The sun had dipped lower, painting long shadows across the training field as the sensei stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unflinching. The air itself seemed to still, the rustling of leaves fading as if the world understood that silence was required in her presence.
Akihiro shifted slightly, eyes narrowing. "She hasn't even told us her name yet," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the others to hear.
Sayuri raised an eyebrow, arms folded. "And why are there four of us? Isn't it usually three genin per team?"
Reika scoffed. "Maybe we're just the leftovers."
The sensei paused, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "Nezuko Kamado," she said simply, letting the name settle in the air. "Your sensei. I don't do introductions unless they're earned. I don't forget things like that… cough cough..."
She stepped forward, robe swaying with quiet authority. "As for your numbers… yes, it's unusual. The count of graduates this year was off. Too many passed, not enough instructors. So the Sandaime—yes, the Third Hokage—decided to test a new format. Four genin, one jōnin."
She paused, then added with a faint smirk, "Danzo-sama was the one who named the team. He laughed when he did it… loudly. No one asked why."
Danzo laughed? That's never a good sign. Yeah… I'm officially concerned.
Her golden eyes swept across the group, lingering briefly on Akihiro.
"Consider yourselves the experiment."
Then, without missing a beat, she continued:
"Before we begin team exercises, I want to assess each of you individually," she announced, her tone precise, professional. Every syllable cut the air like a blade, leaving no room for doubt. "One-on-one matches. I need to see your skill, your reaction under pressure, and how well you adapt. Akihiro, you will be the first."
Let's play.
Her eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as though she was already dissecting him—his Byakugan-enhanced reflexes, his posture, his subtle shifts of weight—measuring him against the chaotic unpredictability of his teammates.
Akihiro tensed, fingers brushing against the hilt of his sword, the gesture more instinct than decision. He knew by the steel in her voice that this was not a spar to play safe. It was a trial, and trials under her gaze meant no weakness could be hidden.
"Understood," he said at last, keeping his voice steady, burying the flutter of nerves deep where it couldn't be seen.
Sayuri smirked from her place at the tree, arms folded, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't make it too easy on him," she called, tone dipped in silk and provocation, though loud enough for Akihiro to catch. Her words added a subtle weight to the tension already thickening in the air.
Why does that sound like she's flirting and threatening me at the same time…
Mika fidgeted, the faint sunlight glinting off her horned tiara as she twisted her fiery hair around a finger. "I… I guess this is going to be… interesting," she muttered, half to herself. Her glance darted between Reika and Akihiro, her lips pulling into a nervous but eager smile that betrayed her fascination as much as her unease.
Reika's smirk was sharper, predatory, her blue eyes glinting like ice catching fire. "Good luck, newbie," she murmured, her voice low but heavy with implication.
That tone. She's got tsundere energy, sure. But there's something else...
"You're going to need it." The undercurrent of her tone struck Akihiro in a way that made his chest tighten—half irritation, half something else he didn't want to admit.
The sensei raised her hand, the single gesture enough to slice through all side comments and laughter. Instantly, the group fell silent.
"Akihiro, step forward. You are the only one from a clan with specialized training, which makes this… interesting. The rest of you are civilians with potential, but you have yet to prove it." Her tone was iron, commanding, each word like a hammer against his composure.
Then, almost imperceptibly, her lips curved into a teasing smile. "Don't worry… I won't go easy on you. Though… I might enjoy testing just how well you handle being… overwhelmed." Her gaze dipped briefly, deliberately, to his stance—his grip, his footing—before snapping back to his eyes with a flash of challenge, threaded with flirtation that burned hotter than the sun overhead.
Akihiro swallowed hard, heart pounding against his ribs, yet forced his breathing even. "I… won't disappoint," he muttered, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. He couldn't afford to let distraction undo him. Not here.
"Good," she said simply, but her eyes glittered with dangerous promise.
She stepped closer, the scent of steel and faint perfume mixing in the air between them. Her voice dropped lower, a whisper meant only for him: "Don't get any ideas about me while I'm testing you… though I wouldn't mind seeing how hard you try."
Too late. With those suggestive eyes on me, I can't. Sorry.
Her smirk lingered, curved and lethal, leaving his mind scrambling to keep its footing even before the fight began.
Akihiro exhaled, centering himself. He let chakra flow into his limbs, felt the weight of the sword anchor his focus, and activated the Byakugan—the world sharpening, veins throbbing faintly at his temples as the periphery of his vision expanded. He had to treat this like a battlefield, not a game of words.
The sensei moved first. There was no hesitation—just a blur of steps so fast that the wind seemed to bend around her figure. A high kick cut through the air; Akihiro raised his blade, the metallic clash vibrating up to his shoulder.
He felt it. She wasn't measuring distance: she was measuring him.
The second move came before the first was over—a low spin, her leg sweeping toward his base. Akihiro retreated half a step, his Byakugan anticipating the arc. The blade came down with precision, not to injure, but to intercept—the gentle sword style: the metal slid close to her leg, creating a line of chakra that distorted the fluidity of the strike. The impact wasn't just physical; the sensation was that he had "cut" the invisible flow of the attack, breaking its momentum.
A dry sound, like a string being pulled taut and then released, echoed in the field.
"Interesting," Nezuko murmured, angling her body at an impossible angle, using the force of the block itself to project forward. Her hand came like a spear, aiming for his ribs.
Akihiro twisted his wrist, the short, precise blade deflecting the trajectory with a minimal touch. The cut didn't hit flesh—it hit chakra, destabilizing the flow behind the strike. The style wasn't about strength, but about control, as if he were redrawing her body in mid-movement.
Sayuri sighed from where she watched. "Look at that… the boy knows how to dance."
Reika leaned in, eyes flashing. "Hmph. But how long until she crushes his rhythm?"
The third attack was a pure test: Nezuko vanished in a sudden dash, a shadow against the sun, reappearing at his side. Akihiro barely saw it—barely. The Byakugan picked up the chakra flow before her body could materialize.
He spun on his heel, his blade describing a short arc. The clash sounded sharp, steel against her arm, which had come in an open-handed punch.
The air vibrated with the collision.
Akihiro slid back, his feet carving grooves in the earth. His chest burned, but his mind cleared: each block was a read, each read a fragment of the puzzle that was the sensei.
And she noticed.
"If you only keep defending," she whispered between blows, her face inches from his for an instant, "you'll end up losing more than the fight."
The comment was faster than the fist that came next—and almost more painful.
The steel hissed, his chakra glowing in a discreet blue pulse. The gentle blade slid across her palm, cutting nothing but internal flow, forcing her arm back half a second too late.
That half-second was all he needed.
Akihiro attacked for the first time—a shallow, diagonal cut that didn't aim to injure. The blade passed close to her shoulder, releasing a ripple of chakra that reverberated like a snap. It was a "sealing in motion": her shoulder became sluggish, as if its weight had doubled.
Nezuko arched an eyebrow, genuine surprise crossing her expression. "Ah… so you do bite."
The field fell silent at the impact of that phrase.
Mika bit her lip, nervous. "He… he really hit her?"
Reika narrowed her eyes, but a smirk betrayed hidden pride. "Tsk. Maybe the idiot has more fire than he looks."
Sayuri just laughed softly. "Or maybe he's about to be devoured alive."
The blade hissed once more, deflecting her fist. The Byakugan vibrated in his eyes, amplifying every minute detail. The chakra flow in her arms… the precise turn of her hips… and—damn. Also the calculated sway of her breasts beneath her robe, following the movement as if they were part of the technique.
No. No, no, no.
He tried to force his focus on the line of her feet, her breathing, her chakra. But the Byakugan didn't choose what to show: it showed everything. And the "everything" included every curve, every glimpse of skin when the hem of her outfit lifted slightly more than it should.
The blade almost slipped from his hand.
"Are you distracted, Akihiro?" Nezuko taunted, her gaze piercing right through him as her leg passed his face in a perfect arc. "Or are you… assessing other weak points?"
His heart skipped a beat. His body, another. Damn it, no. Not now.
He felt blood rush to all the wrong places, the pressure rising as if it were a second enemy to fight.
Reika, from the sidelines, noticed his hesitation. Her eyes narrowed, a malicious grin forming. "Hah! The idiot's turning red. Sensei doesn't even need to hit him hard."
Sayuri let out a low chuckle, leaning her shoulder against the tree. "Tsk, typical. First trial by fire and already fighting with… let's say… extra weight."
Mika's eyes widened, as innocent as ever. "E-extra weight? What weight? He's not carrying anything but his sword!"
If she only knew.
Akihiro growled softly, dodging another kick at the last moment. His arm trembled, his blade too. It wasn't just the physical exertion. It was the cursed combination of the Byakugan's total vision and the provocative presence of the woman in front of him.
It's impossible to fight like this… with this damn hard-on getting in my way.
He took a deep breath, forcing his sword firm. He wouldn't give in. He couldn't give in.
Nezuko just smiled, leaning in too close after a blow, whispering low enough for only him to hear: "Focus, Akihiro… or maybe I'm enjoying making you… uncomfortable… more than I should."
Shit. It's not a fight, it's torture.
His body wouldn't obey. Every movement from the sensei, every veiled provocation, every curve that the white eye insisted on registering… had built up more pressure than any physical blow.
He raised his sword one last time, but his hand trembled. His heart was pounding, his face was burning, and the damn impertinent blade below his waist betrayed him with such force that it was impossible to move without revealing his shame.
Nezuko didn't need to touch him. She simply smiled, lowered her guard, and declared: "You can no longer fight."
Sayuri laughed, Reika snorted, and Mika continued to understand nothing.
Akihiro slowly lowered his blade, sweaty and red-faced, cursing silently.
Damn… defeated not by her strength, but by my own hard-on.
The duel was over.
Akihiro staggered back a step, chest heaving, but his eyes never left hers.
The sensei regarded him with calm satisfaction, though a mischievous gleam betrayed her thoughts. "Not bad… but don't think for a second that was all I intended to teach you today."
Her words lingered like smoke in the cooling air, the weight of challenge and something unspoken pressing down on him. And Akihiro knew—this was only the beginning.
Fuck, they are intense. My nuts...