The sun slanted through the windows of the academy classroom, warm and bright, almost annoyingly cheerful.
It felt wrong.
Sasuke sat quietly in the second-to-last row, chin resting on one hand, eyes unfocused. He could feel them staring — the students, the teacher, the occasional peek from a window. Some with pity. Some with curiosity. Some with envy.
He didn't react.
Not out of pride.Just… exhaustion.
His body was healing. But his mind was still a storm.
Two sets of memories still tugged at each other inside his skull. His mother's voice overlapped with news anchors from Tokyo. His father's stern words with the click of a keyboard. It wasn't just painful — it was weird.
The kind of weird that made silence more comforting than speech.
"All right, class," Iruka said at the front of the room, voice softer than usual. "As you all know, Sasuke Uchiha has returned to class. Please give him space, and support if needed."
A few kids nodded. Most avoided eye contact.
Except one.
"Oi! What's the big deal?"Everyone turned.
Naruto Uzumaki was standing on his chair, arms crossed. "Why does he get special treatment, huh? Just 'cause he's got that lame fan on his shirt?"
Iruka facepalmed. "Naruto—"
"It's fine," Sasuke interrupted quietly.
Iruka blinked. Sasuke didn't even lift his head.
"It doesn't bother me."
The class went silent. Even Naruto looked… confused.
Sasuke hadn't sounded offended. Or proud. Just… tired.
Naruto slowly sat back down, still staring at him.
For the next hour, Sasuke could feel it — that blue-eyed idiot looking over now and then. Curiosity, sure. But also something else.
Something strangely… familiar.
At lunch break, Naruto plopped down beside him without asking.
"Don't get the wrong idea," Naruto said, tearing open a lunchbox with too much energy. "I just didn't wanna eat alone today."
"You usually eat alone?" Sasuke asked without looking.
"…No. I mean. Yeah. But not because I want to or anything. People are just dumb."
Sasuke finally turned to glance at him.
Naruto's grin was wide and stupid. His cheeks were stuffed. His lunch was ramen from a paper container.
He was loud, clumsy, messy… and somehow, not annoying.
Just… sincere.
And that sincerity stung more than anything else.
"You're not gonna ask what happened?" Sasuke murmured.
Naruto blinked. "Nah. Everyone already knows, right? Big tragedy. Super sad. You don't need to talk about it."
Sasuke paused.
That was… actually kind.
Unexpected.
Naruto shoved the container toward him. "You want some? It's pork flavor. The best."
Sasuke shook his head slowly. "I'm good."
Naruto shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don't come begging when I have miso tomorrow."
Sasuke huffed — a small, barely-there sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a scoff.
Later, during taijutsu drills, Naruto somehow ended up his partner.
"This'll be over quick!" Naruto said, bouncing on his toes.
Sasuke didn't reply. He held back — carefully. His reflexes were sharp, his instincts stronger than before, but he didn't want to stand out. Not today.
Naruto rushed in with wide, swinging punches. Sasuke sidestepped, blocked, parried gently. Nothing flashy.
Naruto tripped.
Sasuke caught his sleeve before he hit the ground.
"…Huh?" Naruto looked up, confused.
"Next time, fix your balance before charging in like an idiot," Sasuke muttered, letting go.
Naruto scratched the back of his head. "Right… Thanks, I guess."
Iruka called time. They returned to their spots, and for a moment, Sasuke glanced sideways.
There was a warmth to Naruto that felt foreign.
And yet — comforting.
After class, as everyone left, Naruto walked up beside him again.
"You're not that bad," he said casually. "Still kinda boring. But not bad."
Sasuke raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not trying to impress anyone."
Naruto grinned. "Yeah. That's the boring part."
Sasuke watched him walk away — energetic, awkward, alone. Still smiling.
And something shifted in his chest.
Not friendship. Not yet.
But… something close.
Maybe, just maybe — that blond idiot was exactly the kind of person who could break the silence.
Not with answers. But with noise. With stubbornness. With honesty.
And right now…That didn't sound so bad.
___________
The sun dipped lower, casting long golden shadows over the academy courtyard.
Classes were over. Students trickled out in pairs or groups, laughing, shouting, complaining about homework. Sasuke stayed behind a little longer than usual — partly because he didn't like walking in a crowd, and partly because he'd been asked to help Iruka organize the taijutsu mats.
It wasn't much. Just rolling them up and stacking them near the equipment shed. Something mindless, something quiet.
Something that gave him time to think.
His arms moved automatically, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere — on chakra flow exercises, on how much his stamina had improved during secret midnight practice, and… on Naruto.
That idiot.
That idiot who refused to leave him alone.
That idiot who was the first to sit next to him, fight him, talk to him, joke with him — and ask for nothing in return.
Sasuke didn't trust easily. But Naruto…
He wasn't sure what he felt yet.
And then — voices.
Around the corner of the academy, near the back door to the teachers' room.
Sasuke paused.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. But one of the voices made him freeze in place.
"…I said I was fine, didn't I!?" Naruto shouted, his voice cracking just slightly. "I don't need pity!"
A sigh. Iruka's voice, calm but firm. "Naruto. It's not pity. I'm your teacher. I care. You don't have to keep pretending everything's okay."
There was a long pause. Then — softer.
"I didn't even do anything wrong today…" Naruto mumbled. "I tried. I didn't yell at anyone. I even let Kiba copy my scroll... but still, no one talks to me. They just look at me like I don't belong."
Another pause.
"You do belong, Naruto," Iruka said. "More than you know."
A bitter laugh. "Yeah? Then how come everyone treats me like I'm some kind of curse?"
Sasuke stood perfectly still behind the wall, breath caught in his throat.
"I know what it's like to be alone," Iruka continued gently. "I lost my parents too. And for a long time, I hated the world for it. I blamed everyone. I broke a lot of things, pushed people away. But you know what helped?"
Naruto didn't answer.
"Finding just one person who didn't treat me like I was broken."
Silence.
"I think that person's still waiting for you," Iruka said. "But they'll show up. One day."
Sasuke swallowed hard.
He hadn't realized how quiet it had gotten.
Naruto's voice finally returned, small and rough. "...I hope they're not boring."
Iruka laughed softly. "Knowing you? They won't have a choice."
They said nothing for a while after that. Just the sound of the wind, and a few birds overhead.
Sasuke quietly turned and walked away from the shed, leaving the last mat unrolled.
He didn't need to hear more.
That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Sasuke found himself thinking about Naruto again.
About his loneliness.
About his stupid, ramen-stained grin.
About that spark — the way he kept shining even though the world ignored him.
Sasuke hated the sympathy it stirred in him.
But he hated the silence in his chest even more.
"He's annoying," Sasuke muttered to himself. "Loud, reckless, nosy… and honest. Too honest."
"...But maybe that's what makes him different."
He turned on his side, pulling the blanket higher.
"I wonder if he'll keep trying to talk to me tomorrow."
He hoped he would.
Though he'd never admit it.
_______
The Uchiha compound was empty.
Not just quiet — truly, achingly empty. No footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. No paper doors sliding open. No scent of incense or roasted chestnuts. Just a vast silence that crawled up the walls like a ghost that refused to leave.
Sasuke stood barefoot in the garden, surrounded by the stillness of midnight.
The air was cold, but his body was warm from the inside — chakra humming low under his skin like a current waiting to be shaped.
He took a breath.
And then another.
Then he began.
A single leaf rested on his forehead.
Basic chakra control — the kind they taught at the Academy. But tonight, Sasuke treated it like sacred ritual.
He focused the chakra to the exact center of his forehead, holding it perfectly. No fluctuations. No spikes.
The leaf twitched once, then stilled.
Seconds ticked by.
A minute.
Then two.
Then his chakra slipped, just slightly — and the leaf fell.
Sasuke let out a slow breath.
"Again."
He moved on to tree climbing — his favorite among the beginner methods.
His shoes lay discarded by the base of the tree, toes curling into the cool bark.
He gathered chakra into the soles of his feet — slow, even, precise — and began walking up the trunk.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The chakra rippled, uneven.
His foot slipped.
He leapt back and landed softly, frustration flashing across his face.
"Still not steady enough."
"Too much chakra in the left foot. Too little in the right."
"Again."
An hour passed.
Then another.
He didn't keep track of time — only progress. Only stability. Only how long he could hold a perfect channel of chakra before his body, still small and underdeveloped, betrayed him.
His muscles trembled now. Sweat clung to his back. His eyes ached from strain.
But he wasn't done.
Not yet.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the compound, he switched to internal circulation.
He let his chakra flow from his core — through his arms, his spine, his legs — one circuit after another, smoothing the rough edges.
Slow. Controlled. Refined.
The more he practiced, the clearer it became — his body was the only thing holding him back.
His soul was ready.
But his vessel?
Too small. Too soft.
Still seven.
He grimaced.
"I need to strengthen it. Morning training will be for endurance and physique."
"Night will be chakra and control."
"This is how I'll close the gap."
His Sharingan flickered for just a second — involuntary.
And with it came a flash of burning behind his eyes.
He gritted his teeth.
"Too soon," he muttered. "Don't push it."
He deactivated it immediately.
By the time he stumbled back into the kitchen, it was nearly half past midnight.
He reheated the rice and grilled fish left for him by the staff — freshly delivered, courtesy of Hiruzen, who insisted he be fed well during recovery.
It was warm. Quiet. Real.
He ate everything.
Then washed the dishes, splashed cold water on his face, and dragged himself upstairs.
By the time his head hit the pillow, his eyelids were already shutting.
His chakra coils pulsed gently.
His body ached.
But in his chest, something steady began to form.
Not power. Not yet.
Discipline.
Focus.
Resolve.
And this time, when he slept…
He didn't dream of blood.
Only of leaves falling slowly from trees.