The afternoon sun filtered through the trees as Akihiro stepped onto the cleared training field, sword in hand, ready for the next set of trials.
Nezuko crossed her arms, watching the three kneeling on the field, breathless and with eyes full of frustration. Then, with a faint smile at the corner of her lips, she said:
"Don't give me that defeated look. This was just the warm-up. Now let's see how you handle yourselves against other genin. Maybe then you'll figure out whether the problem is your technique… or your attitude."
The sensei had finished her one-on-one evaluation, leaving him slightly drained but alert, and now it was time to face the rest of his team—Sayuri, Mika, and Reika. Each would test him in different ways, and he knew this wasn't just a fight; it was a study in strategy, reaction, and control.
Sayuri moved first, her approach slow, deliberate.
The faintest smile played on her lips as her golden eyes locked onto his. It wasn't a challenge in volume or force; it was psychological.
She let subtle genjutsu ripple through the air, distractive movements that made Akihiro hesitate, second-guessing where she would strike next.
He adjusted his stance, Byakugan flaring, tracing chakra currents to discern reality from manipulation.
The Byakugan didn't censor. He saw the sway of her hips, the lift of her chest with each breath, the sweat trailing between her cleavage.
Every movement was visible, magnified, and impossible to ignore. He tried to focus on chakra flow, but his eyes kept drifting. Not because he wanted to — but because the Byakugan didn't care what he wanted.
Her movements were elegant, almost dance-like. Small, precise strikes aimed at openings he didn't realize existed until he deflected them with a controlled flick of his blade.
Each cut was short, sharp, and calculated, leaving minimal room for counterattack. Yet every time he tried to press, the subtle distortion of his senses made him falter, giving her the psychological edge.
"You're reading too much into what you see," she whispered, voice low, almost intimate, but layered with a challenge that forced him to stay focused.
"Trust your instincts, Akihiro… but never too much."
She twirled past him, hair brushing lightly against his cheek, a teasing whisper following: "Keep up, or I might enjoy this more than I should."
He exhaled, channeling Byakugan to predict her angles, feeling the rhythm of her strikes, and finally found a weak spot.
A clean cut, precise, grazed her sleeve—enough to mark progress without causing harm. Sayuri stepped back with a soft, approving laugh.
"Not bad," she murmured, her tone laced with mock disappointment. "But I was barely trying."
Next came Mika, bouncing forward with unpredictable energy. Her clones multiplied erratically, stumbling over each other, falling into smoke bombs, and creating chaos in the middle of the field.
Akihiro blinked, trying to track the real target, when one of her inadvertent smoke explosions obscured his vision for a fraction of a second.
The skirt flipped mid-spin. The curve of her thighs caught the light. A clone exploded behind her, and the smoke framed her silhouette like a spotlight. He saw the kunai coming — but his eyes were locked on the wrong details. The Byakugan betrayed him again.
That fraction was all Mika needed to flick a kunai near his shoulder—but she was too distracted laughing at her own antics to finish the move properly.
Akihiro smirked, pivoting and slicing a clone midair, but then realized the unpredictable flow of her chakra subtly amplified his own Byakugan perception.
The jutsu she fumbled through wasn't random—it created an unforeseen advantage. He adjusted his strikes, weaving through her chaotic attacks, and couldn't help but laugh softly at her oblivious genius.
"Hey! Don't just… slice at me like that!" Mika squealed, cheeks red, as she tried to regain control of her clones, which now formed a stumbling barricade.
Akihiro blocked, parried, and stepped back, mentally noting how her apparent clumsiness was a deceptive weapon.
Mika spun to launch a clone, but Akihiro, with his Byakugan active, was already tracking every chakra flow, every subtle muscle adjustment, every oscillation of balance.
He saw her foot slip, the chakra misalign, the jump go awry—he saw the trajectory, the fall, everything.
And he did nothing.
I could dodge. I should dodge. I didn't dodge.
In the last second, out of pure reflex—or maybe a suicidal instinct—he extended his arms, ready to cushion the impact.
She fell on him in a pose that defied logic and dignity. Upside down, her breasts pressed against his chest, her legs wrapped around his head like a living knot, and her face turned downward, inches from his. A faint scent of roses clung to her, dizzying him for a heartbeat.
"Ah! S-sorry!" Mika said, eyes wide, her voice coming out almost upside down.
But it wasn't just her face.
With the Byakugan, he saw everything. The skirt raised too high. The white panties with shuriken patterns hovering at the center of his amplified vision. The warmth of the contact, the weight of her body, and the complete impossibility of staying focused.
Akihiro froze.
69… I get it now.
In the background, the sensei let out a small laugh.
"Careful, Akihiro. That's not the kind of impact training I meant."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. His brain was in emergency mode, trying to reboot while Mika tried to get up—which only made the situation worse, since she was supporting herself on her elbows, pressing her breasts against him again, and her legs were still wrapped around his head.
I'm gonna die. Not in battle. Just… emotionally.
Before Akihiro could recover from emotional damage, the wind changed—Reika hit like a storm, sudden and explosive.
A spinning kick clipped his sword, a punch charged with impact chakra slammed into his defense, sending vibrations up his arms. Her speed was relentless, and her teasing tone grated on his focus.
"You're slow, Akihiro!" she taunted, voice sharp, eyes blazing. "Come on, keep up, or I'll have to… punish you properly!"
Can I go one round without getting hard wood? Please…
He barely managed to sidestep a sweeping kick, feeling the energy pulse from her strikes.
Her strikes were brutal, but his eyes betrayed him again. The twist of her waist, the flex of her abs, the way her top clung to sweat-slick skin. Every motion was amplified. Every curve, every ripple. The Byakugan didn't just show him the fight — it showed him everything else. And that was the real distraction.
Each attack disrupted his rhythm, but he noticed patterns—tiny tells in her stance and motion that gave away the force and direction.
By combining Byakugan perception with kenjutsu precision, he deflected, parried, and even turned one of her punches into a glancing strike, redirecting her momentum rather than clashing head-on.
As she spun for a strike, her sleeve slipped slightly, brushing his arm. "Hmph… don't misread that," she snapped, though her eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief.
Reika's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and challenge passing over her face.
"Hmm… not bad," she murmured, letting him readjust.
"But don't think you're out of my reach." She charged again, grin teasing and fierce, chakra flowing like coiled energy ready to explode.
Through all of it, Akihiro kept his focus split—tracking Sayuri's subtle manipulations, Mika's chaotic support, and Reika's direct aggression.
His sword became more than a weapon; it became an extension of his perception.
Cuts aimed not just to defend, but to seal small bursts of chakra in the air, desynchronize attacks, and create openings for the other team members—without anyone being hurt.
Finally, after a series of spinning strikes, parries, and feints, the trio paused, catching their breaths.
Sweat ran down Akihiro's forehead, but his eyes burned with satisfaction. He had survived, adapted, and learned more about each member's unique capabilities.
Sayuri, Mika, and Reika were a living demonstration of chaos, charm, and raw power—precisely what made the team so dangerous and unpredictable.
The sensei stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes glinting with approval.
"Well done," she said, her tone sharp but tinged with that familiar playfulness.
"You all understand the value of your strengths… and the necessity of working as a team. Akihiro, your control and perception are impressive—but don't get cocky."
She tilted her head, giving a sly smile.
"And remember, being overwhelmed isn't always bad… sometimes it's… educational."
Akihiro exhaled, lowering his sword, feeling the tension of the sparring melt away.
Despite the teasing undertones and provocations, he had learned volumes—not only about the raw power of his teammates, but about how to anticipate, control, and adapt in unpredictable circumstances.
The team's strengths were varied, chaotic, and intense, but they were complementary.
As the sun sank behind the horizon, Akihiro glanced at Sayuri, Mika, and Reika. Each had their own style, their own edge, their own unpredictability—but together, they were formidable.
The real test would be missions, improvisation in the field, and navigating both the chaos of combat and the provocations each member brought.
And as he sheathed his sword, he couldn't help but smile faintly, knowing that surviving and mastering this team would require every ounce of skill, patience, and—just maybe—a tolerance for distraction he hadn't yet perfected.
The dance of blades, chakra, and subtle provocations had only just begun.
Who would've thought my greatest vulnerability… would be loving too much.