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The halls of the Konoha Ninja Academy echoed with the laughter and roughhousing of children training to be shinobi. Among them, a boy stood out not for greatness, but for how pathetically average he seemed. Neji Hyuga...or rather, his shadow clone..slouched into class, last to arrive, last to be acknowledged, and as of this week, officially ranked dead-last in the academy.
This clone, dubbed "Neji A" in the solitude of real Neji's meditative sessions, had spent the last week impersonating his creator. The original Neji, reclusive and careful, had withdrawn from the eyes of the village and left to fire country to explore the word outside konoha. Meanwhile, Neji A, conjured with careful chakra control and instructions carved into his very being, was sent to maintain appearances.
He'd acted his part well.
Too well.
From the moment he entered, he was treated like background noise. Worse, like a joke. The supposed to be prodigy of the Hyuga clan now regularly "lost" to civilian-born kids with barely any chakra control. Each loss was a performance, each humiliation a cover. And it had to be flawless. Real Neji had been firm: "You must not be dispelled. You must last until I return."
Today, however, something changed.
The classroom fight schedule had paired Neji A against the second-last ranked boy: a scrawny, loud-mouthed civilian kid named Kento. Kento had begun to enjoy their daily spars, a chance to puff his chest and proclaim his superiority over a Hyuga. But today, something was different in Kento too.
Perhaps it was the momentum of victories. Or the whispering from his friends. Or maybe the unchecked ego from besting a Hyuga time and again. Whatever the reason, Kento's blow came down a little harder this time. A swift, unexpected fist to the cheek.
Crack.
Neji A stumbled.
The world spun momentarily. There was no blood, but a dull, persistent ache spread across his jaw. For the first time in his short, week-long life, Neji A felt fear.
Not from the pain. Not from Kento.
From failure.
From the looming realization that this blow might be enough to destabilize him, enough to cause his chakra to waver, and worse... enough to dispel him.
"No," he whispered, barely audible.
The fragments of Neji's command etched into his mind like sacred scripture thundered within:
"Do not get destroyed until I return."
Tears welled in his eyes, more from instinct than will. Panic surged. Self-preservation mingled with obedience. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his cheek like a wounded child, and cried out. Still acting his part.
"It hurts!"
The class fell silent.
"What a crybaby," someone muttered.
Neji A didn't care. He was already halfway to the door.
He ran. He bolted from the academy as though the walls were closing in, as if the breath in his chest would vanish if he lingered a moment longer. Down the village roads, past the Ichiraku stand, through the training fields and beyond the market lanes, he ran.
Tears streaked down his face, his chakra flickering, dangerously unstable. He ignored the looks, ignored the whispers, ignored the faint pulse of death that tickled his neck with every leaping footfall.
He reached the Hyuga compound. The guards barely registered him. Branch family members bowed mechanically. A Main House elder snarled something about disgrace. He didn't respond.
He rushed to Neji's room, slammed the sliding door behind him, and collapsed to his knees.
He knew. He could feel it.
His form flickered. His chakra threads unraveled slowly like a spider's web catching fire. His very existence... a construct of will, memory, and chakra... was peeling away.
He pressed his hand to his heart. He didn't want to vanish. Not yet. Not like this.
Not as a coward.
"I didn't want to act weak," he whispered.
The room was silent.
Outside, the compound hummed with daily routine. But in this one space, a clone...a fabricated echo of a boy... curled into himself, not from pain, but from guilt. From frustration. From longing.
He had lived for a week. Seven days of ridicule. Seven days of obeying, performing, surviving. Seven days of being hit, mocked, ignored.
But he had lived. And in those seven days, a spark of self had bloomed within him. Neji A was no longer just a shadow.
He began to gain sentience.
His form began to smoke at the edges, chakra fizzing and crackling softly, like embers in a breeze. His memories, his fears, his humiliations... they would vanish with him. Neji would know. But he has not lived those moments. Those moments were his and his alone.
But for a brief, flickering moment, Neji A placed his hand on the floor and bowed low in true Hyuga fashion.
His last breath was not a gasp, but a whisper.
"I at least did not get dispelled in front of everyone. I hope I bought him time..."
Pop. and gone.
The room was empty. A gentle wind stirred the curtains.
Elsewhere, back at the academy, Kento swaggered. His victory over the Hyuga had become a story he retold with increasing exaggeration.
"I made him cry! The Hyuga! Did you see that? I'm gonna be number one soon!"
The class egged him on. Drunk on his own hype, Kento strutted across the sparring mat and pointed to the next name on the list.
Rock Lee.
A hush fell. Lee stood silently, bushy brows furrowed, eyes calm.
"Yosh. Let us spar with youth and respect."
Kento scoffed. The match began.
Kento lunged.
Lee didn't move. He simply turned, pivoted, and used Kento's momentum against him. A controlled sweep. A palm strike. A roundhouse to the gut.
Kento hit the ground with a painful thud.
Silence.
Lee bowed. Kento groaned, face in the dirt.
"So... it wasn't that I was strong," he murmured, lips trembling.
"It was just... that crybaby was too weak."
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A/N: Neji A died, tgh he was a clone.🥲