(AN: Hello this is the last chapter I have ready for this one I will be working to get some more done and next week I will release one or two chapters for this one.)
By the time the Academy gates opened, Raizo had learned two things about Konoha.
First—this village did not get quieter.
Second—quiet was something you built inside yourself, brick by brick, until the noise had to go around it.
He still woke early. He still listened before he moved. He still touched the breath-anchor seal beneath his pillow like it was a small promise that his body would remember what his mind forgot. The paper tag was worn now at the corners from months of fingers finding it in the dark, and the tiny spiral inked in red hummed faintly when his chakra brushed it.
It didn't make him brave.
It just made him steady.
That morning, the compound felt different.
Not louder. Not sharper.
Just… tilted.
Like the whole world was leaning toward something new.
Tsunade was already awake, sitting at the low table with her breakfast half eaten, hair tied back tighter than usual. She wore a simple training outfit—not formal, not fancy—because if someone asked Tsunade Senju to wear something "proper," she'd probably bite them.
Raizo stepped into the room quietly.
Tsunade glanced up. "You're not late."
Raizo blinked. "Am I supposed to be late."
Tsunade huffed. "Most kids are."
Raizo sat across from her and ate because Mito had taught him hunger could be ignored until it became dangerous. He didn't want dangerous on his first day.
Mito entered while he was finishing his bowl, cane tapping once against the floor as if the compound itself acknowledged her presence.
"You will go," she said simply.
Tsunade muttered, "We know."
Mito's gaze didn't move. "In the Academy, you will learn rules."
Raizo swallowed.
Mito's eyes turned to him, steady and calm. "More importantly, you will learn who breaks them and why."
Raizo's stomach tightened.
Tsunade rolled her eyes. "That's dramatic."
"It is accurate," Mito replied.
She placed two small cloth bundles on the table. One in front of Tsunade. One in front of Raizo.
Inside Raizo's bundle were lunch rice balls wrapped neatly, a small water flask, and an extra breath-anchor tag folded carefully like a spare heartbeat.
Raizo stared at it.
Mito's voice softened the smallest amount. "You may keep it in your sleeve."
Raizo nodded and slipped it into the inside seam of his clothing the way she had taught him. Not visible. Not showy. Just there.
Tsunade grabbed her bundle and stood.
Raizo stood too.
Mito walked them to the gate of the compound and stopped there, not stepping beyond.
The message was clear.
This part, they did themselves.
Raizo hesitated, then bowed. "Thank you."
Mito nodded once, the closest thing to warmth she ever showed when it mattered most. "Listen."
Raizo's chest tightened.
Tsunade scoffed. "He always listens."
Mito's gaze flicked to Tsunade. "Then he will survive."
They turned and left.
The walk to the Academy was not long, but it felt like crossing into a different kind of world.
The Senju district faded behind them—calm streets, older buildings, the subtle steadiness of seals carved into beams and stones. As they moved toward the center of Konoha, the village thickened with people.
Today was different, too.
Kids. Parents. Guardians. A surge of small lives packed into the streets and moving in the same direction. Their chakra signatures weren't disciplined like shinobi. They were messy and bright and loud, emotions flickering outward without restraint.
Excitement. Fear. Pride. Envy. Curiosity.
Raizo's senses stretched.
He felt it building like pressure behind his eyes.
He breathed.
In with the wave.
Out with the tide.
His quiet space opened, thin but real.
He kept walking.
Tsunade noticed nothing and everything at once. Her shoulders were squared. Her jaw set. She walked like the village belonged to her and dared anyone to disagree.
Kids parted around her instinctively.
Not because she was bigger.
Because she carried herself like she refused to be moved.
Raizo stayed on her right side, close enough that her chakra acted like a steady wall, easing the worst of the crowd's emotional noise.
They didn't speak much.
Tsunade didn't like talking when she was focused, and Raizo didn't like talking when he was listening.
The Academy came into view as they turned a corner.
A wide building with a fenced yard and tall doors, banners hanging at the front. The place buzzed with children and adults gathered outside, voices overlapping in a roar that made Raizo's skin prickle.
The gate looked normal.
Everything about it felt like a threshold.
Raizo stopped just short of it.
Tsunade didn't.
She walked right through like the gate was an insult.
Raizo forced his feet to follow.
The moment he stepped into the yard, he felt the shift.
Too many kids.
Too many emotions.
He caught fragments like wind catching loose leaves:
I hope I'm not stupid.
Dad said I have to be strong.
She looks scary.
Who's that red-haired kid?
That's Tsunade Senju.
That's Mito-sama's boy…
Raizo's stomach twisted.
Tsunade's head snapped slightly, her gaze slicing toward whoever had whispered. The whisper died instantly.
Raizo exhaled slowly.
He was grateful for her, even if he didn't know what to do with that gratitude yet.
A boy barreled across the yard at full speed, nearly colliding with a group of children before swerving at the last second. He was smaller than Tsunade but moved like he had no concept of consequences. His white hair stuck up in all directions, and his grin was too wide for his face, like he'd been born excited.
He skidded to a stop near them and looked around like he'd just discovered the world.
"Whoa," he said loudly. "This place is packed!"
Several kids turned to stare.
The boy didn't care.
He scanned the crowd again, then spotted Tsunade.
His eyes widened.
"Oh!" he said, voice rising. "You're Tsunade Senju!"
Tsunade stared at him like he was a bug.
The boy puffed up, grinning even wider. "I knew it! I heard about you. People say you're gonna be crazy strong. Like—like you could punch a tree in half!"
Tsunade's expression didn't change. "Get out of my face."
The boy blinked, then laughed as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "You're rude! I like it."
Tsunade's fist twitched.
Raizo felt it—her chakra flaring sharp, restrained only by habit.
The boy's gaze slid to Raizo next.
His grin softened into curiosity.
"Who're you?" he asked, leaning forward.
Raizo stiffened.
Not because the boy felt dangerous.
Because he felt loud.
His chakra bounced and flickered like a candle in a storm, and Raizo's senses caught it immediately.
Raizo swallowed. "Raizo."
The boy's eyes lit up like he'd been handed a new toy. "Raizo! Cool name. I'm Jiraiya."
He stuck his hand out.
Raizo stared at it.
In Uzushio, people didn't offer hands casually. Touch was either family or ceremony.
This boy offered it like it meant nothing.
Like it meant everything.
Raizo hesitated, then reached out and touched Jiraiya's hand briefly.
Jiraiya's grip was warm, strong, and too enthusiastic. He shook once hard.
"Nice!" Jiraiya said. "You're quiet. Quiet kids are always hiding something."
Raizo blinked. "I'm not hiding."
Jiraiya's grin returned. "That's what hiding sounds like."
Tsunade grabbed Jiraiya's wrist and yanked his hand away from Raizo.
"Stop touching people," she snapped.
Jiraiya yelped. "Ow! I was being friendly!"
Tsunade glared. "Be friendly somewhere else."
Jiraiya rubbed his wrist dramatically. "You're mean."
"Yes," Tsunade said flatly. "And you're annoying."
Jiraiya's grin didn't fade. "Yep!"
Raizo watched them, stunned.
They were seven.
This was what seven-year-olds did.
Argue about nothing.
Touch hands and laugh and complain and stand too close because they didn't know what space meant yet.
Raizo's chest loosened slightly.
Not comfortable.
But less tight.
A bell rang.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
The entire yard shifted.
Children surged toward the doors, voices rising in excited chaos. Parents called after them. Instructors began shouting for lines, order, discipline.
Raizo froze.
The sound hit his senses hard, not painful, but startling—like the village's heartbeat had suddenly jumped.
Tsunade grabbed his sleeve.
"Move," she ordered.
Raizo moved.
They were swept inside.
The Academy hallway smelled like chalk, wood polish, and too many bodies.
Raizo's head swam.
Kids pushed past each other, laughing and shouting. Some cried quietly. Some clung to parents who weren't allowed past the door. Older instructors herded them with practiced patience.
Tsunade shoved through the crowd like a blade cutting water.
Jiraiya followed behind them, still talking.
"So do you guys live near here? My house is—"
"Shut up," Tsunade snapped.
Jiraiya grinned. "No."
Raizo listened.
He listened to the crowd, to the teachers, to the sound of his own footsteps.
He listened for his quiet space.
It was thinner now, but it was still there.
They entered a classroom.
Rows of desks. A chalkboard at the front. A stern-looking instructor standing with arms crossed, eyes sharp.
He waited until the room filled, then slammed a chalk stick against the board hard enough to make several kids flinch.
"Sit," he barked.
The room scrambled into seats.
Raizo slid into a desk near the middle with Tsunade beside him. Jiraiya flopped into the seat behind them like it belonged to him already.
The instructor's gaze swept the room.
"You are here," he said, voice flat, "because the village needs shinobi."
Some kids sat up straighter. Some swallowed hard.
"You will learn discipline," the instructor continued. "You will learn obedience. You will learn control."
Raizo's stomach tightened at that last word.
Control.
The instructor began roll call.
Names echoed through the room—families Raizo didn't know, clans he'd heard whispered, children who looked like they belonged here in ways he didn't.
"Senju, Tsunade."
Tsunade lifted her hand without looking up.
A murmur rippled through the class.
The instructor's eyes narrowed. "Quiet."
Then—
"Uzumaki, Raizo."
The sound of his name in that room made the air feel heavier.
Raizo raised his hand slowly.
Whispers sparked instantly.
Uzumaki.
Uzushio.
Mito.
Leash—
The pressure behind Raizo's eyes rose, sharp.
He breathed.
In.
Out.
The whispers didn't stop, but they dulled into background as his quiet space steadied him again.
The instructor's gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than it had on others.
Not fear.
Evaluation.
Raizo held his posture anyway.
Behind him, Jiraiya leaned forward.
"Ooooh," he whispered loudly. "So you're that Uzumaki."
Tsunade twisted in her seat, eyes blazing. "Be quiet."
Jiraiya blinked. "What? I didn't say anything mean!"
Tsunade's jaw tightened. "Not yet."
Raizo didn't turn around.
He kept breathing.
The instructor finished roll call, then began explaining basic rules and schedules. Most of it washed over Raizo like distant surf.
His attention snagged on one thing:
A simple chakra control exercise.
A leaf placed on the desk.
"Hold it," the instructor said, walking between the rows. "Focus your chakra into it. Keep it steady. Do not crush it. Do not burn it. Do not let it fall."
A few kids snickered. Others looked terrified.
Raizo stared at the leaf.
It was small.
Fragile.
Perfect.
He placed two fingers against it gently and let a thread of chakra flow.
Not a surge.
Not a push.
A thread.
The leaf trembled once, then settled under his fingertips as if it had always been meant to rest there.
Raizo felt the class around him still moving—kids straining, leaves fluttering to the floor, someone crushing theirs into pulp by accident.
Raizo kept his thread steady.
The leaf did not move.
The instructor paused at his desk.
Raizo felt the man's gaze like a weight.
Too controlled.
Too clean.
Not normal for a seven-year-old.
Raizo's stomach tightened.
He wanted to pull back, to hide it, to make it messy so no one would look too closely.
But he didn't.
He held.
The instructor's eyes narrowed slightly.
He didn't praise.
He didn't scold.
He simply moved on.
Raizo exhaled carefully.
Behind him, Jiraiya hissed under his breath. "How'd you do that?! Mine keeps—"
"Focus," Tsunade snapped.
Jiraiya groaned. "I am focusing! It's just… my chakra doesn't like leaves!"
Raizo didn't smile.
But something in his chest warmed anyway.
The class continued.
The leaves fluttered and fell and crushed and burned.
Raizo kept his steady.
Not because he wanted to impress anyone.
Because he didn't want the world to press him into answering.
When the bell rang again at the end of the first session, the room erupted into noise.
Raizo sat still for a heartbeat longer, listening.
The Academy was louder than the compound.
Louder than the streets.
But it was a different kind of loud.
It wasn't the village's breath.
It was kids.
And kids, Raizo realized, were messy in ways adults never allowed themselves to be.
Tsunade stood. "Come on."
Raizo rose with her.
Jiraiya popped up behind them, already talking again. "Okay, okay, so I think the teacher hates me, but I'm gonna be the best anyway. Also, you two should come—"
Tsunade's glare cut him off mid-sentence.
Jiraiya grinned. "Yep. Still mean."
Raizo stepped into the hallway with them and felt the eyes again.
Not just adult eyes.
Kid eyes.
Curious. Assessing. Testing.
He touched the breath-anchor tag hidden in his sleeve.
Raizo.
He breathed.
And as the first day continued, he understood something with simple, childlike clarity:
The Academy wasn't where you learned to fight.
It was where you learned what kind of person you were going to become…
while everyone watched.
Thanks for reading, feel free to write a comment, leave a review, and Power Stones are always appreciated.