The village was slowly waking, and the streets of Konoha buzzed with a quiet, anticipatory energy. It was the kind of day that promised change.
Nono Yakushi walked at the front of the small group, her posture composed, steps graceful but purposeful, the long white coat of her medic uniform brushing faintly against her calves. Beside her was Akari, her expression less serene, more frazzled as she tried to keep a watchful eye on the children shuffling behind them.
And what a group it was. Fourteen children in total trailed after the two women; some walked with nervous determination, others whispered in excitement, and a few, predictably, couldn't keep still, darting in and out of line until Nono's stern glance reeled them back.
Among them walked Satoru, flanked on either side by Ito and Ayano. The three orphans had stuck together out of habit, comfort found in the familiar. Satoru's sharp dark eyes scanned the line, silently counting. 'Fourteen of us,' he thought.
'Fourteen who think they're ready to be shinobi. I wonder if all of us will actually get into the academy.'
The thought lingered as his gaze drifted past the group and onto the distant outline of the academy building. Its wooden frame looked sturdy even from here; the carved insignia of the Leaf adorned its gates, a constant reminder of where they were and what awaited them.
From everything Satoru remembered of this world, the academy had always carried weight. It was the foundation, the first gateway to becoming a shinobi. But entry wasn't something guaranteed. Konoha, pragmatic as ever, didn't take in just anyone. There had always been requirements, subtle or direct; the aptitude to mould chakra, physical capability, and potential loyalty to the village.
Children from shinobi clans rarely worried about these things; the system bent toward them. But orphans like him? Civilians' children without a bloodline backing? They were more often than not funnelled into the reserves, quietly sidelined as expendables when war came.
'Normally,' Satoru mused grimly, 'half of us wouldn't stand a chance. No support, no clan name, no advantage. Just bodies waiting to fill ranks if needed. But things are different now. The Third War just ended. Konoha bled hard; they need numbers, soldiers, warm bodies to wield kunai. Desperation trims requirements. For once, that might actually play in my favour.'
The thought didn't comfort him so much as it sharpened his awareness. If the bar was lowered, yes, they'd be let in more easily. But it also meant that whatever awaited them down the line would be harsher, faster, more unforgiving. The war might have ended, but peace in this world was never more than a lull.
"Hey—stop that!" Akari hissed suddenly, clapping her hands sharply. Two of the younger boys had broken from the line, chasing each other with loud laughs that echoed across the street.
One tripped, falling flat on his face with an exaggerated thud, and immediately started crying. Akari rushed forward, crouching, her voice flustered. Nono merely sighed, the faintest crease forming at her brow, though she didn't slow her pace.
Satoru shook his head with a small smile.
'Children. They don't even realise what they're walking toward. To them, this is still just a game.'
The group eventually crossed into the training fields that stretched behind the academy. The expanse was wide and open, grass trimmed short from constant use. Wooden posts for target practice stood to the left, scarred by kunai and shuriken. A small sparring ring lay to the right, its sanded ground bordered by a simple rope.
Beyond all that, the academy loomed, its windows reflecting the sunlight, its doors flanked by shinobi instructors who were already watching the incoming groups with practised eyes.
But what drew Satoru's attention more than the academy itself were the people gathering here. They weren't the only ones arriving. Already, the field was dotted with families; clans of Konoha, each with children in tow, some adjusting collars or wiping dirt from little faces, others simply standing tall in quiet pride.
Satoru's eyes sharpened.
There, near the edge, he saw the Inuzuka clan. A tall man with wild brown hair crouched beside two children, each with a small puppy perched proudly on their heads. Their laughter was loud, unrestrained, as the pups yipped and squirmed. The children bore the trademark fang-like markings on their cheeks.
Not far from them, an Akimichi mother was fussing over her plump son, pressing something into his hands; likely food, given the boy's delighted grin. The Nara clan stood apart, two fathers conversing lazily while their sons already looked bored, their half-lidded eyes scanning the crowd as though this entire gathering was too troublesome.
Satoru's gaze shifted again. The Aburame were there; it was impossible to mistake them. Two adults dressed in long coats and dark glasses stood with a small, quiet child between them. The child seemed eerily still, shoulders stiff, as if already aware of the swarm of kikaichū under his skin.
He caught sight of the Sarutobi next. The adult looked like a veteran; scarred, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding. Beside him was a boy, perhaps six, whose face bore the same sharp features.
The Hyūga were present too, as dignified as ever; a man and woman, standing with backs straight, one hand resting gently on the shoulder of a little girl with pale lavender eyes.
And there, his eyes widened slightly; he saw the Senju. Or what was left of them, at least. A tall woman with a proud tilt of her chin stood with two children at her side. Though diminished, their name still carried weight, a living echo of the First and Second Hokage.
But what made Satoru's eyes linger longest was the group standing slightly apart; the Yamanaka clan. Two adults, their pale blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, stood with two children, a boy and a girl who looked no older than five. Their posture was confident, even at that age; they shifted closer together, twin expressions of nervous curiosity on their faces.
Satoru's lips pressed into a thin line. 'So… these will be my peers if I ever join the Yamanaka clan?'
The thought coiled uneasily in his chest.
'They look… ordinary enough. But bloodlines matter here. To everyone else, they're potential shinobi with heritage. To me, they're possible anchors. Possible dangers.'
His gaze flicked across the field again, searching, but something nagged at him.
'Where's the Uchiha? Strange. They're not here. Did they choose to come later? Or… is this another sign of their growing distance from the village?'
He scanned the children more carefully now, searching for familiar faces, anyone he might recognise from the "story" he knew. But so far, there was no sign of anyone he recognised. Maybe this year's batch were the older siblings, the forgotten names.
"Hey, Satoru," Ayano whispered, tugging lightly at his sleeve. Her eyes were wide as she looked at the academy building. "What do you think we'll have to do? To get in, I mean."
Ito leaned in on his other side, his round face scrunched with worry. "Yeah, do you think it'll be hard? What if they ask us to fight or something?"
Satoru gave a quiet snort, shaking his head. "Relax. You two are far better off than most of the kids here. You've already opened your chakra. You've practised control exercises for months. That's more than enough."
Ayano tilted her head. "So… nothing complicated?"
"Nothing complicated," Satoru confirmed.
He smirked, lowering his voice just enough that only the two of them could hear. "Trust me. Some of these kids can't even stick a leaf to their forehead without sneezing. We're way ahead."
That earned a small laugh from Ito, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. "Heh. Okay, I guess that makes sense."
"And even if they do test us," Satoru added, "just keep calm. We've trained for this. We don't need to show off, just show enough."
Ayano nodded firmly, her earlier nerves softening into determination. "Right."
Satoru was about to continue, to reassure them further, when movement at the edge of the field caught his attention.
A group was approaching, their steps measured, their presence commanding. A young man led them, his dark hair gleaming, his face set in an expression of quiet pride. Two children followed him; a boy and a girl, both with unmistakable features. Dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes that seemed to glimmer with a quiet intensity.
And Satoru's words died in his throat.
He froze, mid-sentence, his breath catching. His gaze locked on the boy, recognition slamming into him like a kunai to the gut.
'No. It can't be. What is he doing here?'
But there was no mistaking him. The small frame. The poised, unchildlike calm in his movements. The sharpness of his eyes belonged more to a veteran than a child.
Uchiha Itachi.
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