The training ground at the edge of the Uchiha district was quiet, carved into the forest where the trees stood watch like sentinels. Morning light filtered through the canopy in thin, golden shafts, dust catching in the air. A soft breeze moved through the leaves, but otherwise, the world was still.
Itachi moved in silence, every motion a study in restraint. His blade sang as it cut through the air, clean and fluid. Not a single swing wasted. Not a single breath taken out of rhythm. He was alone, save for the steady beat of his footwork on packed earth and the occasional whisper of steel against steel when his strikes met the wooden training posts.
He preferred it this way—uninterrupted, unseen.
Which made the quiet shift behind him all the more notable.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. The chakra signature was familiar now. Measured, tense, coiled like a spring behind the ribs. Rei.
She didn’t announce herself. No greeting, no excuse. She just stood on the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, watching him. He finished his final form and lowered his blade.
“You’re early,” he said without turning.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” she replied, which was only half a lie.
He finally faced her. “But here you are.”
She stepped into the clearing, unstrapping the guards from her wrists. “Spar with me.”
His brow lifted, just slightly. “No warm-up? No reason?”
She met his gaze. “Do I need one?”
He said nothing. Simply slid his blade into the ground beside him, stepping away from it. His movements were unhurried, deliberate. “Then come.”
She moved first. Quick, sharp, testing his footwork. He dodged, not retreating but redirecting, turning her strikes aside with ease. Her movements were brutal in their precision. She didn’t fight like someone performing; she fought like someone searching for the edge.
Itachi blocked a spinning kick and caught her ankle in midair. She twisted and landed low, sweeping at his legs. He jumped, but barely.
“You fight angry,” he said.
Rei’s eyes narrowed. “And you fight like you’re made of glass.”
For a moment, they froze in place, breath steaming in the cold. Then she lunged again.
This time, he met her strike head-on, a palm against her forearm, spinning her off balance. But instead of pressing the advantage, he let her fall back, studying the way she recovered. Quick, precise, adaptable. She didn’t flinch at contact, didn’t hesitate when she missed. She simply kept coming.
Itachi stepped back. “Enough.”
She stopped, panting, sweat starting to bead at her temple.
He gave a slight nod. “You learn fast. Most would try to overpower me. You tried to read me.”
She shrugged, catching her breath. “You don’t overpower things you don’t understand.”
His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes shifted. Not respect. That was already there. Curiosity.
“You’re not like the others,” he said.
She pulled her arm guard back on. “No. I’m not.”
She turned and left the clearing, her footsteps quiet. But this time, he watched her go. And did not look away.
The scroll arrived folded into a tight square, tucked beneath the strap of her supply pouch like it had always been there.
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Rei found it after training, in the shadowed corridor outside her dormitory wing. She paused, glanced around, but the hall was empty. No scent, no chakra trace, no flicker of movement. Whoever placed it knew how to stay hidden.
She unfolded the parchment slowly, her fingers steady even as her stomach tensed. It wasn’t a long message. Just six words.
You don’t belong with them.
The handwriting was clean, deliberate. The kind of brushstroke that came from someone trained in formal calligraphy. But it wasn’t the lettering that made her pause. It was the ink.
A deep, rusted crimson. Not blood, not quite. But not standard black either.
Uchiha red.
She stared at the words for a long moment, then folded the paper again. Not tightly. Not like she meant to hide it. She slid it into the inside pocket of her vest, next to the seam under her ribs.
Outside, wind stirred the flags above the Hokage monument. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, a bell rang. Morning shift. Civilians moving through the markets. Shinobi taking up assignments. The village, alive in motion.
Rei didn’t move with it.
She leaned against the corridor wall, her shoulder pressing into the cool stone. Her mind ran through possibilities—who would send it, why now, why her.
It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. It was a statement.
A reminder.
She had known it would come eventually. She wasn’t Uchiha. Not by blood. But she had seen behind the veil. She had stood beside Itachi. Sparred with him. Matched him strike for strike.
And someone out there didn’t like that.
Her mouth curved into a dry smile.
Good.
Let them show their teeth.
She wasn’t leaving.
The rooftop was quiet, blanketed by the soft hush of falling dusk. From up here, the village seemed smaller, its sounds distant, like a memory trying to fade. Lanterns were beginning to glow along the main street. The market fires were being doused. Somewhere far below, laughter drifted up on the wind, light and young.
Rei stood near the edge, arms folded over the railing. Her expression was unreadable, eyes fixed on the horizon but seeing none of it.
Kaito stepped out from the stairwell behind her.
She didn’t turn. She knew it was him from the rhythm of his steps alone.
He approached slowly, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking to her and then away. “You haven’t answered any of my messages.”
Rei said nothing.
“I figured you’d be here,” he continued. “You always come up here when you’re trying not to feel anything.”
She finally spoke, voice low. “Maybe I just don’t want to feel you.”
The silence that followed was sharp, but Kaito didn’t flinch. Not this time.
“I saw your name on the mission list,” he said. “With Uchiha.”
She didn’t reply.
He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. “Is that what this is about? Him?”
Her eyes shifted, but only slightly. “This isn’t about anyone but me.”
“You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t look at me anymore. I’m standing right in front of you, and it’s like I’m not even—”
“Because you’re not,” she snapped. Then softer, “Not in the way you want to be.”
He looked down, jaw tightening. “Then tell me to leave.”
She didn’t.
Instead, she looked at him—really looked—and for the first time in weeks, something cracked in her expression. Not sorrow. Not guilt. Just a quiet, hollow ache that had no name.
He took a chance.
Leaned in, slow and cautious, like maybe this time she wouldn’t push him away.
She didn’t push.
She flinched.
A breath before his lips could reach hers, she recoiled like she’d been struck. Her hand came up, not to hit, but to block. Not violent, just... defensive. Instinctive.
Her voice was quiet. “Don’t.”
Kaito froze.
The hurt that crossed his face was immediate, raw. But he covered it quickly, stepping back.
“I see,” he said. “You don’t have to explain. You’ve already said enough.”
She didn’t watch him leave. She only waited for his footsteps to fade before letting her knees bend, resting her back against the rail. Her hand, the one that stopped him, still trembled faintly in her lap.
Whatever was broken between them hadn’t shattered in that moment.
It had shattered long before.
She had just stopped pretending to hold the pieces.
