(Ayane's POV)
The morning sun was doing its best to cheer up the classroom, but it was fighting a losing battle against the gravitational pull of Azula's desk.
There she was, my best friend, operating in what she refers to as her 'dead fish mode.' It's a state of being so profoundly drained that blinking seems like a high-chakra-cost jutsu.
I observed the scene with the quiet intensity of a naturalist studying a rare and incredibly tired creature. One of my daily rituals is determining the Azula-to-Clone ratio. I leaned in slightly, my voice low so as not to startle the possible apparition.
"Hey, Azula," I murmured, "are you the original today, or are you a shadow clone?"
A single, pale hand lifted from the desk with the sluggish grace of a really tired person. The index finger wavered for a moment, then waggled side-to-side in the universal sign for 'No.'
Message received. Not the real deal. And clearly not in the mood for conversation, not that she ever really is.
I gave a small, understanding nod she probably didn't see and settled back. I wouldn't bother her. The world sees Azula the Prodigy, the girl who is 1st in the tests before the paper hits the desk. They see the results, not the hard work.
But I see it. I have a front-row seat to the silent, relentless engine of her ambition.
Right now, while this clone was barely maintaining itself in the class History of Shinobi Ethics, the real Azula was undoubtedly somewhere gruesome—a training ground, a forest, maybe hanging upside down from a cliff face—pushing her body to its absolute limit with a small army of other clones.
When we were younger, I just thought this was how geniuses were built. Now, I see the desperation in it. This isn't about living up to expectations. Azula wouldn't spit on public expectation if it was on fire.
No, this is something else, something deeper and more personal. With her natural talent, a normal training regimen would still have her many years ahead of everyone.
But 'normal' is an insult in Azula's dictionary. This was… survival-level intensity. As if a meteor were hurtling toward her, and only she could see it.
It's frustrating, this feeling of helplessness. What could I, Ayane, who struggles to land in the top ten despite her patient help, possibly do to help the village's biggest genius?
The gap between us isn't a gap; it's a chasm, and it's only getting wider. My gratitude for all her help feels like a pebble I'm trying to repay a mountain with.
But then, a memory surfaced. A few weeks ago, in a rare moment of non-clone-related irritation, she'd actually grumbled about her plan to awaken the Sharingan, the legendary Uchiha kekkei genkai.
The problem, according to her, was a severe lack of 'quality emotional simulation.'
"I just need a manga that'll really get me, Ayane," she'd muttered. "Something with the right emotional resonance to trick my brain into thinking I've witnessed profound emotions. The idea sounds, but well, the mangas I have received are just average. But well, I have an idea to let my clones try something."
I didn't understand half of it. But the core of the problem, I grasped. A manga. A story.
A thought, fragile and tentative, began to form in my mind. I'm not good at ninjutsu, I'm not a genius. But I know Azula.
I've been her silent shadow since the academy began. I know she hates bitter things but has a secret weakness for dango because of the texture.
I know she finds most people 'unnecessarily loud' but will watch a sunset for ten full minutes without saying a word if she is in the right emotions. If the key is creating a story that resonates with her… maybe that's a mountain I could try to climb.
Maybe, if I could create the perfect story, and if it worked… every time she activated those red eyes in the future, for a split second, she'd think of me. A ridiculous, hopeful little fantasy.
The official Uchiha records state the Sharingan awakens through the trauma of losing a loved one, but Azula has always treated ancient traditions as interesting suggestions. If she says a manga can do it, then for her, it probably can.
I was so lost in this plot to emotionally help my best friend for her own good that I didn't notice the first class ending.
My cue was the soft poof and a small cloud of smoke where Azula's clone had been, just a tactical retreat from existence.
It used to cause a stir, but now it's as normal as the morning bell. The class just accepted that Azula's chakra reserves, while vast, are not infinite, and her clones sometimes reach their expiration date mid-lecture.
My contemplation was interrupted by a voice from behind. "Hey, Ayane."
I turned to see Hiruko, one of the only two students in our year deemed ready for early graduation. The other, of course, is the girl who just vanished into thin air.
"Did Azula ever mention who she's being teamed up with?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. It was a logical question.
Anyone with a functioning survival instinct would want to be on the team with the walking natural talent that is Azula Uchiha. She's competent, and in the shinobi world, that's better than being liked.
I shook my head. "She said she doesn't want the surprise spoiled. She'll find out when everyone else does."
Hiruko nodded, a look of understanding dawning on his face. Of course. Azula, with her privileges, could easily have peeked at the team assignments. But that would be… boring. And Azula has a profound disdain for boredom.
He wandered off, and I turned back to the empty space at the desk next to mine. A mission had crystallized in my mind.
It was audacious, probably stupid, and may fail. But it was my mission. Operation: Emotional Stimulation Through Manga Art was a go. Now, I just had to figure out how to draw.
...
...
...
While Ayane was off in her own little world, Azula was having a significantly more exciting afternoon.
The reason for her clone's dramatic poof of existence wasn't a simple lapse in concentration; it was because the original Azula was facing a man who required her to muster every ounce of her considerable power just to dare share the same training ground. That man was Hatake Sakumo.
It was in one of the Uchiha clan's private training grounds—a blessedly secluded spot, or so she thought. Well, secluded from most prying eyes.
She couldn't account for a certain telescope-wielding degenerate whose lecherous gaze she could feel like a physical itch between her shoulder blades. Some things, it seemed, were universal constants.
"Sakumo-senpai," Azula declared, her voice a low, serious hum that brooked no argument. "I'm going all out."
This wasn't an empty boast. For the last ten minutes, she'd been standing perfectly still, a faint, self-designed seal glowing on her palm as she mentally recalled every last one of her shadow clones.
Across from her, Sakumo's usual easy-going smile had vanished, replaced by the focused calm of a seasoned predator.
When it came to combat, especially against a prodigy like Azula—whom he knew he outclassed in experience, but not by a comical, crushing margin—casualness was a fast track to the infirmary.
His hand went to the hilt of his legendary White Light Chakra Sabre, the very blade that would soon earn him the title Konoha's White Fang.
As for Azula, underestimating him would be the pinnacle of stupidity. These characters from the anime who got the 'tragic backstory, not enough screentime' treatment were, in reality, absolute monsters.
She'd already learned that lesson the hard way by casually observing a peak-performance Hiruzen Sarutobi.
The man's reputation wasn't just hot air; it was a hurricane, though he was far from the First Hokage and was weaker than the frankly abnormal Second. But then, comparing anyone to those two was like comparing a campfire to a supernova.
And don't even get her started on Minato. That guy was a whole other category of nonsense—the man was so powerful he'd single-handedly altered the dominant hair color of the Uzumaki clan for centuries to come! Blonde hair? More like a warning label.
So, when Azula said 'all out,' she meant business. The kid gloves were off, the hiding was over.
By her own assessment, she was stronger than your average, run-of-the-mill Chunin but not quite at the level of a true Jonin.
She'd place herself squarely in the 'Special Jonin' category if it existed now, a title she would have earned through fanatical dedication to chakra control.
Was it top-tier in the grand scheme of the world? No. Konoha alone probably had over five hundred people at or above her level.
But it was respectable.
It meant that unless a walking geological disaster like Ohnoki or a man made of living metal like the Third Kazekage decided to personally swat her, she had a solid chance of making a run for it. After all, she'd already perfected her own method of flight. Take that, gravity!
With her mind made up, Azula moved first.
What happened next made Sakumo's well-honed worldview stutter like a bad transmission. Instead of reaching for a kunai, Azula simply raised her hand.
There was no shouting, no flashy sequence of hand signs—just a sudden, violent whoosh as a sphere of condensed, roaring blue flame materialized above her palm.
The intensity of the heat warped the air around it. From a distant tree, a faint, strangled yelp was heard as a certain peeping tom nearly combusted on the spot from sheer shock, his heart doing a frantic tap-dance against his ribs.
Sakumo, to his immense credit, didn't stand there gawking. He was a real Jonin, and his instincts were sharper than his sword.
The moment that unnatural blue fire appeared, his brain screamed 'Unclassified Kekkei Genkai! Do not touch!' He became a blur, employing the Body Flicker Technique to vacate the spot where he'd been standing a nanosecond earlier.
Azula's fireball, now without a target, shot past like a comet, slamming into a large training log. The initial impact didn't just burn; it shattered the wood into splinters, which were then promptly incinerated into ash.
This was the glorious fusion of her Firebending mastery and this world's Fire Release: not just insanely hot, but packing a concussive force that could turn a regular Chunin's ribs to powder.
Not waiting for a counterattack, Azula didn't use the standard Body Flicker. Why use a generic technique when you could have a signature move?
With a controlled explosion of fire at her feet—a move that would give any podiatrist a heart attack—she rocket-propelled herself straight at the reappearing Sakumo, a new, ominously rotating sphere of blue chakra already spinning in her hand.
Sakumo, initially thinking to parry with his famed blade, felt the hair on his arms stand up. That spinning ball of energy wasn't just chakra; it was concentrated, chaotic motion.
Parrying it felt like a fantastic way to lose a very expensive sword. For the second time in as many minutes, he wisely chose to dodge, his instincts once again saving him from a very bad day.
Azula landed with a graceful skid. Oh, how she despised speed-types. Give her a tank like Tsunade any day. Sure, one clean hit from her could take 50% off an opponent's health bar, but actually landing that hit on someone like Sakumo was like trying to nail jelly to a wall. Exhausting.
Sakumo, however, wasn't in the business of giving his opponents time to complain internally.
He now had a rough estimate of her strength: terrifyingly unorthodox, offensively potent, but predictable in her aggression.
Using ninjutsu at a distance was clearly the play. He decided against his signature Lightning Style—no need to show all his cards just yet. Instead, his hands flew through a short sequence. "Earth Release: Earth Shock!"
As his voice faded, the very ground beneath Azula's feet began to tremble and buckle violently, as if a miniature earthquake had decided to target her personally.
Azula, whose sensory skills were top-notch even if she didn't recognize the specific jutsu, didn't need a manual to know the solution. Ground problematic? Then leave the ground. It was simple logic.
With another fiery thump at her feet, she launched herself vertically into the air, a smirk playing on her lips as she left the trembling earth behind while fire wings appeared at her back—don't ask, Ninja World logic.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Anyway, the reason why the timeskip is this small was to reintroduce Azula's training, project, Hatake Sukumo and his supernatural talent, Nawaki and ---, and the relevant people, a big timeskip coming in about four chapters.