The first week of csses passed without any real difficulty — just theory, vilge history, basic rules, and repeated speeches about the Will of Fire that seemed to exist more to shape children than to teach anything practical. Naruto had remained quiet for most of it.

  But today was different.

  Iruka stood at the front of the cssroom with a firm posture, chalk in hand, his gaze sweeping across the rows as if he were about to separate those who were there out of curiosity from those who were there by destiny.

  “Css… today we’re going to do something different,” he said, and the word *different* seemed to ignite the entire room. “You’ll be throwing kunai and then doing one-on-one sparring.”

  Most of the students burst into excitement, as if someone had finally unlocked the interesting part of the world. Some spped their desks, others raised their fists, others started talking all at once. Kiba practically vibrated in his seat. Choji already wore a zy gleam of anticipation — as if it would be fun, as long as it didn’t interfere with eating time. Shikamaru made the same face as always, the face of someone who would rather be anywhere else.

  And there were those who didn’t react with the same joy.

  Hinata, for example, shrank her shoulders almost unconsciously, as if Iruka’s words had increased the weight of the air around her. Sakura also stiffened, though for different reasons — not exactly fear of fighting, but that familiar insecurity of someone who wants to impress and is already imagining failure before even trying.

  Ino turned partially toward Naruto and poked him, her expression curious and teasing at the same time.

  “Do you think you’ll do well?”

  Naruto didn’t even take a second to answer. Not because he was eager to show off, but because, to him, it was simple.

  “I don’t think I’ll have any problems,” he said naturally — without arrogance, without that childish urge to shout *I’m the best*. Just like someone stating that they know how to tie their own shoes.

  Ino raised an eyebrow, as if deciding whether that was confidence or stubbornness. Before she could comment, her gaze slid to the side, nding on Hinata.

  “And you, Hinata?”

  Hinata seemed to freeze for half a second, her heart speeding up in a way that didn’t match the question. She had managed to speak more during that week than she had at the beginning, but it was still as if every sentence had to pass through an invisible barrier inside her before coming out.

  “I-I don’t think I’ll do very well,” she replied softly.

  The honesty came hand in hand with insecurity — it wasn’t false modesty. It was genuine belief. It was as if she had already accepted that, when the time came, she would fail.

  Naruto looked at her for a moment longer than usual. Not with pity. But with attention.

  “You shouldn’t put yourself down like that, Hinata,” he said calmly, his tone firm. “I believe you’ll do well.”

  As he spoke, he reached out and began to gently stroke her head, a simple, natural gesture, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. For Naruto, it was almost automatic — a way to reduce the noise inside people, to anchor someone to something safe.

  Hinata closed her eyes immediately, as if that touch were a small shelter. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. On the contrary — for a moment, she seemed… comfortable. As if her body had recognized that there was no judgment there.

  Ino pouted, clearly annoyed that the scene didn’t include her. Her gaze moved from Naruto to Hinata and back again, and the decision was immediate. She grabbed Naruto’s other hand and pulled it toward her own head, without asking permission and without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

  Naruto turned, met her eyes — eyes full of energy, insistence, and *me too*. He sighed, as if accepting a daily defeat.

  And started stroking her head as well.

  ‘This girl’s personality is something else.’

  Even thinking that, a smile still appeared on his face. Not a big one, not exaggerated. One of those small smiles that show up when you realize certain troubles are irritating… and strangely nice.

  The css moved quickly after that, with Iruka organizing the students and leading everyone outside.

  ————————————————————

  The academy’s training field smelled of packed earth, crushed grass, and the old wood of the targets. There was an open area for sparring and, farther back, rows of posts with circles drawn on them — simple, but enough to show who understood strength and direction and who was just throwing metal into the air.

  Iruka stood near the center with a list in hand and began calling names in groups.

  The first students didn’t do very well. And it wasn’t surprising: many of them had grown up hearing stories about ninja, but had never held a real kunai before. They cked posture, cked a sense of weight, cked control over their own bodies. Some threw too early; others stiffened their arms as if they were afraid of the bde.

  Naruto watched in silence, without ughing, without commenting. He saw patterns. He saw how each one compensated for insecurity. He saw who tried to force things and who tried to fake confidence.

  Then Iruka called out:

  “Kiba, Shikamaru, and Choji.”

  Kiba shot forward as soon as he heard his name, as if training were a race he had to win. Shikamaru stood up with his usual ck of enthusiasm, muttering quietly as he walked.

  “What a pain…”

  Choji came alongside him, chewing on something — as always — with that unshakable calm of someone who didn’t seem affected by anything other than his snack.

  Kiba grabbed the kunai, rolled his shoulders, positioned himself the way he thought a ninja should, and pulled his arm back.

  “Here I go!” he shouted.

  The kunai flew with force, slicing through the air — and for a moment, it looked like it would hit dead center. But it veered at the st second, grazing past the target and striking the wood closer to the edge than the middle.

  “Damn it!” Kiba compined, biting back his frustration.

  Iruka didn’t scold him; he just observed, making a mental note. A problem of adjustment, not courage.

  Shikamaru was next. He threw with a movement that looked zy, but had more coordination than Kiba’s. The kunai hit the target — far from the center, but it hit.

  Choji hit as well, in a simir area, without much precision, but with enough honesty to show that he at least understood the idea.

  Iruka nodded. “Good. Next.”

  Then he called:

  “Ino, Sakura, and Hinata.”

  Ino didn’t even give Hinata a chance to breathe properly. As soon as she heard the name, she grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her along, as if saying without words: *I’ll carry you if I have to*.

  “Come on, Hinata.”

  Hinata almost tripped in her haste. Sakura, meanwhile, walked forward timidly, but her eyes kept drifting involuntarily toward Sasuke. It wasn’t just interest; it was as if his presence were a magnet her mind couldn’t turn off.

  Sasuke was there, leaning casually, as if all of it were too unimportant to bother him. His expression was the same as always: closed, cold, distant. He didn’t seem to care about anything in the world — and because of that, he attracted every kind of gaze.

  “Begin,” Iruka said.

  Sakura went first. She held the kunai stiffly, like someone so afraid of getting the posture wrong that they end up messing up the entire movement. She threw.

  The bde passed at a considerable distance from the target. Far enough that anyone could tell it wasn’t bad luck — it was ck of practice.

  Sakura froze for a moment, her face tightening as if it had been a public dispy of weakness. She turned toward Sasuke almost automatically, as if trying to find some kind of comfort or validation.

  But Sasuke had the same expression.

  The same indifference.

  The same nothing.

  The hope in Sakura’s eyes wavered and turned into sadness before she could even hide it. She walked away with her head down, as if she wanted to disappear into the ground.

  Ino was next, and the difference was clear: she also didn’t have much practice, but at least she’d done it before. The movement wasn’t elegant, but it was decisive. Her arm moved, the kunai flew… and hit the target at the very edge, almost slipping out of the wood.

  But it stayed.

  It was a hit.

  “Nice!” Ino cheered, raising one hand high as if she’d just won a war.

  Then she ran toward Naruto with the urgency of someone who needed approval immediately.

  “How did I do?” Her eyes sparkled like a star, exaggerated on purpose and sincere at the same time.

  Naruto smiled — and without realizing it, repeated the earlier gesture, stroking her head as if the ritual had already been accepted by both of them.

  “You did very well,” he said lightly. “If you practice a bit more, you’ll be able to hit the center.”

  Ino nodded quickly, clearly satisfied, as if his words had added fuel to a fire that was already burning strong.

  Hinata took a deep breath.

  She still held the kunai in her hand, and for a moment, doubt returned in full, heavy. Her gaze passed over the target and then, almost unconsciously, searched for Naruto — not as if asking for help, but as if borrowing courage.

  Naruto said nothing. He just looked back at her, steady.

  Hinata then took her position. Her posture was restrained, but there was discipline in the way she held her arm. She threw.

  The kunai cut through the air and… embedded itself close to the center.

  It wasn’t perfect. But it was good. Better than she herself believed it would be.

  “Very good,” Iruka said, nodding in approval.

  Hinata blushed deeply, lowered her head out of old habit, and walked back, trying not to draw attention — as if attention were dangerous, even when it was earned.

  Ino didn’t allow that. As soon as Hinata got close, she wrapped her in a tight hug, without ceremony, celebrating on her behalf.

  “You were amazing, Hinata!”

  Hinata seemed frozen for half a second, then rexed — a small rexation, but real. Naruto also stepped closer and stroked her head once more, as if reinforcing with touch what he had already said with words.

  “I told you to trust yourself more.”

  Hinata let out a quiet hum of agreement, so soft it almost got lost in the wind, and closed her eyes again.

  That feeling… the feeling of having people who cared about you, without asking for anything in return, without demanding perfection… wasn’t bad at all.

  And for a brief moment, in the middle of kunai, targets, and expectations, she allowed herself to believe that maybe… she really could improve.

  (Early access chapters: see the bio.)