The corridor was quiet, save for the soft tap of Hiroshi's feet on the polished wood. The late afternoon sun bled through the shoji screens, painting fractured gold across the walls like silent warnings. In his hand, the wooden bokken dragged slightly behind him—not from fatigue, but reluctance. Guilt had soaked into the grain.
The fight with Riku was still fresh, like a burn that hadn't finished blistering.
He knew what he could've done.
One flare of his fire.
One breath of rage.
He could've crushed him.
But he hadn't.
Not because he lacked the power—no. The truth was far more haunting.
Because the last time he lost control... she was the one who got hurt.
Midori's unconscious face flashed in his memory again, her limp body in Riku's arms as flames licked the edges of the training ground.
Hiroshi's jaw tensed until it ached. His fingers clenched the bokken until the wood creaked. That wasn't just some spar. That wasn't just training.
That was him. Losing it.
And that was her. Bleeding for it.
He turned the corner toward the residential wing, eyes low. From the opposite hall, footsteps padded quickly behind him.
"Oi—Hiroshi!" Riku's voice chased him down like the wind—fast, light, and just a little too loud.
Hiroshi didn't stop walking, but his expression twitched.
"You alright, man?" Riku's voice was softer now. Not teasing. Not challenging. Just... worried.
Hiroshi glanced back, offering a lazy grin. "Of course I'm alright. What, you think that weak-ass swing of yours knocked a screw loose or something?"
Riku smirked. "Nah. You didn't even swing back, dumbass."
That hung in the air for a moment—longer than either of them liked.
"Hey..." Riku stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You're not still—"
"I'm fine." Hiroshi cut in, a little too fast, a little too sharp. "I just didn't feel like cooking you alive in front of everyone. You should be thanking me."
"Wow," Riku muttered, folding his arms. "Gracious and humble. You're really killing the whole tragic hero vibe you're going for."
Hiroshi just gave him a lazy wave and kept walking.
"Seriously, though," Riku added after a beat, voice softening again, "You know it's okay to—"
"I said I'm fine, Riku."
And that was the end of it.
For now.
⸻
That night, the compound settled into silence. Crickets chirped in the grass. The faint hiss of cicadas still clung to the trees, dying whispers of summer refusing to fade.
Hiroshi lay on the cool grass just behind the meditation shrine, arms folded behind his head, his eyes locked on the stars above.
Japan's night sky was beautiful—too beautiful for a place ruled by shadows.
Above him, constellations blinked like the ghosts of old gods. The Milky Way stretched across the heavens, endless and cold. He wondered if his parents used to look at these same stars. Wondered if they'd fought under them. Bled under them.
Died under them.
The breeze brushed through the trees, rustling the bamboo like a quiet lullaby. But Hiroshi's mind refused rest. It spun and twisted, pulling at the threads of everything that had gone wrong.
That blue fire—where the hell had it even come from?
It wasn't just heat. It was pure destruction. Cold and beautiful and terrifying. It moved like it wanted to devour everything—everyone. Even her.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Midori.
She hadn't woken up yet.
She hadn't even flinched when Ronin punished them both. Hiroshi had taken the hit—literally. But Midori? She just... lay there. Pale. Still. As if she was already gone.
And he'd done that. He had.
He gritted his teeth.
"No more."
The words slipped past his lips like a vow, whispered to the night. "I'm not using it. Not ever again."
His fire wasn't a gift. It was a curse—one branded on his soul by the Legion, by Ronin, by everything they'd been made to become.
He wouldn't be their weapon anymore.
⸻
It was late when he finally stood up. The air had chilled slightly. Mist curled along the edges of the garden path as he stepped softly back inside the compound. The paper doors whispered shut behind him.
The hallway was dim. Only the faint glow of lanterns lit the way. He passed Riku's room—quiet now. Probably passed out, drooling into his pillow like usual.
Hiroshi smirked faintly at the thought, but it faded fast.
When he reached his own room, he slid the door open, then shut it behind him with care. The tatami mats were cool under his feet as he stepped inside, pulling off his outer shirt and tossing it aside.
He stared at the wall for a long moment. A crack ran through one of the wooden beams. Ronin's doing—months ago, during a training accident. Or maybe it wasn't an accident.
Nothing ever really was around here.
He collapsed onto his futon, lying flat on his back. His body was tired, but his mind kept racing. The fire, the guilt, Midori's face, Riku's worried voice, Ronin's silence—it all spiraled through him like a storm.
He turned on his side, facing the window.
Hiroshi finally drifted into a fitful sleep.
____
The sun had barely begun to rise over the distant mountains when Riku opened his eyes, blinking against the soft glow creeping in through the paper-thin shoji door. The room felt still, too still, like the calm before a storm. He lay in bed for a moment, letting the silence settle around him before pushing himself up with a stretch. His muscles protested, but he ignored it. There was no time to linger.
A quick shower refreshed him, the cool water washing away the remnants of sleep. He stood in front of the mirror, running a towel through his damp hair before pulling on his usual attire—a simple, black training uniform. He took one last look at his reflection. The boy who had always been in the shadows, the one still caught between the memories of the past and the weight of the future. He didn't recognize the person staring back at him anymore.
With a shake of his head, he grabbed his sword and slung it over his shoulder before stepping out into the hallway.
Midori was already awake. Of course she was. She always was the first one up, like she was always waiting for something, or someone. She sat on the wooden steps leading to the garden, her posture perfect as she glanced over her shoulder when Riku approached.
"Morning," she said, offering him a soft smile. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, but the smile was warm and genuine. It was the kind of smile that made Riku's chest feel tight—something that had always been there, just beneath the surface.
"Morning," Riku replied, his voice still thick with sleep. He ruffled his hair and sat down next to her. There was something about the quiet mornings that made it easy to just forget everything else. For a few moments, it felt like nothing was wrong in the world. Like they weren't pieces in a game they didn't understand.
Midori let out a sigh, her gaze drifting to the garden. The morning mist hung low, giving everything an ethereal glow. "It's peaceful, huh?" she murmured.
Riku nodded. "Yeah. For now."
They sat in silence for a little while, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them. Riku wasn't sure what to say. They had all been walking on eggshells after everything that had happened, after everything they had learned. Even Hiroshi, always the loud one, had been quieter than usual.
Speaking of Hiroshi, the door creaked behind them, followed by the sound of footsteps.
Hiroshi appeared in the doorway, wearing his usual lazy grin, despite the fact it was still early. "Well, well, if it isn't the early birds," he teased. "You two have been up for ages, haven't you?"
Riku glanced at Midori, who only shrugged. "We're used to it," she replied with a soft smile, clearly amused by his teasing.
Hiroshi made his way over, plopping down next to Riku. He stretched out, one arm draped across his knees, still wearing the same relaxed expression he always did. "I don't get it, you two act like it's the crack of dawn every time. Just sleep in for once," he said, flashing a cocky grin.
Riku gave him a playful shove. "You're just mad you're not already on your second breakfast," he shot back.
"Hey, I'm not the one who gets all serious about training," Hiroshi said, half-smiling as he nudged Riku back.
The morning banter felt natural, comfortable. It was like things hadn't changed between them, even though everything had.
But, as the sound of their voices faded into the quiet, Riku couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else lingering. The peace was temporary. He could feel it in his gut.
"Enough of this," Hiroshi said, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm starving. Let's eat already."
⸻
Breakfast was a silent affair, with the usual clattering of bowls and plates as they ate. Ronin's presence hung over the room like a cloud, even though he wasn't there yet. Riku glanced up at the empty chair at the head of the table, the place where Ronin usually sat, his eyes hidden beneath his cold mask. There were always questions, always tension when Ronin entered the room.
Midori glanced up from her plate and caught Riku's eye. She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowed as though asking a question without words.
He shook his head, offering a small smile in return.
Just as he was about to finish his meal, the door slid open with a soft whoosh, and Ronin entered the room, his footsteps as quiet and controlled as ever. His dark eyes flickered over them, lingering only for a moment before his expression softened, just a little. But Riku could see it—there was something in the air today, a sense of purpose that didn't belong to their usual routine.
Ronin walked to the center of the room and paused, hands clasped behind his back. "All of you," he began, his voice low but commanding, "come with me. There is something important I need to tell you."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the dining room. Riku exchanged a quick glance with Midori and Hiroshi before they followed him, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
They arrived at Ronin's office, a space at the far end of the compound that always seemed cold and distant. The door slid open with an eerie silence, revealing a room full of maps, weapons, and an air of authority that pressed down on them like a heavy weight.
Ronin moved to stand in front of his desk, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't look at them directly, his gaze focused on something distant. It was a look Riku had come to recognize—something that meant Ronin had been thinking about this moment for a long time.
"I have an important announcement," Ronin said, his voice as steady as ever. "As of today, you are all officially full-fledged Shinobi."
Riku's heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Midori, who met his eyes with an expression that matched his own—surprised, but not entirely unprepared.
"Your training here is complete," Ronin continued, his voice cutting through the silence. "You've learned the skills required, and you've passed the trials. You are ready."
Hiroshi's grin spread wider, as if the weight of the moment didn't quite reach him. "So, we're finally getting our first mission, huh?" he asked, his voice laced with excitement.
Ronin nodded slowly. "That's right. You will be sent out on your first mission soon."
A heavy silence fell over them all.
Riku's pulse quickened. He wasn't sure what to think, what to feel. Part of him had been expecting this moment, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. The reality of it settled in like cold steel.
It wasn't just training anymore.
This was real.