Time Moves Forward
Konoha was never still. The years pressed forward, shaping children into weapons, laughter into silence, innocence into resolve. At ten years old, I could already feel how different I was from the boy who had entered the Academy at six.
Our missions had grown more complex—no longer pulling weeds or chasing cats, but escort runs, patrols along Fire Country's border towns, and the occasional skirmish against trained opponents. I had scars now, faint but real, written across my knuckles and ribs. Not badges of pride, but reminders of mistakes.
Daichi had grown broader, his chakra heavier and steadier, earth release shaping to his will more naturally. He still hesitated at times, but he'd begun to push through it, learning that defense alone couldn't always save a team.
Rina had become faster, sharper, her flames hotter and more precise. She still carried the fire of recklessness, but she was learning to listen—to me, and to herself.
And me? I had learned to lead. Not flawlessly, not effortlessly, but steadily. Kenta-sensei allowed me to carry that weight more often than not. Perhaps he wanted to see what I could become—or test how long it would take before I broke.
⸻
News of Itachi
The news came not from whispers, but from the Hokage himself. After returning from a border patrol, our team was called into the tower for debrief. As we waited in the corridor, I caught snippets of conversation from passing shinobi.
"…only ten years old…"
"…already promoted…"
"…the Uchiha boy, Itachi…"
Daichi frowned, tilting his head. "Wait. Did they say—ten years old?"
Rina's eyes widened. "He's our age. You're telling me he's already a chūnin? That's insane."
I said nothing at first, my gaze fixed on the Hokage's door. The air around us seemed heavier, charged with expectation.
When we were finally admitted, Sarutobi greeted us as usual, smoke curling from his pipe. Yet I noticed his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary.
"You've done well on your assignments," he told us. "Kenta reports steady growth in each of you. Rina, your fire techniques are showing refinement. Daichi, your earth release is proving reliable. And Hayashi—your leadership continues to exceed expectations."
"Thank you, Hokage-sama," I said with a respectful bow.
His smile was faint but thoughtful. "I expect great things from your generation. Already, one of your peers—Uchiha Itachi—has completed the Chūnin Exams with distinction. At ten years old, he is among the youngest in history to earn promotion."
Daichi sucked in a sharp breath. "Already…? At our age?"
Rina clenched her fists, sparks flickering faintly at her fingertips. "Unbelievable."
I kept my voice even. "That's impressive."
Inside, though, I felt the weight of it. Itachi and I had crossed paths years ago, at the Academy. Even then, I had recognized his brilliance. Now, he stood elevated, his shadow stretching over all of us.
But I was not him. Nor did I intend to be.
⸻
Training Grounds
After our debrief, Kenta brought us to the training grounds, a wide clearing scarred by fire and gouged earth from years of use.
"Today," he said, "I won't direct you. You will lead yourselves." His eyes shifted to me. "Arato—command as you see fit."
I nodded. "Daichi, anchor the field. Control the terrain. Rina, focus on precision strikes, not overwhelming force. Test your timing. I'll adapt."
We began sparring. Daichi raised earthen pillars, shifting the terrain to box me in. Rina darted forward, flames bursting from her palms, kunai flashing in the glow.
I ducked low, weaving through their strikes, letting instinct and foresight guide me. A burst of fire seared past my cheek—too close. I caught Rina's wrist, redirecting her momentum, forcing her flames into one of Daichi's walls.
"Too aggressive," I murmured.
She growled. "You're too cautious!"
Daichi slammed his hands down. "Earth Release: Stone Shackles!" Pillars shot upward, encasing my ankles. For a heartbeat, I was caught.
Rina's flames streaked toward me.
But hesitation saved me—Daichi faltered, his eyes flickering with doubt. The shackles crumbled just as the fire reached me. I rolled free, the heat licking my skin.
"Daichi," I said evenly, "trust your own jutsu. Don't pull back."
He grimaced, sweat dripping down his face. "If I hadn't, you could've—"
"Been burned?" I finished. "That's the point. Commit. If you hold back in real combat, you'll kill your team."
The words were harsher than I intended, but necessary.
Kenta watched quietly from the sidelines, arms folded, expression unreadable.
⸻
Evening Reflections
That night, as we rested near the training grounds, Daichi spoke softly. "Do you ever think we'll be like him? Like Itachi?"
Rina snorted, tossing a pebble into the fire. "I don't care about being like him. I'll be stronger than him."
I looked at the flames, the light flickering across Rina's determined face. Stronger than Itachi. Brave words, but the gap between us and him was already vast.
"I don't aim to be like him," I said finally. "He has his path. We have ours. Strength isn't measured in age or rank—it's measured in how we survive the path set before us."
Daichi tilted his head. "And what's your path, Arato?"
The question lingered longer than I expected. What was my path? I had memories of another life, knowledge of a future yet to come. I knew of wars not yet fought, tragedies not yet written. But I couldn't reveal that.
"My path," I said at last, "is to see further than anyone else. To make sure we don't fall to mistakes others already made."
Kenta's voice cut in then, surprising us. He rarely spoke during our downtime. "A wise answer. But wisdom alone won't shield you from blood. Remember this, all of you: genius burns bright, but even the brightest flame casts a shadow. Learn not just from Itachi's brilliance, but from his burden."
We fell silent. Even Rina's defiant smirk softened.
⸻
Closing Thoughts
As I lay staring up at the stars, I replayed the Hokage's words. Itachi, promoted at ten. Already walking the path of responsibility most shinobi wouldn't reach until years older.
I didn't envy him. I didn't resent him. But I understood: his pace would set the measure for our generation.