The morning light burned away the night mist over Konoha.
Six o’clock sharp.
Yoru stood before an old gate in the Uchiha clan grounds and knocked three times.
A loud clatter came from inside the house, followed at once by Obito’s terrified howl.
“Coming, coming, coming! Don’t kick the door! I’m coming out right now!”
The door was yanked open.
Obito stood there with a bird’s nest of hair, his goggles hanging crooked around his neck, his uniform buttons all out of line.
Seeing only Yoru standing outside, hands in his pockets, expression calm, Obito froze for two seconds, then let out a long breath of relief.
“You scared me half to death… I thought the Military Police Force had come to arrest me.”
Yoru raised an eyebrow.
What outrageous thing had this guy done to have the Military Police Force showing up at his house?
But Yoru didn’t dwell on it.
“Let’s go. School.”
Bland tone, steady pace, that eternal icy expression—anyone would’ve praised him as a pure-blooded Uchiha.
Obito walked beside him, unable to resist stealing glances at his deskmate.
No brick.
No kunai.
No benevolent smile that sent a chill down your back.
Looking at Yoru’s harmless profile, Obito let out a long breath.
Relief welled up from the bottom of his heart.
Maybe yesterday had really just been a nightmare?
Thinking back to how he’d cornered Rin Nohara against the classroom wall, turned Kakashi’s legs into a pincushion on the playground, and threatened Asuma Sarutobi with a red brick at the school gate…
Obito shook his head hard.
No, no, no.
Yoru was a law-abiding person at heart.
Those had to be absurd nightmares brought on by a bad night’s sleep.
This naive bout of self-hypnosis lasted about three minutes.
“Ah! That old lady over there! Let me help you across the street!”
Obito dashed off.
Yoru stopped and crossed his arms.
He leaned against a utility pole at the corner, watching Obito diligently escort an old lady—spry enough to run a marathon—all the way across the street.
Five minutes later, Obito came back.
They passed two more intersections.
“Yoru! That old lady wasn’t watching the traffic lights! That’s way too dangerous!”
Obito bolted off again.
Yoru sighed, shifted his stance, and went on leaning against the wall.
And just like that, over the span of a few intersections—
Obito managed to lock onto four old ladies in need of help, and even reunited a ginger cat stuck in a tree with its owner.
Every intersection reliably spawned another elderly person in distress.
Yoru stood in place, his temples throbbing.
Old Lady Magnetism?
By the time the two of them finally stood before the gate of the Ninja Academy, the sun was fully up.
Yoru glanced at the clock over the gate.
Eight o’clock sharp.
Right on the tail end of the school bell.
They’d managed to stretch a ten-minute walk into a grueling two-hour march.
The moment the two stepped into the classroom one after the other— in Yoru’s mind, the long-absent system notifications began ringing nonstop.
［Emotional Damage Points from Asuma Sarutobi, +44!］
［Emotional Damage Points from Might Guy, +33!］
［Emotional Damage Points from Uchiha Tekka, +22!］
［Emotional Damage Points from Kurenai Yuhi, +15!］
［…］
Small, scattered amounts, sure—but there were simply so many of them.
The rowdy buzz of the whole class went dead silent the instant they saw Yoru step through the door.
Yoru lifted his eyelids and swept the room.
He quickly spotted two acquaintances in the front row.
Asuma Sarutobi.
Might Guy.
These two were the brothers-in-misfortune from yesterday evening’s deadly near-miss in the dead-end alley and the ultimate double kill in the public restroom.
Asuma was huddled in the corner against the wall, three bandages on his face, a bump on his forehead, dark circles under his eyes—clearly he hadn’t slept all night.
Sitting in his chair, the moment his eyes met Yoru’s, they went wide with sheer terror, and his breathing stopped on the spot.
His whole body seemed to try to embed itself half an inch into the wall.
Might Guy sat far away from Asuma, his face sallow, both hands clutching his stomach, eyes staring blankly at his desk.
His gaze was full of lingering trauma.
The aftereffects of yesterday’s ultimate double kill in the public restroom were clearly still brewing.
The whole class held their breath, waiting for the storm to hit.
Yoru ignored the terrified stares around him and walked straight for his seat.
Passing the front row, he suddenly stopped.
The entire classroom went utterly silent.
Everyone held their breath, staring intently at that spot.
What’s this guy about to do now?!
Yoru turned to face Asuma, his mouth slowly curving into a sunny, harmless smile.
“Morning, Asuma.”
Two words, spoken in a gentle, natural tone, without a single flaw to be found.
But to Asuma’s ears, it was no different from the death-whisper of the Grim Reaper.
“Aah!”
A miserable scream tore out of Asuma’s throat.
He shook violently, his legs shoving hard against the ground.
He tipped over backward half a meter, chair and all.
His back hit the corner of the wall; there was nowhere left to retreat.
Asuma clutched his chest, his facial muscles completely out of control, nodding frantically as he stammered.
“Morning… morning… morning, morning, morning…”
His composure collapsed entirely.
He was sure that because he’d glanced at Yoru just now, he’d be dragged off for another “physical heart-to-heart” today.
［Ding!
Emotional Damage Points from Asuma Sarutobi, +999!］
Satisfied, Yoru reeled his gaze back in, hands in his pockets, and kept walking toward the back row.
One sentence and he’d already cashed in; the Hokage’s son was far too easy to fleece.
Just as the atmosphere in the classroom was at its strangest—
Bang.
The front door was shoved open.
The Chunin instructor walked in with a dark face, a lesson plan in hand.
The moment he reached the podium and scanned the room, he caught sight of Yoru standing in the aisle, not yet seated.
The instructor’s eyelid twitched wildly, his heart lurching.
That soul-stirring, drawn-out sigh from yesterday’s classroom flashed straight into his mind.
Why is this little terror standing up again?!
“Yoru! What are you doing standing there!”
The instructor’s voice was nearly a full-throated shout.
“Sit down this instant! Get ready for class!”
Yoru shrugged and, very cooperatively, pulled out his chair and sat.
The instructor let out a long breath of relief, picked up a piece of chalk, and turned to write today’s topic on the blackboard.
“Today, we’ll cover practical survival—the basics of battlefield trap detection and concealment while tracking.”
“Spotting enemy traps, hiding your own tracks, maintaining physical condition in extreme environments…”
Halfway through the lecture— the instructor couldn’t help but glance at the back row out of the corner of his eye.
He’d braced himself to find Yoru back there throwing darts or sleeping.
But he was stunned.
Not only was Yoru sitting with good posture, back straight—he was actually holding a pen.
He was watching the notes on the blackboard intently, occasionally lowering his head to jot something down quickly in his notebook.
His attitude was dead serious.
The instructor’s hand shook, the chalk nearly snapping.
Every three minutes he shot a wary glance at the back row.
And every time he saw Yoru still diligently taking notes, his shock deepened.
The front-row students noticed the teacher’s odd behavior too and turned around one after another.
When they saw that the menace who’d chased the Hokage’s son with a brick yesterday was now taking notes with rapt devotion— a sense of dissonance more hair-raising than watching him draw a blade swept through the whole class at once.