Satoru stood in the middle of it all, hands half raised, disbelief written plainly across his face. His hair was slightly ruffled, a sheen of sweat glinting along his brow from the light drills they had been doing before. His tone, however, was far from calm.
"How are we even having this discussion?" he demanded, gesturing with both hands as though the air itself might side with him. "There is no way I'm surviving, let alone winning, a spar between the three of us!"
The outburst echoed faintly off the surrounding trees, scattering a few perched birds that took flight with a flutter of wings.
He turned sharply, pointing an accusing finger toward his so-called training partners; his tone carrying the indignation of someone who had been unjustly sentenced. "You're a chūnin, Shisui. Itachi's a genin. I'm just an academy student. This isn't fair!"
Across from him, Shisui stood with his usual lopsided grin, hands resting on his hips, the faintest sparkle of amusement lighting his dark eyes. His head tilted slightly to the side, black hair catching a thread of sunlight. He didn't bother arguing; his expression alone said you knew what you were signing up for.
Beside him, Itachi watched quietly. The younger Uchiha's expression was the picture of composure, calm eyes reflecting both patience and mild curiosity.
"You can't play that card, Satoru," Itachi said finally, his voice steady, polite but with an undertone of reason that made it impossible to argue with. "You're skilled enough to graduate early—you just chose not to."
Satoru's shoulders slumped slightly, a groan escaping him. "That was self-preservation, not humility." His words drew out with mock despair. "There's a fine line between confidence and stupidity, and I like to think I stay just barely on the right side of it."
Shisui's laugh broke through the air, bright and easy. "Relax," he said, raising a hand in mock surrender. "We'll make it fair. Itachi and I will limit ourselves to academy-level jutsu only. You, however, can use whatever you've got."
Satoru blinked; for a fleeting second, hope flickered across his face like a fragile flame. Then he frowned. "Even if you both cut off all your limbs, I still don't think I'd win."
Shisui chuckled; Itachi's lips twitched faintly—his new version of a laugh.
Satoru could already tell he was hopelessly outnumbered, not just in strength but in attitude.
'They're enjoying this too much.'
He exhaled sharply and muttered to himself, "A Chunin who can outpace most Jonin, and a prodigy who might already be better than him. And me… a guy still memorising genjutsu theory. Great odds."
The self-deprecation came easily now; he was half-serious, half resigned. Still, there was humour in his tone; he wasn't bitter—just realistic. He scratched the back of his head and gave a small, crooked smile. "At least I'll get free experience points before dying."
That earned a snort from Shisui. "Good spirit," he said cheerfully, stretching his arms. The fabric of his dark shirt shifted over well-toned muscle—casual, fluid, deadly. Then his expression turned slightly more serious, though still friendly; the teacher emerging beneath the teasing.
"Alright then. Ground rules," he said, stepping forward and glancing between both boys. His voice gained a certain weight; a tone that carried authority even when softened by amusement. "No lethal blows, no weapons aimed to injure. First to land three clean hits or force a surrender wins. Basic academy-style spar."
Itachi nodded; the efficiency in his movements was almost mechanical, yet elegant. Satoru groaned softly but inclined his head, accepting his fate.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if I end up in the hospital again, I'm never doing this again."
"You say that like it's new," Shisui said with a grin, flicking a coin into the air with his thumb.
"When it lands, we start."
The coin spun gracefully, catching sunlight in flashes of silver; the faint ringing of metal filled the air—clink, clink, clink—before it began its descent. Time seemed to stretch in that suspended moment. The forest quieted; even the wind seemed to still.
"Bink!"
The coin struck the dirt, bounced once, and rolled in a lazy circle before coming to rest.
In that instant, all three vanished in a blur.
The sudden displacement of air created a sharp gust that rippled through the clearing; grass bent flat beneath invisible pressure, dust rising in a faint halo. To any ordinary observer, it would have seemed like magic; one heartbeat, they were standing, the next, gone.
Satoru's instincts screamed at him; his body moved before thought caught up. He darted sideways, sandals barely making a sound as he sprinted toward the trees, heart pounding in his chest. The forest swallowed him in shadow and filtered sunlight, the scent of bark and leaves enveloping him. His breathing steadied, mind spinning rapidly.
'No way I'm going head-to-head. If I can isolate one of them, maybe I'll survive longer than ten seconds.'
His eyes flicked around; the forest offered cover, but also danger. He knew Itachi preferred precision—ambushes, well-timed counters. Shisui, on the other hand, was unpredictable; fast, adaptive, never still long enough to pin down.
He ducked behind a thick trunk, crouching low, chakra flaring subtly beneath his skin. His pulse thudded in his ears—steady, controlled. He could feel his heart racing, but his mind was sharp; this was what he lived for, the rush of challenge, the necessity of outthinking opponents far beyond his level.
'They'll expect me to run. Which means they'll split up; one to flush me out, the other to strike.'
A faint sound—fwssh—came from somewhere behind him. Leaves rustled lightly, too rhythmic to be wind. His muscles tensed; he held his breath.
A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye.
He twisted just in time to see a shuriken slice past his ear, embedding itself in the bark with a metallic thunk! The movement was clean, precise; not meant to hit, just to distract.
He turned—nothing. The forest around him remained still; dappled sunlight danced across moss-covered roots.
'Itachi,' Satoru thought immediately. 'Subtle, quiet. Trying to make me move first.'
He grinned faintly. "You'll have to do better than that," he whispered, shifting his stance. His chakra flared again, a thin, controlled current spreading along his limbs.
Then a voice, casual and amused, floated from behind him.
"Found you."
Satoru froze.
He turned slowly, eyes widening as Shisui dropped lightly from a low branch, landing without a sound. The older boy's expression was one of effortless ease; hands tucked into his pockets, smile tilted. His Sharingan wasn't even active—he didn't need it, at least not yet.
For a brief second, the sunlight caught his hair, a faint red sheen glimmering over black; his grin widened slightly, boyish yet terrifyingly confident.
Satoru exhaled, muttering under his breath, "Damn it… of all people, it had to be him."
Shisui tilted his head. "You make it sound like you've seen a ghost," he said lightly. "Come on, I'm not that scary."
"Not that scary?" Satoru shot back, taking a step back instinctively. "You once took out four sparring partners in under a minute. Four."
Shisui shrugged. "They weren't you."
Satoru blinked. "Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?"
The older Uchiha smiled wider. "Depends on how fast you move."
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