The weight of my decision pressed on me long before the words ever left my lips.
The massacre still lingered like smoke in the village air. People whispered about the Uchiha in hushed tones, their voices laced with fear and suspicion. Sasuke sat alone in the Academy courtyard, and I carried guilt in silence. But beneath that guilt had grown a seed of determination, one that had already begun to sprout.
If the world was going to shape itself through blood and power, then I could not wait for years to grow into it. I could not walk the same slow, careful path as others.
Which meant leaving the people who had walked beside me until now.
⸻
The Instructor
Kenta-sensei's office smelled faintly of ink and old scrolls. He sat hunched over his desk, brush scratching against parchment, when I entered. His eyes lifted, weary but alert, as if he had already sensed why I'd come.
"Arato," he said, setting the brush aside. "Again? You've been coming here too often lately. This time, what is it?"
I bowed lightly, then met his gaze. "Sensei. I've decided. I want to enter the Chunin Exams — alone."
The brush rolled slightly on his desk, caught against a ridge of wood. For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of paper. Then Kenta leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
"Alone," he repeated, as if testing the word for flaws. "You do realize the exams aren't designed for solo candidates."
"I do."
"And yet here you are."
"Yes."
Kenta studied me in silence. His gaze was sharp, but beneath it was something heavier — the weight of an instructor who had seen promising students throw their lives away chasing glory too soon.
"You're not ready," he said at last. "Not in the way the village means it. You've got skill, no doubt, but skill isn't the same as strength. The exams test more than jutsu. They break teams apart. They bury the arrogant. They chew up the unprepared."
I let his words sink in, but I didn't flinch. "I know. But if I wait, I'll only carry regret. I can't drag Daichi and Rina into this. Their pace is different from mine. This is my path to walk."
His jaw tightened. "So you're willing to break apart your team?"
I swallowed the weight in my throat and answered firmly. "I'd rather break my team than break them."
For a moment, the candlelight flickered, shadows cutting deep lines into Kenta's face. He let out a long, tired sigh and rubbed at his temple.
"You remind me too much of Itachi," he muttered under his breath. "Always carrying more than your share, always convinced you're the one who has to do it alone." His eyes sharpened again as he straightened. "But I'll tell you this, Arato: if you walk this path, you don't get to come back the same. Don't expect the world to wait for you while you go chasing burdens."
"I don't," I said quietly.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and final. At last, Kenta exhaled and reached for his brush.
"Very well. I'll file the recommendation. But the choice is yours to explain to them, not mine. If you want to carry this, you'd better carry it properly."
⸻
Breaking the News
The chance came a few days later, after a C-rank escort mission. Nothing complicated — an old merchant with a wagon of silks traveling between villages. Bandits had thought twice when we showed shinobi headbands, and the mission ended without incident.
We sat on the edge of a stream outside the village, waiting for the gate guards to clear the merchant through. Rina tossed pebbles into the water with a scowl, while Daichi quietly mended a strap on his flak vest.
I watched them for a long moment before speaking. "I need to tell you both something."
Rina shot me a glance, irritation already simmering. "That's a dangerous way to start a sentence."
Daichi's eyes lifted, calm but curious. "Go on."
I drew in a slow breath. "I'm leaving the team. I'll be entering the Chunin Exams alone."
The pebble slipped from Rina's hand before it hit the stream. She whirled toward me, eyes blazing. "You're what?"
Daichi's hands stilled on the strap. His expression didn't change much, but the silence around him grew heavier.
"I've made up my mind," I said firmly. "This is my decision."
Rina sprang to her feet, fists clenched. "Your decision? What about us? We're a team! Or does that not matter to you anymore?"
Her voice cut like steel, sharp with betrayal.
"It matters," I answered. "More than you think. That's why I can't bring you with me."
"Don't twist this into some noble sacrifice," she snapped. "You think you're better than us, don't you? That we'll only hold you back."
Her words stung because they weren't entirely wrong. I met her gaze without flinching. "I think if I bring you with me, I'll be asking you to carry a weight that isn't yours. I won't do that."
Daichi finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "I knew you'd outpace us, Arato. From the moment we started training, it was obvious. But…" His eyes narrowed slightly. "I didn't think you'd leave us this soon."
The disappointment in his voice was sharper than Rina's fury.
I bowed my head. "I don't want this to be goodbye forever. But this is something I have to do. Alone."
Rina's mouth opened, another retort on her tongue — but it caught in her throat. She turned sharply, stalking a few paces away, her shoulders stiff with frustration.
Daichi gave me a long, searching look, then finally sighed. "If this is the path you've chosen, I won't stop you. But promise us one thing — don't lose yourself. The exams will test more than your jutsu. Don't come back as someone we can't recognize."
"I promise," I said.
Daichi nodded once, then went back to his mending, though slower this time. Rina still faced away, arms crossed tightly. The silence stretched heavy over us.
When we finally returned to the village, she didn't speak a word to me.
⸻
Fire and Ash
Two nights later, I found Rina outside the training grounds. She was practicing alone, fireballs flashing in bursts across the field, each strike more furious than the last. Sweat clung to her brow, and her breath came sharp.
"You're still angry," I said softly.
She spun, flames still flickering at her fingertips. "Of course I am! You're leaving us — leaving me! Do you know how that feels?"
"Yes," I said honestly.
Her hands trembled, but the fire died down. She bit her lip, eyes flashing between anger and hurt. "Why does it always have to be you, Arato? Why do you always have to run ahead, like the rest of us don't matter?"
"Because if I don't, no one will."
The words came out harder than I intended, but I didn't take them back. She stared at me, eyes wide, then turned away with a sharp exhale.
"Fine," she muttered. "Go, then. Do it your way. Just… don't die. Because if you do, I'll never forgive you."
I almost smiled at the fire in her words. "I'll hold you to that."
She glanced back once, the anger in her gaze tempered by something else — something she wasn't ready to admit. Then she turned and walked away.
⸻
Reflection
That night, I sat beneath the Hokage Monument, the same spot where I'd whispered my vow days ago. The village lay below me, calm, unaware of the storms still to come.
I thought of Daichi's quiet steadiness, of Rina's fire, of the countless missions we'd endured together. Bonds mattered. They always had. Leaving them behind wasn't a rejection — it was a burden I chose to bear so they didn't have to.
But the ache remained.
I closed my eyes, letting the night wind wash over me. My path was set now. The exams awaited. And beyond them, a future I could no longer ignore.
⸻
Closing
The next morning, I stood outside the Academy. Children rushed past, some shouting, some laughing, some grumbling about classes. Among them, a small blond boy darted by, chased by an exasperated instructor. His laugh rang loud, untamed, and familiar.
Naruto.
Six years old now. Just starting his journey.
I watched him for a moment, then turned away. My own journey was far ahead already, and I had no intention of slowing down.
The Chunin Exams would be the next step. And I would face them — alone.