2: The Inuzuka

Dawn.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon. The world was just waking up, and the air still carried that faint morning chill.

Shin was already up.

He sat in the corridor overlooking the small courtyard his parents had left him — the only thing they’d left him. He didn’t know much about them. Just their names, and that they’d been shinobi.

He sat in black casual clothes, knees folded beneath him, hands resting on his thighs, eyes closed. His breathing was slow and even. Like meditation. Like he’d dissolved into the stillness around him, and a single movement would shatter it.

Beside him lay a bamboo sword.

The swordsmanship was the one thing he’d carried into this world with him. He had a rough sense of the power levels here — they ran high. So every morning, without fail, he sat like this. Not to train his body — he was too young for that, and honestly no stronger than any other kid his age. This was for the mind. To sharpen it. To keep it from going soft.

“Shin!”

A voice cut through the quiet courtyard from outside. A kid’s voice. Sharp and clear in the morning stillness. Shin opened his eyes slowly, expression flat with mild resignation.

This early.

He rose, crossed the courtyard, and walked to the gate.

“Shin! Shin, if you don’t open up, I’m gonna kick this—”

Creak.

The boy outside stopped mid-sentence. He looked at Shin’s expressionless face and laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh. I, uh. Thought you weren’t home.”

He was about Shin’s age, similar height and build, with short brown hair that stuck out in every direction and two bold red-brown markings on his cheeks.

“What do you want?” Shin said. “You’re early.”

“Sis made yellowfin tuna this morning. Mom told me to come get you.” He grabbed Shin’s arm and immediately started pulling. “Let’s go.“

“Hold on.” Shin stopped him, turned back, closed the gate, then fell into step beside him at his own unhurried pace.

The boy groaned but didn’t argue.

His name was Kiba Inuzuka — and really, Shin’s only friend in this world. Though calling it friendship was generous. Kiba was still a kid, and in most things, it was Shin doing the looking-after.

By temperament, Kiba shouldn’t have liked someone like Shin at all. Too quiet. Too composed. Too much like he thought he was better than everyone. But there was history between their families. Kiba’s mother, Tsume Inuzuka, had been a comrade of Shin’s father, Tsukasa Takami. After Tsukasa died, Tsume had looked after Shin. She was his legal guardian.

That bond made everything else follow naturally.

Kiba hadn’t warmed to Shin at first. But Shin had a talent for quietly smoothing things over with Tsume whenever Kiba messed up — which was often — and Kiba had gradually, grudgingly decided that this weird, stiff, too-mature kid was worth keeping around. He’d even, in his own warped logic, decided Shin was his kouhai. His follower. His responsibility to bring along when he went out to play, conveniently placed to absorb any parental anger.

Shin hadn’t particularly wanted to babysit a six-year-old. But he wasn’t willing to disappoint Tsume after everything she’d done for him.

So here they were.

……

The Inuzuka compound wasn’t far. A few minutes of walking and Kiba shoved the door open and hollered inside.

“Mom! Sis! We’re back!”

Shin stepped through the gate into a wide courtyard. A girl in an apron stood there, maybe thirteen or fourteen, holding two plates in each hand with practiced ease.

“Oh, Shin — come eat! I made tuna.” Hana Inuzuka smiled like sunlight.

Shin gave a small bow. “Hana-nee.”

“Kiba, go bring out the rest.” She nodded toward the house.

“Ugh. Fine.” He slouched off.

“Need any help?” Shin asked.

“No, no, you go wait inside.” She headed in, and Shin followed. Behind them, Kiba shot a look at Shin’s back and made a face.

……

Inside, Tsume Inuzuka sat on the floor with four dogs arranged around her: one blue-gray, three gray. The blue-gray one was massive, built like a wolf, blind in one eye — that was Kuromaru, Tsume’s ninken. He could speak. The three gray ones were leaner, quieter — the Haimaru Brothers, Hana’s ninken.

“Shin’s here?” Tsume didn’t look up.

“Tsume-san.” Shin bowed.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Kuromaru turned his single eye toward Shin. “You ever think about getting a ninken? You’re going to be a shinobi, aren’t you?”

Tsume said nothing, just watched Shin — clearly leaving the answer to him.

Shin paused. “I’m not from an Inuzuka family. It wouldn’t be right.”

“We’re not offering to teach you the clan’s secret techniques,” Tsume said. “Just one dog, for reconnaissance. Like Kakashi has.”

“…I’ll think about it after I graduate,” Shin said. “No rush.”

Tsume gave a small nod. She didn’t push. Her meaning was clear enough — she wasn’t trying to make him one of them, just trying to give him an edge.

……

“Where’s that brat?” Tsume called toward the kitchen.

“I sent him to carry plates,” Hana called back.

“Kiba!” Tsume’s voice cracked like a whip. “Move your ass or I’ll move it for you!”

Shin’s eye twitched slightly. She’d never spoken to him like that. For him, somehow, she had a different voice entirely.

Footsteps. Kiba came charging in with plates stacked in his arms. Tsume was on her feet before he finished setting them down — she caught his ear in one hand and squeezed.

“Ow — ow ow ow—“

“You’re slow, you’re reckless, and you embarrass this family every time you set foot outside,” she said, voice low and sharp. “What exactly are you good for?”

“Sorry, sorry—“

Hana watched with calm familiarity. Shin ate.

Kiba’s ear was still red when they finally sat down. He didn’t say a word throughout most of the meal.

Then Tsume set down her chopsticks.

“I’m enrolling both of you in the Academy. One week.”

Silence.

“The Academy?” Kiba’s head snapped up. “The Academy? Ninja Academy?”

Shin stilled.

“It’s the right age,” Hana said, leaning toward Shin with a warm smile. “The new term’s starting. You’ll have classmates, teachers—” She paused meaningfully. “Be good to them, okay? And keep an eye on Kiba for me.”

“He doesn’t need to keep an eye on me,” Kiba muttered.

Thud. Tsume’s fist dropped onto his skull.

“You do what Shin says. If I hear you caused trouble at that school, I will skin you. Am I clear?”

Kiba’s eyes went watery. He nodded like a bobblehead.

Midday.

Late summer. The sun was out but not overbearing — clouds drifted through and threw cool shadows over the grass. A light wind moved through the trees.

Shin lay in the shade, hands folded behind his head, eyes half-closed. Watching the clouds. Not thinking much. Just existing.

This is something I never had before.

In a past life, stillness had always meant waiting for something bad. Here, it was just… still.

Across the clearing, Kiba was running around with a group of kids his age. Shouts, laughter, some game Shin had no interest in joining. He watched them the way you’d watch rain — present, but not involved.

“Hey, Shin! Come play!” One of the kids waved at him.

“Don’t bother,” Kiba said without looking over. “He won’t come.”

“How come he’s always like that?”