It had been a few days since the promotion and the archive visit, and I was still riding that weird mix of excitement and paranoia that came with suddenly being a special jonin in a village that felt like it was watching my every move. Every time I walked down the street, I caught people looking at me a little longer than before. Civilians who never would have noticed a random chunin now did double-takes at the vest. Other shinobi nodded with that professional acknowledgment that said I see you got promoted
"don't let it go to your head"
And somewhere in the shadows, I knew Danzo's people were probably taking notes on everything I did, every person I talked to, every scroll I checked out of the archive.
The apartment was quiet when the ANBU appeared at my window like a ghost, sliding a sealed scroll across the sill without a word before vanishing again. No knock, no announcement, just a masked face appearing out of nowhere and then gone before I could even process that someone had been there. I broke the seal right there, reading the short order twice to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Training Ground 7. Meet Sakumo Hatake and your new team. Be there. No time specified, but the implication was now in that particular way that military types had when they wanted you to drop everything and move.
I sighed, rubbed the back of my neck, and thought about how fast things were moving. One minute I'm looting Suna corpses in the Land of Rice, the next I'm getting fast-tracked onto the White Fang's squad. Life in Konoha didn't mess around. Back in my old world, getting a promotion meant paperwork and meetings and waiting months for HR to process things. Here, you kill some enemy shinobi and suddenly you're eating lunch with legends.
I nodded to myself, slipped on the chunin vest that now felt a little too official, and stepped out onto the balcony. The morning air was cool against my face, carrying the smell of someone cooking breakfast a few buildings over and the distant sound of training grounds already active despite the early hour.
Alright, let's see what this is about, I muttered, then pushed off with a body flicker that turned the world into streaks of morning light and rooftop tiles.
The village blurred beneath me. Laundry lines snapping in the wind, old ladies sweeping their doorsteps, kids yelling at each other in the streets, vendors setting up their stalls for the day's business. I spotted a group of genin running laps around the Hokage monument, probably being punished for something stupid, and a couple of chunin smoking cigarettes outside a tea shop, watching the world go by with the tired eyes of people who'd seen too much too young.
I covered the distance faster than I expected. The body flicker was getting smoother, the chakra control improving with every practice session. Somewhere behind me I could almost feel the ANBU operative who had delivered the message thinking,
"Damn, what kind of body flicker is this… it's advanced"
but I didn't slow down to confirm it. The fox side of me liked the speed, the way the wind cut across my face and made my hair whip around before I forced it back to Ryusei's brown. There was something freeing about moving like that, something that made the weight of everything else feel a little lighter.
Training Ground 7 appeared ahead, a wide grassy clearing ringed by thick trees, the kind of place where genin came to scrape their knees and jonin came to sharpen their edges. I'd never actually trained here before Ryusei had always stuck to the smaller grounds near the orphanage but I recognized it from stories. This was where teams formed and broke, where bonds were forged in sweat and sometimes blood, where careers started and ended on the whims of whoever was leading the session.
I landed lightly on the dew-wet grass, the cool damp soaking into my sandals immediately, and there he was.
Sakumo Hatake, standing in the middle of the field like he'd been waiting for hours even though I'd come straight from the message. His white hair caught the morning light in a way that made him look almost ethereal, and that easy smile was already on his face, the one that made him look like he didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't wearing armor or anything special—just the standard jonin vest over dark pants, his sword strapped across his back like an afterthought.
Just judging from his presence, he was strong. Really strong.
In this human form I was wearing, I knew I'd be eating dirt even with all the improvements and the new jutsus I'd been grinding in the Forest of Death. The man radiated this calm, steady power that pressed against my senses like a heavy blanket, not flashy like some over-the-top chakra flare that screamed look at me, but deep and controlled, the kind that made you understand why entire enemy lines used to turn tail the second they heard his name. It was the difference between a bonfire and a banked furnace—one was impressive, the other could melt steel if you weren't careful.
In my hybrid form, the one with the tails and the full youki bleed, I could definitely beat him, but he'd make me work for every inch of it. Same with Hiruzen. In fact, he and the Third had this similar concealed aura around them, like two mountains hiding their peaks in the clouds. Maybe they were on the same level. Maybe. I wasn't about to test that theory anytime soon.
The thought sat heavy in my gut while I walked forward, the grass crunching under my feet. In the series, Minato had admitted he was stronger than the Sannin combined, but the fandom always painted it like that was before they evolved their skillsets, like some early-game flex. From what I was sensing right now, that wasn't quite true. The power levels in this world didn't work like neat little rankings. People had bad days and good days, favorable matchups and terrible ones. Sakumo might lose to Orochimaru in certain conditions and destroy him in others. It all depended.
Obito vs konan
Orochumaru vs hiruzen
Jiraiya vs pain
Team 7 vs kaguya
In this world power level doesn't determine who wins battle but it does play a huge role
But the thing that really bothered me, the thing that kept nagging at the back of my mind whenever I looked at him, was what happened later. The Hokage faction in canon had been such morons, slandering Sakumo after he chose to save his comrades over a mission, turning the hero who won their wars and fought their battles into some kind of cautionary tale until the man killed himself. Others might look down on it, call it weakness, but it made sense if you gave your whole life to a country, bled for it, only to get cyber bullied by the very people you protected. Computers didn't exist here yet, but the rumor mill and the clan politics did the same job, slow and vicious and relentless.
I shoved the thought down deep, because standing in front of the guy himself made it feel way too real. This wasn't a story anymore. This was a man with a son at home and a sword on his back and no idea that the village he'd die for would eventually turn on him.
I stopped a respectful distance away and gave him a proper bow, the kind Ryusei's memories said was expected when greeting someone of higher rank.
Ryusei: Sakumo-sama.
He laughed softly, the sound warm and easy, and waved a hand like he was brushing away a fly.
Sakumo: No need to add that sama to it. It makes me feel old.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, that gentle, easygoing polite nature shining through even though I knew exactly what he could do with the white saber strapped to his back. He looked me over for a moment, not in a threatening way, more like someone appraising a tool they'd just been handed.
Sakumo: Ryusei, you look even more unassuming in person. You don't look like someone that survived an ambush against Suna chunin and a special jonin.
Look at who's talking, I thought to myself, biting back the grin. You look like that really nice uncle everyone invites to family dinners, not a freaking legend who made entire armies run for the hills. The guy probably helped old ladies cross the street and then went home to teach his kid how to cut lightning bolts in half.
Out loud I just said, keeping it respectful but light, the way Ryusei would have.
Ryusei: You too, sir.
Sakumo laughed again, softer this time, rubbing the back of his neck like the compliment embarrassed him a little. It was weird seeing someone so dangerous act so... normal. Like he wasn't sure how to take praise even though he'd earned more of it than almost anyone alive.
Sakumo: I came a little too early. Your new teammates should be here any minute.
We're already here, sensei, a voice called from the tree line, smooth and confident.
I turned, and there they were, stepping out of the shadows like they'd been watching the whole time.
The first one was definitely Mikoto Uchiha. I recognized her from Ryusei's memories, though those memories didn't do her justice. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical ponytail that still managed to look elegant, framing a face that was straight-up beautiful in that sharp, striking way—high cheekbones, full lips curved in a small, knowing smile, eyes that carried the deep black of the Sharingan even when they weren't activated. She had this athletic but undeniably feminine build, curves that filled out her fitted chunin vest and shorts in a way that was impossible to ignore, hips swaying just enough with each step to make it clear she was both graceful and strong, Legs toned from years of training, skin smooth and slightly flushed from the morning air, her chest filled up nicely not big not small but perfectly sized, the whole package wrapped in that natural Uchiha confidence that turned heads without trying.
She moved like someone who knew exactly what she was worth and expected everyone else to know it too.
Beside her was Kira Hyuga, and damn if she didn't look a lot like a younger Hinata or Neji. The resemblance hit hard the second I saw her—the same pale, almost white eyes with that faint lavender tint, long dark hair falling straight down her back with a few strands framing her face, the bandage wrapped across her forehead hiding the cursed seal that marked her as a branch member. Her beauty was colder, more refined. Sharp jawline, porcelain skin that looked like it had never seen a blemish, a slender but strong build that filled out her uniform in a way that was undeniably sexy. Long legs, narrow waist, and a chest that pressed against the fabric more than enough to draw the eye..how in hell was she able to fight in those bandokas sure they weren't tsunade level but on the level of teenage Hinata or even slightly bigger, all of it wrapped in this icy, elegant package that made her look like she could freeze you with a glare.
She didn't smile. Just kept that blank, composed expression, the kind that screamed discipline and quiet intensity. Her posture was perfect, every movement precise and controlled, like she was constantly aware of exactly where her body was in space and how much force it would take to do whatever needed doing.
Ryusei: Mikoto. Kira.
I nodded at each of them, keeping my voice neutral even though my brain was still processing the fact that I was standing in front of two of one of the most dangerous women in Konoha's history. Mikoto would eventually become the mother of Itachi and Sasuke, a jonin in her own righ, and Kira... well, I didn't remember a Kira from the anime, which meant either she died young or she was filler the show never covered. Either way, she was a Hyuga, and that meant her taijutsu was probably terrifying.
Ryusei: Been a while.
Ryusei, we meet again,
Mikoto said, her voice carrying that light teasing tone
Mikoto:I remembered from Ryusei's memories of their academy days.
She tilted her head, looking me up and down in a way that made me feel like I was being appraised
Mikoto: I didn't think you'd get promoted to special jonin so soon… or even ever, honestly.
I should honestly take offense at that, but it made sense. We were classmates once, and Ryusei had only occasionally spoken to them, the quiet commoner kid who kept to himself while they trained in their clan compounds. He wasn't mean or anything, just... invisible. The kind of student teachers forgot existed until attendance was called.
Ryusei: Guess I surprised everyone.
I kept it casual, the guilt of wearing his face twisting in my chest like it always did when old connections came up. Every time someone called me Ryusei, every time someone talked about something he'd done or said, I felt like a thief wearing stolen clothes. But there was nothing to be done about it now. The mask was on, and it wasn't coming off.
Kira simply nodded, her pale eyes flicking over me once like she was cataloging everything about my stance, my breathing, the way I held my weight. Her voice was flat and cool when she spoke.
Kira: I'm stronger than before.
Yup, I thought to myself, that's definitely Neji energy right there. The same quiet arrogance wrapped in discipline, the same certainty that hard work meant nothing compared to being born right. I remembered the chunin exams from Ryusei's memories—how he'd won his match against a Hyuga because the guy got cocky, slipped up, and gave Ryusei the half-second window to layer a quick genjutsu that let him kick the opponent clean off the ring. Kira looked like she carried the same pride and precision, just quieter about it. Less shouting about destiny, more cold stares.
Ryusei: I'd hope so. Would be weird if you got weaker.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, but she didn't respond. Tough crowd.
Sakumo spoke up, his tone still gentle but carrying that quiet authority of a leader who didn't need to raise his voice to be heard.
Sakumo: Since it seems you've all known each other before, that should make things easier. Why not spar with one another first? Get a feel for how you move together.
I thought to myself, so he wants to test me right off the bat, see if I'm worth the slot on his team. Smart. Can't blame him either—anyone would want to kick the tires before letting a stranger into their squad. The White Fang didn't get his reputation by trusting every random special jonin who showed up with a fancy new bloodline.
He turned to Mikoto with that easy smile, the one that made him look like he was asking for a favor rather than giving an order.
Sakumo: Mikoto, do you wish to spar with him?
Mikoto agreed without hesitation, stepping forward into the open grass, her hands already loosening at her sides as she rolled her shoulders once. There was something almost predatory in the way she moved, like a cat stretching before a hunt.
Mikoto: Sure. Let's see what the new special jonin can do.
She said it like a challenge, but there was no malice in it. Just the honest curiosity of someone who'd been doing this long enough to appreciate good competition.
I stepped up to meet her, the morning light filtering through the trees around us, the training ground suddenly feeling a lot smaller as we faced off. The grass was still wet with dew, and I could feel the dampness seeping into my sandals, but I ignored it. All my attention was on her—the way she breathed, the way her weight shifted almost imperceptibly from foot to foot, the way her eyes tracked my smallest movements.
We both dropped into our battle stances at the same time, feet planted wide, knees bent, hands up and ready. The air between us crackled with that first spark of tension before the fight even started, the kind of electric silence that made everything else fade away until there was nothing left but the two of us and the space between.
I could feel Sakumo's presence behind me, watching, analyzing. Kira's too, though she was probably already breaking down my stance with those Hyuga eyes, looking for weaknesses I didn't even know I had.
The morning birds had gone quiet, like they knew what was coming.
And then Mikoto moved.