Konoha was alive with motion as Team 7 passed through its gates.
Children sparred with sticks near the training fields. Market vendors shouted from behind fruit stands. The late afternoon sun painted the rooftops in gold. But for Hyuk Haruno, it was all white noise.
He walked slightly behind the others—near enough to stay within team formation, but far enough to keep them from thinking they could speak to him. Kakashi led the way in his usual unbothered slouch, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his ever-present orange book.
They made their way to the Hokage's Tower in silence.
Inside, the Third Hokage—Hiruzen Sarutobi—sat behind a mountain of scrolls. His wrinkled features were calm, but his eyes, sharp as ever, drifted over each of them with quiet scrutiny.
"A mission well done," he said, after Kakashi gave a concise report. "It seems the four of you are adapting to fieldwork faster than expected."
Hyuk said nothing. Naruto beamed. Sakura stood tall. Sasuke nodded curtly.
Hiruzen's gaze lingered on Hyuk. "And you, Haruno. How do you feel about your team?"
Hyuk didn't look up. "It functions."
A pause.
"Nothing more?"
"I didn't join a team for feelings, Lord Hokage."
The silence that followed was heavy. Hiruzen didn't press further. He only nodded slowly, as if committing something to memory.
"You're dismissed," he finally said. "Get some rest. A more complex mission may be on the horizon."
---
Outside the tower, Naruto stretched with a loud groan. "Man, I'm starving!"
He turned to Sakura. "Ramen?"
She smiled politely. "Sure, why not?"
Then she looked at Hyuk. "You're welcome to come. Ichiraku has that tea you like—"
"No." His voice was quiet, firm.
Sasuke didn't say anything. He simply turned and walked toward the training grounds without a glance back. Hyuk went in the opposite direction.
The further he got from them, the lighter he felt.
---
Hyuk ended up near the outskirts of Konoha, where the forest grew thick and the path grew quiet. He stood atop a boulder, overlooking a small stream.
He breathed deeply.
Here, the village noise was gone. Here, he could think.
I didn't join a team for feelings.
He meant it. He always had. Ever since he was old enough to hold a kunai, he had trained with purpose: to be unshakable. That meant not depending on others. Not hesitating.
Not needing anyone.
But as much as he hated to admit it, something from the rogue-nin ambush still echoed in his mind. Not the fight—it was over before it began. No, it was the look Sasuke gave him after. That unspoken recognition.
Hyuk clenched his jaw.
We're not the same.
He turned and threw a kunai into the tree behind him. It struck dead center.
Again.
Dead center.
Again.
Again—
Until a voice broke the rhythm.
"You're intense when you're pissed off."
He turned.
Reina.
Not a ninja. Not a peer. Not part of any squad. Just a civilian girl who wandered too far out sometimes. Brown eyes. Raven hair. A strange calmness about her.
She stood at the edge of the tree line, watching him with the same soft expression as always.
"You shouldn't be here," Hyuk said, voice flat.
"I was walking," she replied simply. "Didn't know rage-throwing kunai into innocent trees was a crime."
He didn't respond.
She stepped closer. "You're always alone. Even when you're with them."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why does that matter?"
Reina shrugged. "Doesn't. Just an observation."
Then, after a pause, she added, "You always act like the world is too slow for you."
That made him blink, just once.
Something about the way she said it wasn't mocking. It wasn't admiration either. Just… true.
Hyuk didn't move. For a long moment, they just stood there—two people from different worlds, silence hanging between them.
Reina eventually turned to leave. "See you around, shadow boy."
She disappeared into the trees.
Hyuk didn't call after her.
But his next kunai missed the mark by an inch.
---
That evening, back in his apartment, Hyuk sat at his desk, staring at the journal he never wrote in. A gift from his mother. The cover was still pristine.
He opened it for the first time.
He didn't write a name. Or a date. Or a mission detail.
He wrote just three words:
"I felt something."
Then he closed the journal.