“Begin.”

  Iruka’s voice cut through the murmur like a straight line—simple, firm—and even without shouting, it was enough to make the entire field seem to hold its breath for a second.

  The circle of students instinctively tightened, as if curiosity itself had physical weight.

  Kunai and targets had been the “event” so far, but this… this was different. This was hand-to-hand combat. The kind of thing that made children lean forward without realizing it.

  Sasuke was the first to move.

  He closed the distance with a speed that, for a six-year-old, already felt wrong—not in the sense of “forbidden,” but in the sense of “far above average.” His step was short and efficient, and the punch came straight toward Naruto’s face, without fir, without hesitation. It wasn’t an attack meant to impress; it existed only to hit.

  Naruto simply stepped to the side.

  No jump. No exaggerated retreat. Just the bare minimum, as if dodging something obvious. The fist passed through the space where his head had been an instant earlier, cutting the air with a dry sound.

  Several children’s eyes widened.

  Naruto felt it—not as some abstract “atmosphere,” but as a collection of micro-reactions: the silence swallowing giggles, the small “oh” that slipped out of someone unintentionally, the way a few feet shifted to find a better angle.

  Sasuke didn’t stop for even half a second.

  He twisted his hips and followed up with a kick from his left leg, rising fast, once again aiming for the face. It was aggressive. It was impulsive. And there was something in it Naruto recognized all too well: the urgency to prove himself.

  This time, Naruto didn’t dodge.

  He grabbed Sasuke’s foot with one hand.

  The contact was clean, firm—and for an instant too short to become a complete thought, Sasuke blinked, as if the world had broken a rule. Someone catching his kick? Without being thrown back? Without losing bance?

  Naruto didn’t give Sasuke’s brain time to process the shock.

  With a simple motion, he pulled the leg to throw off his opponent’s center of gravity and delivered a kick to Sasuke’s chest.

  The impact wasn’t “brutal” in the sense of causing real harm—Iruka was there, and Naruto knew how to control himself—but it was strong enough to be undeniable. Sasuke instinctively brought his hands to his chest, trying to protect himself, and even so, he was thrown backward, his body sliding across the ground before nding seated and rolling to the side.

  A chorus of voices erupted.

  “Whoa!”

  “He caught the kick!”

  “That was so fast!”

  Naruto remained where he was, posture rexed, as if it were merely the natural consequence of a mistake. Inside, his mind was already evaluating: distance, reaction, recovery time. Sasuke was talented, yes—and the talent was real. But talent without emotional control was a bde without a sheath: it cut everyone, including its owner.

  Sasuke got up quickly.

  Too quickly, as if staying on the ground for more than a second were a humiliation. His clothes were dirty with dust, and his expression… it was ugly. Not just anger. It was the kind of anger born when you feel that “the world is wrong” for not putting you at the top.

  He stared at Naruto, and for a few seconds neither of them moved.

  The entire field fell into a tense quiet, because that silence wasn’t empty—it was heavy. Even children who didn’t fully understand what was happening felt the tension, like a rope pulled close to its limit.

  Sasuke began forming hand seals.

  His hands moved quickly, with precision learned far too early. The sound of fingers snapping together—that distinctive *cc-cc*—spread and ignited the crowd like fire in dry grass.

  “His hands…!”

  “He’s going to use a jutsu?!”

  Iruka didn’t act immediately, but his body changed. It was a subtle adjustment: his weight shifted slightly forward, his shoulders aligned, his attention sharpened. He was already ready to intervene if things went out of control.

  Naruto watched Sasuke’s hands—and at the same time, his face.

  Sasuke wasn’t trying to win a spar. Sasuke was trying to erase what had just happened—as if by using something bigger, he could “correct” reality and return to the pce where he believed he belonged.

  When he finished, Sasuke brought one hand to his mouth and his cheeks puffed out.

  “Katon: Goukakyuu no Jutsu.”

  A fireball formed, dense and alive, advancing toward Naruto with a heat that could be felt even on the skin of the nearest children. Some stepped back automatically. Others simply stared, fascinated. For most of those civilian students, this was unprecedented. It wasn’t “history.” It was real fire.

  Naruto began forming his own hand seals.

  The difference was that he wasn’t in a hurry to impress. He moved with the rhythm of someone who had done this many times before, alone, without an audience, repeating it until the technique became part of his body.

  “Suiton: Mizurappa.”

  He brought his hand to his mouth, and a jet of water burst forward—steady, concentrated—charging straight at the fireball.

  The moment they collided, the entire field seemed to vibrate.

  Steam rose in a hot white cloud. The impact sounded like a loud *fsssh*, and the air grew damp, as if it had suddenly rained in that exact spot.

  But there was no stalemate.

  The water jet won.

  The fireball colpsed first, crushed by the constant pressure, and the water kept advancing—now unobstructed—toward Sasuke.

  He blinked, completely caught off guard.

  He took a moment too long to react, and that moment was enough.

  The jet struck him in the stomach with force, pushing him back as if an invisible hand had punched him in the gut. Sasuke was thrown backward and nded at a considerable distance, his clothes soaked in seconds, his hair dripping, dust turning into mud against the fabric.

  The silence sted only a blink.

  Then the field exploded.

  Excited shouts, nervous ughter, overpping voices trying to expin what they had just seen.

  “He extinguished the fire!”

  “He has Suiton!”

  “That was awesome!”

  Iruka raised a hand and announced quickly, not allowing the excitement to turn into chaos:

  “The match is over. Naruto wins.”

  It was a simple sentence. But in Sasuke’s mind, it sounded like a verdict.

  Naruto looked at him for a little longer than would be “normal” for a child.

  Not with contempt. Not with provocation.

  It was more… assessment.

  ‘He’s going to hate this. And he’ll try even harder to catch up to me.’

  Naruto had no illusions that this victory would “end” the rivalry. On the contrary. This was where it truly began.

  And Naruto had known that from the start.

  He turned and began walking toward Ino and Hinata, who were standing at the edge of the group.

  Ino looked like she was about to burst with pride, as if the victory were hers.

  Hinata, on the other hand, had her hands csped near her chest, her rge eyes shining with a mix of admiration and nervousness. She still wasn’t good at turning emotion into words, so her body did it for her: a small tremble, a short breath, the way she gripped her own clothes as if holding onto the world.

  Naruto stopped near them and heard Iruka’s voice again, now in a closing tone—the tone that returned the children to ordinary reality.

  “Very well, css is over for today. You’re all dismissed.”

  The dispersal began slowly and then turned into that familiar chaos: children packing things up, calling to one another, running as if the entire world were a battlefield too. Amid it all, Ino stepped forward, eyes shining, too excited to fit inside her own body.

  “Are we training today?” she asked.

  It wasn’t just an invitation. It was almost a cheerful order.

  “I’m fine with it,” he replied. Then he looked at Hinata. “And you, Hinata?”

  Hinata shifted a little.

  Her face seemed stuck between wanting to say “yes” and fearing she might be a burden. She looked at the ground, then at Naruto, then at the ground again, as if every second were a difficult choice.

  But then something changed.

  Her fists slowly clenched—not in anger, but in resolve. Determination shone in her eyes, and she nodded in agreement.

  Naruto noticed. And even if he didn’t smile widely, the feeling was good.

  ‘She’s trying. That’s what matters.’

  “Great!” Ino cheered. “I’ll call Shikamaru and Chouji too.”

  She hurried off, already talking loudly, as if a world without movement didn’t exist.

  Naruto stayed where he was for a moment, and that was when he noticed: Sasuke had already gotten up, but he hadn’t left yet.

  He stood there, soaked clothes clinging to his body, eyes hard, jaw clenched.

  It was the expression of someone who couldn’t accept reality.

  Naruto knew what that meant: Sasuke would remember this moment for a long time.

  And not in a healthy way.

  Before Naruto could decide whether he should say something—anything that wasn’t provocation but also didn’t sound like pity—a figure approached Sasuke from behind.

  Sakura.

  She held a cup of water with both hands, as if carrying something fragile and important. Her courage was different from Ino’s. Ino charged ahead without thinking. Sakura stepped forward because she wanted to be seen—and because she wanted to be useful.

  “Sasuke, are you okay? I brought you some water.”

  She extended the cup toward him, with a small, hopeful smile, as if that gesture alone could earn her a pce by his side.

  But Sasuke barely looked at the cup.

  He reacted by spping her hand away.

  The water flew. The cup hit the ground with a dull sound, and for a second Sakura froze, as if her body hadn’t received instructions on what to do with that.

  “I didn’t ask you for anything,” Sasuke said, his voice low and sharp. “Stop bothering me.”

  And then he left.

  Without looking back.

  Without noticing—or without caring about—the weight he had just left behind.

  Sakura stood there, her head lowering little by little, her expression stuck in a confused mix of embarrassment and an effort not to cry. It was the kind of reaction a child couldn’t hide well: eyes growing wet, chin trembling slightly, hand slowly clenching with nowhere to put the pain.

  Naruto watched the scene.

  He had never been much of a fan of Sakura as a character. But that was “canon.” That was “from the outside.”

  Here, in that moment, Sakura was just a six-year-old girl who had just been struck where there was no defense: rejection.

  Hinata lightly gripped Naruto’s clothes.

  When he looked at her, he saw a genuinely sad expression. Hinata understood rejection. She understood what it meant to be left behind. And because of that, it hurt her too.

  Naruto breathed slowly.

  He didn’t like getting involved in things that didn’t yield results. He didn’t like spending energy on other people’s emotions… but there was a line here that made sense in his pn: building bonds. Building a network.

  And beyond that, there was a simple fact he couldn’t deny:

  Sakura didn’t deserve that.

  So he took Hinata’s hand.

  The gesture was natural, as if it were already normal for the two of them—and perhaps it was beginning to be.

  He guided her toward Sakura, who was still standing there, head lowered, as if the ground were safer than other people’s eyes.

  When Sakura heard footsteps approaching, she looked up.

  She saw Naruto and Hinata.

  Her body tensed slightly, as if she were already expecting something else bad. Because that’s what children do when they learn, too early, that the world can be cruel for no reason.

  Naruto raised one hand in greeting.

  “Hey,” he said simply, without forcing a smile. “I’m Naruto, and this is Hinata. You’re Sakura, right?”

  Sakura blinked, confused. It didn’t feel… real. It felt like the kind of thing that came with a trick.

  Naruto continued, not giving discomfort time to turn into retreat:

  “We’re going to train now. Want to come with us?”

  Sakura’s eyes widened.

  “You’re inviting me?” she asked, as if trying to figure out where the trap was.

  “Yes, I am,” Naruto replied calmly.

  “Why?” Sakura let her distrust show without a filter.

  Naruto could have given a “nice” answer. He could have talked about kindness, friendship, about not leaving anyone alone. But he knew how nice answers sounded: fake. And he knew, above all, that Sakura was smart enough to sense falseness, even as a child.

  So he chose the direct path.

  “Well… you’re clearly a nice person,” Naruto said as if it were obvious, not as cheap praise. “So instead of staying here alone, wouldn’t it be better to make friends?”

  Hinata nodded in agreement, a small but sincere gesture.

  Sakura looked at them for a few seconds.

  Her gaze went from Naruto to Hinata, then to the fallen cup, then to where Sasuke had gone—as if part of her still wanted to run after that dream—and then, slowly, she seemed to give up on humiliating herself again.

  “Alright,” she said, softly at first… and then more firmly. “I’ll go with you.”

  Naruto nodded, as if it were simply the correct decision.

  And without making a big scene, the three of them began walking toward the others who were already waiting—while around them, the day went on, the academy went on, and the world, without realizing it, kept changing centimeter by centimeter.

  Because for Naruto, it wasn’t just training.

  It was construction.

  And every person he pulled closer… was one more piece he refused to leave in the hands of fate.

  (Early access chapters: see the bio.)