In a large room full of young students of all shapes and sizes, a young woman stepped inside, closing the door behind her so the noise wouldn't spill into the other already-started classes. Fifth-years had the privilege of sleeping in an extra hour, something she was grateful for.
Looking around, she could already see her peers forming their usual groups. Daiki, Hanae, Rikuo, and Aburame Shou had settled into the back corner, speaking quietly among themselves. Inuzuka Rena, Yamanaka Airi, Akimichi Toru, Nara Ren, and Sora were gathered near the middle of the classroom—some sitting in chairs, some perched on desks, and one leaning against the wall.
Izumi's gaze lingered on Ren for a moment, admiring the lazy precision of his chakra control, before she noticed the group pointing and laughing toward the other side of the room. Turning her head, she saw someone she didn't recognize.
He was a thin boy. His clothes were baggy, but she could still tell. Long, spiky gray hair framed his face—hair she recognized instantly as a trait of her clan's allies, the Kano.
But why was he here? She'd never seen him before, and they were already a month into their final year at the Academy. Why appear now?
Izumi noticed he seemed to be asleep, his hair still damp from washing. She assumed he'd woken early to train, dragged himself to class, and promptly passed out.
A loud bark of laughter from Toru broke her thoughts, followed by a pencil flying through the air and smacking the boy on the head with a sharp thwack. If it woke him, she couldn't tell—he kept his head down, breathing slow and steady.
Deciding it wasn't her business, she sat a few seats away from him and pulled out her notebook, ready for class.
"Hey, Izumi! Why don't you come sit with us instead of the newbie?!"
She sighed. Toru could be such an annoyance.
"Gods, he's annoying," the boy beside her muttered under his breath. She nearly laughed.
"Please be quiet, Akimichi Toru. Your voice irritates me." Her tone was cool, her expression aloof.
Toru rolled his eyes and muttered something, but he left them alone.
Slowly rising from his sleep, the boy—Masaru—leaned back in a long stretch, the motion revealing the edge of scars along his wrist. Izumi noticed, but said nothing.
"Thank you for that," he said softly. "My name's Kano Masaru. I hope we can get along." He smiled gently, gray eyes memorizing her face.
Izumi nodded. "Uchiha Izumi."
She left it at that. Masaru sensed she wasn't interested in conversation, so he turned to his books and waited for their teacher to arrive.
He sighed heavily. "This is going to be a long nine months."
---
Masaru's head snapped back as a fist collided with his nose, doubling his vision and sending a sharp sting through his eyes. His feet stumbled over each other, and he barely managed to stay upright.
"Keep your guard up," Kotetsu said flatly from the sidelines.
Masaru tried. He really did. He raised his hands, elbows flared out awkwardly, wrists bent at painful angles. His stance was too narrow, his weight too far forward.
His opponent—a bored-looking civilian boy named Daiki—didn't even bother to hide his smirk.
Masaru lunged.
Or rather, he thought he lunged. His body moved half a second too slow, his foot caught on the mat, and he pitched forward like a puppet with tangled strings.
Daiki sidestepped lazily and shoved him between the shoulder blades.
Masaru hit the ground face-first.
A few students snickered. Someone whispered, "Is he serious?"
Masaru pushed himself up, arms trembling. His nose throbbed. His eyes watered. His breath came in short, uneven bursts.
"Again," Kotetsu said.
Masaru swallowed and forced himself upright.
Daiki didn't wait this time. He stepped in and jabbed Masaru in the ribs. Masaru's breath exploded out of him in a wheeze. He tried to block the next strike, but his arm moved like it was underwater.
Another punch slipped through.
Then another.
Masaru staggered back, arms flailing, trying to remember anything from the kata he'd practiced that morning. His mind was blank. His body refused to cooperate.
Daiki swung wide—a sloppy hook, easy to see coming.
Masaru still didn't dodge in time.
The blow clipped his cheek and spun him halfway around. He stumbled, legs shaking, and collapsed onto one knee.
Kotetsu finally stepped forward.
"That's enough."
Daiki backed off, looking disappointed the entertainment was over.
Masaru stayed kneeling, chest heaving, vision swimming. His cheek burned. His ribs ached. His pride felt like it had been stomped on repeatedly.
Kotetsu crouched beside him, expression unreadable.
"You have no coordination," he said plainly. "No stance. No timing. No reflexes. Your body is weak, your balance is poor, and you hesitate too much."
Masaru winced. Every word was true.
"But," Kotetsu continued, "you got up every time."
Masaru blinked, surprised.
Kotetsu stood. "That's the only reason I'm not pulling you from taijutsu today. Stand up."
Masaru forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly.
Kotetsu pointed to the center of the mat.
"One more time."