"Uhh… my name is Kiyu Gunto. I like ramen and training. My dream is to become strong enough to protect Konoha and my loved ones."
My introductions were met with cold silence. Many of the students didn't speak; rather, they all looked towards Nawaki with the same shocked face as I did.
I mean, who could blame them? They are in the same class as the younger brother of the Hokage student. Not to mention that since Tsunade is considered the "Senju Princess" as the granddaughter of the First Hokage, Nawaki carries the same prestige as her.
In other words, by becoming good 'friends' with Nawaki, you would have a straight shot at becoming Hokage!
By the time the last person finished their introduction, Harima-sensei cleared his throat.
"That is all. See you next week, everyone." With that, he left the classroom.
As soon as Harima-sensei stepped out and the door slid shut, the room erupted like someone had thrown a kunai into a hornet's nest.
"Nawaki-kun! Wanna train together sometime?"
"Hey, Nawaki, do you like dumplings? There's a shop near my house—"
"Senju Nawaki, right? You're so cool! We should hang out!"
I blinked. One second ago, these kids were statues; now they were all buzzing around Nawaki like bees swarming a flower.
Nawaki scratched the back of his head, clearly overwhelmed. "Uh… sure? I guess?"
One kid pushed past me, grinning ear to ear like he'd already unlocked an S-rank mission. "If Nawaki and I become best friends, maybe I'll get invited to dinner with Lady Tsunade! Or better—training with her!"
It was ridiculous. The logic was flawed—no, it was completely cracked—but it didn't stop half the class from suddenly acting like Nawaki's long-lost cousins.
I watched the chaos unfold, arms crossed.
"Unreal," I muttered.
Not that I could blame them. I mean… even I wouldn't mind being on his good side.
But chasing someone just because of their bloodline?
Not my style.
Still, as Nawaki laughed awkwardly under the barrage of attention, our eyes met for a moment. I gave him a small nod, not of awe, but of respect.
He looked surprised. Then smiled.
______________________________________________________________
Most students would have bolted straight home the moment class ended, eager to escape the rigid discipline of the academy. Some, the more social types would stick around and spend their afternoon laughing and chatting with friends, maybe grabbing a bite to eat or heading to a favorite hangout spot.
And then there were the rare few—the ones who didn't see class as the end of the day, but the beginning of something else. Something harder. Something that demanded more.
I'm one of those few.
As soon as class was dismissed, I slipped out quietly, avoiding the noise and bustle of my peers. My feet carried me through the familiar streets of Konoha, past shops, homes, and the ever-watchful patrols of shinobi who kept the village safe.
My destination wasn't home. I was heading towards one of the many training grounds scattered throughout the village.
Konoha's training grounds are a strange mix—some alive with the clash of sparring partners, others eerily quiet, forgotten or ignored. They're open for all to use, but only if you're willing to pay the price. And that price isn't cheap when you're living off the village's charity.
Before I could even think about practicing, I had to stop by the small booth that managed access. The clerk barely looked up as I handed over the payment—Ryo, I could hardly afford. The stipend I get as an orphan covers just enough to keep me fed and clothed, but not much more. Every hour of training here comes at the cost of something else: a meal, a repair, maybe even sleep.
Sometimes, I wonder… could I exchange some of the Berries left in my old account? The ones from before I ended up here? I've been meaning to ask someone if there's a way to convert them into Ryo. It's a long shot, but I don't have many options left. I'll have to look into it soon, before the money runs out entirely.
After settling the payment, I made my way to one of the more secluded grounds—Training Grounds 47. It's on the edge of Konoha, far enough that few people bother with it. That's what I like about it. It's quiet. Isolated. No one to interrupt. No one to watch. Just me, the wind rustling the leaves, and the echo of my movements in the space.
The ground was uneven, patches of grass clinging to the dirt like forgotten memories. The old wooden posts stood like silent sentinels, marked by years of strikes, slashes, and kunai scars. It wasn't much to look at, but to me, it was perfect. I dropped my bag to the side, rolled my shoulders, and took a deep breath.
So, I started my grind.
______________________________________________________________
Tsunade returned to Konoha under the waning light of dusk, the warm hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the village streets. Her mission had dragged on longer than expected—seven grueling days along the treacherous borders near Sunagakure.
What should have been a routine sweep of a bandit stronghold had turned into a bitter skirmish when they discovered that some rogue Suna-nin had allied with the criminals.
They were no ordinary stragglers either. These shinobi fought with desperate fury, cornered by politics and exiled by their people. Skilled, angry, and unpredictable—exactly the kind of opponent Tsunade hated. Jiraiya had fallen early, poisoned during the initial exchange of kunai. His cocky smirk had quickly been replaced with pale sweat and ragged breathing as the toxin spread.
With no time to spare, Tsunade had stabilized him, her hands glowing with chakra while Orochimaru fended off the advancing enemies. The pair had completed the mission without him—efficient, brutal, and unrelenting. Orochimaru was quiet as always, his loyalty masked behind that unreadable gaze.
Jiraiya, of course, found a convenient way to dodge Tsunade's inevitable fury: he volunteered to write the mission report to Hiruzen. The toad sage's sudden enthusiasm for paperwork had nothing to do with duty—it was a thinly veiled attempt to stay out of punching range. Tsunade saw right through it.
For now, she let it slide.
She exhaled as she passed under the large wooden arch that marked the entrance to the Senju clan compound. The stone pathway, worn smooth by generations long gone, stretched ahead into shadow. Two guards—civilian shinobi in flak vests too large for their frames—snapped to attention at her approach.
"Princess Tsunade. Welcome back. Master Nawaki has returned home from the Academy just recently," one of them reported stiffly, avoiding her eyes.
Tsunade gave a silent nod, her footsteps echoing as she crossed into the compound proper. The silence was thick. Heavy. The air smelled faintly of old wood and smoke from the few lit candles scattered inside the building.
Once, this place had been alive with laughter, training cries, and clan meetings that echoed with the strength and legacy of the Senju name. Now, it was a mausoleum of memories.
The great Senju Clan—once the cornerstone of Konoha's founding, rivals in prestige only to the Uchiha—was reduced to whispers.
It was Tobirama, her uncle, who had made the fateful decision. He believed unity would be forged better through the dissolving of clan identity. The Senju, he had argued, should not place themselves above the rest. He ordered the formal disbanding of the clan, scattering its members into the general population, diluting the once-pure bloodline until only two remained.
Tsunade and her younger brother, Nawaki.
They carried the name, the blood, the burden. But what use was a clan with no one left to lead? The few staff who remained were loyal but powerless. Civilian-born shinobi. They could not resurrect the legacy of the God of Shinobi.
She made her way down a darkened corridor, her heels tapping softly against the wooden floor. The silence around her was oppressive, not just from the emptiness, but from what it signified—centuries of pride now echoing in hollow rooms.
She paused in front of a door near the inner hall. A faint, flickering glow leaked through the thin gap beneath it. Candlelight. Nawaki was still awake.
Her hand hovered over the wood for a moment, the cool grain smooth beneath her fingertips. For a brief second, she let herself breathe, gathering her thoughts before stepping back into the only true responsibility that remained to her.
Clan head. Sister. Heir of a fading legacy.
She knocked once, gently.
"Nawaki," she said softly, her voice laced with fatigue. "I'm back."