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The sun had barely risen, casting the Village Hidden in the Leaves in a soft, golden haze. The mission reports had been filed, the wounds were healing—both physical and emotional—but something about the silence felt heavier than before.
Akira stood alone in the training grounds, bruised knuckles wrapped and bandaged, breathing slow and shallow. The phantom ache in his shoulder from the bandit's kunai lingered, but it wasn't the pain that bothered him. It was the silence. The questions with no answers.
He drew in a sharp breath and launched into a flurry of strikes against the wooden post. Each punch echoed like a desperate heartbeat.
"Still overthinking everything, huh?" came a voice from the edge of the clearing.
Asenari approached slowly, her white eyes watching him, gauging him—not as a Hyūga this time, but as a friend. She didn't smile. She never did. But there was a quiet comfort in her presence.
"I didn't sleep," Akira muttered between punches.
"I noticed."
A beat passed.
"You're trying to bury something," she said. "But wood doesn't bleed, Akira."
He stopped, fists trembling. "I'm not burying anything."
"That's not what Noboru said."
Akira scoffed. "He also said ramen could cure broken bones."
A breeze rustled the leaves. Somewhere in the canopy above, an unseen presence stirred, though it was no more than a flicker—almost imperceptible. A ripple of chakra, distant and fleeting, passed without detection. It left no trace in the air, nothing for even Asenari to sense.
Asenari stepped forward, reaching for his bandages. "You're bleeding again."
Akira let her. Her hands, careful and efficient, peeled back the wrapping to inspect the reopened wound. Her chakra flared softly at her fingertips.
"Still won't tell me what happened during the mission?" she asked.
He avoided her gaze. "Just a lot of noise."
Her chakra pulsed again, more out of instinct this time—like something hidden beneath his skin responded in kind. She flinched.
"What was that?"
Akira froze. "What?"
"I—" she narrowed her eyes. "Your chakra just did something. Like it was… reaching out."
From a nearby rooftop, a bottle clinked softly as it rolled to a stop.
Noboru landed beside them, arms behind his head, Konbo trailing him lazily. "Well, look who's up early—Team 'Unspoken Trauma.'"
"You could announce yourself like a normal person," Asenari snapped.
"I did. The bottle was my messenger."
Akira looked up, eyes narrowing. "You're late."
"For what? Emotional damage control?" He grinned, but even his grin was tired. "You know, the whole village is talking about us. That mission wasn't supposed to be that intense."
"We weren't supposed to survive it either," Akira said, voice low.
Asenari shot him a sharp look. "Akira—"
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
From deep within the shadows, unseen, something stirred—an unfamiliar presence, just outside the normal boundaries of the village. It felt almost like a glitch, an imperfection in the natural order. There was no obvious form, no figure, but the chakra disturbances left something lingering in the air.
Akira didn't notice it. Nor did Asenari or Noboru. But there was a small change in the atmosphere, a subtle shift. It didn't last long, but it left its mark.
Back on the ground, Asenari had finally rewrapped Akira's shoulder, a little too tightly.
"You're hiding something," she said.
Akira looked at her. Really looked.
So was she.
But neither said it aloud.
Noboru stretched, cracking his neck. "If you two are done eye-flirting over open wounds, there's talk about a follow-up mission. The Hokage wants to debrief us again."
Akira's expression darkened.
"No rest for the almost-dead," he muttered.
As the three of them walked away from the training field, none of them noticed the faint scorch mark left where an unusual presence had been.
But something within Akira did. A flicker in his chest. A whisper in his blood.
He looked back over his shoulder at nothing in particular, then frowned.
Déjà vu.
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