A few weeks after their mission in the Land of Grass, morning broke quietly over the Hyūga compound.
In one of the Side Branch quarters, neither grand nor humble, Kanae woke as she always did.
The first thing her eyes found was the mirror.
Her face stared back at her, beautiful, framed by loose strands of dark hair, eyes pale and luminous.
And across her forehead, that conspicuous green seal.
No matter how striking she was, that mark drowned it all in her eyes.
She despised it.
Yet every morning she looked at it anyway, forcing herself to face it, using it as fuel.
A reminder of who she was, and why she trained.
She gritted her teeth, turned from the mirror, covered the seal, and began her day.
The chores were short, performed mechanically, and soon her body moved into the familiar patterns of training.
Her house, empty since her parents' deaths, had one room reserved for it, lined with dummies and weighted practice posts.
From morning until noon, she worked through Gentle Fist routines, the art that honed body, chakra, and spirit in one.
But now she supplemented it.
Ever since Ryusei had told her that her body needed physical conditioning to improve her Yang Release, she had added strict exercises from the scroll he gave her.
Push-ups, weighted strikes, balance drills. They were slowly becoming as much a habit as Gentle Fist itself.
In the middle of her regimen, her thoughts slipped again.
That narrow-eyed face appeared in her mind, messy hair, faint grin.
She caught herself replaying their exchanges, hearing his voice.
For a moment, she lost rhythm, then tightened her focus and forced herself back into form.
She never noticed the slight curve tugging at the corner of her lips while she thought of him.
Outside missions, she rarely left the compound.
Most Side Branch didn't, why would they?
The clan had everything: its own medical center, libraries, weapons stores, and businesses in and around Konoha providing income.
Konoha's subsidies, too, though everyone knew what that meant.
Side Branch members worked, fought, bled, and a portion of every reward went straight to the Main Branch elders.
The "rats" sat atop the compound, feasting while the others labored.
They justified it as "upbringing and protection."
In truth, all clan logistics, from perimeter security to resources, lay in the hands of the Main Branch elders and their lineages, especially the patriarch's lineage.
So after reporting in at the Hokage's office with her team, Kanae had returned here.
She hadn't left since.
She hadn't seen Ryusei again either.
And though she refused to admit it, the thought kept creeping back.
When is the next mission? What is he doing now…?
"Am I missing him? No!" she muttered, cheeks heating.
She slapped her face lightly, as if to chase the thought away.
Her eyes fell back on the scroll he had left her, notes on Yang Release development, detailed and precise, carefully written.
Distracted again, her expressions flickered: warm, then agnry, then cold.
She noticed for the first time that the parchment itself was of high quality, decorated with subtle ornaments.
Her blush deepened.
Shaking her head, she forced herself to read again.
The large folded pages were filled with knowledge, practical and clear.
She was improving, her techniques sharper, her conditioning stronger.
And her own unique ability helped: her microscopic Byakugan vision, now refined enough to see down to the level of tissue.
It was one step above what medical texts described as "cells".
That tiny distinction gave her a precision that felt almost unfair compared to others.
She could map her chakra system and her body's inner workings with terrifying clarity.
It made learning Yang Release nearly effortless.
Soon, she felt, she would be ready for the technique Ryusei had teased her with, Vital Surge.
She couldn't help recalling how Ryusei had passed it to her.
Not solemnly, not formally, but with that teasing tone of his as they returned to Konoha, as if gifting her something priceless was just another joke at her expense.
Or even beyond: the idea of merging Gentle Fist with medical ninjutsu into something new.
Gentle Fist of Healing.
Medical ninjutsu so exquisite that it could actually patch yourself up dynamically in battles.
Many Hyūga had dreamed of it, but none had possessed the vision, control, and Yang affinity to achieve it. She did.
However, her hand suddenly paused on the scroll.
Her breath stilled.
Something in the air shifted.
She forced herself to keep reading, eyes scanning lines she no longer saw, posture still.
The visitor's presence crept at the edge of her senses.
She didn't need to see him to know who it was.
That voice, that arrogant gait. The Main Branch degenerate.
The one her parents had died for.
Memories cut sharp: his foolish desire to "prove himself" on a dangerous mission during the war, her parents ordered to guard him.
Their sacrifice, his survival, his return with empty praise and no scars.
Kanae's teeth pressed together until they ached. Her forehead seal seemed to burn hotter.
'Because of you, they're gone. Because of your weakness, your arrogance.'
Still, she sat perfectly composed, feigning focus on Ryusei's scroll.
Only the cold gleam in her pale eyes betrayed the storm she held inside.
She knew too well that Side Branch members were watched far more closely than they realized.
Every flicker of a micro-expression, every twitch of resentment on their faces, could be noticed and judged.
Even the smallest sign of harboring ill will toward a Main Branch member, or the Main Branch as a whole, was enough to invite punishment.
It didn't matter if they never acted on it, never spoke a word of disrespect. The brand on their foreheads left them no defense.
Kanae had learned to master herself. With her unique vision of her own body, and with a will sharpened by hatred and discipline, she could suppress stray reactions, keep her pulse steady, her expression flat.
It was the only way to survive, to bury her ambition and bide her time.
She could never gamble on whether a Main Branch member might be watching with Byakugan, studying her every move.
One mistake, one betrayal of her true feelings, and she would be dragged into private punishment, those searing waves of brain-crushing pain.
The knock came first, sharp and deliberate against the sliding door.
Not the polite kind, but the knock of someone who assumed the space within already belonged to him.
Kanae's grip on the scroll tightened until the paper nearly crumpled.
She forced herself to breathe evenly, to keep her eyes on the characters in front of her as though still studying.
But every part of her body knew who it was.
The faint shuffle of feet outside confirmed it, his entourage, Side Branch attendants who trailed him wherever he went, carrying themselves with borrowed pride as though proximity to the Main Branch raised them above their kin.
Their presence alone made her stomach knot with disgust.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. 'Here again. So soon. He's coming earlier and earlier, less cautious, less restrained. He doesn't even pretend anymore.'
Hatred bubbled in her chest, threatening to crack her mask.
He had grown bolder with every visit, the subtle dominance in his eyes becoming clearer each time.
The faint smirk when she bowed in ritual courtesy, the condescension laced beneath his carefully measured words.
And worse, the way his eyes assessed her when he thought she wasn't looking, traveling across her shoulders, her stance, her face, like a merchant examining a prize to be claimed.
Kanae's nails dug into her palm beneath the sleeve of her robe. 'How dare you. In their house. After you killed them. And now… you think you'll take me too?'
Her hatred for him, already deep, was swelling into something monstrous.
It had been years since that disastrous mission, years since she first endured his false "apologies," but now that she was older, she saw it for what it was, mockery dressed as courtesy.
And with every visit, every smug glance, he stripped away another layer of the mask.
The knock came again, louder, followed by the creak of sliding wood.
Kanae turned her head just slightly, her expression calm, betraying nothing.
Only her eyes sharpened, cold as steel, as the figures entered.
His entourage stepped first, Side Branch shinobi in muted colors, their gazes lowered out of habit, carrying themselves like the shadows of his will.
And then came Hyūga Kōjirō.
His form filled the doorway: tall, wrapped in fine clan robes, pale eyes gleaming with the practiced air of nobility.
His hair was neatly tied, not a strand out of place.
The faint curl of his lips suggested polite composure, but Kanae had seen it too many times to mistake it for anything other than quiet arrogance.
Her stomach twisted, her hands tightening around the scroll until the veins in her knuckles showed.
The floor creaked as his sandals crossed the threshold, the entourage settling behind him like hounds at heel.
The air in her parents' home grew heavy, suffocating, as Kanae rose from her seat, her face still unreadable.