Morning light spilled gently through the academy windows, scattering across rows of eager faces. For once, the building felt alive — laughter, anticipation, and nervous whispers filled every corner.
Team assignments, the first true step toward becoming a shinobi.
Onimaru sat near the back of the room, hands folded neatly on his desk. Around him, classmates buzzed with excitement.
Renka leaned over to whisper to her friend, "I hope I get paired with someone reliable… not Daisuke, though."
"Why?"
"He's too loud. I'd rather have someone quiet."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward Onimaru, then away just as quickly.
He noticed but said nothing.
The instructor — a broad-shouldered man with laugh lines around his eyes — clapped his hands for attention. "All right, everyone, listen up! The Hokage's office has finalized the genin team assignments."
A collective hush fell over the room.
"Team Fourteen," the instructor read, "Renka Uchiha, Hiro Takeno, and… Onimaru."
A few heads turned at the name. Some eyes held curiosity; others, subtle discomfort.
"Your jōnin-sensei will be Kaede Asano," the teacher continued. "You'll meet her at the training fields after noon."
Renka let out a quiet breath — half relief, half hesitation. Hiro, a tall boy with bright eyes and boundless energy, turned immediately toward Onimaru with a grin.
"Guess we're teammates, huh?"
Onimaru nodded once. "It seems so."
"Man, you're really as calm as they say," Hiro said, scratching the back of his neck. "You ever get excited about anything?"
Onimaru blinked. "I haven't tried."
Renka stifled a laugh, though her tone was warm. "He's not joking, Hiro. That's just how he is."
As the others left the classroom, Onimaru stayed behind for a moment, looking out the window. Children were scattering across the courtyard, laughing, shoving, chasing dreams that shone brightly for now.
He wondered if he had ever been like that — full of unshaped hope. He couldn't remember.
…
The afternoon sun hung high by the time Team Fourteen reached the training field.
Kaede Asano stood waiting — a tall woman with short chestnut hair and calm eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Her flak jacket was neat, but her posture spoke of quiet authority rather than strictness.
"You're on time," she said, glancing at the three of them. "Good. Punctuality is a shinobi's first discipline."
Hiro straightened immediately. "Yes, sensei!"
Renka bowed politely. "We're honored to be under your instruction."
Kaede's gaze lingered last on Onimaru. "And you?"
He met her eyes evenly. "I'm ready to learn."
Something in his tone — not defiance, not eagerness, but calm certainty — made her raise an eyebrow.
"Good," she said simply. "Let's see what I have to teach you, then."
…
They began with basic coordination drills — throwing practice, stealth movement, formation shifting.
Kaede observed quietly as her students worked. Hiro's enthusiasm carried him far but made his movements sloppy. Renka was focused, deliberate, her Sharingan lineage visible in her precision even without the eyes awakened.
And Onimaru — he moved like water.
Each motion was deliberate, efficient, and oddly silent. He didn't just avoid wasted effort — he seemed to erase it entirely. When he stepped, the grass bent and rose again untouched.
After watching him for a while, Kaede called for a pause. "Onimaru," she said, "your technique is… refined. Who taught you to move like that?"
He tilted his head slightly. "No one. It feels natural."
"Natural," she repeated, studying him. "Interesting."
Hiro chuckled. "That's his favorite word."
Renka smiled faintly. "It suits him."
Kaede didn't smile, but she nodded thoughtfully. "Then let's see what your 'natural' talent looks like under pressure."
She set up a simple test: a mock ambush using practice tags and wooden kunai.
The goal — evade, regroup, and counterattack as a team.
The exercise began smoothly. Renka directed the others with calm precision, Hiro moved fast and loud as expected, and Onimaru followed silently, eyes scanning the terrain with eerie focus.
When Kaede's first trap triggered — a volley of wooden shuriken — Onimaru reacted instantly. He moved not by instinct of reflex, but by timing — a perfect stillness between motions, as if he already knew where the danger would strike.
The wooden blades passed within inches of him. He didn't even blink.
Renka exhaled. "You didn't dodge. You moved before it happened."
"I moved when it began," he corrected softly.
Hiro whistled. "Remind me never to spar with you."
Kaede called an end to the exercise soon after.
As the team gathered, she wrote a few notes on her clipboard before speaking.
"Renka — good coordination. Hiro — control your energy. Onimaru…" She paused. "Your awareness borders on precognition. We'll explore that further."
He inclined his head. "Yes, sensei."
When she dismissed them, the three genin sat under a nearby tree, cooling off in the shade.
Hiro leaned back, hands behind his head. "Man, that was intense. I didn't think she'd throw real traps at us on day one."
Renka laughed lightly. "You'll get used to it."
Then her gaze slid to Onimaru, who was absently studying his hands. "What about you? You didn't even flinch."
"I saw where the wind shifted," he said simply. "Everything leaves a trace."
Renka frowned, thoughtful. "You sound like my brother when he talks about reading chakra. Except… you're talking about the air."
Onimaru said nothing. The faint breeze played through his black hair, and for a moment, Renka thought his red eyes caught a deeper shade — not glowing, but absorbing the light around them.
Then it was gone, and he was just Onimaru again — quiet, strange, and distant as ever.
…
The following days unfolded with quiet rhythm.
Training began each morning before the sun fully rose, dew still clinging to the grass, the scent of wet soil mixing with the distant hum of the village awakening. Team Fourteen gathered faithfully at Training Ground Six, a place of soft hills and shaded clearings.
Kaede-sensei had a habit of arriving before them. She was always there — standing with hands in her pockets, eyes half-lidded, like a cat pretending to sleep while observing everything.
Their first exercises were simple. Chakra control, formation work, and tree climbing — things every genin needed to master. Yet even in simplicity, the differences between them began to show.
Renka's control was excellent, refined by her Uchiha discipline. Hiro had energy but lacked precision, often ending up dangling upside down by his feet when he overcharged his chakra flow.
And Onimaru… he learned by watching.
The first morning, he merely watched the others, eyes still, as if tracing invisible lines in the air. When his turn came, he pressed a foot to the trunk and began walking upward without hesitation, his steps steady and silent.
Renka blinked. "You've done this before?"
"No," he said. "But the tree's resistance felt clear."
Hiro groaned. "You make it sound like the tree was talking to you."
Onimaru glanced at him, mild curiosity in his tone. "You don't hear it?"
Hiro laughed nervously. "I… really hope you're joking."
Kaede, arms crossed, hid a small smile behind her hand.
She watched him carefully after that — not just his movements, but the effects of them. When he focused his chakra, the air grew faintly heavier, like the pause before a storm. The leaves above him trembled even when the wind was still.
By noon, she was certain of one thing: his chakra wasn't just energy. It was alive.
…
Lunch breaks became their time of quiet normalcy.
Hiro sprawled on the grass, chewing noisily on rice balls. Renka ate neatly, occasionally scolding him for speaking with his mouth full.
Onimaru sat a short distance away, silent as always, but not unapproachable. Renka often found herself glancing his way, wondering what went on behind those blood-red eyes.
"You don't talk much," she said one day, sitting beside him.
"I talk when needed," he replied without looking up.
She smiled faintly. "You sound like Kaede-sensei."
"Then she must be wise."
Renka chuckled. "You're strange, you know that?"
He tilted his head slightly, as if the idea was worth considering. "So I've been told."
She looked out at the village wall in the distance, her expression softening. "Do you ever wonder why you became a ninja?"
There was a long silence before he answered. "No. I only know that I must walk forward."
"Even if you don't know where it leads?"
"Especially then."
Something in his tone made her shiver — not fear, but a quiet gravity, as though he carried a truth too large for words.
Hiro's shout broke the stillness. "Hey! Stop hogging the shade, you two!"
Renka rolled her eyes. Onimaru stood, dusted his clothes, and walked back toward the field.
…
That evening, Kaede called Onimaru aside.
They stood near the river that bordered the training ground, the fading light painting the water gold.
"Onimaru," she said, "your chakra feels… off."
He blinked. "Off?"
"Not in a bad way," she clarified. "It resonates differently. When you mold chakra, the air changes — like a string being plucked in a room. The others don't sense it, but I do."
He was silent for a long moment, eyes following the river's current. "Perhaps it remembers something I've forgotten."
Kaede frowned. "What do you mean?"
He met her gaze, calm as ever. "I can't explain. It's like… an echo that isn't mine."
For a moment, she thought he might be joking — but his expression remained utterly sincere.
She exhaled slowly. "You're not an easy one to read, Onimaru."
"That makes two of us, Sensei."
Kaede smiled faintly. "You're polite enough to be dangerous."
He tilted his head. "Would impoliteness be safer?"
Her smile grew. "Not in this village."
…
That night, as the moon rose pale and clear, Onimaru lingered by the water's edge long after the others had gone.
He crouched, watching his reflection ripple. For a moment, it seemed wrong — not his face at all, but something darker, sharper, with eyes that glowed faintly in the stillness.
Then the image steadied. Only him again.
A faint vibration passed through the ground, subtle but undeniable. The grass swayed without wind. The surface of the river shivered, drawing faint circles that converged toward his feet before fading.
He stared at the water, expression unreadable.
"The world breathes," he murmured. "And sometimes, it remembers."
The faint sound of cicadas carried through the night — ordinary to anyone else.
But to Onimaru, it was a whisper from something deep and old, resonating in his blood.
…
The assignment came on a mild afternoon. Kaede arrived at the training ground carrying a sealed scroll and the faintest trace of a smile. "Team Fourteen," she said, "your first official mission is here."
Hiro's eyes lit up immediately. "Finally! No more drills?"
"Drills never end," Kaede said. "But this time, you'll be applying what you've learned. We're delivering medical supplies to a settlement on the forest's outer edge. It's simple, but the route can be unpredictable."
Renka nodded, already memorizing the details. Onimaru stood quietly beside her, unreadable as ever.
They departed by midday. The forest around them stretched endlessly — the kind of calm that was too deep to be trusted. Birds sang in the canopy, their songs breaking and reforming as the team moved beneath. Kaede led with a steady pace, Hiro carried the supplies, and Renka kept their perimeter secure.
Onimaru walked at the rear, his senses open in that quiet, detached way of his. The world seemed louder to him than it should — each breath of wind, each heartbeat of his teammates, each tremor of roots beneath their feet. It was as though the forest itself murmured softly, revealing its movements.
At one point, Kaede looked back. "You're unusually alert."
"It's noisy," Onimaru said simply.
She raised a brow. "Noisy? The forest?"
He nodded. "Everything's speaking at once."
Hiro laughed nervously. "You mean the bugs?"
"Among other things."
Renka gave him a sidelong glance. "You always say the strangest things."
"I only say what's true," he replied, eyes never leaving the trees.
The group continued without further comment. Yet, after a while, even Hiro stopped joking. The forest's sounds shifted—less birdsong, more silence, as if the canopy itself were holding its breath.
Then they found the man.
He lay by the roadside, body half-covered in leaves, breath shallow. His skin was grayish, lips dry and cracked. A small torn pouch lay beside him, its contents — broken herbs and shattered vials — scattered through the dirt.
Kaede knelt instantly, checking his pulse. "Alive, but weak. Chakra exhaustion, maybe worse." She began unsealing her medkit. "Renka, Hiro — form a perimeter. Onimaru, hand me water."
But Onimaru didn't move right away. He stared at the man with an intensity that made even Kaede glance up. His expression wasn't pity or concern — it was study, as if he were watching something invisible taking place within the dying body.
"This isn't just exhaustion," he murmured.
Kaede frowned. "Explain."
Onimaru knelt beside her, fingers brushing the man's wrist. His touch was light, careful. "His energy is leaking. The body still holds life, but the essence is unraveling."
"Essence?" she echoed. "You mean chakra?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he placed two fingers against the man's pulse point. The moment he did, a subtle tremor passed through the air. Renka, standing nearby, felt it too — a faint shiver down her spine, like static before lightning.
The dying man's breathing steadied slightly.
Kaede's eyes narrowed. "What did you just do?"
Onimaru looked at his hand, expression unreadable. "I… lent him something. Or maybe I returned what was his."
"Explain," Kaede said sharply.
He shook his head slowly. "I can't."
For a few seconds, only the river's distant murmur filled the silence. Kaede watched the man's color return, however faintly. His chakra pattern, once chaotic, was now stable — fragile, but holding. Whatever Onimaru had done, it had worked.
Renka whispered, "Sensei… was that healing ninjutsu?"
Kaede didn't answer. Her mind raced — his movements hadn't followed any known technique, no seals, no medical flow control. He'd simply touched the man, and the body responded.
When the traveler stirred weakly, Kaede made her decision. "We'll escort him to the village. Mission parameters change — his safety takes priority."
"Yes, sensei," Renka said, adjusting her stance to guard the rear. Hiro nodded and hefted the supply bag again.
Onimaru followed silently, his gaze distant. A faint warmth lingered at his fingertips — not chakra, but something deeper. A resonance, gentle yet inexorable, like the pulse of a sleeping world.
As they moved, he spoke quietly, almost to himself. "The body and the spirit… they mirror each other. Even a breath can be borrowed."
Renka glanced back at him, uneasy. "Borrowed? From where?"
He didn't answer. The words were already fading like mist in his mind. He didn't know how he'd done it — only that it felt right, as if his body had remembered something ancient that his mind had forgotten.
…
By evening, they reached the settlement. The villagers, seeing their injured traveler alive, showered them with gratitude. Hiro laughed awkwardly under the praise, Renka bowed politely, and Kaede kept her expression professional. Only Onimaru remained slightly apart, eyes tracing the dying light of sunset as if following an invisible thread across the horizon.
Later, as they rested at an inn, Kaede called him to the balcony. The air smelled of rain, distant and clean.
"You stabilized that man without a jutsu," she said quietly. "That's not normal, Onimaru."
He looked at her, unbothered. "Normal depends on the world."
Her lips twitched in a half-smile. "You always have an answer ready, don't you?"
"Only when the question already exists."
Kaede sighed and leaned on the railing beside him. "I don't know what you are, kid. But whatever it is, it's not dangerous… yet."
He looked toward the forest, eyes glinting faintly red beneath the dim moonlight. "The world breathes. I only listen."
Kaede studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Then keep listening. Just remember which breath is your own."
He didn't respond. The cicadas began to hum again, their rhythm syncing faintly with the pulse in his veins.