Chương 3: Kindness

When Shin finally woke, the sky had deepened to amber. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of rust and gold. He sat up slowly, rolled his neck, and brushed a handful of dead leaves off his shoulders. That late already. He scanned the empty clearing. Kiba had actually done it—left him here. He stood and knocked the dirt from his clothes with a few lazy swipes. The cicadas had gone quiet. Only the wind moved through the leaves, and the last light stretched golden across the ground.

That was when he noticed the figure. Not far away, at the edge of the lake, a small boy sat alone. Unmoving. Is that...? He recognized the silhouette. The blond kid from earlier—the one from noon. Still here? Shin looked around. Just the two of them now. Did Kiba ditch him too? Has he been sitting here moping this whole time? He hesitated, then walked over. Close up, he could see clearly: the boy was staring at the water's surface, his thin back somehow smaller than it should have been.

And his face—three pairs of whisker-like marks on each cheek, like a cat's.

"Hey," Shin said. The boy startled. He turned, confirmed that yes, he was being addressed.

"W-what?"

"Why aren't you home?"

"Oh... oh." His voice came out clipped, guarded. He looked away.

"I'll go soon."

"Where'd the others go?" Shin asked.

"Huh?" The boy blinked, confused.

"The kids from earlier. At noon."

"Oh... them." The boy went quiet. He looked down.

"They went home. After the game was over." After the game. Something almost like a smile crossed Shin's face—but the boy's expression stopped him. He let the joke go unsaid.

"You should head back. Your parents'll worry if you're out this late." Shin glanced at the horizon, then turned to leave.

"Parents... worrying about me..." The words were barely a murmur. The boy's head was bowed, hair falling forward, hiding his face. Shin stopped.

"What about you?" He looked back. The boy had lifted his head. His eyes were raw—something in them equal parts pain and a reaching, desperate kind of hope.

"You were asleep over there all afternoon. Won't your parents worry if you're late?" Shin stood there a moment.

"Yeah," he said finally.

"Probably." If they were still alive, they would.

"Is that so..." The hardness went out of the boy's eyes. He looked back down at the water.

"Must be nice," he whispered, "having someone who worries about you." His voice broke on the last word. Shin said nothing. The wind picked up, low and hollow through the trees. The air turned cold. Dark clouds were rolling in above them, swallowing the last of the gold.

"Go home," Shin said.

"Rain's coming. You'll catch something." He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked....... Behind him, the boy stayed where he was—watching Shin's back until it disappeared into the dusk. Then the first drop hit his cheek. He looked up. The sky was falling in pieces, silver and cold. Rain. He didn't move. Let it come. Did that guy... actually care? Shin walked fast, quietly annoyed at himself for not leaving sooner. The rain came harder.

It soaked through his collar, plastered his hair flat, wicked into the hem of his clothes. Then he stopped. A figure was running toward him through the downpour—Kiba, half-swallowed by a rain jacket three sizes too big, its hem dragging through the mud, arms clutching an umbrella to his chest. Something in Shin's chest eased. Kiba reached him, breathing hard, and snapped the umbrella open over Shin's head. Rain hammered the canopy and slid off in curtains.

Then he shoved the handle into Shin's hand and stepped back.

"I figured you'd forgotten about me," Shin said. He took the umbrella. The corner of his mouth moved—just barely.

"Guess not." The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Kiba pressed his lips together. Said nothing. Gave Shin one look, then turned and bolted back into the rain, his oversized jacket flapping behind him until his silhouette vanished. That idiot. Shin watched him go. Then he started walking, umbrella overhead, toward home. By the time he got back, changed into his dark blue yukata, and settled in, the rain had softened to a murmur. Night had fallen for real. A knock.

Then Hana let herself in, carrying a bento box.

"I can feed myself," Shin told her. She ignored him, set the food out on the low table, and sat down across from him with a smile.

"Can you beat my cooking?" He couldn't argue with that. He accepted the chopsticks and ate.

"I saw Kiba grab the umbrella and run," Hana said.

"Was that for you?" Shin nodded.

"Honestly." She sighed—fond and exasperated at once.

"He ditched you earlier, didn't he."

"He didn't know it'd rain."

"Still." She shook her head.

"You're too patient with him, Shin." A pause.

"You'll both be at the Academy soon. Look out for him, okay?"

"I know."

"Oh—Kiba got his dog today." Her tone lifted.

"Little white one. Akamaru."

"Already?"

"Tiny thing. You'll see him tomorrow." She smiled.

"Our Kiba's finally on his way."

"He's got years yet."

"Don't say that to his face." She laughed. A beat of quiet.

"I leave on a mission tomorrow," Hana said.

"Land of Rivers. C-rank. About two weeks." Shin looked up from his bowl.

"It's fine—jonin-led." She reached over and ruffled his hair into a mess.

"Don't worry. I'll bring you something back."

"I'm not worried," he said.

"I know you're not. That's the part that worries me." She smiled, but it was wistful at the edges.

"I'm just sad I'll miss your first day. I keep trying to picture you and Kiba walking in." She laughed softly, then grew quieter.

"When I started, I was terrified. Spent the whole day wishing I could go home." A pause.

"Back then, they'd send students to the front after two or three years. I was scared to death." She looked at the table.

"But the war ended before I graduated."

"Hana." She glanced up. He was looking at her.

"Peace is better," Shin said.

"War shouldn't happen. Not ever." She stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled—genuine, a little soft.

"You really mean that."

"Of course."

"You hate war, Shin?" He looked back down at his bowl.

"Yeah," he said.

"I do." A moment passed.

"You're such a good kid," she murmured.

"Shin! We're leaving!" He'd barely finished getting ready when Kiba's voice came through the front gate. Shin stepped out of the courtyard in a plain black half-sleeved shirt to find Kiba and Tsume already waiting.

"Morning," he said, bowing to Tsume. Then to the boy with the bundle of white fur in his arms: "Kiba. Akamaru." Kiba was in a cream-colored shirt, face paint freshly done, practically vibrating. He grinned like he'd been awake for hours.

"Hey." He shifted Akamaru in his arms.

"Let's go," Tsume said, giving Shin a nod." Let's go!" Kiba hollered. The Academy had been founded by the Second Hokage—built during wartime with the purpose of raising a new generation of shinobi. Those early years were rough; the curriculum half-formed, the institution held together by necessity. After decades of development, it had grown into something more deliberate: a place meant to develop children in every dimension—theory, history, physical conditioning, practical skills, and character.

The school itself wasn't large. Out front, a crowd had already gathered—parents in clusters, neighbors catching up, low adult conversation flowing in all directions. Shin and Kiba flanked Tsume as they made their way through.

"Tsume." A man's voice, dry and clipped.

"Shibi." Tsume turned toward him with a look. The man wore a high-collared trench coat, zipper all the way up, dark glasses, an atmosphere around him like a room where things were very controlled.

"You actually wore that to drop your kid off?"

"I don't see the problem," Shibi Aburame said evenly. Beside him stood a boy in an identical outfit—same coat, same glasses.

"Shino," Shibi said.

"Say hello."

"Good morning, Inuzuka-san." A small bow. Tsume nodded. Shin and Kiba bowed to Shibi—Kiba barely. Then Shin felt the man's gaze pause on him.

"And this is?" Shibi asked.

"Tsukasa's boy," Tsume said.

"I see." He said nothing more—but Shin had the distinct sense that he'd recognized the name. Tsume and Shibi drifted into conversation as all four of them moved toward the entrance. Kiba was openly staring at Shino. Shino gave no indication that he noticed. At the gate, a shinobi in a flak jacket handled some paperwork with the parents. Once it was done, Tsume turned to Shin and Kiba.

"I'll be here at three. No trouble." Her eyes landed on Kiba.

"Yeah, yeah—" Her hand came down on the back of his head." Ow."

"First day, Kiba." She glanced at Shin.

"Keep an eye on him."

"I will." Tsume and Shibi fell in step together, heading off. Shin caught the tail end of it—"Drinks after?"

"Sure," said Shibi. Kiba watched them go and made a face at their backs. The flak-jacket shinobi stepped forward. He was young, with a scar running across the bridge of his nose—prominent but not harsh, and his smile was easy enough to make you forget it was there.

"Hey, you three." He looked at each of them in turn.

"I'm Iruka Umino. You can call me Iruka-sensei. I'll be your teacher from here on."

"Good morning, Iruka-sensei." All three of them, in unison. Even Kiba managed to behave.

"Good." Iruka smiled.

"Follow me—I'll take you to your classroom." The room was already loud. Kids had scattered into loose clusters, voices bouncing everywhere. Shin found an empty seat near the middle and dropped into it. Kiba sat down beside him, Akamaru tucked in the crook of his arm. Shino settled on the other side without a word. Iruka headed back out—collecting more arrivals, most likely.

"Mitsubachi!" Kiba popped up and waved.

"Yo!"

"Kiba, you're here too?"

"Irie made it?" And just like that, Kiba was in the middle of a crowd, laughing and catching up like he'd known half the room for years. Shin watched from his seat. Kiba's social gravity was genuinely something. Shino sat like a closed door. A few of Kiba's acquaintances spotted Shin and called over. He answered each one. The noise kept building.

"Do we know who our teacher is?"

"Didn't you check?"

"No."

"The one who walked us in just now," Kiba said.

"I wasn't paying attention. What was he like?" Kiba thought about it.

"He's got a scar on his face." The group absorbed this with appropriate gravity.

"That sounds terrifying," someone said.

"Terrifying but not actually terrifying," Kiba said.

"He seemed fine."

"He must be strong though. Jonin?"

"Would a jonin be teaching here?" Shin leaned back in his chair. Shino hadn't moved. Then—"Shin Takami!" A girl's voice. Bright, surprised. From the direction of the door. Shin looked over. Two girls had just stepped in. The blond one was already watching him with that particular look that meant she'd spotted him the second she walked through the door. The flower shop. Ino Yamanaka. He placed her now—she'd been behind the counter the day he'd come in for the white carnations. He gave her a short nod.

"Who's that?" Kiba asked. His tone had an edge. This guy just walks in and already has a girl calling his name across the room. Kiba's expression made his thoughts fairly clear. Shin started to answer, but someone else got there first.

"Yamanaka? As in the Yamanaka clan?"

"The interrogation and reconnaissance specialists."

"One of the Ino-Shika-Cho trio, right?" The conversation found a new orbit. Shin glanced at Ino again. Yamanaka. He hadn't known any of that—he'd only ever known her as the girl at the flower shop. He'd thought it was just an ordinary florist.

"Reconnaissance?" Kiba crossed his arms.

"The Inuzuka are better trackers. No contest."

"Actually," Shino said—flat, unhurried—"the Aburame have a strong case." He paused.

"The Hyuga as well."

"You take that back —""I'm stating facts."" Facts?!" Shin pressed a hand to his forehead. It's going to be a long year....... On the other side of the room, Sakura leaned toward Ino and lowered her voice.

"You know him?" She was watching the dark-haired boy Ino had waved at.

"Sort of. He came into the shop once." Ino was already scanning for seats.

"Bought flowers."

"Huh." Sakura looked again. He's kind of... cute, she thought, and said nothing.

"Alright, settle down!"