The sun dipped lower behind the Hokage Rock, casting long shadows over the quiet Academy training field. Most students had gone home hours ago, but Sarada Uchiha remained—alone, focused, and frustrated.
She stood in the middle of the worn dirt circle, panting from exertion. Her hands were scraped, her uniform damp with sweat. Before her were two cracked wooden posts, marked with hastily drawn targets. Burn marks and gouges scarred the wood.
She inhaled sharply and weaved her hands into the familiar seal.
"Fire Style… Fireball Jutsu!"
A flame burst from her lips, roaring toward the target. It struck—powerful, but unstable. The fire flared too wide, dispersing before it could land a focused hit. A few embers fizzled out against the post, doing little damage.
Sarada growled under her breath and dropped her stance.
"Why can't I get it right?" she muttered, clenching her fists.
She had read about the technique in the Academy archives. The signature jutsu of the Uchiha. But reading and doing were different things. Her father hadn't been around to teach her much, and no one else seemed to know more than the basics. It was like trying to rebuild a legacy from scattered ashes.
She turned to set up a new seal when she felt it again—like earlier that week. A weight in the air. A pressure. Someone was watching.
Her eyes scanned the treetops.
"I know you're there," she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. "Come out already."
Silence. Then a figure stepped down from the highest branch, landing without a sound.
He was tall, cloaked, and unarmed—at least visibly. His face was partially shadowed beneath the hood, but she could see enough to tell he wasn't young. His expression was calm, unreadable. A stranger.
But something about the way he moved unsettled her. Effortless. Quiet. Dangerous.
She didn't reach for a kunai—somehow, she knew it wouldn't matter.
"You've been following me," she said, arms crossed. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked past her, toward the smoking wooden target she had scorched.
"That technique…" he said, voice low and even. "You're forcing the chakra out too early. It flares and loses shape before it stabilizes."
Sarada frowned. "I didn't ask for advice."
"No," he agreed. "But you need it."
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
He didn't flinch. "No one important."
"Then why are you watching me?"
A pause.
"You remind me of someone," he said. "Someone I once knew. You've got potential. Maybe more."
Sarada blinked. "...What?"
"I've seen you train," he continued, stepping to the edge of the field. "You don't just want to get stronger. You need to. It's in your eyes. The frustration. The drive. You're clawing for something that keeps slipping just out of reach."
Sarada looked away, jaw tight. He wasn't wrong.
"So?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"I'm offering to help you," he said. "Train you."
She blinked, startled. "Why?"
"I told you. You remind me of someone. And you're talented. You've got a fire that shouldn't be wasted."
"And I'm just supposed to believe that?" she asked skeptically. "That some masked guy shows up in the woods and wants to help me out of the kindness of his heart?"
"No," he said simply. "Which is why I'll show you."
Before she could speak again, he moved.
It was a blur—faster than her eyes could follow. She instinctively stepped back, heart leaping into her throat.
When she turned, the two training posts behind her had been destroyed. Not burned—split. One clean diagonal cut, the other crushed from within as if hit with immense internal pressure. The air still shimmered faintly from the residual force.
She hadn't seen the attack. Hadn't even felt it.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
"That was without ninjutsu," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Just chakra-enhanced taijutsu and control."
Sarada stared at the wreckage, then back at him.
"You're not from the village," she said slowly.
"No," he replied. "I've been gone a long time."
"And you're offering to train me?"
He nodded.
"I'm not going to beg," she said, crossing her arms, trying to sound braver than she felt.
"You won't have to," he said. "All you need to do is say yes."
Sarada looked down at her scorched hands. She had potential—she knew she did. But potential meant nothing if she couldn't control it.
And here was someone, stranger or not, who could show her how. Someone powerful. Someone with answers—maybe even to questions she hadn't thought to ask.
She met his eyes. "Fine. But you don't get to keep hiding forever. One day, I'll want the truth."
He said nothing to that. Only turned slightly, as if satisfied.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Same place. Come ready."
And then he disappeared—just like that.
Sarada stood in silence for a long while after he left, her heart still pounding.
She didn't know his name. Didn't know what he was hiding. But for the first time in a long while, she felt something new stirring in her chest.
Hope.