The night air was cool carrying the faint scent of damp soil and pine. The moon hung low, pale and heavy, casting silver light across the orphanage yard.
I stood just outside the doorway, staring at the rows of vegetables swaying gently in the wind. The day had been long, classes, chakra practice, failed seals, and all the thinking in between.
But for a moment, the quiet almost made it worth it.
Almost.
"Bo-."
"I can hear you, Hina."
A sharp gasp came from behind the fence post. Then a groan.
"…You weren't supposed to."
"I sensed your chakra the moment you stepped on the gravel."
Hina peeked out, pouting like she'd just been cheated out of a grand victory. "You're no fun."
"You were trying to scare me. That's not fun, that's harassment."
She stepped into the moonlight with arms crossed, her long sleeves brushing against her knees. "You're eight, you're supposed to act like it. You don't even flinch when I sneak up on you anymore."
"I'd flinch if you were a bandit," I said flatly. "But you breathe too loudly to qualify."
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You breathe like a tea kettle about to boil." I repeated with visual imagery.
"Murakami!" she said, glaring. "You're impossible."
"I'm just sensitive."
She huffed, cheeks puffed out in exaggerated frustration, then bent forward so her eyes were level with mine. "You know what I think?"
"Not usually, no."
"I think you practice these comebacks before you talk to me."
"That's a waste of time," I said. "I prefer to improvise on the spot."
Her glare melted into laughter. "You really are something else, you know that?"
I shrugged. "I've heard worse."
She smiled then, the kind of smile that made you forget she'd been pouting a second ago.
The moonlight was reflected in her hair, and for a brief moment, she looked less like the bossy senior sister and more like what she really was, a girl trying to hold everything together.
"Why're you still awake anyway?" she asked after a pause.
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"Nothing important," I said, eyes still on the garden. "Just… how things fit together."
She frowned slightly. "Fit together?"
I shrugged. "People. Places. Choices. Everything's connected somehow, I'm just trying to see how I can take better advantage of any situation I find myself in."
She tilted her head, studying me like I'd just spoken a different language. "You talk weird, you know that?"
"That's what makes me interesting."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?"
"The point," she said, poking my forehead, "is that you're supposed to rest sometimes. Even geniuses need sleep."
"I'm not a genius," I muttered.
"Uh-huh," she said skeptically. "You say that, but everyone saw you balancing leaves on your wrists while reading. Who even trains like that?"
"Someone who doesn't want to waste time."
"Someone who's going to grow up with no social skills," she teased.
"Then I'll buy some," I said.
She laughed again, a carefree, honest laugh I didn't hear often enough. "You can't buy social skills, dummy."
"Maybe not," I said with a small shrug. "But people trade them all the time; smiles for trust, silence for secrets, charm for opportunity. Everything's just… negotiation."
Her laughter softened, the playful glint in her eyes giving way to curiosity. "Wow," she said, pretending to be amazed. "Deep words from an eight-year-old who still can't reach the top shelf."
"I can reach it," I said defensively.
"You mean you use a stool."
"It's called resource management."
That earned another laugh and I couldn't help myself from joining in the laugh.
After that, we fell into a comfortable silence. The kind that didn't need filling.
Hina crouched near the fence, idly tracing circles in the dirt with a twig. "You know," she said softly, "I think you're going to be someone important one day."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Where'd that come from?"
"Just a feeling," she said. "You look at things differently. Like you're already five steps ahead of everyone else."
"That's just how I think."
"And that's what's weird about you," she said, looking up at me with a grin. "You talk like an old man trapped in a kid's body."
"I get that a lot."
She stood and brushed off her knees. "Still, don't change too much, okay?"
"Why?"
"Because if you do, who's going to keep me entertained?"
I smiled faintly. "You could always find another target."
"Nah," she said, stepping closer and flicking my forehead lightly. "You're my favorite one."
I pretended to wince. "Ow. Assault."
"Discipline," she corrected.
We both laughed quietly so we wouldn't wake the others.
A breeze passed, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and wood smoke.
Hina tilted her head toward the sky. "It's pretty tonight."
I followed her gaze. The moon was almost full, framed by scattered clouds. "Yeah," I said softly. "It is."
She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. "You sound surprised."
"I just forget to look sometimes."
"Well," she said, stepping toward the door, "try not to forget too often. Some things are worth looking at."
I didn't reply.
As she walked back inside, her silhouette faded into the warm light spilling from the orphanage door.
For a long moment, I stayed where I was, watching the moon as I felt the wind on my skin.
It wasn't training or planning or some grand revelation. Just peace.
A simple, quiet night.
And in that small silence, I realized something, for all my plans and goals, I wasn't just trying to build a future.
I was trying to protect this.
No. I want to protect this.
The laughter, the smell of food, the tiny piece of calm that still existed in a world plagued with bloodshed.
…
…
Normal POV
The sun had barely risen as a group of children stepped out of the orphanage gates.
The air was fresh and carried the scent of damp earth from the light rain the night before, something Murakami observed as he took in a deep breath and exhaled as he adjusted his kimono, glancing at his friends as they walked alongside him.
Today was the first-term test, and the atmosphere among them was a mix of excitement and nervousness.
"I still don't get why we have to wake up so early for a test," Renji groaned.
His once perpetually runny nose was gone, replaced with an air of newfound confidence…or at least, that's what he liked to think.
"Maybe if you actually studied, you wouldn't feel like time is against you," Aiko teased, giving him a playful nudge.
Renji shot her a glare. "I did study! You think I want to end up like Kazu, scribbling nonsense when he doesn't know the answer?"
Kazu gasped in offense, placing a hand over his chest. "Excuse you! I don't just scribble nonsense, I make educated guesses."
"More like ridiculous guesses," Kana interjected with a giggle. "Remember last time? You wrote 'because I felt like it' for a history question!"
"That was a valid answer!" Kazu protested. "The question was about why the first Hokage made a certain decision, and I figured, well, maybe he just felt like it."
The group burst into laughter. Even Tsubaki, usually the calmest of them, let out a soft chuckle.
"You're just hopeless," Murakami said, shaking his head.
Tora, who was walking slightly ahead of them, smirked. "Well, at least Kazu has an excuse. I don't have to take the test at all."
"That's because you didn't join the academy," Daichi pointed out. "Not exactly something to brag about."
Tora shrugged. "Maybe, but at least I don't have to stress over memorizing a bunch of dates and techniques."
Murakami narrowed his eyes at him. "And yet, somehow, you always end up asking us what we learned in class."
Tora grinned, unbothered by the accusation. "Hey, information is free. Might as well take advantage."
The conversation continued as they weaved through the streets.
As much as they enjoyed teasing each other, there was no denying that the test was on everyone's minds.
"So," Aiko said after a brief pause, "how confident is everyone?"
"I'll pass," Murakami answered without hesitation.
"Tch. Of course you will," Renji muttered. "You're in third year now. I bet this is nothing to you."
"Don't assume," Murakami said. "It's different every year. The teachers always find ways to make things harder."
"That's not helping!" Kazu whined. "Now I'm even more nervous."
"Maybe you should've studied more," Kana teased.
"I did! I just... might have fallen asleep halfway through." Kazu said pitifully.
Aiko sighed and rolled her eyes. "We should have a rule: no complaining if you didn't put in the effort."
Renji smirked. "Then we'd never hear from Kazu again."
"Hey!" Kazu shot him a betrayed look.
As they turned a corner, the academy came into view, students of different years were gathering at the entrance, some chatting excitedly, others looking as if they were marching to their doom.
Murakami slowed his steps, taking in the sight. He wasn't worried about the test itself, he had prepared well enough, but there was an invisible air of tension that covered the entire area.
"Alright," Tsubaki said, adjusting her bag strap, "this is where we part ways."
The third-years and second-years had different testing locations. While Murakami had his own concerns, he glanced at his younger friends, noting the mix of determination and anxiety on their faces.
"Don't overthink it," he told them. "Go in, do your best, and don't let the pressure get to you."
Aiko gave a confident nod. "We got this."
Kana and Kazu exchanged a look before nodding as well.
"You better pass, Kazu," Daichi said with a smirk.
Kazu rolled his eyes. "I will, I will. Geez."
With that, the group split, each heading toward their respective testing halls.