April came.
Shorai rose with a loud yawn, still feeling the weight of last night's training. He dressed in his new clothes—black cargo pants with a white lightning pattern at the bottom, and a self-designed tactical long-sleeve shirt: black center, black-white thunder web pattern on the sleeves with a turquoise shade.
He stared at the mirror. Who is this anime character staring back?
A crescent smile formed. "I'm looking forward to the shock in class."
He left without seeing Naruto.
On the way, glances followed—some curious, others judgmental. Konoha's fashion was simple. His wasn't.
At the Academy gates, Naruto, Chōji, and Shikamaru turned.
"Huh? Where'd you get that outfit? A performer?" Shikamaru raised a brow.
"Oho! You look different, Shorai!" Chōji blinked.
"Performer?" Naruto's eyes widened. "WOW! That's so cool!"
Shorai chuckled. "Maybe you should switch too. You'd be cooler than Sasuke."
They entered. Naruto kept asking—where, how much, can I get one?
The class buzzed. Some annoyed, others impressed. Girls chirped. Sasuke raised a brow but stayed silent.
Sasuke slid a note: 'Thanks. Your list helped a lot.'
Shorai replied: 'You're welcome.'
Then Iruka arrived.
The third year began.
The curriculum deepened: politics disguised as history, leaf concentration, literature, and general nation history. Ninjutsu and genjutsu theory were introduced. Life skills split—boys and girls trained separately: flower arrangement, gardening, etiquette, infiltration.
Shorai pondered: The village's culture aligns with biology. Investing in the feminine side… increasing oxytocin, balancing adrenaline… clever. I wonder who's the happiest girl here? He scanned the room—girls whispered, flustered.
Infiltration lessons were the boys' favorite. Iruka led, sometimes with Mizuki. Most struggled. Naruto's wild improvisations made them laugh—or stunned them when they worked. Sasuke started slow, then dominated. Survival training? Tied between him and Shorai.
Weapon training revealed Shorai's leap. His shurikenjutsu matched Sasuke's—sometimes surpassed. Now, he subtly practiced chakra threads for mid-flight correction in class.
Taijutsu remained intense. Naruto, Sasuke, and Shorai were the trio everyone watched—Sasuke fierce and collected, Shorai sharp and focused, and Naruto, loud and unrefined, somehow still stealing attention with sheer persistence. But the flustered squeals were split only between Shorai and Sasuke.
Time passed quickly—semester, summer break, and another semester.
Shorai pushed himself all out, completely focused on the goal.
On a pleasant October evening, Shorai slipped out to train as always.
He found Sasuke on the field, punching a dummy, frustration boiling.
"How? Just… how?" Sasuke growled. "If only I could awaken the Sharingan…"
Shorai leaned on the fence. "Do you ever rest?"
Sasuke spun, combat-ready. "What do you want? I'm training alone."
"Our spars in class… you're holding back. We could go all out. No teacher to limit us." Shorai stepped forward, calm. "A contained format limits growth. Real combat inspires faster progress."
Sasuke glared. "Are you mocking me?"
"What would I gain mocking the last Uchiha?" Shorai's voice was even. "Surviving a massacre… it makes you unique. It raises questions—why, how, perhaps...who gave the order?"
"Shut up!" Sasuke spat.
"I thought you'd know. A major event, under the Third's nose… and nothing changes." Shorai turned to the Hokage Monument. "Like how the hero died… and his wife, giving birth that same night. Life goes on."
Sasuke froze. "How is that… like being killed by your own… brother?" His voice cracked.
Shorai glanced sideways. "Maybe big events have reasons. Reality is cause and effect. We just ignore the cause. Makes life easier."
Sasuke's eyes shifted—anger, confusion, then something deeper.
"You're saying… he did it for a reason?"
Shorai placed a hand on his shoulder. "First, breathe. Steady. Thinking calmly helps you see truth… and lies."
He paused. "Iruka talked about genjutsu. It's an illusion. Seeing through it brings you back to reality."
Shorai turned away, hiding a smirk. A quiet irony—spoken by one who bent reality itself.
Sasuke stood still. "I… want to be alone. For now."
Shorai gave a sad smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He stepped back, watched the area, then vanished into the night.