Three Weeks Later.

“How does it feel?”

“...Pardon?”

Shisui’s eyes flickered toward Itachi, a faint smile playing on his lips, though it faded almost as quickly as it appeared. “How does finally being a shinobi feel?” he repeated softly. “You’re graduating today, right?”

Itachi shrugged, his fingers absentmindedly rolling a set of small iron bearings across his palm. “Technically, I’m not a shinobi yet,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the rhythmic clinking of metal. “Not until the ceremony is over, at least.”

“Semantics.” Shisui frowned, his enthusiasm dimming. “You aren’t excited?”

“Should I be?” Itachi’s voice was quiet, detached.

“Come on, Itachi. You’re a shinobi now.”

“And what’s so special about being another standard-issue lackey who occasionally throws up gang signs? We are not much different from every other entity with the capacity for violence, just with less autonomy. I fail to see the significance.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant rustle of the wind in the trees. Shisui watched Itachi, his smile dissolving into something more weary. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the younger boy’s apathy. With a small movement, he unsealed two lunchboxes from a scroll tucked in his pouch, the simple gesture feeling almost absurd in the stillness of the moment. He stared at them for a second, then sighed again.

“Well,” he said, glancing at Itachi from the corner of his eye, “in honour of your not-so-big deal, I got us some takeout from old lady Toriiya’s. But since you don’t seem to care, I could always take it back.”

Itachi’s gaze shifted. “Give it.”

Shisui blinked. “But you just said—”

“I said it wasn’t worth celebrating,” Itachi interrupted. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat. Give it.”

Shisui chuckled, the sound low and tired, handing one of the boxes over. Itachi took it, his earlier indifference evaporating as he opened it eagerly.

“You got ramen for yourself?” Itachi muttered, eyeing Shisui’s box as he pried open his own.

“Yeah,” Shisui nodded.

“Toriiya’s has oyakodon.”

“I know. I love her oyakodon.””

“But you didn’t get oyakodon.”

Shisui groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Can we not do this today?”

Itachi shook his head slowly, disappointment heavy in his voice. “I don’t understand why you’d choose good over great. That’s a poor quality to have.”

Shisui sighed, defeated, watching as Itachi dug into his meal without breaking eye contact. There was something almost relentless in the younger boy’s quiet gaze. Finally, after a long pause, Shisui threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“I apologize for my lapse in judgment, Itachi-sama,” he intoned dryly. “I will do better next time.”

Itachi smirked, but it was faint, fleeting. “And I forgive you, dear Padawan,” he said. “I won’t ask you not to make the same mistake again, because I know you will. But as your friend, I’ll always be here to guide you back to the path to salvation, even if you insist on remaining blind to it.”

Shisui raised an eyebrow. “Old lady Toriiya’s oyakodon is the path to salvation?”

“Shisui. Don’t.”

A brief chuckle escaped Shisui as he raised his hands in mock surrender again. “Alright, alright.”

They ate in silence for a few moments before Itachi spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“On a much lighter note, do you have any intel on the Jōnin who’s supposed to be my sensei?”

“I heard you got Izunaka Yuna?” Shisui replied.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you.”

Itachi paused between bites, looking up to make eye contact. “Is she that bad?” he asked. “I haven’t met her before.” Shisui shook his head.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You couldn’t have. She vanished for a few years after reaching Jōnin, so either she was on an extremely long mission and recently returned or—”

“ANBU.”

Shisui nodded. “I never had the chance to work alongside her, but before her disappearance, Yuna-san had quite the reputation.”

“How bad of a reputation?” Itachi inquired.

Shisui grimaced, considering how to be honest without harpooning Itachi’s first impression of the Kunoichi.

“Very,” he said after a moment of contemplation, opting for brevity as his best strategy.

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Kaede was not pleased.

The classroom lay still around her, bathed in the fading afternoon light, the rows of desks silent and neatly arranged. Their polished surfaces reflected the glow from the window, as if awaiting something, but only two boys shared the room with her. Tatsuya, slouched behind one of the tables, had his head cradled in his arms, predictably idle. Kaede had expected nothing more from him. What stung more was the quiet indifference of her other teammate, Itachi. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, toying absently with ball bearings, utterly unbothered by their sensei's lateness.

"Our teacher is late!" Kaede muttered, fingers curling around the hilt of her katana. "All the other teams are off with their Jōnin-senseis, but here we are, and not even a glimpse of ours! And you two... you act like it’s normal," she sneered, her frustration spilling over. "Good Sage, I’m doomed, aren’t I?"

Tatsuya, without so much as lifting his head, mumbled lazily, "Sensei will get here eventually. Why the fuss, Kaede? There’s no sense in taking everything too seriously. How do you live so tightly wound?"

"I take things too seriously?" she snapped, glaring at him before turning toward Itachi for some semblance of solidarity. But he merely raised his hands in a gesture of disinterest.

"Don’t look at me," Itachi said, stepping away from the desk he'd leaned on to settle himself in a chair. "I’m not getting involved in whatever this is. I barely know either of you."

Kaede’s scowl deepened. "I don’t need you to pick sides, Itachi. I need you to care. Why does it feel like I’m the only one bothered by this?"

“Because you are?” Tatsuya asked.

"Because you are," Tatsuya said, his voice muffled.

"You—" Kaede began, but she was cut off when Itachi’s eyes shifted to the door. "She’s here."

Kaede spun around. Standing at the entrance was their sensei, Yuna. The kunoichi’s gaze swept over them, sharp and unyielding, her brown eyes framed by the fang-like markings on her cheeks. Her brown hair was pulled into a severe high ponytail, and an old scar on her lip made her sneer all the more intimidating. A hulking, black hound sat at her side on thick, sinewy haunches as it stared at them with a calmness that sent the lizard part of Kaede's brain racing at a hundred miles an hour.

Yuna snorted when she saw Kaede instinctively backpedal from the creature. The sound was rough gruff and inelegant. "Is this Team Nine?" she asked, her tone edged with derision. When no one responded, her lips twisted into a grim smile. "I hope to the Kami you're not the little shitstains I’m supposed to be responsible for." She chuckled darkly.

"If so, my condolences.

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Training Ground Zero-Nine.

“FORM UP!”

Contrary to popular belief, Tatsuya Hyuga was not lazy to the point of ruin. In truth, he wasn’t even particularly slothful. Laziness was a misnomer; he simply believed in conserving effort. Why spend more energy than necessary on a task if you could spend less? From his perspective, it was efficiency. But in a world obsessed with proving worth, Tatsuya was too easily dismissed as the slacker.

As the wastrel lacking even a modicum of gratitude in his bones for the abundant privilege he was born into.

If nothing at all, Kaede was the most eager to remind him of his apparent uselessness. Why he had been placed on the same team as her was a cruel mystery. Already, he was fed up with her rigid, pretentious and overzealous sense of duty.

And like the most repulsive of toppings to this pile of absolute dogshit was the queen bitch herself.

Yuna hawked and spat into the dirt, catching Tatsuya’s glare. "Got something to say, White-eyes?"

"No," Tatsuya muttered.

"I didn’t catch that."

"No, ma’am!"

The wicked grin on her face was unmistakable. "Thought so. Now listen up," she barked, pacing in front of them. "I don’t care about your potential, your heritage, or your sad little ambitions. If you fail to impress me today, rest assured I won't waste my time training you. Instead, I'll make your lives a living hell until the Hokage deems it too much of a risk to your mental, physical and emotional well-being to allow you to remain in my care. I cannot say how long that would take but expect to spend a few weeks of your lifes as ponderously tortured existences. I am not a person who takes kindly to failures. Long story short, you will impress me today regardless of your willingness or capacity to do so.”

Tatsuya felt a lump form in his throat. He snuck a glance at his equally unfortunate colleagues. Kaede’s face had taken a pallid hue. The girl seemed to sense his gaze as her eyes swivelled to regard him, expression twisting in unease. Tatsuya’s eyes flickered down to Itachi and he found the younger boy seemingly indifferent.

Whether his expression was frozen in fear or he truly didn’t care, Tatsuya could not say for certain.

Yuna continued, tossing a scroll to Kaede, who fumbled with it. "For the next ten minutes, you’ll guard that scroll with your lives. I’ll give you five minutes to strategize. Then I’m coming for it. I don’t expect you to keep it from me the whole time, but you’ll make me work for it. Anything less, and I will consider it a challenge for me to do my worst." She paused, her gaze sweeping over them. "Any questions?"

Kaede hesitantly raised a hand but was promptly ignored.

"Good. Time starts now."

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Itachi stood motionless for a moment, watching as Yuna-sensei vanished into the woods. His teammates were frozen, still processing the situation. He shook his head slightly, exhaling a quiet sigh.

"So, this is my life now," he mused, his senses already extending into the surrounding forest. "How unfortunate."

"You say something, Itachi?" Tatsuya asked, snapping out of his daze.

"Yes." Itachi glanced at Kaede, who still gripped the scroll tightly, her face tight with worry. "Kaede, Team Lead?"

Tatsuya shrugged indifferently, missing the challenging glare Kaede shot at him. "Doesn’t matter to me."

"So, what’s the plan, Team Lead?" Itachi said smoothly, even as he enthralled her to swap the original scroll with a henge’d replacement from his pouch.

Kaede blinked. "Right. Plan."