Land of Fire

[Aqua]

The once-humble village, protected and hidden by its lush foliage, had transformed into a bustling metropolis—a vibrant hub for fashion, technology, travel, and innovation. The streets were alive with the sounds of travelers and locals as they filled cafés, bars, shops, and recreational areas. For those who had witnessed its evolution, the city that was once a gathering of clans now seemed lost in a sea of commercialization. The sun shone brightly overhead, casting the village in warm shades of orange and yellow. The greenery of every tree appeared more vibrant and full of life, while the sun's rays reflected off the city's shimmering buildings, making the village look like a beautiful treasure from a distance. But from up close, however, it was hell for one young shinobi.

In a city built by its denizens to catch the eyes of all, there was perhaps one place that held more natural beauty than any other. While the village had remained surrounded by a dense forest, the urbanization of its center had left little room for blooming fauna and shade-bringing oaks. Not here, however. The illustrious Senju Park was booming with activity. Those more in tune with nature than the chaos of the city found themselves enjoying a well-needed day of quiet and reprieve at the heart of this historic park. The massive reserve was filled with a diverse array of trees and plants, as well as expansive fields of fresh, green grass. The soft trickling of man-made creeks, ponds, and fountains took the forefront while the thick leaves of the many trees drowned out the noise of the city.

A small river ran throughout the entire park, where tourists often rented rowboats during the day, and locals approached it more frequently during the evening to catch a romantic boat ride while the sun set over Hokage Mountain. Families gathered, couples trotted hand in hand, while groundskeepers ensured everything remained pristine. In the far corner of the historic location, a mother and her young daughter approached a small orchard. Thick trees rose overhead, the smell of bark and sap smothering their senses, and giant, crisp apples hung from every other branch. "More to the right. Budou!" The hushed yet exclaimed whisper was followed by a screech of the same pitch, incomprehensible to the woman and her child, and eclipsed by the sing-song of a small group of birds nesting a few feet away. The creature for which the whisper was intended stepped slightly to its right, the branch it rested on swaying and bending in a way it hadn't before, shaking one of the apples down from its stem. The apple rattled and fell, rolling down the base of the tree before thudding against the back of the little girl's leg as her mother laid down a checkered blanket for a picnic. "Ow!" The young girl exclaimed, jumping onto one leg as she rubbed her calf in a fit of pain. Her mother turned around ominously to comfort her daughter and noticed the apple, deciding to look up to see where it had come from and- "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT!!!"

Her eyes did not deceive her. Hiding in the thick leaves was a large bat, about the size of an eagle, spreading its wings as it attempted to conceal the young boy sitting behind it. Her taking notice seemed to startle the creature; in fact, it startled the boy too, as he and his bat companion let out a simultaneous scream born of social angst. For a few seconds, it became a roulette of screams, exchanged between the boy, the bat, the mother, and the daughter, before she swept the young girl from her feet and ran away in terror. "WHAT A FREAK!" Nothing he hadn't heard before; at least she had left. The young genin and his animal companion let out an animated and coordinated sigh of relief, resting back against the tree's broad trunk. "That was a close one, Budou!" Yonaka Iremono had been hiding in his usual spot for most of the day, a day he dreaded completely. He was meant to meet his Jounin Sensei, and by now, he was sure his parents were making things even more embarrassing by speaking to the old man with his face on the mountain!

The socially inept and homeschooled child had aspirations of becoming a great shinobi, but would've reconsidered if he knew this level of anxiety was the price. His loyal bat companion, Budou, entertained the child's antics and made the situation no better. Like an unlawful accomplice, if Yonaka had gotten into any trouble, you can bet your ryo that Budou was close behind. "If we can just hold out some more hours, it'll get dark and we can go home! I'd rather deal with dad being mad than deal with this!" He proclaimed, in a raspy and youthful voice, while tossing Budou an apple that he caught and instantly severed between his sharp incisors. "Good thing this hiding spot is f-u-l-l-p-r-o-o-f. Nobody's gonna find us here, right?"

Right?

 

[Dio]

The village of Konohagakure lay swathed in a warm veil of amber light that trembled on every eave and fencepost. Satoma’s boots whispered against the uneven stone path as he walked, arms folded across his chest, shoulders heavy beneath the weight of both uniform and thought. Beside him trailed two young shinobi—Sōma, whose slender form moved with deliberate calm, and Daimaru, whose bright eyes danced with restless energy. To Satoma they looked like an unlikely pair: the introspective girl and the garrulous boy, each drawn into their teacher’s orbit for reasons neither could yet name. All around them the streets were coming to life. Paper lanterns in doorways swayed in a gentle breeze; merchants unlatched shutters with tinkling bells that echoed down narrow alleys. The scent of freshly steamed buns from a corner stall mingled with the sharp tang of brewing green tea, while farther off, an incense coil smoldered at a shrine, weaving sandalwood smoke into the air. New glass-paneled buildings caught the sun and threw shimmering reflections onto weathered wooden beams of older buildings, a silent testament to the village’s unceasing march between tradition and change. Satoma led his Genin deeper toward the heart of Konoha, closer towards the Hokage Rock against the city skyline.

Even now, Sōma’s quiet voice hovered at the edge of his memory:

“But you’re right. Home is home, no matter how ugly the truth is.”

He could still see the wry smirk on her lips, the curious glint in her eyes as though she recognized her own reflection in his scars. He’d never anticipated such candor from someone so young—nor the sting of its revelation. He spared her a sidelong glance; offering no reply. Daimaru, by contrast, was already chattering about the latest mad scramble for shinobi showdown trading cards, brandishing his fanned booster pack as if they were relics of some sacred rite. “I got a lot of cards from most of the sets from the modern game, if you play maybe we can have a proper Showdown!” he exclaimed, voice brimming with excitement.

Satoma sighed, exhaling into the honeyed morning.

“Careful, Sōma,” he called over his shoulder without turning. “Daimaru’s pulled half the academy into that bottomless pit. You’ll blink and owe him three rare foils and a week’s allowance.” The soft amusement in his tone was undeniable.

Their steps carried them past the Jōnin Standby Station, where scrolls and messengers bustled in the cool grey shadows of stone pillars. Satoma hesitated, brow furrowing; the sunlight pressed against his eyelids like an unwelcome weight, and a dull ache throbbed behind them. He brushed one hand through hair still damp with sleep, trying to smooth escaped strands into place. Every breath of village air felt too bright, too loud—he found himself craving instead the hushed sanctuary of fringe groves, where dappled shade and bird calls ruled.

A sudden recollection cut through his wandering thoughts.

Wait… was it today…?

His eyes narrowed, and he muttered under his breath, “…Damn.”

He halted—and in that moment the polished lacquer of the Standby Station’s wooden beams, the distant clatter of a messenger’s hoof on cobblestones, the fresh-green scent of spring—all sharpened around him. Turning to Sōma and Daimaru, “We’re making a detour.” he said with the crisp authority of a shinobi who has finally remembered an appointment.

He adjusted the collar of his vest and let his gaze slide westward, to where the cobbles darkened beneath a ribbon of trees. Beyond that ribbon lay Senju Park, its branches woven over old stones. “Change of plans,” he added, half to himself. The park stood at the edge of memory—a place where sunlight filtered through centuries of leaves. “I promised someone I’d meet his son today.”

Even as the words fell, Satoma’s mind flickered back to a time when he’d resisted the idea of a team. He had been content to gamble, to sleep late, to let nights bleed into dawn without purpose. The village had carried on as he ignored it, and he’d welcomed the solitude. Yet Hiroshi Sarutobi—ever perceptive, with his pipe smoke curling into secrets—had seen beyond Satoma’s stride. He recognized the cracks of past wounds for what they were: proof of survival, raw material that could be shaped. It began with Daimaru—so wildly reminiscent of a younger Heian Uchiha, all fire and potential—then Sōma, whose quiet steel belied hidden depths. And now, guided by Hiroshi and Yomiyo’s steady insistence, came a third: the boy waiting in the orchard of Senju Park… That truth had settled in Satoma’s mind like an unwelcome pebble in his shoe.

.::FLASHBACK::.
The small chamber smelled of sandalwood incense and ink-stained scrolls. Light spilled through an open latticed window, painting Hiroshi Sarutobi’s robes with golden highlights. His pipe lay on a low table, smoke looping into lazy spirals before dissolving into the still air. Yomiyo Iremono stood with arms folded, his weathered features carved by countless missions and quiet disappointment. Satoma had slouched against the doorframe, expression carefully indifferent.

“I’m not a teacher,” he’d said flatly, gaze fixed on a knot in the far wall. “I’m barely a functioning adult.”

Hiroshi had chuckled, the sound soft and knowing. “Precisely why you’re the right choice.”

Yomiyo’s gaze had sharpened. “My son’s not easy, Satoma. He’s bright—too bright at times—and he shuts the world out. If you approach him like a pupil, he’ll withdraw faster than you can blink. But if you give him space, he will follow.”

Satoma rubbed his temple. “I don’t babysit bats. Or kids who think they’re shadows.”

“You won’t be a babysitter,” Hiroshi said, voice calm as a still pond. “You’ll be their Sensei. Yonaka will notice that. All three of them will.”

The ticking of an old clock had filled the room, each tick a reminder that time moved forward whether Satoma agreed or not. Then Hiroshi leaned closer, voice low but firm: “You won’t lie to them about what it costs to be a shinobi. And—more importantly—you won’t abandon them.”

Yomiyo stepped to the table and laid down a folded slip of paper. It bore Yonaka’s habits, his favorite hiding spots, the passageways he used when the world grew too loud. Satoma’s shoulders had twitched—the only sign of his inner turmoil—before he slipped the paper into his pocket and exited the room, thought heavy as the scroll-filled archives he left behind.

Under the lacquered arch of Senju Park, the world immediately softened. Time slowed to the rhythm of rustling leaves. Light filtered through layered branches in shifting patterns of gold and green. Somewhere children’s laughter tinkled by a shallow creek, where water ran over smooth pebbles like a whispered secret. The air carried the tang of apples, river mist, and sun-warmed earth. Satoma breathed deeply, as though inhaling the spirit of the old village itself.

“This,” he murmured, almost to himself, “is the only place left that still feels like home.”

Families picnicked on woven mats beneath gnarled trunks, lovers drifted in wooden boats across winding streams, and elderly shinobi traced familiar steps along moss-covered memorial stones. Then—cutting through the idyll—came a high, wild scream. Feral and human all at once. A second cry followed, a rasping, batlike cackle that scraped at Satoma’s temples as though pounding a drum. He stood unmoved.

“There it is,” he said dryly. “Yonaka’s morning aria.” He rubbed his brow. “Ugh—still haven’t shaken this hangover.”

They pressed on into an orchard where heavy branches bowed under the weight of green fruit. Above, the leaves rustled as a wide black wing blotched the sky. Among the boughs, a pale boy hunched in an anxious silhouette.

Satoma stopped at the tree’s base and looked up with cool patience. “Yonaka,” he called, voice steady, “you are not an endangered species. Get down.”

He tilted his head back fully, arms crossing again as though bracing himself. A thin shaft of sunlight fell across his folded arms, etching every line of his determinedness.

“I know the world’s loud. I know people can be worse. But today you’re meeting a team, not a firing squad.” He gestured toward the two Genin behind him. “That’s Daimaru—he throws cards at people and never shuts up. That’s Sōma—I just met her, she seems sharp and… probably already knows your blood type. And I’m Satoma Senju. I’ve got a headache, no coffee, and three Genin now who look like a bad punchline—but I’m still here.”

He let silence stretch, the only sound a distant babble of water, the rustling of leaves in the wind could be heard. Then Satoma’s voice cut the calm like a blade: “You’ve got ten seconds to climb down, or I start shaking the tree.”

 

[Scarlet_Witch_King]

Sōma shook the boy's hand with a warm smile, but deep down, she was screaming inside. She didn't want to trust them, but she couldn't always depend on herself; she isn't invincible either, and knows that she can't become a stronger warrior by herself without a guide, someone to teach and discipline her. She chuckles at his comment regarding what Satoma said, which she can understand, cause her father often spoke about her being a hot-blooded kunoichi to his coworkers. Sōma turns to Satoma, who gives her a sidelong glance which she returns with curiosity and a guarded heart, directed to her new sensei before replying to Daimaru, "I never played before, how do you play it in your village" she asks then looks around the village seeing people walk by and do their daily life, she also is curious about his dream of becoming Hokage, she heard the title but never understood it and wanted him to explain more, especially this Lady Sarada "Also, who is this Sarada? she seems to be someone you look up to?" she asks and plans on sharing her own stories of Amegakure.

When she heard Satoma-sensei comment on and warn her about Daimaru's management of pulling half the academy into a bottomless pit, she was surprised that a boy of his caliber could pull something like that off. Maybe she could try to replicate that feat. For now, though, she is tagging along with the two boys. "Trust and believe, there will be more collateral damages when Daimaru and me pull pranks together," she says back to Satoma before giving her teammate a wink, hinting that she is down for his antics and eager to see how he operates in these situations. They would pass the Jōnin Standby Station; her village had one, but it looked very different from this one. From where she stands, this place is bustling with scrolls and messengers moving in the cool grey shadows of stone pillars. Ame's station is industrial and cold, filled with hardened shinobi who get scrolls from a machine that delivers them from the village head's office, where he deposits them down a tube. Satoma's voice then snaps Sōma back to reality, and she notices something has changed in Daimaru’s demeanor. They are taking a detour. His whole posture shifts, yet he still carries the look of a hangover on his face.

At the same time, his authority as an elite shinobi is evident, which makes Sōma want to know more about this man, Satoma Senju, and what fate holds in store for him in this new chapter—a new beginning for him, Daimaru, and herself. She is unaware of whom they are going to meet until Satoma explains that he promised to meet someone, piquing her curiosity about the person they will encounter.
Entering Senju Park, Sōma looked around at all the beautiful trees, now giant trunks standing tall with lush, vibrant green leaves and dark orange-brown wood. Senju Park honors the deeds of the Senju Clan, a powerful clan that rivals the Uchiha in terms of combat, which makes Sōma eager to see Satoma in action. "What is this place?" she asks, catching him say something about it feeling like home. Right under the lacquered arch, families are picnicking, and little children are running through the park, past the path where the three of them walked in. Suddenly, she hears a high, wild scream, like something feral—something unnatural that isn't normal to hear inside a village. Then, she hears her sensei speak about having a hangover, prompting her to quickly pull out a pouch full of green powder and a water bottle to offer him. "Sensei, try this with the water; it should help with the hangover," she says in a formal tone. She then turns to Daimaru, saying, "After this, you should show me around the village" before following Satoma into an orchard where beautiful branches bow under the weight of fruits that look so delicious to Sōma, each fruit on the tree pulling her attention and making her salivate.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a wide black wing sticking out from the trees. As she stared intently, she noticed a pale boy with black wings perched like an animal, avoiding humans. Sōma tilted her head to the side as Satoma spoke to the boy he called Yonaka. How he addressed the boy made her chuckle a little at his comment, but what he said next made her laugh even more, her cheeks reddening and her eyes watering a bit when Satoma introduced them both to the boy in the tree. She especially stifled her laughter, probably knowing his blood type, and gave her sensei some room to talk to him. "I wonder who is this Yonaka," she said to her new friend beside her.
​

 

[Aōi]

His eyes widened at the ridiculous prospect that no one, even if she was a girl his age had not only never played of the game Shinobi Showdown! but also she has never even heard of it. His shock would soon transform into almost disgusted disbelief, pulling back his booster box and held it tightly against his chest
protecting them from the virgin card player. “Say what!?” he exclaimed. Before he could get a word out, Satoma then quickly informed Sōma of the many debts people owed him due to his card obsession. He often would have other genin within the village approach him to ask for an extension on their favors. “Shut it Satoma-sensei! If kids want to give me their lunch money for cards, I'm never going to say no! I'm a businessman!” he responded with a tone.

His disbelief would continue as before he planned on getting a proper sentence out to respond, Sōma then followed it up with asking him who Sarada Uchiha was. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head, physically stopping in place momentarily leaving the young Ame native walking alone for a brief moment. The general reaction from the young shuriken was nothing short of comical for others watching, but to his sensei who knew him better knew that this was in fact a miniature meltdown. An unfamiliar serious look on the boy’s face grew palpable before he responded.

“Sarada Uchiha is the second female Hokage and only Uchiha to ever hold the office in the history of the Hidden Leaf. She helped reassert the standards and practices between most Shinobi nations. Not to mention her great strength as a Kunoichi. I look up to her as a great example of the kind of Shinobi I hope to one day become, even half her example.”

He spoke sincerely and with a rare passion that could only be found in his gaming hobbies. He truly did believe in becoming Hokage and believed even harder that one day it will become a reality. Never looking to impress, show off or even boast. However this was one thing he was persistent on and would not allow anyone to hamper that goal in any exterior.

Their light walk would bring them past the Jōnin Standby station, but their course would suddenly be altered by Satoma as he quickly changed course and walked in the direction of Senju Park, the largest park in Konoha. He announced that a detour was to be made while already en route towards the park, continuing to walk ahead of the two genin. As they arrived, the hangover that appeared to plague Satoma appeared to slightly lift somewhat, as the park seemed to have brought him some level of peace. Sōma asked what this place was, confused about its meaning to the people in the hidden leaf. “This is Senju Park.” he told Sōma simply. “This is where a lot of families and folks come to enjoy the nature within the village. there's a massive forest just past the treeline with a huge tree in the middle of the park, you can see it there.” he said as he pointed towards the massive tree in the center of the lush location. “Do you have a place like that in Amegakure?” he asked.

The young girl would then offer Satoma some water to help ease his headache. She seemed rather caring even to those she didn’t know very well, was something Daimaru picked up on. He could tell that they would become friends, becoming pleased that he was paired up with such a kind person. His ears would perk up as he heard bat-like screeches emanate from deeper into the park, accompanied by people running in the opposite direction.

The young genin’s eyes would narrow and his brows furrowed, flicking on his red and black hues to help him locate the source. As they kept following Satoma, he would stop just short of a tree, he looked up and spoke to what appeared to be a branch of leaves, but as Dai looked closer, he saw the flow of chakra within another person. “Who is that? And why are they up the-” his eyes soon widened as he realized what he was looking at. It was a member of the Iremono Clan. Confirming this theory, the tree top genin was kept company by an enlarged bat seemingly capable of harboring him for flight.

Satoma then attempted to reason with the leaf-shrouded genin, saying some pretty sincere things before reverting back to his flat-line tone informing him that he had exactly ten seconds to remove himself from the tree before he shook him directly out of it. Daimaru kept his eyes fixed on the Iremono clan member, as he had never seen one up close. He was very interested and curious about them, knowing that they have a somewhat muddy reputation among the other villagers, they seemed like regular people to the young genin. Unlike others, he didn’t fear them, and in fact would welcome a friendship with one as his mother once told him “Attempt to make a friend out of everyone you see. If you can't be their friend, then support them from afar if that's your wish.” was something he always remembered her saying. She had a tendency to always be correct.

“Yonaka, huh…” he said curiously. Almost in tandem with the young girl's question, Daimaru then leapt from the ground and directly into the trees, swinging from branch to branch while scaling the trees carefully, and calmly so as not to spook Yonaka or his ebony-winged friend. Seemingly in seconds, the two would be face to face with the spiky-haired Uchiha losing his crimson hues for a moment so as not to frighten Yonaka as he appeared to be easily frightened. “Hey, I know you might be nervous right now. That's okay. You don't need to be.” he held a hand out towards the bat, offering it as a sign of peace. He stayed on his guard but was relaxed with his approach. He simply wanted to coax Yonaka into not being nearly as nervous as he was. “This is your friend? Never saw a bat this large before, and definitely not this close.” If the winged-creature allowed it, he would motion to pet him, not to do anything but to feel the texture of his wings and skin. “He got a name?” the shuriken would ask, hoping he had made yet another friend in a short time.


​

 

[ZimTheInvader]

With all the flair and precision of a master gymnast, Kokezaru flipped through the window, only to find himself being snatched out of mid-air as a hand gripped the collar of his top. The sudden halting of his acrobatics—and the voice of the one who stopped him—would soon click for him as he realized who had caught him.

"Oh hey, Katsu! Also, what do you mean I have no clearance? I don't need clearance to see Gramps."

He spoke defensively, as this was a common occurrence—Katsuro was a Hiroshi stan and didn’t like how close and informal Kokezaru was with his idol. As he wondered what would happen next, he wouldn’t need to wonder for very long, as he suddenly found himself being dragged down the hallway while Katsuro called him a gremlin and complained about how he almost missed a discussion about mindfulness and ash incense his Grandpa was having with a podcaster.

He had planned to argue back when, out of the blue, Katsuro began to speak about what happened right before the Hokage left for this supposed important meeting. Katsuro spoke of an ominous scene where a swarm of bats took flight—which was rather odd, given that bats tended to be more nocturnal creatures.

"Damn, Katsu, that does seem a little freaky, though this is Gramps we're talking about. There isn't anyone alive who can take him on."

Kokezaru was known to those who followed his Grandfather as having absolute faith in the man and thinking that he was the strongest being alive. As all this happened, he was beginning to think about the weird situation with the bats when, all of a sudden, the mood shifted. Katsuro went full fanboy mode and began to demand answers from Kokezaru about the next School of Elders episode and what Hiroshi was going to discuss.

"You serious, Katsu? You think I know that stuff? I can't get Gramps to teach me or even tell me much about his time at the temple, so how am I supposed to know? I got no idea what the next episode's about—Gramps keeps that info all hush-hush. I don't even think he'd tell my mum."

Kokezaru was a big fan of his Grandpa, but he was never a fan of the weird fanboy obsession that Katsuro had for him. He tended to go too far, like he was about to now—acting like Kokezaru took his relation to the Hokage for granted. It was a real source of contention between the two.

"Katsu, you're an idiot. You don't know anything about my relationship with Gramps. You act like I get to know everything, but you know damn well that I barely get told more about his past than anyone else."

Kokezaru spoke with a sense of annoyance at the way Katsuro was acting towards him, and with that, he attempted to angrily shake free of the man's grip. If successful, he’d start to storm off toward the exit. It wasn’t well known to others, but while he and his Grandfather were close, Kokezaru didn’t really receive any actual special treatment as a shinobi for being the Hokage’s grandson—which didn’t bother Kokezaru, but the way others acted like he did was infuriating for the normally laid-back kid known for his wild and childish antics.

 

[Aqua]

| "Good thing this hiding spot is f-u-l-l-p-r-o-o-f. Nobody's gonna find us here, right?" |

Right?​

“Yonaka, you are not an endangered species. Get down.” ​

Had only a second slipped by? Or perhaps even less than that? He had scarcely managed to articulate his thoughts; the realization barely had time to send signals coursing through his body before he found himself immobilized, trapped in a moment thick with consequence. A wave of purple surged across his cheeks, a stark contrast to the light gray fabric of his shirt. Every muscle tightened and stiffened, as if he had been drained of all moisture, transforming his form into a rigid statue. Time seemed to warp like a malfunctioning clock, his head tilting with agonizing slowness, shifting his gaze just enough to confront the unwelcome trio that awaited him.

In that infinitesimal moment, his deepest fears merged with reality. Every precaution he had carefully planned had crumbled like fragile parchment in a storm, leaving behind an atmosphere thick with a sweet yet suffocating scent of freshly grown apples—masking a sinister undercurrent of anxiety and discontent that slithered through the air. The unnatural stiffness that had gripped him spread outward, clenching his arms, then coursing down to his legs, as Budou mirrored his rigid posture like a haunting shadow. The two figures leaned precariously, swayed ever-so-slightly, and then plummeted from the tree with all the grace of stillborn chicks—entirely lifeless in their descent, cold as the autumn air enveloping them.​

“I know the world’s loud. I know people can be worse. But today you’re meeting a team, not a firing squad. That’s Daimaru—he throws cards at people and never shuts up. That’s Sōma—I just met her, she seems sharp and… probably already knows your blood type. And I’m Satoma Senju. I’ve got a headache, no coffee, and three Genin now who look like a bad punchline—but I’m still here.”​

The words soon took on a face: a smug but sharp-looking man with an intense gaze. His presence was youthful, yet it seemed to carry the weight of someone much older. He stood with a casual demeanor, but he approached even this situation with a calculated and meticulous strategy. It was clear he had been well-briefed. Damn dad.

Using a run-in with Yonaka's parents as his angle, he had managed to locate the elusive duo far more quickly than expected. In an instant, the two jolted upwards, brushing themselves off as if shaking away dirt and blades of grass could erase their embarrassment. In their hands, they held a sharp, uniquely shaped kunai, pointed at the Jounin in a defensive stance. To Yonaka's right, Budou bared his fangs, his jaw slightly unhinged to reveal his menacing incisors.

| "WELL IF YOU KEEP SCARING US LIKE THAT WE'LL BOTH BE ENDANGERED- Wait. Senju?" |

He pauses for a moment, an expression of confusion flickering across his face as he tries to process the name that had just been spoken. Gradually, his body relaxes; the kunai he had been gripping tightly slips from his hand and clatters gently to the grass below. He begins to pace back and forth, the soft thuds of his footsteps muffled by the lush greenery beneath him. His gaze flits around the park, first landing on a wooden sign adorned with intricate carvings that proudly displays the name of the park. His eyes then drift to a majestic statue of Hashirama Senju standing tall in the distance.

In an instant, his expression shifts from uncertainty to pure exhilaration as vibrant, animated stars sparkle in his pupils, reflecting the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. His jaw drops open, a mixture of shock and excitement painting his features, as he takes in the significance of his "discovery."

| "DO YOU KNOW WOOD RELEASE????!" |

The shy boy had been overlooked by the enthusiastic shinobi, whose loud shout of excitement filled the air. It was clear that Yonaka drowned out nearly every word except for the Jounin's name and seemed unaffected by this neglect. Before he could receive an answer, one of the young genin following behind felt compelled to share some words of encouragement.​

"Hey, I know you might be nervous right now. That's okay. You don't need to be. This is your friend? Never saw a bat this large before, and definitely not this close. He got a name?”​

As Daimaru drew near, Yonaka could feel the tension in his muscles begin to ease. There was something about Daimaru's warm, friendly tone that seemed to envelop him like a comforting blanket, softly dissipating the lingering unease in the air. It was a rare occurrence for someone to approach him with such genuine kindness, and it almost caught him off guard. The warmth of their interaction sparked a flicker of relief within him, reminding him just how refreshing a friendly gesture could be.

| "At least it's a squad of all guys! Oh! and this is Budou, he's a guy too!" |

Yonaka flashed a confident smile as he spoke, his demeanor radiating a facade of self-assurance. Utterly oblivious to the pronouns that Satoma had chosen during the introductions, he casually turned his gaze toward the individual standing next to Daimaru. He took note of their clothing and overall presence, making what he deemed an educated guess about their character with a dismissive shrug. Oh well!

 

[Dio]

‘Oi, oi, oi…’ He stood motionless for a beat, absorbing the flurry of events with the same weary look one might reserve for a passing tornado—impressive, chaotic, and above all, inevitable. He watched rather callously as the Iremono boy fell like a corpse, threatened him with a kunai, screamed his name like a fanboy at a concert, then immediately launched into a tirade about Wood Release.

“DO YOU KNOW WOOD RELEASE???”

Satoma blinked. Slowly. As if processing Yonaka’s question required the internal reboot of his soul. “That Yamiyo…” he thought bitterly, before replying aloud “…No.” in a flat-toned reply to Yonaka and then pausing. Watching Yonaka beam like a child who’d just discovered sugar. Budou, the bat, continued to eye him like a particularly judgmental tax collector. Satoma returned the stare for a few seconds, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. A gesture that might bring way to an unspoken pact being made: I won’t mess with you, if you don’t bite me.

Behind him, Sōma was handing him some sort of powdered concoction, and Daimaru was already halfway through making friends with the only shinobi in Konoha who could be mistaken for cryptid wildlife. He accepted the powder wordlessly, uncapping the bottle and pouring it into his mouth. The taste was somewhere between algae and crushed chalk, but the relief it promised was worth enduring whatever ancient plant had died to create it.

‘Gulpgulpgulp.’ He continued to remain idle for a little bit longer, slowly chugging a bottle of water, and watching the three as they interacted with one another from the corner of his eyes.

“A transfer shinobi with inherited distrust and a sharp wit…
An Uchiha who believed in cards and destiny in equal measure…
A cloaked shut-in raised by ‘bats’ and anxiety…

…

What a team.”

“Alright,” he said at last, pulling himself upright and finishing the water with one last grimace. “Social hour’s over. From this moment on, we are a team—a three-man cell with me at the helm. That means your victories are shared. So are your mistakes.”

He paused, letting his words sink in.

“Out there, no one cares how strong you are alone. What matters is whether or not the three of you can move as one… and whether you can trust someone else to watch your blind spot.”

His tone was even, but behind it sat the quiet authority of someone who had learned that lesson the hard way. He turned away from them and stepped further into the clearing—just enough distance to feel uncomfortable, just enough space to fracture whatever sense of security they had.

“Which brings us to your first test,” he said, already weaving his hand to form a single hand seal culminating into a ‘CLAP’.

Without warning, the wind answered. A surge of pressure rippled outward, like an invisible pulse. Leaves scattered, dust kicked up around his feet, and in an instant—he was gone. To the three watching, it would’ve looked like he had teleported. But what they’d really witnessed was the gap in experience compared to a Jonin, who now ironically stood on the very branch Yonaka had been hiding earlier. How long it took for them to realize was anybody's guess, before his voice came low and level.

“You want to be shinobi? Then act like it. Move. Together.”

He allowed them a couple seconds to register where he is now—perched above them—just as his hands began weaving through a series of hand seals with flickering precision and practiced ease.

Rat → Snake → Horse → Snake → Dog

The air shifted. The beginning of a weakened Wind Release: Vacuum Serial Waves.

He took in his breath, exhaling a wide blade of wind from his mouth in a diagonal angle through the clearing. It didn’t aim to maim—but it did aim to disrupt with concussive force. Branches snapped. Leaves scattered. The dust on the ground kicking up around their feet, and then—

B O O M.

A pulse of wind erupted from another angle—this one horizontal, sweeping at their legs. Not strong enough to injure, but more than enough to slam a lesson into their balance.

If they failed to act as one, if they hesitated or broke formation, they'd feel it: the blades of wind directed at all of them with enough pressure to knock them sprawling. Again and again. In the heart of Senju Park, Satoma’s indiscretion was palpable. But he’d noted the way everyone cleared the area from Yonaka’s outburst earlier, giving him enough room to make this his little playground for his first lesson with his new team.

 

[Scarlet_Witch_King]

Sōma watches Daimaru climb the tree, approaching the boy with the large bat. She worries he might get attacked, but from her vantage point, it seems he's safe. However, she can't see the boy clearly, so she opens her left palm and stabs her right thumb into it to draw blood. It spills out in a small stream until she channels her chakra to mold the blood into a chain, linking it to a kunai she pulls from her pouch and throws high into the tree. The kunai embeds a few branches below Daimaru and Yonoka, allowing her to reel herself up until she lands upside down on a branch, then begins scaling the tree, hopping from branch to branch and getting closer. "Hang on! I'm coming up!" she barks at them, but hears Satoma speak to the boys up there and herself, letting them know that social hours are over and announcing that they are a team that will share victories and mistakes, making her instincts flare up when he continued on about how the real world, outside the village walls where people serve and fight, will not care how strong they all are. She can't help but agree; she has seen how her people are treated and how easy it is to lose one's life where outlaws reign — warlords committing atrocities for power. "You're not wrong, Satoma-Sensei," she says, then continues to run up the tree towards the boys above her.

She listens to more of Satoma's words, catching the hint that from now on, they will have to work as a team—back to back and ready to defend each other. She watches as he walks away from them until he's far enough before continuing with their first lesson, then forming a single hand seal into a clap, followed by a surge of pressure that ripples outward, blowing her hair and clothes wildly. Leaves hit her face, leaving her blind for a moment. Sōma turns to see if he's still there but finds the space where he stood empty, which makes her alert to what he might be planning. Suddenly, she hears his voice right above her and beside the boys, saying they want to be shinobi—then act like it, move together. She takes this to heart and forms a tiger seal, causing her surroundings to erupt in smoke. Two curved swords—unique weapons only seen in a particular place in the world and only during the warring period—appear on her back. The level of Satoma’s capabilities as a Jonin compared to mere Genins is clearly impressive; she feels small next to him. She once believed him to be a drunkard shinobi, but now he's a warrior with an aura that screams elite. This is proven when he weaves through hand seals, takes a breath, and exhales a wide blade of wind that explodes with a concussive force, snapping branches, sending leaves flying, and startling small animals nearby. Sōma quickly grabs her swords, pulls them from the scabbards, and channels chakra into the blades, coating them with energy. Swinging them, she sends two crescents of chakra to cut the branches—aiming to unbalance him and make him tumble down. If she’s successful, she will sheathe her blades, pull out four Senbons from her pouch, and hurl them at him to give her team a chance to act while she attacks first. "Everyone! On me!" she yells to them.
​

 

[Aōi]

The familiar infectious grin of the spiky-haired Uchiha as he quickly, yet softly and calmly placed his hand on the large bat known as Budou. He aimed for a spot that he knew his cat liked: his face and the bridge of his nose, curling and pointing his index finger onto the creature, lightly caressing the side of his massively protruding nostrils. The bat appeared to be pleased, closing its glowing hues in the comfort it seemed to find in Daimaru’s care. After Yonaka properly introduced the bat and then relegated himself to the ground, Daimaru watched as Sōma uniquely made her own way into the tree, seeming like one to never allow herself to be outdone by the boys in her presence, it filled Dai with joy knowing that there were genin in Konoha that were so friendly and seemed powerful in their own rights. The day was shaping up to be quite eventful.

Dai watched Satoma down the powered substance that was given to him by Sōma, his eyes squinted at his teacher to study how he’d react to something like that. He seemed skeeved out by whatever it seemed to taste like, but relief could also be found on his face, something that was more familiar to Dai. A laugh would then exit his mouth at the exchange between Yonaka and Satoma-sensei, with the young bat thinking that the Senju was capable of the famed Wood Release that helped create the very foundation that they stood upon. Despite his weird tendencies and general disposition, he was taking a strong liking to the sleek-haired boy and his winged companion. More than that, he thought that their third teammate was also a boy!

“Actually Yonaka, it's us four boys and one girl.” he said, as he pointed directly at Sōma to have him take a closer look at her. He wondered if the bad eyesight from bats also translated to the Iremono Clan, because he seemed quite perceptive otherwise. He waited for Sōma to get to the same branch before he tried making his way down himself, only for his attention to be pulled away by the familiar sounding lethargic voice of his teacher. “Alright. Social hour’s over. From this moment on, we are a team—a three-man cell with me at the helm. That means your victories are shared. So are your mistakes.” the pause he let sit sank deep into Daimaru’s heart. He had been a genin for a few months now but it had been a bit before others had graduated themselves before he was assigned to a three-man cell unit. However, by the way Satoma was speaking and behaving, he could tell that the elite ninja was surely up to something.

And then it did.

“Which brings us to your first test,” he says just before weaving but a single hand seal and clapping his hands together. To the other genin’s eyes, it may have seemed as though their teacher had just teleported, or swiftly used a body flicker technique. The young Shuriken however knew better as he knew exactly what his teacher just did. His eyes almost never deceived him. However for a split moment, the Genin lost sight of Satoma, but his equilibrium quickly acted allowing his ‘sixth’ sense to track his teachers chakra movements, regardless of how minute it would be. Within those same seconds of allowing his head to instinctively turn, his formerly dark hues began to shine deep crimson with black accents. The Sharingan wheel spinning within his irises as his hues once again found Satoma Senju, only this time, he stood just a few meters from he and Sōma on the same tree branch.

He wasn’t surprised or shocked, he had no time to be and had even less time to properly coordinate based on what his mentor would say and do next. “You want to be shinobi? Then act like it. Move. Together.” he said. “Oh no….” was all Dai could think. In the following moment, the Jonin weaved seals with expert effect, potentially even imperceptible to the eyes of his two new teammates but with the eyes of an Uchiha, there was almost no secret to be kept from him. As Satoma made short work of concocting his jutsu, and just before the air itself began to turn against them, he looked to the young blonde, who they too appeared to sense something amiss, quickly brandishing her twin blades to take on their teacher.

Despite her unwavering gumption and seeming eagerness to prove herself or even display her potential, she overlooked the fact that Satoma is a Wind Release specialist. Despite her even not knowing that simple fact, the fact of the matter was, it didn’t matter what he did or what he mastered: they were all horribly outgunned. The young Uchiha quickly latches onto the Amegakure native, sweeping her up his arms into a bridal carry, then swiftly uses his masterful effectless body flicker to evade the incoming wind blast, quickly vanishing then reappearing in the air leaping backwards towards another tree not nearly as tall.

Having what would be a partial birds eye view of the events, he watched as the violent wind vacuums blew away everything in their path short of the large tree they previously inhabited within seconds. He then watched as a secondary wave from an opposing side cleared the park further in similar fashion, gusting towards them but by that point, Daimaru had already leaped far enough out of the blast zone some multiple feet back. The two landed in the tree relatively safely but he did not take his eyes from the former area as leaves, twigs, and dust were lifted and began to settle. He could only wonder how Yonaka managed to avoid the jutsu, but for whatever reason, he was confident in his abilities. Sōma however, Daimaru turned to her with an unfamiliar look of seriousness and put his finger to his lips as he stared deep into her violet hues with his crimson ones and whispered.

“Approach Satoma-sensei like that again, and it’ll be your ass.” he said plainly. He then looked around through the leafage that he hid themselves in before speaking again. “He’s not the kind of Ninja you make a mistake with. It’s probably best if we group up as a team and fight him together, but I don't know if Yonaka made it out of that…” he followed up.

Silently, but stiffly, he stood to his full frame and quickly brandished several shuriken in the grooves of his fingers with nothing but a simple snap of his wrists. He still watched closely for any movement in the field, and hoped that she was currently doing the same. Without looking back at her, he still scanned the park closely for any chakra flow, including air currents. “If you have any tricks, now's the time to try and employ them, Amegakure. However, we can't approach him until we are a unit. Find Yonaka or at least try and sniff out if he's still conscious.” the genin sternly said.

Despite his age and lack of experience, what he did have experience in was Satoma Senju. Being his first student, he has had a leg up on the other two genin in his squad having spent more time around the man. If there was anyone who would be able to predict their sensei' movements and potentially coordinate the team in this current moment . “Yonaka…if your conscious, give me a signal…something.” It would've been him.


​

 

[STORY]

Katsuro didn’t expect the words to sting, but they did. He stood frozen for a breath too long as Kokezaru yanked himself free, snapping with a sharpness the monkey boy rarely showed. Katsuro had heard plenty of backtalk before, usually from Genin too green to know their place or from jaded Chūnin with a chip on their shoulder. But this felt different. There was something raw in Kokezaru’s tone—not just anger, but frustration built over time. Katsuro watched him storm off, wild hair bouncing with each step, and for once didn’t have a retort ready. He hated how much sense the kid made. Of course he didn’t get special treatment. Of course Hiroshi kept his cards close, even to his own blood. But still... Katsuro couldn’t help it. The jealousy had taken root long ago. What Kokezaru took for granted; crashing into the Hokage’s office, talking back, calling him “Gramps” like it was nothing, that was a dream someone like Katsuro couldn’t touch. All he had were secondhand teachings and podcast episodes, hunched over his phone in break rooms or rooftops, hoping for some deeper insight into the man he idolized. It wasn’t fair. And the worst part? Katsuro knew it never would be.

He turned back toward the hallway, scowling at the scuffed floorboards as if they were to blame for his mood. The air had shifted again. He could feel it; cooler somehow, like a draft had crept in from somewhere it shouldn’t. There was a flutter, faint but unmistakable, from the rafters above. Katsuro’s eyes narrowed. “Bats again,” he muttered to himself, unsure if he meant it literally or just as a lingering omen from earlier. He shook his head and popped one earbud back in, letting the familiar voice of Hiroshi fill the quiet.“…and remember, the truest burden of leadership is not authority—but understanding.” The irony wasn’t lost on him. With a bitter scoff, Katsuro pulled out a small notebook from his vest pocket—well-worn and scribbled in like a teenager’s diary—and jotted something in the margins. How do you deal with people who have what you always wanted, but never seem to want it like you do? He stared at the words for a long moment, then closed the book with a quiet snap. He would never ask the question aloud, but it lingered in his chest all the same.

AFTER SOME TIME HAS PASSED
Thud, thud, thud... The sound of steady footsteps echoed through the office before a voice, worn like old leather and lined with quiet authority, broke the silence. "Are you lost in my office?" a rusty voice came puncturing through the room, of one that sounds like understanding and authority both aged him. Katsuro startled, almost dropping his notebook as the voice cut through the stillness & his podcast. He turned sharply, spine stiffening instinctively at the familiar tone.

There was no mistaking it ... He had returned.