The weight of the Chūnin Exams lingered long after the final match ended. For the village, it was little more than a spectacle, a chance to measure the growth of its youngest shinobi. For me, it was a crucible — one I had endured with careful calculation and patience.
In the days that followed, I noticed the change immediately. Whispers followed me in the Academy corridors and through the market streets. Instructors spoke more softly when I passed. Fellow genin, once casual in their glances, now eyed me with a mixture of wariness and respect.
The exams had not crowned me a prodigy. That title belonged to others — to Itachi, whose shadow loomed even now despite his absence. What the exams had done was something subtler: they had marked me.
And being marked in Konoha was both a privilege and a danger.
⸻
Whispers of Shadows
Even at eleven, I understood the language of adults. Words spoken just loudly enough to reach curious ears, phrases laced with meaning:
"A boy that composed at his age? Dangerous."
"Not another Itachi, I hope…"
"Maybe the Hokage will keep an eye on this one."
I kept my face neutral whenever I heard them. Outwardly calm, inwardly noting every word, every suspicion, every hint of expectation. Being noticed was rarely a gift.
Daichi was less subtle. He clapped me on the shoulder during training, his grin wide. "Guess you're the one to watch now, eh? Figures." His earth-style drills had left streaks of dust across his arms, but his spirit remained as solid as the ground he loved.
Rina's reaction was sharper. "Being watched isn't always good," she said, folding her arms, her tone like fire crackling low. "It means expectations. It means people waiting for you to slip."
I gave her a small nod. She was right. And yet, I felt the weight of something more than expectation building around me.
⸻
The Summons
The call came three days after the exams. Kenta-sensei's face was calm as always, but I caught the flicker in his eyes — a rare sign of seriousness.
"The Hokage has requested your presence," he said. His voice carried no warmth, no casual remark to soften the weight.
I bowed my head. "Understood."
The Hokage's office was as I remembered: paper stacked in tidy rows, sunlight filtering through the blinds, the air heavy with incense. Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk, pipe set aside for once. His expression was grandfatherly, the same mask he wore for the village. But his eyes… his eyes belonged to a man who had lived through too many wars, who had made too many choices others would never know.
"Arato Hayashi," he began, his tone measured. "Your performance during the Chūnin Exams was exemplary. Composed, precise, and far beyond what we expect of one so young. You've drawn attention."
I bowed lightly, keeping my gaze respectful.
He gestured for me to sit. "Tell me, Arato. What drives you forward? What is it you seek as a shinobi?"
The question was simple, but the weight behind it was not. I chose my words carefully. "To endure. To learn. And to protect what I can."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "A balanced answer." He leaned back, smoke curling faintly from the pipe he relit. "You understand, then, that strength is not only for oneself. It is for the village."
I inclined my head. "Yes, Hokage-sama."
His eyes sharpened slightly. "ANBU service is not a path for everyone. It demands sacrifice, secrecy, and an unshakable will. You've seen what can happen when shinobi lose themselves to the shadows. Itachi… his betrayal still weighs heavily on this village."
The word betrayal echoed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.
I kept my face still, respectful. But inside, my thoughts burned. Betrayal? That's the mask you wear, then. You call him traitor, when I know he carried out your command. You mourn him in public, while you carry the truth in silence.
"Your path is not his, Arato," Hiruzen continued, his tone softening. "ANBU is not only about bloodshed. It is about vigilance. About bearing the burdens others cannot. It is about ensuring Konoha endures."
I bowed my head again, carefully measured. "I understand, Hokage-sama."
"Think carefully," he said, voice heavy with gravity. "This choice will shape the rest of your life."
I gave him the expression he wanted — calm obedience. But inside, I marked every word. Trust was dangerous. Masks hid more than faces.
⸻
Team Reactions
Daichi nearly dropped his training kunai when I told them of the summons afterward. "ANBU?" he said, eyes wide. "You? Already? That's… insane!"
Rina's eyes narrowed, though there was no malice in them. Only concern. "Do you want that path?" she asked.
I shrugged lightly. "The Hokage believes it is an option. That is all."
Daichi shook his head, muttering something about how the ANBU were half legends, half nightmares. Rina crossed her arms, her fire-bright gaze fixed on me. "If you go, it won't be because he asked. It has to be because you choose it."
Her words struck deeper than she realized. Choice. How much of Itachi's path had been his choice, and how much had been forced upon him by the very man behind the desk?
⸻
Evening Reflection
That night, I sat by the dim light of a single candle, my room silent except for the faint rustle of paper. I thought of Itachi's last words to me, the burden he carried willingly yet unwillingly, the way his eyes had burned with resolve even as he stepped into exile.
Now the Hokage had spoken of him as a traitor. As an example of what not to become.
I didn't hate Hiruzen for it. Hatred was too simple. No — what I felt was something sharper. Caution. A recognition of the game being played.
The Hokage was not a simple man. He was the Professor, the strategist who had held this village together through war and peace alike. If he could hide the truth of the Uchiha massacre behind a mask of sorrow and betrayal, then every word he spoke to me deserved to be weighed twice, examined three times.
If I stepped into the ANBU, I would be entering the same shadows that had swallowed Itachi. But unlike him, I would do so with my eyes open. I would learn to wear the masks, to walk the shadows — but I would remain myself beneath them.
The candle guttered low, the flame shrinking before dying into darkness.
I closed my eyes, letting the night settle around me. The path was dangerous. But it was mine.