(Third Person POV)
The warehouse reeked of sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. A lantern flickered, sending jagged shadows dancing across the four figures in the room. Dust hung thick in the air—dense enough to taste.
Kiyotaka wasn't paying attention to any of that. His focus was on the scattered maps, reports, and crude sketches of the Black Serpents' operations spread across the table before him. The pieces of the puzzle were all there—he just had to put them together.
A figure leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching him. Shinji. His wiry informant had the usual sharp, twitchy expression, his narrow eyes darting over the papers like a rat scanning for an escape route.
"You're quiet," Shinji finally said, tilting his head slightly. His voice had that amused lilt to it, but there was a glint of real curiosity beneath it. "That means you're either about to say something brilliant… or something terrifying."
Kiyotaka didn't look up. He reached out, tapping a spot on the map with a single, deliberate motion. "They're moving shipments through here." His tone was as calm and measured as ever. "This alley runs parallel to the Red Knives' territory, which means they're trying to keep it under wraps. Smart, but not smart enough."
Shinji raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"
"Because humans are predictable." Kiyotaka's voice was steady, as if stating a fundamental truth of the universe.
He lifted a piece of parchment—a scribbled report from one of their spies—and held it up to the light.
"They rotate guards every two hours. The last three shifts show that they're under-manned on Wednesdays and Fridays. That means they're stretched thin elsewhere. Which means, Shinji—"
"They're hiding something," Shinji finished, a sharp grin pulling at his lips. His eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of connecting the dots. "Something important enough that they can't afford to pull more men for protection."
Kiyotaka nodded. "And that's what we exploit."
A low whistle cut through the dim room.
Toru, lounging nearby, had an easygoing smirk on his face. "I swear, watching you two talk is like seeing someone play shogi with themselves."
Toru was one of Kiyotaka's most trusted. One of the Core Four of Kiyotaka's gang.
The contractor was a short, compact boy who looked to be light on his feet. His hair was a darkened green, slightly unkempt and messy with light hazel eyes. His clothing changed but he mostly wore a dark blue vest over a white shirt always rolled up. He has a thin, silver chain that he proudly showed off. He has a scar over his right arm.
Daichi, who had been standing near the entrance like a silent sentry, let out a grunt. His massive arms were crossed over his broad chest, his presence alone enough to make the room feel smaller. "That's because Shinji's the only one who can keep up."
Daichi was the embodiment of an enforcer. He also was one of the Core Four.
He was built like a fortress—towering, thick with muscle, every movement deliberate and efficient. His short-cropped dark grey hair, already greying at the temples despite his age, was neatly trimmed. His deep-set steel-grey eyes had a heavy-lidded, almost drowsy look, but anyone who mistook that for slowness was making a fatal mistake. He wore a sleeveless black gi with a wide belt, his muscular arms riddled with battle scars. His gloves had metallic plates to them, and his boots held metallic edges too. He didn't carry a weapon. He was the weapon.
Shinji was the Informant. A Core Four member.
Shinji was lean, almost underfed-looking, with high cheekbones, and a narrow face. His greasy black hair tied into a loose, messy ponytail, though stray strands constantly fall into his face. His dark brown eyes, flecked with yellow. He wears a patched-up dark green haori over a brown, sleeveless tunic, his knuckles bruised from too many close calls.
Shinji snorted. "Don't flatter me. I just translate his madness into something the rest of you can understand." He turned back to Kiyotaka, expression sharpening. "So? You said humans are predictable. How does that play into the actual attack?"
Kiyotaka tapped the map again, this time more deliberately.
"We make them react. The average person, when faced with sudden danger, follows a pattern. First, confusion. Then, hesitation. Then, an attempt to regain control. If we time everything perfectly, they'll never get past step two."
Kenji, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. His voice was quiet, hesitant. "And if they do?" His deep hazel eyes shifted between the others, his fingers gripping the edges of his worn black cloak. "What if someone doesn't panic like we expect?"
Kiyotaka met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Then they die first."
A silence fell over the room. Not out of fear, but understanding.
They weren't playing a game. They were about to dismantle an enemy.
Shinji let out a short breath, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. Let's hear it. What's the plan?"
Kiyotaka began to lay it out.
The Black Serpents' shipment would arrive at midnight.
They would strike at 11:50, just before the final rotation of guards. Toru's contacts had already confirmed the shipment would be lightly guarded—no more than a dozen men. Daichi and two others would serve as the initial distraction, making it seem like a reckless attack from a rival gang. The guards, believing it to be a simple raid, would focus entirely on Daichi's group.
But that was only the beginning.
The real strike would come from the shadows.
Kenji and two others would infiltrate through the rooftops, cutting off any possible reinforcements before they even knew what was happening. Meanwhile, Shinji would coordinate from a distance, using pre-arranged signals to adjust the attack if necessary. Kiyotaka himself would be in the field, moving unseen, eliminating key targets before they could react.
It was precise. Clean. Unstoppable.
Of course, it looked so simple on paper, but such a plan was made in less than a minute by the man leading them.
"No holes," Shinji murmured when Kiyotaka finished. He was staring down at the map like it had just revealed the meaning of life. "You're telling me this plan survives first contact?"
"Yes."
Toru leaned forward, intrigued. "And why's that?"
Kiyotaka exhaled slowly. "Because it isn't based on what they might do. It's based on what they will do. And they will react exactly as I predict."
Shinji chuckled, shaking his head. "You sound like a goddamn monster when you say things like that, you know?"
Kiyotaka finally looked up. His golden hazel eyes were unreadable as each one went under his gaze.
"Then let's hope the Black Serpents believe in monsters." Kiyotaka moved out of his seat as he looked at Toru, "Before we attack, I will teach you basic Kunai handling."
The room was quiet for a moment after Kiyotaka's declaration. Then, like a wheel catching momentum, movement returned. The Core Four didn't waste time with questions—they already knew better.
Toru whistled, rolling his shoulders as he stood. "Basic kunai handling, huh? Hope you're not expecting me to turn into some shinobi overnight."
Kiyotaka didn't react to the quip. "You don't need to be a shinobi," he said simply, turning towards the side of the warehouse where a crate of weapons was stacked. "You just need to know how to kill efficiently."
Toru let out a short chuckle, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes. Daichi, already stepping forward, glanced at him. "That's why you're learning," the enforcer muttered.
The wooden crate groaned as Kiyotaka pried it open, revealing rows of neatly stacked kunai wrapped in protective cloth. He reached in, selecting one with the casual ease of someone choosing a pen. With a flick of his wrist, the blade spun once before settling into his palm.
Toru eyed the weapon warily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta admit, I never thought I'd be in a position where someone was teaching me how to stab a guy properly."
"You're not learning how to stab," Kiyotaka corrected as he handed the kunai to him, grip first. "You're learning how to end a fight."
Toru turned the weapon over in his hands, testing the weight. He wasn't clumsy, but he wasn't exactly trained either. The way he held it—fingers curled too tightly around the handle, elbow stiff—was painfully inefficient.
Kiyotaka observed for a moment before reaching out. "Loosen your grip," he instructed, guiding Toru's fingers. "A death grip means no flexibility. You need control, not tension."
Toru adjusted, rolling his wrist a little. "Like this?"
"Better." Kiyotaka took a step back, then gestured toward a makeshift target—a wooden post wrapped in straw at the far end of the warehouse. "Now throw it."
Toru scoffed. "Oh, sure, let me just expertly—"
He threw the kunai.
It wobbled midair, barely making it halfway before clattering unceremoniously to the ground.
A beat of silence.
Shinji let out a chuckle. Daichi just grunted, shaking his head.
Toru sighed. "I hate all of you."
"You should hate your technique more," Kiyotaka said, retrieving the kunai and pressing it back into Toru's hand. "Again."
And so the lesson continued.
While Kiyotaka drilled Toru on the basics of handling a kunai—how to hold, throw, and, basic combat manoeuvres with the weapon—the rest set about their own tasks.
Shinji moved to one of the side tables, shuffling through notes and verifying their last-minute intelligence reports. He muttered to himself as he cross-referenced times and guard rotations, occasionally glancing toward Kiyotaka for confirmation.
Daichi, meanwhile, took inventory of their fighters. He spoke in low tones to a few of their most reliable men, ensuring they understood their roles. They weren't shinobi, but under Kiyotaka's leadership, they were about to strike like one.
Toru adjusted his grip again, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, alright, I get it. Less force, more control."
Kiyotaka simply nodded. "Again."
This time, Toru took a breath, steadied his stance, and threw. The kunai spun through the air, slightly off-kilter, but at least it reached the target—bouncing off the wooden post instead of sticking.
"Progress," Kiyotaka murmured.
Shinji, still flipping through notes, snorted. "If by 'progress' you mean 'mildly less embarrassing failure,' sure."
Toru shot him a glare. "Let's see you do better, rat-boy."
Shinji smirked but didn't take the bait. Kiyotaka ignored the exchange, already moving to adjust Toru's stance. "Your foot placement is wrong. Left foot forward, weight balanced, not locked. You don't need power—you need momentum."
Toru adjusted, muttering something under his breath before trying again. This time, the kunai actually embedded itself into the straw-wrapped post. Barely. The blade stuck at an awkward angle, but it stuck.
Shinji let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. You might actually stab someone before they stab you first."
Toru grinned. "That's the dream, isn't it?"
Kiyotaka gave a small nod, satisfied. "Good. That's enough for tonight." He turned away, already shifting focus. "Daichi, final numbers?"
The enforcer stepped forward, his heavy boots barely making a sound despite his size. "Eighteen fighters on our side. Four on distractions, five for the main assault, Kenji's group handling reinforcements, and the rest on clean-up." He folded his arms. "Enough to get the job done, but if something unexpected happens, we'll be spread thin."
Kenji was the last of the Core Four. A spy.
Each of the Core Four were from Masaru's failed gang Kiyotaka took over. Introducing him here was pointless.
Kiyotaka processed this instantly, eyes scanning the map once more. "We won't need more. If everything goes as planned, they won't have time to retaliate."
"'If,' huh?" Toru muttered, tossing the kunai up and catching it.
Kiyotaka's gaze flicked to him. "There is no 'if.'"
A beat of silence followed.
Then Shinji sighed dramatically. "God, I love it when you get all ominous. Really keeps things lively."
Daichi, ever the pragmatist, ignored the sarcasm. "And the extraction plan?"
Kiyotaka gestured to the west side of the map. "Once the shipment is secured, we split. Daichi and the distraction team will scatter to draw attention. Kenji's group will clear our retreat paths. The main team extracts the goods, then disappears before anyone realizes what happened."
Shinji tapped his fingers on the table. "And if the Black Serpents catch on faster than expected?"
"Then we move faster," Kiyotaka replied simply.
"Kenji's still out there gathering intel," Shinji mused, tapping a finger against the map. "Hope he doesn't get himself killed before the fun starts."
"Can we win?" Toru asked.
"Of course we can," Daichi said, "We have him, remember?" He tilted his head toward Kiyotaka. "And if there's one thing I've learned? The bastard doesn't make mistakes."
Kiyotaka didn't respond to the remark. Instead, he stepped back from the table, glancing over his Core Four minus Kenji.
This was it. The moment before a strike.
No hesitation. No fear. Only the cold, precise movements of a machine in motion.
"Get ready, we leave in 2 hours. Rest up, shower, or eat, I don't care what you do, just prepare for when we move out."
With that, Kiyotaka left. No one asked where he was going. They already knew he'd be exactly where he needed to be.
(Time Skip)
The night carried a biting chill, a stark contrast to the heat simmering in Kiyotaka's veins. Midnight loomed. The city's underbelly stretched before them—winding alleys, broken cobblestone, the distant flicker of lanterns swaying in the breeze.
He stood in the shadows, unseen. Unbothered.
Behind him, his team moved like ghosts. No wasted movement, no unnecessary sound. The Core Four knew better than to break the rhythm.
The Black Serpents' shipment was coming in through an isolated back alley—a smart move for those who believed secrecy could protect them. But secrecy only worked against those who weren't already watching.
Kiyotaka's gaze flicked to the rooftops. Kenji and his group were in position. Hidden figures crouched in the darkness, ready to silence any potential reinforcements.
At the far end of the alley, Daichi and the distraction team lurked in waiting. They weren't hiding. They wanted to be seen.
The clock ticked down.
11:48.
Toru exhaled softly beside him. His fingers flexed against the kunai he'd been practicing with earlier. His stance was better. Still not perfect, but better.
Shinji, crouched low behind a set of crates, tilted his head toward Kiyotaka. "Last chance to tell me you had a sudden change of heart about all this."
Kiyotaka didn't blink. "No."
A grin tugged at the corner of Shinji's lips. "Didn't think so."
11:49.
The shipment wagon rolled into view—a heavy wooden cart, pulled by two sluggish horses, their hooves clopping against the damp stone. The guards walked beside it, a dozen men exactly, just as expected. Two at the front, four on either side, two in the back. They were armed with short swords and cudgels, their expressions lazy.
They weren't expecting trouble.
That was their mistake.
11:50.
Kiyotaka raised two fingers.
Across the alley, Daichi moved first.
A bottle arced through the air, smashing against the ground right near the front of the cart. A thick plume of smoke erupted, curling into the night air. The moment it hit, Daichi's team surged forward with the reckless energy of desperate men.
The illusion of a rival gang attack began.
The Serpent guards immediately reacted—some coughing, some reaching for their weapons. The front two rushed toward Daichi, swords already drawn. They thought they were fighting common thugs.
They were wrong.
Kiyotaka moved.
Like a blade slipping through silk, he closed the distance between himself and the nearest guard. His Chokuto flashed as it freed itself from his sheathe. The throat was slit before the man even registered his presence.
A body slumped. A quiet death.
Toru was right behind him, hurling a kunai at another guard's leg. It hit. Not deep, not fatal, but enough to stagger. Enough to make the man falter.
Kiyotaka finished him off with a dulled shuriken to the back of the neck.
The remaining guards barely had time to process what was happening. Their attention was still on Daichi's group. Kiyotaka had predicted this. Confusion, hesitation, and the need to regain control.
They never made it past hesitation.
Kenji's team struck from above. Silent figures dropping from the rooftops. One by one, the Black Serpents' numbers thinned.
By the time the smoke cleared, only three guards remained.
They had finally realized the truth. This wasn't some random gang attack. This was something else.
One of them tried to run.
Kiyotaka threw his kunai.
The blade sank into the back of the man's skull, a perfect, practiced throw. The body crumpled mid-step, face-first into the dirt.
The last two men weren't cowards. They stood their ground, gripping their swords tight, breaths coming fast.
Daichi stepped forward.
The largest of the two guards swung first—a wild, desperate arc meant to cleave through anything in its path. But Daichi wasn't just muscle.
He sidestepped cleanly. One fluid movement.
Then, he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted.
A sickening snap.
The sword clattered to the ground, its owner following shortly after, screaming in agony.
The final guard, seeing his comrades dead or incapacitated, made the only smart decision left. He dropped his weapon.
Unfortunately he found a Chokuto through his back. Kiyotaka wasn't one for mercy.
"We really don't do mercy around here."
Kiyotaka ignored the remark from Kenji as he turned to Daichi. "Secure the shipment. Move everything to the secondary location. We leave no traces."
Daichi nodded, already barking quiet orders to the others.
Kenji, stepping forward, furrowed his brows. "That was… too easy."
Shinji sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. It felt like a setup. It always does."
"That's what a true plan feels like." Kiyotaka said, watching them. "We should get our cargo and leave."
Kiyotaka didn't waste another second. He wiped the blood from his blade with practiced ease before sliding it back into its sheath. The air smelled of smoke, steel, and the iron tang of fresh death.
Behind him, Daichi was already barking quiet orders to move the crates. The team worked fast, lifting the shipment with the efficiency of men who had done this more times than they cared to count. There was no hesitation, no unnecessary chatter. They weren't here to celebrate.
They were here to disappear.
Kenji gave one last glance at the bodies. "We should burn them."
Shinji scoffed. "What, you think they need a funeral?"
"Don't be an idiot," Kenji muttered, still scanning the alley. "I don't like loose ends. Someone will come looking, and the fewer answers they find, the better."
Kiyotaka considered it for half a second before shaking his head. "No fire. We keep this clean."
A blaze would be a beacon, a declaration of war. This wasn't about ego. This was about control. They had just cut the Black Serpents off at the knees. A quiet death was a far crueler fate than a loud one.
"Leave the bodies where they fell," Kiyotaka said. "Let them be found."
Kenji's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't argue.
Toru, still catching his breath, wiped the sweat from his brow. His fingers twitched slightly—probably from the adrenaline still coursing through him. He hadn't hesitated tonight. That was good. But he wasn't numb to it yet. That was better.
"You alright?" Kiyotaka asked.
Toru blinked at him, surprised. "Yeah. I just…" He exhaled. "Never seen it happen that fast before."
Kiyotaka didn't say you will. Didn't say you'll get used to it. Instead, he just gave him a nod.
They moved quickly after that. The shipment was secured, the crates vanishing into the hands of waiting shadows. Daichi's team dispersed, slipping into the night. Kenji led his men back to the rooftops, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.
Kiyotaka took one last look at the bodies.
This was the beginning of something. He could feel it.
They had taken something from the Black Serpents tonight. Not just goods. Not just money.
They had taken control.
The retaliation would come. That was inevitable.
But by the time it did, Kiyotaka would already be three moves ahead.
Without another word, he stepped into the darkness.
And just like that, they were gone.
(Time Skip)
By dawn, the city felt different.
Not in an obvious way—no sudden outcry, no chaos spilling into the streets—but to those who paid attention, the shift was undeniable. The Black Serpents weren't just weakened; they were neutralized. Word spread fast, carried by hushed voices in darkened alleys and passed between wary men over morning cups of sake.
The whispers weren't just about the Serpents' fall. They were about who had toppled them.
Kiyotaka.
Not just a name anymore. Not just a rising force. But the force.
He stood at the heart of the shifting underworld, surrounded by opportunity—and threats disguised as such.
The first to come crawling were the ones with no other choice.
The Black Serpents weren't an empire. They weren't built on unity or shared purpose—they were a gang held together by fear and greed. Without their leaders, without their strongmen, that fear shattered. And greed? That could always be redirected.
By midday, several former Serpents arrived at one of Kiyotaka's lesser-known safehouses, a dimly lit gambling den tucked away behind an apothecary. The scent of ink-stained money and cheap tobacco clung to the air, mixing with the nervous sweat of the men who had come seeking mercy.
They knelt before him—not because he asked, but because they understood the way power worked.
"We'll serve," the first one muttered, keeping his eyes on the floor. "The Serpents are dead. We know it."
Kiyotaka studied them, his expression unreadable. These men had held blades for the enemy just hours ago. And yet, now they bowed.
Daichi loomed beside him, arms crossed. "Funny how fast loyalty shifts when your boss stops breathing."
"We don't need their loyalty," Shinji muttered. "Just their usefulness."
Kiyotaka nodded once. "You work for me now," he told them plainly. "Not as brothers. Not as friends. As tools. If you prove dull—" His voice remained calm, but the weight behind it was sharp. "—I throw you away."
There were no arguments.
Fear was a powerful motivator.
The Hoshino Gang had already been crumbling. Kiyotaka had made sure of that weeks ago. A slow, careful unraveling—pulling the right strings, planting the right doubts.
Now, with the Serpents gone, they had no legs left to stand on.
By nightfall, their remnants gathered before him, led by a man named Goro. Once, he had been an underboss, second only to the now-dead leader. But power meant nothing when the foundation beneath it collapsed.
He kneeled without hesitation. "The Hoshino belong to you now."
A simple statement. No begging. No deals. Just acceptance.
Shinji scoffed. "That easy, huh?"
Goro glanced up. "You made sure there was no other choice."
Kiyotaka gave a slow nod. This was expected. He had left them with nothing—no leadership, no protection, no resources. What remained of them had to fall under his influence.
But absorbing a gang wasn't just about taking men. It was about taking their resources, their systems, their connections.
"Your old supply chains," Kiyotaka said, "your information networks. You will give them to me."
Goro hesitated, just for a second.
Daichi took a step forward. A small, unspoken reminder of what hesitation could cost.
Goro exhaled, lowering his head further. "They're yours."
Kiyotaka leaned back slightly. "And you?"
Goro tensed. He understood the question. He could be taken in—or he could be discarded like the others who had outlived their use.
"I will serve," he said finally. "Until you no longer need me."
Honest.
Kiyotaka smirked. "Good answer."
Of all the night's developments, this was the most interesting.
The Red Knives had been a wildcard. They weren't rivals, but they weren't allies either. They thrived in chaos, in the gaps between power struggles, picking at the edges like vultures.
And yet, tonight, they came not as scavengers, but as negotiators.
Kiyotaka met their representative in a quiet teahouse—neutral ground. The man, a lean figure named Saburo, sat across from him, stirring his drink with lazy interest.
"You move fast," Saburo remarked. "Most people take months to establish dominance. You did it in a night."
Kiyotaka didn't react to the flattery. "You're not here to admire my work."
Saburo chuckled. "No. I'm here to offer a deal."
A small slip of paper slid across the table. Kiyotaka picked it up, scanning the carefully written terms.
A non-aggression pact.
No interference in each other's dealings. No underhanded plays. A stable line between their territories.
"And?" Kiyotaka prompted. There was always an and.
Saburo's grin widened. "A few of our higher-ups are… curious. They're interested in collaboration."
Now that was unexpected.
The Red Knives didn't collaborate. They didn't share power.
This was a test. A way to gauge whether Kiyotaka was worth more as an ally than as an eventual target.
He placed the paper down. "I accept the pact," he said simply. "But cooperation is earned."
Saburo's eyes glimmered with amusement. "That's what I told them you'd say."
By the time Kiyotaka returned to his base, the full weight of his new position settled in.
This was no longer just a battle for territory.
He controlled more than streets and manpower. He controlled information.
The former Serpents would whisper secrets in his ear, eager to prove their worth.The Hoshino's old networks would be reshaped to serve his purposes.The Red Knives, though distant, now watched him with something dangerously close to respect.
And the city? The city was watching.
This wasn't a game anymore.
Kiyotaka wasn't just playing at being a crime lord.
He was one.
And this was only the beginning.
(Akari's POV)
The moment the clone dispels, I stop moving.
My breath catches. My fingers twitch. A thousand sensations flood my mind, collapsing into me all at once.
The rush of cold night air slicing through Kiyotaka's cloak. The weight of his Chokuto as it split flesh. The muted sound of bodies hitting the ground, lifeless. The scent of iron thick in the air. The subtle flickers of torchlight bouncing off bloodied stone.
The memories are seamless. There's no delay, no distortion. I see everything, feel everything, as though I was there myself.
And for the first time in a long time—
I pause.
I expected success. Of course I did. I built this plan with Kiyotaka, accounted for every variable, ensured every piece fell into place exactly as it should. The Black Serpents were never a true threat. They were an obstacle—and obstacles are meant to be cleared.
What I didn't expect was the effortlessness of it all.
Kiyotaka didn't just dismantle the Serpents. He erased them. Efficient. Precise. Unrelenting.
One night.
That's all it took.
One night to reshape the balance of power. To crush the remnants of a fading gang. To absorb a broken force and mold it into something new.
To step fully into the role of a kingmaker.
He was always meant to be one. He just needed the right stage.
And now, he has it.
I close my eyes, letting the weight of the memories settle. The sensation of a kunai sinking into flesh. The sharp thunk of a body collapsing. The absolute certainty in every movement. No hesitation. No doubt.
I do not feel guilt.
But there's something there. A heaviness.
Not regret. Not sorrow.
Understanding.
I have been killing since before I was in this world. Sometimes not directly. It was with my own hands in some cases. And deaths have followed me, clung to my shadow like an old friend.
I had seen the exact moment when people break... and fall into despair.
Yet here I had set events into motion, shape the world, and people die because of it.
Nothing more, nothing less.
December.
The air is colder now, sharp against my skin as I step outside. Snow has started gathering in small patches along the rooftops, dusting the village in a soft, pale blanket.
Winter.
It's strange how quickly the seasons shift.
Hinata has been busy lately. More training, more expectations, more time spent under the weight of her father's watchful gaze. It's a familiar story—one I predicted long before it happened. Of course, slight signs of care on his part didn't mean she wasn't being trained. She was just doing it better.
But with her absence, a change has occurred.
Naruto, Shiina and myself.
The three of us have started spending more time together.
My training had focused on those two a lot more recently as Hinata had training with her father.
That meant I spent more time with them, training with them, and as a result...
I got Naruto and Hinata presents for Christmas... tucked inside my inventory. Shiina just simply got another one. Outside that scarf.
Why? Because I bought what were essentially friendship bracelets. One was orange, one was white, one was for me which was silver and the 4th, Shiina's one was a light yellow. All 4 had a small Lapis Lazuli embedded in the threads of each one.
Whilst mine and Shiina's bond would be tethered through our Tethered Bloom always. And because of that, these 4 bracelets would solidify the group, but represent the 4 of us, whilst Shiina and I would be closer than normal due to our bond...
Heh, of course such a thought would make me feel all giddy.
Right, The Shinobi Academy starts on April 5th.
A stepping stone. A formality. A stage for what is to come.
That's why Hinata is being trained harder. Her father is ensuring she doesn't just step into the academy prepared—he's making sure she dominates it.
That's fine.
Naruto, Shiina, and I would be prepared too. Though I would have to hold back to the level I present to those lot.
(A/N: A small change has occurred for I am now making 2 fanfics at once. This means I have to say the schedule for updates is more fecked up. Granted updates will be a Bi-Weekly thing. Anyways why did it take me so long? I spent a lot of time planning DND stuff. And writing the other fic. Which does have 4 chapters to it. I do recommended reading it as it gives you an idea of what the White Room was like. (I use that a lot in OC backstories. I do make differences though))