A minor duel event was hosted by the Hyuga to honor the memory of Hiashi. Clan children sparred in formal matches. The elders, stone-faced as always, sat in judgment. Main and Branch were divided as usual.
When Hotaru's match began, he was up against a main family prodigy, Arisa. The elders barely paid attention.
Until halfway through.
Hotaru feinted with a visible strike—then suddenly a clone flickered to her side, distracting her just long enough for him to land a palm against her ribs. The match ended in a clean blow.
The elders murmured. Some confused. Some angry. One, however—the oldest—nodded slowly.
Later that evening, Hizashi stood behind the elders.
"It seems we are witnessing a new style," he said mildly.
One elder scoffed. "A child's trick. Not worthy of the Hyuga blood."
Another leaned forward. "But the trick worked."
The policy was never formally declared. No scroll was signed. But Neji's secret group began getting better training equipment. Space was cleared for their practice.
And among the younger Hyuga, a new phrase began to circulate:
"Flow like shadow, strike like light."
And so the quiet shift began—subtle, slow, yet irrevocable. The Hyuga still revered the Gentle Fist. But for the first time in generations, a different kind of strength was beginning to bloom within its iron tradition.
And it all started with a boy who dared to ask for a shadow.
A chilly morning mist still clung to the tiled rooftops of Konoha when Neji formed the Shadow Clone hand signs with familiar ease. With a burst of chakra and a soft puff of smoke, Neji A emerged—a perfect copy with his posture, tone, and habitual scowl dialed down to match the "mediocre, determined failure" persona he had spent months crafting at the academy.
"You know what to do," Neji instructed flatly.
Neji A gave a small nod. "Act like you. Like the you everyone knows."
The clone grabbed his half-packed academy satchel and took off with brisk efficiency, his sandals slapping lightly across the compound's stone pathway. Neji watched him leave, then turned and smirked to himself.
He had done it.
After over a hundred attempts, chakra collapses, and two nights of vomiting blood from chakra exhaustion, Neji had achieved stable 24-hour clone deployment. He could now maintain one active clone indefinitely without chakra drain, provided it didn't engage in high-stress combat.
And today, the real Neji was going to live—not as the scorned genius from a cursed clan—but as a wanderer, a shadow, a child with eyes wide open to the world beyond the Hyuga walls.
Meanwhile, at the Academy…
Neji A slouched into the classroom just as the morning bell rang. He made sure to fumble his step a bit and offered a sheepish wave to Rock Lee, who was balancing on one hand near the back.
"Late again, Neji-kun?" teased Sasamoto Orui, their homeroom teacher, as he chalked the date on the board. "You'll be late for your own funeral if this keeps up."
"Sorry, sensei! I tripped… again," Neji A muttered.
Tenten stifled a giggle.
Today was mock drill review. Neji A forced himself to lose two sparring rounds with comedic flair—once by tripping over his own sandal, another by charging headfirst into a kunai block from a quiet Nara boy. Everyone rolled their eyes, but Sasamoto only sighed and muttered, "At least he's persistent."
Despite bruises, Neji A endured, not dispersing, and returning to class with an exaggerated limp and a bandage wrapped around his head.
Back to Real Neji…
The real Neji had left the Hyuga compound hours before sunrise. His transformation technique had matured to perfection. His new face was plain, his body slightly thicker, posture stooped like a field hand. He was now "Shin," a 12-year-old boy hired to help the Mugen trading company caravan headed east to the Fire Daimyo's province.
Eight caravans. Dozens of crates. Twenty workers. Two senior guards.
Neji noted everything with practiced observation, careful not to activate Byakugan unless absolutely necessary.
The caravan manager, a gruff scarred Chūnin named Daizo, only cared whether he could push carts and take orders.
"You can keep up?" Daizo barked.
Neji flexed his arms. "Yes, sir. I've done freight loading with my uncle's shop."
"Good enough. You leave tomorrow. Be ready before dawn."
The Night Before Departure…
Neji stood on a balcony under the moonlight, whispering to himself.
Three months ago, he was a caged prodigy locked in a clan's suffocating pride.
Now, he was executing live-field clone substitution while preparing to disappear on a ten-day trade route as an anonymous worker—all before the age of seven.
And that wasn't all.
Neji had been secretly developing a technique: "Chakra Sogeki… Scatter Trace."
It is a sensory disruption technique that spreads minute threads of chakra across a wide area, anchoring them to surfaces like dust, leaves, walls, or even mist particles. These threads act like invisible tripwires when an enemy's chakra signature brushes against them, the user gets an instant pulse of their location, speed, and direction. It's not pure detection; it's a net. What makes it deadly is its subtlety—most shinobi won't even realize they've triggered it until it's too late. It's perfect for ambushes, tracking, or escaping when i encounter a deadly opponent. Think of it as laying down chakra shrapnel and turning the battlefield into a trap.
He hoped to master it by the time he returned.