Kurenai started walking in one direction, and Kiyohara quickly followed.
A few minutes later, the two arrived at Kurenai's home.
"My father isn't home today," Kurenai said, her cheeks slightly red. This was the first time she had brought a man home.
She steadied herself against the wall and bent down in the entryway to change shoes.
Kiyohara caught a brief glimpse of her pale soles as she slipped off her sandal-like shinobi footwear, then she stepped into slippers and padded across the floor.
"It's my first time coming to a woman's house, too," Kiyohara said, scanning the furnishings. Everything looked stiff and old-fashioned—probably reflecting Kurenai's father, Yūhi Shinku, who was likely a very rigid man.
"These are for guests." Kurenai brought out a pair of slippers.
"Thanks." Kiyohara changed into them.
They went into the living room.
Kurenai, visibly tense, busied herself with the tea set. When hot water poured into the cup, steam rose with a clean, fragrant scent.
Then she summoned her kitten.
Animals in the shinobi world were generally intelligent; some summons were even smarter than humans.
Kiyohara looked at the kitten and confirmed it really could do a backflip.
Its specialty seemed to be smell—probably a sensory-type summon.
"My father went to a jōnin meeting today. He might not be back until late." After the kitten finished its backflip, Kurenai stroked it while gently sliding a teacup toward Kiyohara across from her.
"We can talk about genjutsu for a bit."
Kiyohara accepted the cup, feeling its warmth in his palm, and nodded.
That was why he'd come.
Unless Kurenai wanted to perform backflips herself, he wasn't that interested in whether the kitty could do them.
They began seriously discussing genjutsu applications. Kurenai explained how to weave genjutsu into taijutsu movements to create chained attacks that were hard to tell apart—real and fake.
Kiyohara shared the interference and counter-interference scenarios he'd encountered on the battlefield.
After the fights with Mist, his experience had grown a lot.
And he'd come to understand one truth:
Speed really could let you do whatever you wanted.
No wonder Namikaze Minato could 1v50 and instantly erase fifty Iwa ninja.
Most shinobi didn't even have time to use ninjutsu, genjutsu, or taijutsu before they died.
And any technique you can't get off might as well not exist—no matter how powerful it is, if it can't hit, it's meaningless.
They continued exchanging ideas.
"So, you see—when the opponent gets used to you casting genjutsu through your eyes…" Kurenai demonstrated as she talked, her hands shifting rapidly.
"If you suddenly switch to casting through your hands, you can catch them completely off guard."
"Makes sense." Kiyohara nodded slightly.
Itachi had done that once against Naruto as well—using his hands to trigger genjutsu and mislead.
"Exactly!" Kurenai's eyes lit up.
"Genjutsu is deception, and the best deception hides inside the most 'normal' patterns of behavior."
Time slipped by as they talked. Outside the window, the sun tilted lower, stretching long shadows across the tea room.
...
Konoha's main street.
After finishing the jōnin meeting, Yūhi Shinku was heading home when he suddenly heard someone call out to him.
"Uncle Shinku!"
He turned and saw Sarutobi Asuma.
"Asuma, huh," Shinku said. The Second Son of the Third Hokage—almost no one in the village wouldn't recognize him.
"Did Kurenai come back today?" Asuma asked, hopeful.
He'd heard the eastern coast situation had eased a little and that many shinobi were being rotated back.
He was hoping that meant Kurenai had returned as well.
"Kurenai and I missed each other. She's probably out with her teammates right now," Shinku said. Normally, around this time, his daughter went to see her comrades.
"I see…" Asuma looked disappointed, then smiled again.
If Kurenai was back, he'd have a few days to spend with her.
"Uncle Shinku, I'll be going then."
"Mm." Shinku gave a small nod.
He could tell what Asuma was thinking, but his stance was simple: it depended on his daughter's feelings.
...
When Shinku reached his front door as usual and opened it with a click—
He immediately saw a pair of shinobi shoes in the entryway.
Men's shoes.
Shinku's brow creased.
Kurenai brought another man home?
The approaching footsteps from outside also reached Kurenai's ears.
She sprang up like a startled rabbit, nearly knocking over the teacup.
"F-Father… why are you home so early?" she blurted, confused.
Shinku appeared in front of Kiyohara and Kurenai.
He wore a jōnin's standard outfit: a black combat underlayer with a green jōnin vest, and a shinobi cap on his head.
His gaze first landed on his daughter's flushed cheeks and stiff posture—then slowly shifted to the black-haired boy seated across from her.
Kiyohara spoke first.
"Yūhi-senpai, hello. I'm Kiyohara. Sorry to intrude."
"Kiyohara…" Shinku repeated the name.
Of course he knew it.
Just minutes ago in the meeting, Orochimaru had specifically mentioned that name—brimming with merits, even being discussed for a special promotion to jōnin.
Shinku thought it was reasonable. Neither Hiruzen nor anyone else at the meeting had objected.
Only ten minutes earlier, he'd been thinking: Another young genius has emerged in the village—too bad I've never met him.
He hadn't expected to meet him like this, in his own home.
"Father, Kiyohara's here to study and exchange genjutsu with me!" Kurenai rushed to explain, her hands unconsciously twisting together.
Shinku didn't respond right away.
It was the instinctive wariness of a father who'd just discovered his daughter brought a young man home.
"I know who you are," Shinku finally said.
"Magnet Release, swordsmanship, and that flank battle. Orochimaru rated you highly in today's meeting."
"You flatter me, Senpai. Most of the enemy's strength was tied up by Orochimaru-sama and the others," Kiyohara replied evenly.
He hadn't loitered outside revving like a delinquent, and he hadn't done anything to Kurenai—he had nothing to be afraid of.
Shinku fell silent for a moment.
This kid really was calm and unbowed.
In other situations, it would be an excellent quality.
But here, Shinku suddenly had the feeling that the "little cabbage" he'd carefully raised for over a decade might get stolen the moment he looked away.
So he changed tack.
"I hear your sword fundamentals are very solid?"
He stood and went to a weapon rack along one wall of the living room, where several unsharpened training blades were displayed.
"Father!" Kurenai panicked.
Shinku took down two blades—one long, one short—and tossed the longer one to Kiyohara.
"When I was younger, I put some work into it too. Since you're here, let me see."
It wasn't an invitation. It was a demand.
Kiyohara caught the blade steadily.
He was curious too—just how good was Kurenai's father?
Canon barely described Shinku: known for swordsmanship and genjutsu, and later died during the Nine-Tails incident.
"Please instruct me, Senpai," Kiyohara said.
They moved to the courtyard.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long across the ground, and a cool evening breeze brushed past.
The moment Shinku took his opening stance, his aura changed.
Not killing intent—something heavier: a pressure forged by countless repetitions.
He stepped in, and his training katana became a gray streak, stabbing straight at Kiyohara.
Kiyohara's blade snapped up in a diagonal lift, knocking the point aside, then flowed into a cut toward Shinku's wrist.
The counter was so fast it exceeded Shinku's expectations.
"Hm?" Shinku's eyes flickered with surprise. He rolled his wrist, spun the blade to deflect, and chained his footwork, closing distance in an instant.
His blade-light turned dense—like a storm of slashes, covering Kiyohara's vital points.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
The longer they traded, the more Shinku's heart sank.
Kiyohara used nothing but the most basic Konoha-style sword forms.
Chop, cut, lift, thrust, parry, block—no flashy variations.
Yet in his hands, those basics flowed like running water, as if he'd trained for decades.
Twenty-five exchanges passed, and Shinku still couldn't claim a clear upper hand.
By thirty, Kiyohara's counters became genuinely threatening.
At thirty-five, Kiyohara used a subtle rotation that not only bled off a heavy strike, but returned a blade-line into Shinku's ribs—
Stopping an inch short. Point to point.
"Kiyohara, yes!" Kurenai couldn't help cheering softly, eyes shining.
Shinku's blade paused. He caught his daughter's gaze—locked on Kiyohara, proud and bright.
That "my daughter's been carefully raised and someone's about to carry her off with the pot" feeling surged hard again.
He let out a nearly inaudible snort and shifted his stance.
This time, he stopped testing.
He got serious.
Faster. Heavier. Each cut aimed at the tiny gaps between Kiyohara's transitions.
The pressure jumped sharply.
But Kiyohara remained steady.
Fifty exchanges passed—still dead even.
The surprise in Shinku's eyes settled into something weightier. This young man really had something.
At sixty-five, Shinku feinted, then sprang back lightly and sheathed his blade.
His breathing was calm, but the way he looked at Kiyohara had completely changed.
Kiyohara stopped as well, breathing a little harder, sweat sliding down his cheek, but his grip remained stable.
He bowed.
"Thank you for your instruction, Senpai."
Shinku waved it off and returned the blade to the rack.
After a pause, he spoke slowly.
"Your fundamentals are extremely solid. Your real-combat adaptability… is good."
He hesitated, as if choosing words carefully.
"You've been through real battles."
Kiyohara nodded.
"Yes."
"The battlefield does temper people," Shinku said, then looked at his daughter with a complicated expression.
"Kurenai… your friend is impressive."
He put extra weight on the word "friend," then turned away.
"But training still needs moderation. It's getting late."