The days that followed were a carefully choreographed dance. I continued to play the part of the shy, supportive girl at the academy, but my actions were anything but passive. In sparring sessions, I was a revelation.
The old Hinata was hesitant, her strikes half-formed. This Hinata was a phantom. My movements were economy and grace distilled. I didn't just win; I dismantled. My hands would move in a blur of precise strikes, not to injure, but to demonstrate.
A flick to a tenketsu in the arm would cause a boy's kunai to go numb. A gentle tap to the leg would buckle a knee. I was showing, not telling, what true Hyuga refinement could be.
Sasuke, the prodigy, was the only one who even came close to matching my speed. Our spars were silent, brutal ballets.
He would press with his fire and his lightning-fast taijutsu, and I would flow around him, a river of white, pale eyes and Gentle Fist. We never spoke, but a grudging respect formed between us. He saw I was not weak. I saw the burning loneliness in him that mirrored Naruto's, a darkness he chose instead of the one that was forced upon him. He was a threat, but a secondary one. He could be managed.
My true focus remained on Naruto. I trained with him. Not at the academy, but in private. We'd meet in secluded clearings in the forests surrounding Konoha. I taught him control. Not the grand, flashy jutsu he craved, but the fundamentals. Chakra control, breathing, focus.
"Feel it, Naruto-kun," I'd say, standing behind him, my hands hovering just over his back as he meditated. "Don't force it. Let it flow. Find the channels. Guide it."
At first, he was impatient. "But when do I get to learn the cool stuff? Like the Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
"The cool stuff will get you killed if you can't even control your own chakra," I'd reply, my tone firm but gentle. "Control is the foundation. Without it, you're just a house of cards in a strong wind." I'd then demonstrate, creating a single, perfect clone of myself. It stood beside me, indistinguishable. Then I'd have it disperse into a shower of light. "One perfect clone is better than a thousand useless ones."
He grumbled, but he listened. Because he was starting to see the results. His movements became smoother, his shuriken more accurate. He was building a foundation of real skill, not just raw power. And every small success was followed by my genuine, unwavering praise.
"See? You're a natural," I'd say, and the pure delight on his face was more rewarding than any victory.
This was the second phase. Weaving myself into the very fabric of his growth. I wasn't just a friend; I was his sensei. His guide. The only one who truly believed in him, not for the potential he had, but for who he was right now.
But the true work happened in the quiet moments, when the training was done and we sat watching the sunset. I would bring it back to the Fox.
"Close your eyes, Naruto-kun," I'd say softly. "Reach inside. Not with anger, but with curiosity. Just... say hello."
It was a terrifying concept for him. The village had spent years teaching him that the chakra inside him was a malevolent beast to be suppressed at all costs. I was asking him to knock on its cage.
"I... I can't," he'd whisper, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Yes, you can," I'd insist. "You're the master. It's the one that's trapped and scared. It's been alone in there even longer than you have." I was twisting the narrative, remaking the monster into a victim. His kin.
One evening, as the sky bled orange and purple, he finally did it. He was sitting cross-legged, his face scrunched in concentration. I sat opposite him, my hands clasped, my own senses extended, monitoring the volatile chakra deep within him.
It started as a tremor. A low hum of power that was distinctly not Naruto's. His whisker marks darkened, his chakra signature flaring a deep, angry red.
"It's... angry," he choked out, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Don't fight it," I commanded, my voice calm and steady. "Just listen. Don't be afraid. I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you."
My presence was the anchor. My promise was the shield. He trusted me. Slowly, the raging chakra began to... change. It was still immense, still potent, but the jagged edges of its fury seemed to soften.
Then, something new happened. A thought, not in Naruto's voice, but in a deep, ancient growl that echoed in the space between our minds.
My heart leaped into my throat. This was it. Direct contact. I maintained my calm exterior, but inside, my mind was racing. This was Kurama. The being of immense power, the source of so much of Naruto's pain and, ultimately, his greatest strength.
I projected back, focusing my own chakra, shaping my intent.
There was a long, sullen silence. The red chakra pulsed around Naruto, a maelstrom contained by his will.
A brilliant, twisted insight. Kurama's suffering was of a different, more absolute kind.
"He says you don't know what loneliness is," I said aloud to Naruto, translating the beast's ancient sorrow.