored most of the time, but his test scores are suspiciously average. Never fails, never excels—perfectly, consistently mediocre across every subject."
"Yet we're sure he's not a security risk?"
"The Hokage seems certain." Bear closed the file and placed it in a drawer that sealed with a flash of chakra. "Says to keep watching but not interfere. Called it 'an interesting development.'"
Hawk laughed, though there was little humor in it, as he glanced at the photographs of the village pinned to the bulletin board beside tactical maps of neighboring countries. "When the Hokage finds something 'interesting,' the rest of us should probably be concerned."
The third ANBU—Owl—had remained motionless in the corner throughout the entire exchange, silent as the weapons mounted on the far wall. Neither Hawk nor Bear acknowledged him as he finally stood. No farewell, no nod of acknowledgment. He simply disappeared through the doorway, his footsteps making no sound on the wooden floors outside.
Once clear of the tower, Owl moved through Konoha's afternoon bustle. He turned left at the dumpling shop, right at the weapons store, doubled back past the academy, and slipped into a narrow alley between two apartment buildings where laundry lines created a patchwork of shadows overhead.
His path seemed random—a civilian might assume he was lost—but each turn, each pause at a market stall, each casual lean against a fence was calculated. A choreographed dance to shed potential tails.
After passing the same stone lantern for the third time, he knelt to adjust his sandal and pressed his palm against a seemingly ordinary section of a garden wall. The stone rippled like water, revealing a narrow passage that sealed itself shut the moment he passed through.
Darkness engulfed him as he descended a staircase that didn't officially exist on any village blueprint. The air grew cooler, damper, carrying the scent of earth and something antiseptic. Owl navigated by memory, turning at precise intervals until he reached a corridor lined with sealed doors, each marked with symbols rather than numbers.
He stopped before a door bearing a stylized root pattern and knelt, removing his mask to reveal a face devoid of expression. The scar running across his left cheek was the only feature that distinguished him from the other faceless operatives who served in shadow.
The door slid open.
"Report," came a graveled voice from within the dimly lit chamber. Shimura Danzo sat behind a low table, a lone candle casting his bandaged face in stark relief. Various scrolls lay organized before him, and a pot of ink remained uncapped, brush resting across its edges. He didn't look up.
"The foreign-recipe situation continues," Owl said, voice flat. "The boy creates dishes unknown to any Fire Country cuisine. Medicinal knowledge beyond his years. ANBU suspects nothing concrete."
"And his scores?" Danzo finally looked up, his visible eye narrowing.
"Deliberately average. Too consistent to be natural."
Danzo's finger tapped once against the table's surface—the only indication of his interest. "Controlled performance then. What of his chakra signature?"
"Unremarkable in class. But..." Owl hesitated. "I observed him alone at training ground seven, nine nights ago. Different. Refined. Precise control I've never witnessed in someone his age."
A silence stretched between them as Danzo considered this information. The candle flame flickered as if disturbed by an invisible current.
"Jiraiya's blood," Danzo finally murmured, more to himself than his operative. "Yet something doesn't align." He reached for a blank scroll, unrolling it with deliberate care. "Continue surveillance. Priority three. Focus on his night movements and any unusual applications of chakra."
"Recruitment potential?" Owl asked.
Danzo's expression hardened. "Undetermined. His ties to Hiruzen's inner circle complicate matters." He dipped his brush in ink, the gesture signaling the end of their exchange. "We will watch. For now."
Owl nodded once, replaced his mask, and rose. No further acknowledgment was necessary as he backed from the room and disappeared into the labyrinth of Root's underground network. The door sealed behind him, the root symbol briefly glowing before fading back to weathered stone.
...