On the Ninja Academy roof, Yakumo painted delicate strokes. As a shadow fell, she looked up.
A boy stood against the sunset, haloed in gold. For a heartbeat she thought a god had descended, brush trembling.
"Kurama Yakumo." The clear voice rang from the sky, shattering the hush.
Mamoru landed light as a feather, feet silent on the tiles.
"I didn't get your name wrong, did I?" Mamoru nudged the round-framed sunglasses up his nose, the corner of his lips lifting in a faint smile.
Yakumo finally made out the newcomer's face: the very same Mamoru she had met once before. Even behind those round sunglasses, the trademark black hair and the languid yet self-assured bearing were unmistakable.
"Uchiha… Mamoru." Yakumo's fingers tightened around her palette. "What do you want?"
"Kurenai didn't come with you?" Mamoru asked casually, sweeping his gaze across the empty rooftop.
"Kurenai-sensei…"
A complicated look flickered through Yakumo's eyes. She pressed her lips together as though some memory had been prodded, then lowered her head, hiding her face in shadow. "I don't know."
"Whoa, that's dark." Mamoru's attention shifted to her canvas, surprise coloring his tone.
"You—"
Thinking he meant her, Yakumo's head snapped up, a rebuke already on her tongue. The words died the instant she saw him: he stood beside her easel, chin in hand, clicking his tongue at the painting.
Realization struck and the half-formed insult lodged in her throat, leaving her ears burning with embarrassed disappointment.
Mamoru lifted his gaze from the canvas toward the horizon, where the clouds were turning a gentle orange-red in the sunset, like an overturned palette spilling quiet warmth.
Yet Yakumo's painting showed an apocalypse—Konoha reduced to charred ruins, the lone Hokage monument cracked and crumbling. The sky was devoured by deep purples and dark reds, the thick pigment layered like clotted scabs, a jarring contrast to the tranquil dusk before them.
"Don't look!" Yakumo sprang up, placing her thin frame between him and the canvas, panic in her eyes.
"Don't be stingy. I won't tell anyone." Mamoru tilted his head
"You just show up out of nowhere, what exactly are you after?" Yakumo eyed him warily,.
"I was passing by, dropped in for a look. Never expected you to be this good." Mamoru shrugged, hands in his pockets, utterly relaxed.
"Eh?" Yakumo blinked, eyes widening at the unexpected praise.
"I mean the painting." Mamoru studied the canvas, expression serious behind his shades. "Truly impressive.
"Ah… um, thank you." Yakumo stood frozen, brush hovering mid-air, unsure how to respond.
"I mean it." Mamoru turned to her, gaze sincere behind the dark lenses. "We had art classes at the Ninja Academy, but none of the teachers came close to this."
"N-no, you're exaggerating…" Head lowered, ears reddening, Yakumo's voice dwindled to a whisper nearly lost in the evening breeze.
"Teach me how to paint?" Mamoru asked suddenly, tone matter-of-fact.
"Eh?" Yakumo's head jerked up, eyes round. "You want to learn?
"Think I've got any talent?" Mamoru tapped the bridge of his nose, playful grin in place.
"I… don't know." She hesitated, gaze sliding away. "But everyone says you're amazing, it should be fine.
"Everyone?" Mamoru raised an eyebrow, sunglasses slipping just enough to reveal curious eyes.
"Mm, the whole village is talking about you." A trace of envy crept into Yakumo's voice as she traced a finger along the wooden brush handle. "They say you're the strongest Genin in this year's Chunin Exams."
"Oh, really." Mamoru's tone was flat, as though it were only natural, and he adjusted his glasses.
He hadn't expected word of his preliminary performance to spread through Konoha so quickly.
"Um… could you teach me?" Yakumo asked softly, tension threading her words.
"Teach you…" Mamoru echoed, pushing up his sunglasses, puzzled. "Teach you what?
"Because of… my condition, they all tell me to give up on being a ninja." Yakumo lifted her head, eyes defiant, lips trembling. "But I won't."
"Being a ninja isn't as great as you think." Mamoru sighed, gaze drifting over the garden flowers swaying in the wind. "You stink and ache every day from training, and any mission can kill you."
If it weren't for self-preservation, who the hell would choose this life?
"I don't care." Yakumo's fists clenched, nails biting her palms. "As long as I can become a ninja, I'll do anything."
Looking at her stubborn expression, Mamoru couldn't fathom why she clung so desperately to the idea.
"Doesn't Kurenai still guide you?" He glanced around, the small garden trees rustled in the breeze.
"That… that person gave up on me." Her voice shook, shoulders trembling.
"I see."
A brief silence later—
"Sorry, I probably can't help either."
"How… how could you say that…" Tears shimmered in Yakumo's eyes, voice cracking.
Behind his lenses, Mamoru's pale-blue eyes reflected the grotesque, mask-like figure looming behind Yakumo—its distorted face snarled soundlessly at him, flickering in and out of existence.
"Heh… still as hideous as ever. Fascinating." He murmured, voice too low for anyone else to hear.
"I think you'd make a better artist than a ninja. It suits a girl more, anyway." He said, keeping his tone light.
Yakumo hurled her palette to the ground and the wooden board shattered, paint splattering in violent blotches. "What do you know!"
Mamoru's brows drew together. Is she about to lose control?
The hideous figure behind her swelled, clawing at the air and the garden atmosphere turned heavy.
"Sorry, I overstepped." Mamoru backed off, choosing not to provoke her further.
Yakumo gave no reply, standing expressionless amid the mess like a statue drained of life.
Mamoru shrugged and stepped away. "See you around, Yakumo."
With that, he vanished.
Alone, Yakumo clutched her brush, tears slipping silently down her cheeks and dripping onto the paint-stained ground.
—
In front of the Hokage Office Building.
"Why call me here so suddenly?" Mamoru asked casually, eyeing the building that symbolized power.
"It's an emergency summons from Hokage-sama. Follow me." Kurenai's tone was calm
The two entered the building one after the other, their blurred silhouettes reflected on the smooth marble floor.
The unique structure of the spiral corridor made the sense of space feel hazy, and their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. Finally, they stopped in front of a heavy door.
Kurenai stepped forward and knocked a crisp sound on the door panel with her knuckles.
"Come in." Hiruzen's voice, slightly aged yet still steady, came from behind the door.
"Excuse us."
Kurenai responded softly, pushed the door open, and stepped aside to enter. Mamoru followed closely behind.
The office was filled with the scent of tobacco and old scrolls. The two stood in the center of the room.
Mamoru's gaze drifted around the room, unreservedly taking in the familiar space. Although it wasn't his first time here, he still felt the place was too simple, far removed from the core command center of a military powerhouse he had imagined.
Hiruzen was bent over his desk reviewing documents, his thin figure almost submerged by mountains of scrolls.