The second practice field was cluttered with wooden targets, painted bullseyes, training posts, and straw dummies arranged in rough rows across the grass.
The students gathered in a loose cluster while Iruka crouched a short distance away, unfurling a scroll across the ground. The scroll was covered in dense, interlocking seals — a large character for tools at the center. He pressed one palm flat against it, brought two fingers together on his other hand, and a burst of white smoke bloomed and thinned. A wooden crate sat on the ground where there had been nothing a moment before.
Shin watched it happen. He'd seen jutsu only a handful of times, and it still didn't feel real — the way something could come from nothing. Yesterday's chakra lesson had been the same. He hadn't known that kind of energy existed inside a person's body.
Iruka flipped the lid open. Inside, packed in neat rows, were iron kunai and shuriken.
Those, at least, Shin recognized.
"All right." Iruka straightened, holding one of each. "Quick rundown."
He turned the kunai toward the class. "These two are the most common tools a shinobi carries. Every one of you will need to master both."
"This is a kunai." He raised it — a weapon shaped roughly like a short knife, with a ring at the base of the handle. "You can use it in close combat as a short blade. Two grips: forward and reverse. Reverse is more common — blade pointing down, ring toward you. The ring's a finger guard. Index finger works best in a fight." He flicked it into a spin between his fingers, smooth and easy, and half the class leaned forward without realizing it.
"For throwing." He stopped the spin. "Kunai are harder to throw than shuriken — no rotation, purely linear. The tradeoff is stopping power. A well-placed kunai hits harder." He snapped his arm forward. The kunai left his hand with a sharp whip of air and buried itself dead center in a target post twenty feet away. "You can hook your middle finger through the ring, or grip the handle end. Either works."
He picked up the shuriken next — four-pointed, flat, balanced. "This one's for throwing only. But in the air, it's far more versatile than the kunai. Watch." He released it with a wide, sweeping motion. The shuriken spun in a clean arc and bit into a different post at an angle. "Rotation means you can adjust approach angle. That's the kunai's weakness — straight line, no curve. Shuriken compensates."
"Standard shuriken aren't heavy enough to be decisive on their own. Supplemental weapon. Support role." He paused. "There are specialized variants — custom kunai, specialized shuriken — but those usually pair with specific jutsu. We'll get there."
He scanned the group. "Who's used these before?"
Hands went up — a decent number. Kiba's shot up fastest and highest, as if he'd been holding it there in reserve the whole time.
"Good." Iruka nodded. "Come up. Show the others what you've got."
The group moved forward. Those who hadn't raised their hands watched with badly concealed envy.
"Who's first?"
"Me!" Kiba was already stepping into the open space, practically bouncing.
"Go ahead."
The others gave him room. Kiba grabbed a shuriken, and something shifted in his expression — the loose grin pulled tight, replaced by something he was clearly trying to make look intense and effortless at the same time.
He exhaled. Threw.
Thwack.
Dead center.
The grin came back.
"Nice." Iruka gave a single approving nod. "Kunai?"
The grin flickered. Kiba's posture shifted — just slightly, the way someone shifts when a question they were hoping to avoid gets asked directly.
Shin watched him. So that's the weak spot.
"Who said I can't?" Kiba snatched up a kunai and planted his feet.
Thwack.
The kunai caught the outer ring of the target. Not terrible. Not great.
Kiba's jaw tightened.
"Good work." Iruka's smile didn't waver. That, at least, seemed to take some of the edge off. Kiba walked back and planted himself next to Shin, looking aggressively pleased with himself.
Shin said nothing.
Kiba glanced at him.
"You were great," Shin said.
"Hmph." Kiba lifted his chin and stared at the sky with the expression of someone who has decided not to acknowledge your existence.
Shin let it go.
The others went next. Ino stepped up and made it look clean — both kunai and shuriken, both bullseyes. Kiba's eye twitched. Then came Shikamaru, Shino, Hinata, and Choji, each demonstrating their throws. Even Hinata, who held her kunai with both hands like it might bite her, landed center. Choji was the only one who came up short, and just barely.
Kiba stared at the targets with narrowed eyes. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, then lower: "Should've listened when Mom told me to practice."
"Don't worry about it," Shin said. "You did well. And there are plenty of people here who've never thrown one at all. Like me."
Kiba looked at him sideways. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. "...If you actually want to learn, my mom could show you sometime. You could come by and ask her."
Shin smiled faintly.
"Sasuke." Iruka spoke toward the quiet edge of the group — toward the one dark-haired boy who hadn't gone yet, despite being among those who'd raised their hand. "Want to take a turn?"
Sasuke didn't answer. He just walked forward.
He picked up four shuriken, one in each hand — two fingers, two fingers, balanced. He turned to face the target posts. His posture dropped slightly, knees bent.
He threw.
Snap-snap-snap-snap-snap.
Four posts. Four shuriken. Vertical line, perfectly straight, each one sunk in to the same depth.
Dead silence behind him.
Then it broke.
"Whoa—"
"Sasuke-kun, that was incredible!"
"Sasuke!"
The fan section of the class fully lost it. Shin watched the whole thing with detached curiosity. They really do start young here.
"Right? Right?!" Ino grabbed Sakura's arm. "Isn't he amazing?"
Sakura didn't answer. She was staring at the posts.
That's the Uchiha, Iruka thought, watching Sasuke return to the group with the same flat expression he'd had before throwing. That's what it looks like.
"Unbelievable." Iruka shook his head, and meant it. "You can skip the kunai."
Sasuke said nothing. He stepped back into line.
"Tch. What's so impressive about that?" A voice cut through the noise — too loud, too confident, too deliberately placed.
Everyone turned.
Naruto stood with his arms crossed, goggles pushed up his forehead, doing his best impression of someone completely unimpressed. "I could do that easy."
The fan section did not receive this well.
"Who does he think he is—"
"He's not even cute—"
Naruto walked up anyway, grabbed four shuriken, and mirrored Sasuke's stance with painful accuracy. Same footwork. Same grip. He'd clearly been watching.
Wait, Shin thought, watching him settle into position. He actually looks like he knows what he's doing.
Iruka squinted.
Naruto threw.
Whoosh.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Three hits.
Not on the target posts.
Iruka had somehow, in the span of half a second, twisted his entire body sideways against a nearby tree — back flat to the bark, arms in, torso curved in a full-body contortion. Three shuriken were buried in the wood around him, framing his outline.
He hadn't been fast enough to dodge the fourth one.
Shin pressed a hand over his eyes.
The class erupted. It was the kind of laughter that happens when something is so wrong it becomes funny — helpless, falling-over laughter that Choji almost choked on.
"You absolute—" Iruka unpeeled himself from the tree and crossed the distance to Naruto in three steps. The smack landed on the back of Naruto's head with a resounding crack. "Were you trying to kill me?!"
"It was an accident!" Naruto yelped, clutching his skull.
Another smack. "I said quiet."
"Pfft," Kiba wheezed, bent double. "I'm gonna die—"
"Idiot," said Sasuke, flatly.
That landed. Naruto spun around. "What did you just—"
"Get back in line." Iruka grabbed him by the collar. "You and I will have words later."
Naruto, fuming and nursing his head, shuffled back.
Iruka straightened his vest, exhaled slowly through his nose, and turned to face the class.
"Right." His voice was back to normal. Almost. "I'll now demonstrate proper technique for everyone. We'll go step by step."
He looked out at the targets. Then back at Naruto.
"And nobody throws anything until I say so."
......
"Alright, everyone pick up a tool and get a feel for it," Iruka called out, once the demonstration was done. "Just familiarize yourself. Don't hurt anyone — including yourself."
The class surged forward. Shin held back a moment, then reached into the crate and picked up a kunai. He turned it over in his palm. It was heavier than it looked, with a clear center of gravity close to the blade. He let it shift in his hand, finding the balance point naturally.
He rolled it into a slow spin — one rotation, two — then closed his grip.
Thump. Clean stop.
"How'd you do that?" Naruto appeared at his elbow, staring. "You didn't even use the ring."
"It felt..." Shin looked at the kunai. "Easy."
Iruka had noticed. He walked over. "Have you handled these before?"
Shin shook his head. He picked up a shuriken next. The four points sat awkwardly between his fingers, nothing like the balanced weight of the kunai. He set it back down.
"Want to try throwing?" Iruka asked.
Shin glanced at him. Iruka hesitated, then gave a small nod and waved the nearest students back, giving Shin room.
"Kunai are harder to throw for a reason," Iruka explained, standing at Shin's shoulder. "No rotation means no margin for error on release. But the weight distribution is honest — you can feel where it wants to go. Trust the center of gravity. Throw however feels natural."
Shin listened. He raised the kunai, sighted the post, and threw.
Thwack.
Off-center. About twelve centimeters left of the bullseye.
Iruka blinked.
Shin studied his own throwing hand. He recalled the feeling — the angle, the tension at release. He walked back to the crate, picked up another kunai, returned to the line.
He threw again.
Thwack.
Bullseye.
Iruka was quiet for a moment.
"Shin, you're incredible!" Naruto exploded before anyone else could react, grabbing his arm and shaking it. He looked more excited than if he'd hit it himself.
"Remarkable," Iruka said, and he meant something more than the word. He was staring at Shin with an expression that was hard to read — something between impressed and privately troubled.
Around them, the class murmured. The students who'd trained for this knew what they'd just seen. Even Kiba, who had a competitive streak wide enough to park a cart in, had gone quiet.
He hadn't practiced. He'd never touched one of these. And he hit a bullseye on his second throw.
Shin knew the truth of it — in a past life, he'd thrown blades. Knives, not kunai, but the principle was close enough. And the post was close enough that distance wasn't the problem. He'd simply read the weight.
But they don't know that.
"Nice going, Shin."
"That was wild."
"Shin's so cool—"
"Shuriken?" Iruka asked.
"Okay."
Shin picked up a shuriken. This time, he felt the difference immediately — no clear center, four equal points, a tool built for spin rather than aim. He exhaled, steadied his wrist, and threw.
The shuriken curved wide, missed the post entirely, and sailed off into the tree line.
Silence.
Then a wave of muffled noise — half the class trying not to laugh at once.
"Pffftt—"
"Ahem." Iruka recovered first. "First time is always rough. Your kunai instincts are clearly strong — it just means shuriken will take different muscle memory. Nothing unusual."
He's being generous, Shin thought. The gap between the two throws was glaring, and he knew it. He turned to head back to the group.
And found a pair of dark eyes already on him.
Sasuke looked away the instant Shin noticed — sharp, deliberate. Like he'd been caught doing something he refused to admit.
Shin stared at the empty space where Sasuke's gaze had been.
...What?
"Ugh, what's his problem," Naruto muttered nearby, having apparently clocked the same moment. "He was totally staring."
"He's allowed to look," came a quiet voice.
Naruto startled. "—Shino, stop doing that!"
Shin pressed his fingers to his temple. "Shino, please give some warning."
"...I'm always here." Shino adjusted his collar. "You appear."
"The Uchiha," Shino continued, as if the interruption hadn't happened, "have three things they're known for. Sharingan. Fire Release. And shuriken."
"Shuriken?" Naruto frowned. "Just because of that?"
"Proficiency with shuriken implies proficiency with kunai — the reverse isn't necessarily true, since kunai have the steeper learning curve. Iruka-sensei didn't ask Sasuke to demonstrate kunai because it was already implied." A pause. "By that standard, Sasuke is probably the top of our class for thrown weapons."
"Tch. Big deal."
"It is, actually," Shino said. "I'm stating facts."
Shin nodded slowly. He knew almost nothing about the clans of the Leaf — the Uchiha, what they were, what they'd built. Sharingan. Fire Release. Shuriken. He filed it away.
"Alright, everyone! Start practicing on your own. I'll come around to correct form." Iruka's voice carried across the field. "And — once more — no throwing until you're at a post."
"Come on, Sakura, I'll show you the grip." Ino was already pulling Sakura toward the targets, ignoring the other girl's stuttered thanks.
......
The field filled with the sound of metal on wood — a steady, uneven percussion, broken up by the occasional thud of a miss.
Shin stood near the back, watching without quite watching. He found his thoughts drifting toward the dark-haired boy at the front of the line — the one who'd thrown four shuriken in a row like it required nothing.
"Are all the Uchiha like that?" he asked.
Shino was still standing nearby, which Shin had already gotten used to. "More or less. Most of their graduates have placed at or near the top of their class for years. The clan produces consistent talent."
Consistent talent.
Shin turned the phrase over. There was something strange about it — about watching a child perform something extraordinary and having the reaction be of course.
What does it feel like, he wondered, to carry that kind of expectation from birth?
"You're not bad yourself," Shino added, after a pause.
Shin glanced at him.
"The top of this class isn't decided yet," Shino said. "I'm stating facts."
Shin said nothing. He looked back toward the targets, where Sasuke was throwing again — methodical, unhurried, each release a small act of precision. On the other side of the field, Naruto was crouched over a kunai with his tongue between his teeth, visibly attempting to invent a new grip.
"Shin!" Naruto's voice rang out across the grass. "Hey, Shin — I can't get this. Can you come show me? Come on—"
Shin let out a slow breath. He walked over.
"Iruka-sensei is going to come around in a minute," he said, stopping next to Naruto and looking at his grip. It was... creative. "You should just wait."
"Yeah, but you already know how," Naruto said, completely unperturbed. "So you can show me now, and then Iruka-sensei can show me later. Double learning."
"That's not how double learning works."
"Just show me."
Shin crouched down. He adjusted Naruto's fingers one by one — index along the spine of the blade, middle through the ring, weight toward the back. Naruto stared at his own hand with the expression of someone watching a magic trick.
"Now try."
Naruto threw. The kunai went about fifteen degrees wide of the post.
"Better," Shin said. It wasn't, really, but it was different.
"You think so?" Naruto turned to him with total sincerity.
"...I think it was a throw," Shin said.
Naruto grinned like that was the best thing he'd heard all day.
......
A short distance away, Shino watched.
Their talent is almost exactly inverse, he thought, without judgment. Shin's hands remembered what to do before his mind caught up. Naruto's hands refused to remember no matter how many times he tried. One of them had been born with instinct. The other had been born with something else — something Shino didn't have a clean word for yet.
His father had asked him to look after Shin Takami. Keep an eye on him, he'd said. Make sure he's settling in.
Shino watched Shin patiently correct Naruto's grip for the third time, Naruto nodding like everything was perfectly clear before going immediately off-script again.
He's fine, Shino thought. He's doing better than I am at most things.