Mito told Raizo it would happen eventually.
Not the breathing. Not the noise. Not even the way Konoha watched.
Something else.
Something sharper.
Something that didn't feel like curiosity at all.
Raizo didn't know what that something was until the day the sun felt warm and normal and he almost forgot to be careful.
Almost.
It started as an errand.
That was what Mito called it, anyway.
"Walk with me," she said in the morning as she adjusted her shawl, cane resting against the floor like it had always belonged there. "We will retrieve a set of ink-stones and sealing paper from the archive annex."
Tsunade made a sound like a dying animal.
"Why me?" she complained, hair tied back messily, arms already crossed like she was preparing to fight the day itself.
"Because you will," Mito said calmly.
Tsunade's scowl deepened. "That's not an answer."
"It is," Mito replied.
Raizo stood near the doorway, bundle clasped in both hands. The compound felt quiet in the soft morning light. The barriers hummed low and steady, gentle enough that he could almost pretend he belonged.
Almost.
He nodded when Mito looked at him.
In with the wave.
Out with the tide.
He had learned how to find his quiet space between breaths. He had learned how to name himself when the world pressed too close.
He had not learned what to do when people decided his name wasn't enough.
They left the compound and walked through the Senju district first.
Raizo always felt it the moment they crossed into those streets—the way the air seemed calmer, as if even Konoha knew to lower its voice here. Trees stood tall and deliberate, roots guided by seals into clean paths. Buildings were older, stronger, and marked with small carvings that made the world feel less random.
Tsunade walked on Raizo's left like she owned the space.
She did.
Mito walked ahead like the village itself was making room for her.
It was when they moved beyond the Senju district that Raizo felt the shift.
More people. More voices. More hearts. More opinions brushing past him like hands that didn't ask permission.
He tensed.
Tsunade's shoulder brushed his once, firm and grounding.
"Breathe," she muttered without looking at him, as if she'd get annoyed if he made her repeat herself.
Raizo breathed.
They passed stalls and carts and groups of shinobi moving with purpose. Raizo kept his eyes mostly forward, but he could still feel the way people's attention slid toward him and lingered.
"Red hair…"
"Mito-sama's with him…"
"Uzumaki?"
He tried not to react.
He tried not to let the pressure behind his eyes build.
The archive annex sat just beyond a small square—an older building half-hidden by trees, its door marked with a carved spiral seal that made Raizo's skin prickle faintly.
Mito spoke to the attendant inside with quiet authority. The woman bowed deeply and returned with a bundle wrapped in cloth: ink-stones, sealing paper, and a small box of brushes.
Raizo watched the attendant's eyes flick to him, then away too quickly.
Not fear.
Evaluation.
Mito accepted the bundle. "Thank you."
They left.
Tsunade huffed. "That was boring."
Mito's cane tapped once against the stone path. "Boredom is safer than excitement."
Tsunade scowled but didn't argue.
They didn't make it three streets before the sharpness found them.
It happened near a training yard where older children—academy-aged, maybe nine or ten—were practicing outside a fence, their stances sloppy but determined. The air smelled of dust and sweat and pride.
Raizo felt them notice him before any of them spoke.
Their chakra signatures shifted—interest sharpening, attention narrowing like a blade being tested for weight.
A boy with dark hair and a too-confident grin nudged another kid.
"Hey," he called loudly. "Look."
Raizo kept walking.
Tsunade's steps slowed, just slightly.
Mito did not slow at all.
The boy's grin widened when he realized he'd been noticed.
"That him?" another child asked, voice pitched with the kind of excitement that didn't feel friendly.
"I heard Uzushio sent their leftovers," the first boy said, as if he was sharing something clever.
Raizo's quiet space trembled.
Tsunade stopped.
Raizo stopped too, because her stopping felt like the world deciding to stand still with her.
Tsunade turned, eyes hard. "Say that again."
The boy puffed up, thrilled that he'd gotten a reaction. "Leftovers," he repeated, louder. "That's what you are, right? Uzushio's leftovers. Mito-sama's new—"
His friend snickered. "New leash."
The word leash snapped something inside Raizo so fast he didn't even feel it breaking.
His breath hitched.
The pressure behind his eyes rose like heat.
A faint pink shimmer flickered at the edge of his vision, and the air around his feet stirred—dust lifting in a tight spiral, the way it always did when the storm inside him tried to answer before he could choose.
Raizo's hands clenched around his bundle.
He didn't want to hurt anyone.
He didn't want to be watched like a weapon.
He didn't want—
Tsunade stepped forward.
"Touch him," she said, voice low, dangerous in the way only a child who didn't understand her own strength could be. "I dare you."
The boy scoffed, trying to look brave in front of his friends. He walked closer, eyes glittering with the cruel confidence of someone who had never been punished for being loud.
He reached toward Raizo's bundle.
Raizo flinched.
Not back.
Inward.
The storm surged in response, wind pressure tightening, the air pulling tight like a held breath.
The boy's fingers brushed the cloth.
And Raizo almost snapped.
Almost.
A word floated up in his mind, not loud, not dramatic.
Just… his.
Raizo.
He grabbed that name like a rope.
He forced a breath.
In with the wave.
Out with the tide.
The spiral didn't explode.
It compressed.
The air around Raizo tightened into a single, controlled ring. Dust and leaves lifted in a perfect circle and then stopped, suspended for a heartbeat as if the world itself had paused to listen.
The boy froze, eyes widening.
His friends went silent.
Raizo's vision trembled with pink at the edges, but he held it in, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
The boy stumbled backward when the pressure released—not thrown, not injured, just startled as the air snapped back into place.
He fell on his backside with a humiliating thud.
For a breath, everything was quiet.
Then a patrol chakra signature sharpened nearby.
An adult had noticed.
Raizo felt it like a cold drop down his spine.
Tsunade turned, eyes blazing, ready to fight anyone who came close.
Mito's cane tapped once.
Tsunade stilled instantly.
Mito stepped forward between them and the fence, posture calm, expression unreadable.
A chūnin approached from the street, eyes scanning the scene, attention landing on Raizo like a hand trying to grab.
"What happened here?" he demanded.
The boy opened his mouth, eager to blame.
Raizo's throat tightened.
Tsunade's fists clenched.
Mito spoke first.
"He restrained himself," she said softly.
The chūnin blinked, thrown off by her calm certainty.
Mito's gaze sharpened just enough to cut. "Ask why the others did not."
The chūnin's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the boy sitting in the dirt, then to the other children behind the fence, suddenly uncomfortable.
He exhaled through his nose. "Be careful," he muttered, not quite a warning, not quite an order.
Mito inclined her head. "Always."
The chūnin left.
The older kids didn't speak again.
They didn't apologize either.
But they watched Raizo differently now.
Not like prey.
Like something they hadn't expected to have teeth.
Mito turned and continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Raizo followed on shaking legs.
Tsunade walked beside him, breathing hard like she'd just stopped herself from punching a wall.
They didn't speak until they were back inside the compound and the barrier's gentle hum wrapped around them again.
The moment the door slid shut, Raizo's hands started to shake.
Not violently.
Just enough that he couldn't pretend he was fine.
Tsunade noticed immediately. Her anger shifted direction, turning inward like a snarling animal that didn't know where to bite.
"They shouldn't talk like that," she snapped. "They shouldn't touch you."
Raizo swallowed hard. "They did."
Tsunade's eyes flashed. "Next time they do, I break their fingers."
Raizo stared at her.
He believed her.
That was the terrifying part.
Mito set the bundle on the table and looked at Raizo steadily.
"You held," she said.
Raizo's throat burned. "I almost didn't."
"But you did," Mito replied. "That is what matters."
Raizo's voice shook. "Why did they say that."
Mito's answer was simple. "Because they wanted you to answer."
Raizo blinked. "With what."
"With power," Tsunade growled.
"With fear," Mito corrected gently. "They wanted to see if you were a child. Or a thing."
Raizo's stomach twisted.
He hadn't known those were different until now.
Mito knelt and opened a small drawer near the low table. She pulled out a thin strip of paper—clean, pale, and marked with a tiny spiral seal inked in red so fine it looked like thread.
Raizo's eyes widened.
"A seal tag?" he whispered.
"A breath-anchor," Mito said. "A tool, not a weapon."
She placed it carefully in his palm.
The paper was warm, almost alive, and the seal on it hummed softly against his skin, responding to his chakra like a hand settling on his shoulder.
"When the village presses," Mito said, "you will touch this and remember your quiet space. You will remember your name. You will remember you are not an answer to anyone's cruelty."
Raizo's fingers curled around the tag.
He didn't trust himself to speak.
Tsunade leaned closer, looking at the seal with reluctant respect.
"…That's actually useful," she muttered.
Mito's gaze flicked to her. "It is also something you should learn."
Tsunade scowled. "I don't need it."
Mito's voice remained calm. "You will one day."
Tsunade looked away.
Raizo held the breath-anchor tighter.
Later, when night settled and the village hummed beyond the compound walls, Raizo lay in bed and listened to Konoha like he always did.
But it sounded different now.
Not just loud.
Not just alive.
Watching.
Waiting.
He touched the seal tag beneath his pillow and felt the tiny spiral hum steady and warm.
Raizo.
In with the wave.
Out with the tide.
He could still feel the place where he'd almost snapped. The place where his storm had wanted to answer cruelty with force.
He didn't like that place.
He didn't like knowing it existed.
But he liked knowing he could choose.
And somewhere out in the village, kids who didn't matter yet were already turning his name into a rumor.
Not Crimson.
Not anything else.
Just the first shape of it, still unformed, still waiting.
Raizo stared into the dark and thought, with a child's simple clarity, that maybe the worst part wasn't the staring.
Maybe it was the moment people stopped seeing him as a kid at all.
Thanks for reading, feel free to write a comment, leave a review, and Power Stones are always appreciated.