Akuma stood quietly at the entrance of the Hyūga courtyard, taking in the peaceful atmosphere. The soft rustling of the sakura tree's petals in the summer breeze made the garden appear almost like a painting—serene, untouched. But his sharp eyes didn't miss the subtle signs of discipline beneath the beauty: worn tatami mats wrapped around tree trunks, cracked wooden posts, scuffed stones—all clear signs of training. This was no mere garden. It was a battlefield in disguise.
His gaze shifted to Hanabi Hyūga, who stood beneath the blooming tree. Her light training kimono fluttered slightly in the wind, her arms crossed, posture composed. Though younger than many in their class, she carried herself with the quiet pride of a Hyūga heir.
"This place," Akuma said, eyes still sweeping the courtyard, "It's beautiful… and peaceful."
Hanabi blinked. A compliment? From him? Of all people?
"…Thank you," she replied after a short pause, her voice calm but slightly unsure. "Come. Let's sit on the porch and talk about the project."
She turned on her heel, walking toward the wooden porch with the grace expected of her clan. Akuma followed silently behind, his footsteps quiet against the wood. They both sat, facing the garden. Cicadas chirped in the background, welcoming the warmth of the coming summer. The tranquility was a welcome change. After the storm of pain and chaos in the last few days… this stillness felt earned.
Then—footsteps.
Akuma turned slightly, his instincts sharp.
A woman approached, wearing a long kimono with a white apron tied neatly at the front. A Konoha forehead protector wrapped around her head. Her green hair was tied back, and she held a wooden tray with two chilled drinks and some snacks.
"Natsu-nee," Hanabi greeted politely.
The woman—Natsu Hyūga—bowed her head politely. Then her eyes fell on Akuma. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. The boy Hanabi had brought with her wasn't like the others. He was tall for his age, his frame lean but muscular. His hands looked rough—more like claws than those of a child. But it was his eyes that unsettled her. They were sharp… beastly. Like something wild lived behind them.
Akuma noticed her stare. He looked back at her. She quickly averted her gaze and silently took her leave.
"How much of the project did you finish?" Hanabi asked, turning back to Akuma.
"I don't even know what the project is about," he replied flatly.
Hanabi clenched her fists, trying hard to control her temper. "So… you've done nothing?"
Akuma shrugged. "Nope."
There was a tense pause.
"…Did you even read the project paper sensei gave you?" she asked slowly.
Akuma tilted his head, thinking. "Oh. That paper? I tossed it in the trash the moment I left class."
A vein popped on Hanabi's forehead.
Without warning, she threw a punch at him. Akuma caught her fist mid-air with ease.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked calmly.
"What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you throw that paper away?!" she shouted, her voice filled with frustration.
Akuma didn't respond. He just let go of her fist.
Hanabi huffed and handed him a copy of her project. "Your part was to write about frog anatomy. Mine's about fish. Once done, we compare the two for similarities and differences."
Akuma took the paper, scanned it briefly, then grabbed a pencil lying nearby and began writing.
Ten minutes later, he put the pencil down and handed her the sheet. "Done."
Hanabi narrowed her eyes. "Let me see that."
She expected a mess—maybe a few half-hearted notes or some scribbles. What she saw instead made her blink in disbelief.
He had written detailed notes on frog anatomy—muscles, organs, bone structure, even cell information. There was a neat diagram too, complete with labeled parts. And all of it was accurate.
"You…" she stared at him. "How do you know all this?"
Akuma met her gaze, expression unreadable. "I'm done with my part. Are you done with yours?"
A flush crept into her cheeks. "No," she admitted reluctantly, lowering her gaze.
Akuma found it almost funny—the same girl who had just been scolding him now looking embarrassed. He wanted to laugh, but held it back. Barely.
Hanabi caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. She could tell he was suppressing a laugh.
Her embarrassment immediately turned into irritation.
Without a word, she grabbed one of the drinks and downed it in one go, her expression tight with frustration. Then she grabbed the snack and bit into it angrily, chewing like it was Akuma's fault the world spun the way it did.
Akuma simply watched Hanabi with a hint of amusement playing on his face. For him, writing about frog anatomy had been easy—almost effortless. In his previous life, before everything spiraled into violence and chaos, he'd wanted to become a doctor. That dream had been born from tragedy—his sister's death. But fate had taken him down a different path. Instead of saving lives, he became someone who took them. A gangster. A beast born from blood and sorrow.
Now, in this quiet moment under the blooming sakura tree, he sat silently on the porch, occasionally helping Hanabi with her part of the project. Minutes passed. Eventually, she finished her write-up, and together, they compared the similarities and differences between frogs and fish. It took them a little longer, but finally, they were done.
Hanabi leaned back, relief washing over her face.
"It's finally over," she sighed. Then, without even thinking, she grabbed the drink meant for Akuma and downed it. The snack disappeared just as fast.
Akuma blinked, watching her.
She realized what she'd done a moment too late. "Ah—wait, that was yours…" Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. "Sorry about that. Let me get you another drink and snack!"
He was about to tell her it wasn't necessary, but she had already darted off.
Now alone on the porch, Akuma looked around aimlessly—until something caught his eye. Sitting on a small wooden table near the porch was a bamboo flute. It was simple, old, but well-maintained.
He stood up and walked over.
As he reached out, his hand began to tremble.
But still, he picked it up.
His fingers curled around it slowly… carefully… as if the instrument itself carried a ghost from his past. A pressure began to build in his chest. A silence surrounded him that felt different from before. Heavy. Emotional.
Then—
"I got the drink!" Hanabi returned with a new tray, her cheerful voice cutting through the tension. But the moment she saw Akuma holding the flute, she froze.
"That's my grandfather's bamboo flute," she said. "Do you… know how to play it?"
Akuma didn't respond.
Too quiet.
The peaceful aura that had lingered moments ago evaporated. What replaced it was heavy, dark, and dangerous feeling. Hanabi felt her breath catch in her throat as a chill ran down her spine. Instinctively, she took a step back.
Akuma's eyes were fixed on the flute, his hands shaking now. He held it as if he didn't know whether to treasure it… or destroy it. And in the next moment, he gripped it with both hands—as if he was about to snap it in half.
"Hey!" Hanabi cried out, panic overtaking her as she dropped the tray. It clattered loudly on the floor. She rushed over and grabbed his arm. "That's my grandfather's bamboo flute! Why are you trying to break it?!"
Her voice rang out, sharp and desperate.
Akuma blinked.
The tension broke.
The aura around him vanished like smoke in the wind. His grip loosened, and the flute slipped from his hands onto the table, unharmed.
…Sorry," he muttered under his breath.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the exit.
Hanabi stood frozen, her chest rising and falling as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. She looked down at the flute… then back at Akuma's retreating figure.
He didn't look back.
She didn't know what kind of life he had lived before coming here. But for a moment—just a fleeting second—she felt it. The weight he carried. The pain that lingered behind those sharp, beast-like eyes.
"…Who are you really, Akuma?" she whispered to herself.