Tendo turned to find an "old acquaintance" watching him from the treeline.
The newcomer was distinctive—shimmering silver-white hair that fell in a medium-length cut, tall, with a lean build that sat only half a head shorter than Tendo. His eyes were perpetually narrowed into thin slits, framed by a smile that appeared, at first glance, exceptionally kind.
Most people in the village were fooled by that mask of gentle competence. Tendo, unfortunately, was not most people.
"Senior Mizuki!" Tendo chirped, instantly plastering on his own signature, flawless "sunny" smile.
The two shared a history that went deeper than a casual greeting. When Tendo had first graduated, he'd interned at the Ninja Academy. For a moment, it looked like he might actually join the faculty, which would have made him formal colleagues with Iruka and Mizuki.
However, plans in the shinobi world were as fluid as water. A high-ranking female superior at the Hokage Building had taken an interest in Tendo's "efficiency" (and likely his aesthetic), recruiting him into the village's administrative heart. Since then, his relationship with Mizuki had remained at the level of polite, nodding acquaintances.
Whenever Tendo returned to the Academy on official business, Mizuki's smile was always a fraction too wide, his eyes a fraction too bright. Tendo, a man who had spent a lifetime reading between the lines of human behavior, could sense the petty resentment churning beneath the surface. But in the adult world, survival meant playing the game. If Mizuki wanted to pretend they were friends, Tendo was happy to provide the performance.
Except today, Mizuki had sought him out at dusk, in a deserted training ground. The internal radar in Tendo's mind began to beep with frantic insistence.
Mizuki approached with a measured pace, his gaze lingering on Tendo's face for several seconds. The golden light of the setting sun traced Tendo's jawline, making his blond hair look like spun silk.
Tch, pretty boy, Mizuki sneered internally, a toxic cocktail of jealousy and spite rising in his throat. Just a face. Why does he get the prestige of the Hokage Building while I'm stuck babysitting brats? Does Lady Akita only hire by looking at a mirror?
Despite the venom in his thoughts, Mizuki's voice was smooth as honey. "Tendo, still at it? Your diligence is truly inspiring."
"Just shaking off the rust," Tendo replied with a breezy chuckle. His eyes, however, were performing a clinical assessment. Muscle tension: average. Chakra fluctuations: mediocre. Footwork: floaty. You've been lazy, Senior.
Mizuki's eyes drifted to Tendo's hands. They were slender, the skin smooth and devoid of the brutal callouses one would expect from a dedicated combatant. The System's recent physical restoration had inadvertently sent a false signal.
I knew it. He's all show, Mizuki thought, his desire to humiliate the younger man growing like a weed.
Usually, Tendo was shielded by the hierarchy of the Hokage Building. But here? Alone? This was the perfect opportunity for some "senior guidance." If he happened to break a few of those pretty teeth, he could always blame it on Tendo's lack of preparation.
"Practicing against the air only goes so far," Mizuki said, his tone dripping with faux goodwill. "Taijutsu requires a living opponent to truly sharpen the edge. How about it, Tendo? Let me accompany you for a few moves. I'd love to see what you've learned in the capital."
He emphasized "learned" with a subtle, mocking edge.
Tendo blinked, a wave of genuine joy washing over him. It was as if he'd been craving a steak and someone had just walked up with a Wagyu ribeye. He had a surplus of new chakra and a thirst to test his revamped motor skills.
"Really?" Tendo's eyes lit up with predatory eagerness disguised as youthful zeal. "I'd be honored, Senior Mizuki!"
[New Mission: The Uchiha's Reputation]
[A mere coasting Chunin dares to bare his fangs at a scion of the Uchiha. Use absolute strength to wake this 'Senior' up. Teach him the weight of humility.]
[Reward: Konoha-Style Taijutsu (Mastery).]
Tendo's grin widened. The System was a dream—getting paid to do exactly what he wanted.
The two moved to the center of the ring, standing several meters apart. Mizuki intended to play the part of the gracious veteran, perhaps offering Tendo the first move, but the sight of Tendo looking so damn spirited in the sunset caused a flare of genuine rage. He abandoned the pleasantries.
"Watch out!" Mizuki barked.
He lunged. It wasn't a sparring opener; it was a full-speed strike, his fist whistling through the air as it aimed directly for Tendo's nose. Mizuki was already imagining the satisfaction of feeling bone crunch beneath his knuckles. He could see Tendo panicking, failing to raise a guard, falling back and pleading for mercy.
Reality, however, had other plans.
A fraction of a second before the fist connected, Tendo tilted his head. It wasn't a frantic dodge; it was a movement so subtle and natural it looked like he was merely leaning away from a breeze.
Whoosh.
The punch hit nothing but golden light. The momentum of the whiff pulled Mizuki forward, his center of gravity tilting dangerously over his lead foot.
He dodged? A fluke! Mizuki snarled internally.
Before he could reset, Tendo moved. There was no flashy stance, no cinematic explosion of speed. He simply raised his foot, as if casually kicking a pebble out of his path, and hooked his toes behind Mizuki's supporting ankle.
The force was precise. Surgical.
"Ouch—!"
Mizuki's world did a violent 180-degree flip. With a sickening thud, he faceplanted into the dirt, kicking up a plume of dust that coated his silver hair.
"Senior?" Tendo's voice drifted down, laced with a perfect, infuriating blend of confusion and concern. "Are you alright? Was there a root on the ground? My apologies—I should have warned you the terrain is uneven."
Mizuki lay in the dirt, his ears ringing. The shame burned hotter than the impact. He scrambled to his feet, face caked in grit, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "You...!"
"I was just careless!" he roared, abandoning all pretense of a "teaching" session. He launched into a frantic barrage—straight punches, roundhouse kicks, elbow strikes. He was a Chunin, and his movements carried the weight of experience, but to Tendo, it was like watching a film in slow motion.
Even without the Sharingan active, the Uchiha bloodline provided an instinctive clarity. Tendo saw the muscle twitches before the punch launched; he saw the shift in Mizuki's gaze before the kick swung.
Tendo drifted through the assault like a ghost. He swayed, retreated, and leaned, always clearing the strikes by mere millimeters. To an outside observer, it looked like a choreographed dance—one man flailing wildly, the other taking a leisurely stroll through a storm.
"Whew... ha... whew..."
The high-intensity misses drained Mizuki's stamina in minutes. His form crumbled. His punches became sluggish, desperate swings.
"Senior, your rhythm is getting a bit messy," Tendo noted helpfully as a fist grazed his collar. "Need a breather?"
"Shut up!" Mizuki hissed. He poured his remaining chakra into one final, desperate haymaker aimed at Tendo's jaw. It was a strike fueled by pure, unadulterated emotion.
Tendo sighed. "You're going to hurt yourself like that, Senior."
He didn't dodge this time. His right hand blurred, striking after Mizuki's but arriving far sooner. No wind-up. No telegraphing. Just a straight, clean line.
Smack.
The sound was wet and heavy. Tendo's fist didn't collide with Mizuki's; it bypassed the guard entirely and "imprinted" itself onto Mizuki's left cheek.
Mizuki's head snapped sideways. The force sent him into a dizzying 360-degree spin. His feet left the earth before he collapsed onto his backside, the world tilting on its axis.
Silence reclaimed the training ground. Mizuki sat paralyzed, the numbness in his face slowly giving way to a throbbing, rhythmic agony. He opened his mouth, felt something jagged against his tongue, and spat.
Pui.
Fragments of white teeth, stained with crimson, lay in the sand like discarded dice. He looked up at Tendo, his vision blurring with tears of pure shock.
Tendo was retracting his fist, looking genuinely apologetic. "Sorry about that. I haven't quite mastered my strength control yet. Please, let me cover the dental bills. You should really head to the hospital before the swelling gets worse."
His tone was so sincere it was nauseating. Mizuki looked at those clear, calm eyes, felt the throbbing void in his jaw, and finally broke.
"Ugh... hmph..."
A muffled, tearful whimper escaped him. Clutching his face, Mizuki scrambled to his feet and fled, stumbling blindly out of the training ground. The setting sun cast his shadow long and pathetic against the trees.
Tendo scratched his head. "He's fast when he wants to be. I didn't even get to offer him a shoulder to lean on."
[Mission Complete: Reward 'Konoha-Style Taijutsu' issued.]
Tendo claimed it.
The download was a deluge of data. It wasn't just a list of moves; it was the essence of the style—the physics of force, the muscle memory of a hundred masters, the tactical counters to every known stance. In an instant, his previous training felt like a child's game. He threw a test punch; it was silent, efficient, and carried a terrifying, contained power.
"The System really delivers," Tendo whispered, feeling the new fluidity in his joints.
He looked toward the horizon where Mizuki had vanished. The breeze was cool, the evening perfect.
"Senior Mizuki," he said, his voice soft and genuinely grateful. "You really are a top-tier guy. I won't forget this lesson."
Tendo brushed the non-existent dust from his sleeve, hummed a tuneless melody, and began the walk home. Behind him, the broken teeth in the sand were the only witnesses to the birth of a legend.