Leaving Naruto to his training—or suffering, depending on perspective—Akai made his way home, a familiar weight settling in his limbs. Not exhaustion. Satisfaction.
The experiment had been a success.
Naruto might not have noticed, but his chakra control had improved, if only slightly. The restrictions Akai had placed on his seal were temporary, but they had helped. If Naruto kept training, he'd be able to stick to solid surfaces sideways soon enough.
Heh.
A smirk tugged at Akai's lips as he flipped through his journal, the streetlights casting long, ink-like shadows across the road. His fingers absently adjusted his glasses, his mind still sifting through observations.
Then, as he reached the final page, his steps faltered.
His smirk faded.
"Tch."
Out of space.
The journal was full—every single page dedicated to notes, calculations, and observations. All of it on Naruto.
Akai clicked his tongue, mildly annoyed but also... amused. That kid had become an entire research subject on his own.
Well, there was only one solution.
With a small detour, he slipped into a nearby stationery shop, the entrance bell giving a soft chime as he stepped inside.
The shopkeeper barely spared him a glance, mumbling a disinterested, "Welcome," before returning to whatever novel had his attention.
Akai browsed the shelves, passing over flimsy, paper-bound notebooks. Those wouldn't do anymore.
He needed something better.
Something practical.
His fingers closed around a sturdy binder.
Something refillable. Expandable. Something he wouldn't have to replace every time Naruto did something stupid enough to warrant an entire entry.
Akai grabbed one binder. Then a second.
...And a third.
Might as well organize everything while he was at it.
When he approached the counter, the shopkeeper barely looked up from his book, though his brow lifted at the stack in Akai's arms.
"...Studying?" he asked, lazily flipping a page.
"Something like that."
Akai paid, took his things, and left.
The moment he stepped onto the street, he activated his Byakugan—expression unchanged, steps unbroken.
And there it was.
That presence.
The ANBU agent.
Still trailing him.
He didn't react. Didn't turn his head or slow his pace. But deep inside, he was curious.
Why had the Third Hokage assigned an ANBU to him? Surveillance? Protection? Both?
He had the Byakugan, yes. But his other eye—the Sharingan—was different.
Well. It didn't matter.
They weren't stopping him, so he didn't care.
By the time he stepped through the Hyuga compound's gates, something felt... off.
Not wrong. Just different.
The air was warmer.
The usual cold indifference from the branch family had softened—if only slightly. It was almost unsettling.
As he walked past, servants glanced at him, quickly looking away when they met his gaze. A few even gave him subtle nods of acknowledgment.
That was new.
And then—
A plate of food.
Waiting for him in his room.
Akai stopped.
His gaze flickered toward the empty hallway.
No one was there.
But someone had clearly left this for him.
Interesting.
If he'd missed dinner before, no one would have cared. They would have let him starve.
But now?
Something had changed.
Because he had been devouring the curses infesting the compound? Because of fear?
...Or gratitude?
Either way, he wasn't complaining.
He sat down at his desk, picking up his chopsticks with one hand and flipping open his new binder with the other.
He had already planned the categories.
One for Naruto Uzumaki's progress.
One for Jujutsu advancements.
And maybe another for personal theories.
At first, he tried rewriting everything neatly.
Then he realized how tedious that was.
With a flat expression, he ripped pages from his old journal and glued them into the binders instead.
His hands moved automatically—switching between chopsticks and pen, glue and scissors—his round glasses perched comfortably on his nose.
In the quiet of his room, the only sounds were the occasional scratch of his pen—
And the soft, rhythmic click of chopsticks against porcelain.
When he shut the last binder with a satisfying thud, the glued pages held firm. His fingers traced the cover before setting it aside.
His eyes drifted to the empty bowl beside him.
Ah.
Looks like he had already finished eating.
With a quiet sigh, he stood, gathering the tray and bowl before stepping out of his room. The summer night hummed with the soft trill of crickets, the occasional rustle of leaves blending into the stillness.
The atmosphere was... soothing.
His footsteps barely made a sound against the wooden floors as he made his way to the kitchen. Only a few servants remained at this hour, lingering to finish their cleaning.
When he entered, they turned to him.
And smiled.
A small, warm gesture.
Akai stared at them, expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he set his dishes down and walked out.
The hallway was dimly lit, the lanterns casting long, shifting shadows along the wooden floor. As he turned a corner, his steps were quiet, measured. He was heading straight back to his room—
Until he heard it.
The steady rhythm of sandals striking the ground.
His pace slowed. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he changed direction, following the familiar cadence until he stepped into the backyard.
There, bathed in pale moonlight, stood Neji.
Alone.
His form moved with precision, striking at an invisible opponent with the fluidity of countless hours of practice. Or... perhaps, not so invisible.
After all, Akai had fought—and eaten—worse things before.
So, really? He wasn't one to judge.
Neji's movements slowed. His sharp eyes flicked toward Akai, noting his presence.
Akai paused. Had he interrupted?
"Sorry. I'll move along."
He had already turned to leave when Neji's voice stopped him.
"I have a question."
Akai raised an eyebrow. What now?
Was it about the Gentle Fist again? The Kyuubi chakra misunderstanding? He had already played dumb once—surely Neji wouldn't bring it up again—
But then Neji spoke.
"Do you not hate the Main Family?"
Silence.
Akai's expression remained blank.
But his mind? Already racing.
Slowly, he asked, "On what basis are you saying that?"
Neji hesitated, then spoke.
About the curse seal.
And then the curse seal.
And then, oh wow, even more about the curse seal.
Akai exhaled quietly. Figures.
To be honest, he had never given it much thought.
Did he hate the Main Family?
Not particularly.
He had never wanted to be the heir. Never cared about being a side character in their story.
But the curse mark?
That, he hated.
He hadn't asked for it. He didn't like it. But at the same time, it had never been used on him. Yet.
If that day ever came, he would demand answers.
As for the Main Family themselves?
He owed them nothing.
They had never treated him with courtesy before. No one had ever attached honorifics to his name—until today.
And even that was only because he had cleansed the compound of curses.
But were they tyrants?
No. At least not now, and hopefully not in the future. Hinata, as the next heir, seemed promising enough. She wasn't the type to activate the curse seal like it was part of some bargain sale.
If this cage he lived in was a prison, then at least it was a comfortable one. Spacious enough to move around. Filled with cursed spirits he could snack on while continuing his research.
So, in the end—
"I don't really care," he said.
Neji studied him, unreadable as ever.
Then, after a beat, he asked:
"Isn't the fact that you were born into the Branch Family proof that your fate was already sealed?"
His voice wasn't bitter.
There was no anger in it—none of the resentment he would carry in the years to come.
He was simply stating a fact.
Calm. Resigned.
Akai looked at him, letting the silence stretch between them. The summer wind stirred the leaves, rustling softly in the night.
Then, finally, Neji spoke again.
"My ideal is still the same."
His voice was steady, unwavering. Akai's answer hadn't swayed him in the slightest.
Even if I am a Hyuga, he continued, being part of the Branch Family is a sealed fate. No more, no less.
Akai didn't respond immediately, but his attention sharpened as Neji shifted his stance.
The air around him shifted.
Not just from the wind.
Neji moved, his Byakugan flaring to life, veins protruding around his eyes. And with his own cursed energy-activated Byakugan, Akai saw everything.
The near-360° field of vision.
The precise control over his chakra network.
His stance. His footwork. The rhythm of his breathing.
Akai memorized it all.
Then came the strikes.
—Two consecutive strikes. A pair.
—Another two. Four.
—Then four more. Eight.
—The rhythm continued. Sixteen.
—And finally, another set of sixteen. Thirty-two.
Each palm strike landed with precision, movements fluid like water yet carrying the force of a crashing wave.
Akai's eyes gleamed behind his glasses.
"That..." His voice was calm, yet laced with intrigue. "That's the Eight Trigrams. Are you recreating it?"
Neji stopped, exhaling lightly before turning toward him.
"As of now, I can only perform Thirty-Two Palms within the Eight Trigrams," he admitted. "It's derived from the Sixty-Four Palms—a technique traditionally known only to the Clan Head and the heir."
His gaze hardened.
"Do you understand now?"
There was something bitter in his tone as he continued,
"We—the Branch Family—are not allowed to learn this. We are not meant to ever learn it. Our opportunities were different from the start. That is why I say—my fate was sealed."
The weight of his words lingered in the air.
But then—
Akai huffed.
Amused.
It was never a rule that they couldn't learn the technique. It was simply being kept away from them. Nothing was stopping them from acquiring it themselves through observation.
"You just proved yourself wrong," he remarked.
Neji blinked. "What?"
Akai pushed his glasses up, smirking faintly.
"You claim your fate is sealed," he said, "but the fact that you—a Branch Family member—just performed a technique only the Main Family is supposed to know—already dismantles that logic."
Neji's brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as the realization sank in.
You don't even need the same movesets as a Main Family member, Akai thought.
Creating your own is far more efficient.
At the end of the day, those scrolls were just pieces of paper—reminders of techniques created by people who didn't want to forget them.
And it wasn't like real fights worked like rock-paper-scissors. Opponents had legs. They could dodge. Anything could happen in battle.
Akai shrugged. "And besides..." He waved a hand dismissively. "Those techniques aren't even that great."
That caught Neji off guard.
"...Excuse me?"
"The Gentle Fist Sixty-Four Palms is a strong technique," Neji argued. "And only a select few are allowed to learn it. Doesn't that make it a forbidden technique in a way?"
Akai tilted his head.
"It's not technically forbidden since it doesn't harm its own user. But if knowledge of a jutsu is that restricted, then it may as well be. Even though the Gentle Fist itself is already a high-level technique—even among Jōnin."
Then, casually, he took off his glasses and tucked them into his sleeve.
"But personally, I never really cared much for ninjutsu anyway."
Neji narrowed his eyes slightly. "Then what do you care for?"
Akai's smirk deepened just a fraction.
"Efficiency."
He folded his arms.
"I'd rather have an attack that can snipe someone from kilometers away than something that forces me into close-quarters combat—which, frankly, leads to way too many unnecessary problems."
Though, if given the opportunity, he wouldn't reject learning it.
Neji sighed.
He had expected something profound—something meaningful.
This was the same guy who had beaten him despite his apparent illness.
But in the end?
Nothing.
Akai had given him nothing useful.
It wasn't even that he disagreed—Akai simply... didn't care.
As long as something didn't hinder his personal interests, then it might as well be irrelevant.
The crickets continued their unbothered symphony in the background.
"...I should've expected this," Neji muttered under his breath.
He was still caught in his thoughts when Akai suddenly spoke.
"Hey."
His voice was even. Unreadable.
Neji instinctively looked up.
Akai stepped down from the wooden engawa, his bare feet pressing into the cool earth of the backyard. His movements were slow, deliberate—yet there was something off about them.
Then—without warning—he moved.
A palm strike.
Neji didn't need his Byakugan to see it coming. The strike was sluggish, lacking any real force or precision. He shifted effortlessly, dodging without thought. Another strike followed, then another—each one just as slow, just as careless.
Neji frowned. He blocked the next one easily.
What is he doing?
Akai wasn't attacking—he was... mimicking.
The realization struck Neji like a sudden gust of wind.
The rhythm. The flow.
The Eight Trigrams.
Messy footwork. Sloppy execution. But the form itself—it was unmistakable.
Neji counted as the strikes fell into place.
—Two.
—Four.
—Eight.
—Sixteen.
—Thirty-two.
His breath hitched.
This is... amusing.
Akai had copied it. Completely.
And then—
Another strike.
Neji's body tensed.
This time, the count was different.
—Two.
—Four.
—Eight.
—Sixteen.
—Thirty-two.
—And then—
Sixty-Four.
Neji's eyes widened. The words left his lips before he could stop them.
"...Sixty-Four Palms."
Even with unrefined technique, even without the years of training the Main House hoarded away—Akai had done it. He had completed the full technique.
A genius.
Neji had always heard that word.
"He's a genius."
"Such a pity he was born into the Branch Family."
"If only he had been part of the Main House."
For years, he had ignored those murmurs. They didn't matter. They didn't change his fate.
But now—watching Akai—
"Doesn't that mean my theory of fate is wrong?"
Neji had always believed himself to be a genius. Not out of arrogance, but because everyone told him so. Because he had no other choice.
"Because my fate is sealed, I cannot do more than imitate the rest."
Hard work alone wasn't enough. He had seen it time and time again—people born without talent struggling, failing, fading into obscurity.
That was why Neji never believed in hard work.
He simply played the role given to him—a genius shackled by fate.
But now...
Now, as he watched Akai—
If he could tell those people something, it would be this—
"The real genius is standing right in front of me."
"I see," Neji murmured, lowering his hands.
"So I was the hard-working one all along..."
His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving.
"It was you who is a genius."
Acceptance.
Everything he had achieved—it hadn't been fate. It had been effort. His own effort.
And yet—
Akai moved again.
A single strike.
Different this time.
Horizontal. Precise.
And it stopped—
At Neji's throat.
His breath hitched. His body locked up.
This time, it was not a training movement.
It was real.
Akai's red eye gleamed ominously, cursed energy curling like smoke around him. It was thick—suffocating.
"That..." Akai's voice was low, cold.
"...is also wrong."
Neji shuddered.
He had expected a smirk. A shrug. Maybe even an arrogant quip—"Yeah, you've worked hard too, you know?"
Instead—Akai was furious.
His fingers trembled at his side.
"Don't you even try to escape reality with that word."
Neji swallowed. "Escape?"
Akai's hand did not waver.
"Throwing the word 'genius' around like that—like it's some magical explanation—is just an excuse. A convenient way to justify not catching up. It's a word that gives you nothing in return. No progress. No answers."
His voice dipped lower—into something dangerous.
"I hate that word."
The air felt heavy, pressing down on Neji's skin like an invisible weight.
"If you call someone a genius, it means you've already given up trying to understand them."
Akai's voice carried no anger, no frustration—only quiet certainty.
"They're not you. You're not them. No one can understand another's feelings better than themselves."
It was a conviction. A belief rooted deep within him.
"People have their differences. That's fine. But using 'genius' as an excuse to stagnate—"
His red eye gleamed.
"—is pathetic."
The cursed energy pulsed.
And then—
It faded.
Neji exhaled sharply—he hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath.
Akai stepped back, withdrawing his hand.
Neji's fingers curled slightly. His skin was damp with sweat.
Akai turned away, his back to him now. His voice was calm again—but there was an edge of irritation beneath it.
"That word will give you nothing in return."
His hands slid into his pockets as he walked off.
"Just accept that you've worked hard until now, and stop looking at others. Especially me."
Neji remained frozen, watching his retreating figure.
Then—just as Akai was nearly out of sight—
He muttered something.
Soft. Quiet.
But it rang in Neji's ears like a deafening truth.
"...Because I am nothing but a defect."
.
.
.
To be continued.