"Hey, Yoshiki."
The brown-haired boy turned around to see who called him. A boy about his age jogged up beside him.
"So you're coming back from today?" the boy asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "You okay now?"
"Yeah," Yoshiki replied with a small nod. "Let's go. We'll be late."
He turned and walked toward the classroom, the boy falling into step beside him.
But inside, Yoshiki's thoughts were anything but calm.
Who is he? What's his name? Was he close to the original Yoshiki? How did Yoshiki address him? Did he use honorifics?
They were small details — insignificant in an ordinary school.
But this wasn't an ordinary school.
This was the Academy in the Hidden Leaf. These weren't regular children — they were future shinobi. Trained spies. Observers. Fighters. And their teachers were seasoned veterans.
Maybe he was overthinking it.
But being cautious was better than slipping up and ending up on a hospital bed with the village's medical team digging through his mind.
"Your brother's graduating today, right?" the boy asked.
"Yeah," Yoshiki replied smoothly. "He's excited. They'll be assigned to their jōnin instructors."
"Really? Did he say who he wants on his team?"
Yoshiki shook his head. "They don't get to choose. The Academy forms teams of three, then assigns them to a jōnin."
"Huh. That's boring. What if you get stuck with someone you hate? Imagine being teamed up with Naruto. He's so loud. Or Kiba — he smells like a dog."
Yoshiki nearly stumbled.
Naruto… so I really am in the same class as him. Of course I am. How cliché.
He swallowed.
Which means I won't graduate with them. I'll probably repeat the year.
A sigh escaped him internally.
How am I supposed to compete with the Konoha 9? Aside from Naruto and Sakura, they're all from elite clans. Even Naruto has monstrous stamina.
Hard work? Sure. But it's not like I'm the only one working hard.
It's like playing a pay-to-win game. You grind and grind, and then someone with better starting stats wipes the floor with you.
He paused.
No. That's not entirely true. I do have one advantage.
The system.
"You're lucky, you know," the boy said. "Having an older brother. You get to learn stuff early."
Yoshiki forced a dry chuckle.
If only that were true.
They entered the classroom.
"Makoto! Yoshiki! What took you two so long?" a gray-haired boy called out.
"I overslept," Makoto replied as they took their seats. "If my mom hadn't yelled at me, I would've skipped."
"And you, Yoshiki?" another gray-haired boy smirked. "What was scarier — getting bitten by that snake, or getting rejected?"
"Isao, cut it out!" the third boy snapped. "He just got back."
"Oh relax," Isao shrugged. "It wasn't poisonous. I'm just teasing him."
"Really? Then why were you so mad when I asked about your confession?"
Isao opened his mouth—
The bell rang.
Right on cue, Iruka Umino entered.
"Take your seats!"
The class scrambled.
Yoshiki sat in the second-to-last row, near the window. Behind him were Isao and Isamu.
As attendance began, Yoshiki scanned the room.
Near the back, by the door, sat Naruto Uzumaki — alone, slouched, already bored.
Pink hair caught his attention next.
Sakura Haruno sat in the middle row, posture straight, focused — though clearly stealing glances forward.
Yoshiki followed her gaze.
Front row.
Black hair.
The Uchiha crest.
Sasuke Uchiha.
He was supposed to be speaking quietly — but—
He was speaking.
To the black-haired girl beside him.
Since when does Sasuke socialize?
Yoshiki narrowed his eyes.
Then he saw it.
On the back of the girl's shirt — the red-and-white fan crest.
The Uchiha symbol.
His mind froze.
Wait… what?
His body went still.
"YOSHIKI!"
The sharp voice snapped him out of it.
Iruka was glaring at him.
The entire class had turned to look.
It took a second.
Then realization hit.
He shot to his feet.
"Present!"
Iruka's stare sharpened.
"Pay attention."
"Yes, Iruka-sensei."
He sat down slowly, heart pounding.
Getting sick does have its advantages, he thought as he leaned back slightly.
His eyes drifted forward again.
Iruka continued his attendance. As he continued he finally called out a name to which the girl replied.
Misato.
So that was her name.
"Alright! Everyone to the training grounds. Single file. No noise in the hallways!"
Groans echoed through the classroom as students stood.
Yoshiki glanced once more at Misato.
This changes things.
"Yoshiki, I know she rejected you, but that doesn't mean you have to stare a hole through her," Isao teased.
"Wha—!" Yoshiki started to protest but bit his tongue at the last second.
"No need to act clueless," Makoto cut in. "We all know you confessed last week and got turned down. Don't be ashamed."
"Makoto's right," Isamu added. "Honestly, I thought you'd keep your head down for a month. But look at you now, staring at her like that… Yoshiki, you've finally become a man."
Isao nodded sagely. "That's right. Acting like Yosuke's younger brother for once. Looking at her with confidence and all… even though you almost cried and ran off like a wimp after she rejected you."
Yoshiki glanced at him flatly.
Is he trying to support me… or just sneak in extra jabs?
"Hey, that was uncalled for," Isamu said, turning to Isao. "At least he handled it better than you did."
"I did not run away like a wimp!" Isao shot back defensively.
"True," Makoto chimed in. "You tried to act cool and pretended nothing happened. But you couldn't even look her in the eye for a whole week."
"And if I remember correctly," Isamu added helpfully, "weren't you sobbing in your room after she rejected you?"
"Wha— How do you even know that?!" Isao spluttered.
"I went to check on you," Isamu replied casually. "Heard you crying through the door."
If looks could kill, Isamu would have been six feet under. After glaring at him for a full five seconds, Isamu simply smirked.
"At least I had the guts to ask her out," Isao fired back. "Unlike someone who only writes about his feelings in a diary."
Yoshiki resisted the urge to slam his head against the desk.
What is this? Some kind of Misato fan club? Why are they broadcasting my or the original Yoshiki's dark history to the entire class? Actually—why are they broadcasting each other's dark history?
He could already feel the stares. A few nearby students were whispering. Some were openly smirking.
In his entire life, Yoshiki had never felt this embarrassed.
This is why you choose your friends carefully.
Thankfully, half the class had already left, and the rest were lining up near the door. Only a handful remained near his desk — the last bench by the window, farthest from the exit.
"Isao. Isamu. Yoshiki. Makoto. Get in line."
Iruka's voice cut through the noise, irritation clearly seeping in.
The three immediately dropped their argument and bolted toward the door. None of them wanted extra laps for annoying their sensei.
Yoshiki hurried after them, blending into the crowd as quickly as possible.
As the line finally settled, Iruka muttered under his breath:
"Why are all the troublemakers in my class…"