The headband felt heavier than it should have. Not because of the strip of stone-carved metal itself, but because of the weight it carried. As Kai tied the band across his forehead, the cold metal pressed into his skin like a brand. He was no longer just another faceless child of Iwagakure—he was a shinobi now, however young, however untested.
His vow whispered back to him in the silence: One day, I will command the skies themselves.
The classroom was buzzing with the restless energy of fresh graduates. Wooden chairs scraped against stone floors. Some students laughed too loudly to mask their nerves, while others sat stiff with pride or anxiety. Ink-stained scrolls were stacked neatly at the front, clutched in the hands of instructors who had drilled them for years.
Kai sat among them, expression calm but fists tight in his lap. He had bled for this, studied for this, endured nights where quitting would have been easier. Now, he waited.
The instructor, a grizzled chunin with a scar across his cheek, began reading out names. One by one, graduates were assigned to their teams. Cheers, sighs, and groans rippled through the room with every announcement. Kai's heartbeat quickened with every name that wasn't his.
Finally, the voice rang out:
"Team Six. Kai… Haruna… Daichi."
The moment his name was spoken, Kai exhaled slowly. He lifted his gaze, searching for his new teammates.
Haruna was the first he noticed. Her black hair was tied into a precise knot, her brown eyes sharp and unwavering. She sat with her back perfectly straight, her headband polished to a gleam. Everything about her posture spoke of discipline, of someone who would rather break than bend.
Then there was Daichi. Slouched against his desk, headband hanging loosely around his neck, he wore a crooked grin that bordered on arrogance. His posture screamed laziness, but his eyes—half-lidded as they were—held a mischievous glint. When he noticed Kai staring, he smirked, as though to say: Try to keep up.
Kai felt the contrast between them like the clash of stone against stone. Discipline and recklessness. Precision and chaos. And somewhere in the middle, him.
"Your jonin instructor will meet you shortly," the academy teacher said. "Wait here until he arrives. Do not waste his time."
That final line carried a warning. Whoever their instructor was, he would not tolerate weakness.
The three waited. Minutes stretched into nearly an hour. Haruna sat unmoving, her eyes forward, as if she were already training her patience. Daichi leaned back, whistling under his breath, tapping his foot loudly against the desk to irritate her. Kai sat between them, silent, analyzing. If they were to survive together, he would need to understand them—not just their strengths, but their flaws.
The classroom door slid open at last.
A tall man entered, broad-shouldered and weathered by years of battle. His flak jacket bore cuts and stains that spoke of long campaigns. A lattice of scars ran across his exposed arm, and his face was etched with lines carved not by age, but by war. His gaze swept the room like a blade, and every whisper died instantly.
He stopped in front of them, arms folded. His voice was deep and flat, grinding like stone underfoot.
"I am Jiro. Your jonin leader."
He did not smile. He offered no congratulations, no warmth. Only a blunt statement that weighed heavier than Kai's new headband.
"From this day, your lives are bound together. You succeed as one, or you fail as one. That is the law of stone."
Kai straightened his posture. The vow in his chest burned brighter, even as he felt the distance of his dream. The skies still seemed far away, almost unreachable—but this was the first step.