Five months had passed since that first spar with Shisui. We'd trained together countless times since then. I still lost most of our bouts—but the gap was closing. My speed was improving, my Lightning Release more controlled, my body responding faster. I even managed a few combos that had made Shisui raise an eyebrow—but oh, how I wanted his Sharingan. That cursed, perfect perception.
I wiped sweat from my brow and rolled my shoulders, muscles screaming in protest from another relentless morning of training. Shisui was perched on a low branch of a tree, arms crossed, looking exactly as infuriatingly composed as ever.
"Getting better," he said, tone neutral, but a corner of his mouth twitched. "You're thinking less, moving more. Still relying on your clones too much, though."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, swinging my sword in a practiced arc, sparks crackling along the edge. "I know."
He smirked faintly, jumping down, hands brushing the dirt. "One day, Kuroha, you'll move fast enough even I can't predict it. Keep pushing. Don't hold back."
I gritted my teeth and nodded, though my chest still burned. My mind flickered to something else—the thought I always tried to push away. Kushina.
Kuroha arrived later in the afternoon, a quiet knock at the door followed by the faint shuffle of her sandals. I didn't even need to look up from the scrolls to know it was her; she had that distinct hesitation before entering a room, like she was bracing for impact.
I heard the door slide open before she even announced herself. Her chakra always arrived first tight, twisted, and today… thinner than usual. Tired. Exhausted. I looked up from the spread of scrolls on the tatami, incense curling lazily in the air. My belly pressed lightly against my sash; four months left, give or take.
And then I saw her pause in the doorway. That tiny hesitation she always carried around me. But today… sharper. Heavier.
"You always… tense up when you come here," I said gently. "Am I… difficult to be around?"
She startled—actually startled—like a cat kicked out of a dream. Her cheeks flushed instantly.
"Uh—no! Not— not difficult, I mean…" She rubbed furiously at her sleeve, fingers twitching with those little sparks of chakra she leaks when she's flustered. "Sometimes it's just… weird when you… know too much – wait know what I mean is I really … no – I do really like you, so I did not mean to disrespect you.
Weird phrasing. Not childish. Not something a seven-year-old should say.
Does she know something? Some danger? I shook the thoughts away. No… slow down, Kushina. Kids say strange things all the time.
But her chakra… it wasn't just childish energy. It was like dread, coiled small and tight, barely restrained. Thats why Minato said to watch her too.
Before I could prod gently, she seemed to panic at her own words.
"Anyway… you wanted to show me how to draw seals without ink, right?" she blurted, voice too fast.
Ah. Deflection. I didn't push.
Pushing a nervous kid just makes them shut down. I tilted my head, letting warmth ease back into my smile.
"I see… still, try to relax around me, Kuroha. Not everything is going to fall apart."
Inside, though…
Her emotions surged so thickly it almost hurt to watch—guilt, concern, apprehension, frustration, and an almost unbearable amount of fear.
Every time she glanced at me, it spiked again. Every time her eyes flicked toward my stomach, it coiled tighter. She wasn't afraid of me. She was afraid of what could … no what will happen.
And she looked worn down. Exhausted. Eyes dulled at the edges from overtraining or lack of rest.
She shouldn't be pushing herself like this. Who or what in the world was driving her this hard?
"Here," I said softly, guiding her fingers over the blank parchment. "Move your chakra like this. Flow, don't force."
Her hands shook slightly, but not from clumsiness—each movement was deliberate, exact, almost startling in its precision.
As her chakra flowed through the parchment, the tight coil of dread inside her loosened. For these moments, she seemed able to forget whatever is pressing down on her small shoulders, the gnawing sense of responsibility and fear that clung to every other part of her day. Training seems to give her a strange, almost stolen sense of freedom.
This seems to be the only time she could truly let everything else fade away. No wonder she always overexerted herself.
And her talent… it wasn't just control. Her precision, the way her chakra bent to her will, the subtlety in the flow of her technique – it was something exceptional, something far beyond what most children twice her age could manage.
"Better," I murmured when the seal lines finally steadied.
Then came the quiet question, almost too casual:
"…How long until he's born?"
Ah. Back to the belly. "He? How would you know it's a boy?" I teased lightly.
Her cheeks warmed. She didn't answer at first, then quickly looked away, flustered again.
Then, almost as if testing the waters, she added softly, "Doesn't… doesn't your control over the Kyūbi weaken when… when someone gives birth? Or something like that?" Her voice wavered, careful, almost like she was afraid of saying too much.
Does she… is that what she's afraid of? My chest tightened at the thought. So, her dread, her concern, this weight she carries – all because of that?
"Four months, give or take" I told her. "Don't worry there will be enough precaution the seal will not break."
She let out a small, bitter laugh.
"Not only bad things will happen, Kuroha," I said quietly. "You'll see. Trust people a little more. You don't have to carry everything alone."
Even if she didn't believe me, I meant it. I wish she'd believe it.