Chapter Text
The training ground was quiet. Far too quiet.
I paced the edge of the clearing, sandals crunching against the dry leaves whilst the sun blasted overhead, the occasional flicker of chakra slipping loose as I practiced the seals for Transparent Escape again and again. Each attempt fizzled almost as soon as it began, unable to calm the chakra surrounding me, the shimmer of distortion stuttering before vanishing.
Rin was late.
She had never been late before. Not once.
I told myself it was nothing, probably just a mission running long, maybe, or her stopping to grab something before meeting me. But the longer I stood there, the harder it was to ignore the knot curling in my stomach. This was still the era of the Third Shinobi War, even if things were quieter now. A medic like Rin wasn’t sitting behind a desk. She was in the field, stitching people back together while kunai and fireballs cut through the night.
What if she hadn’t made it back?
What if this was the moment? The butterfly effect finally crashing down? Rin Nohara, dead weeks or months before she was supposed to be. I imagined Kakashi’s expression if that happened, or Minato’s. The canon threads already fraying because I dared to step on them.
I shook the thought off, trying to focus on my chakra. Seals. Breath. Transparent Escape. A flicker, a shimmer, but then it was gone. My hands trembled with the effort, or maybe with nerves. Maybe even fear.
A twig snapped behind me. Probably purposefully given the intentionality of the person whose weight has caused it.
I spun, chakra rising sharp and defensive, only to stop dead.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rin said, her voice tired but warm as ever. She stepped into the clearing, smiling just as easy as always, though her shoulders sagged more than usual. There were faint lines under her eyes, and the way she moved was slower, heavier.
“You’re never late,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
She blinked, then laughed softly, waving a hand. “My last mission ran long. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
But the sleeve of her uniform was torn at the edge, a faint smear of dried blood peeking through the bandage beneath. She noticed my stare and tugged the fabric down quickly, as if that would erase it.
It didn't.
I swallowed, the knot in my chest only pulling a little tighter.
“You ready to train?” she asked, like nothing had happened.
And because I didn’t know what else to do, I just nodded.
Rin stretched her arms out with a wince, then gestured toward the center of the clearing. “We’ll focus on concealment today. The Transparent Escape won’t help if your body language gives you away.”
I tugged my cloak tighter around my shoulders, the deep purple fabric heavy but familiar. The jingasa sat low over my eyes, shielding me from the late-afternoon sun.
Rin’s eyes flicked over the outfit, and her smile warmed. “Honestly, that cloak helps you. Shadow catches on the hem, and the jingasa breaks your silhouette.”
Her words pulled something proud out of me, and I gave a small nod.
“Your chakra flow is fine,” Rin continued, stepping closer to adjust the angle of my wrist as I formed the first seal. “What’s tripping you up is intent. Even if you’re invisible, shinobi can sense killing intent, or even just determination. If you move like prey, no one notices you. If you move like a predator, everyone does.”
I swallowed, thinking back to every spar where I’d pushed too hard, too openly. “So I have to think invisibly, too?”
“Exactly.” Rin’s voice was calm, patient. “Not just chakra. Breath, posture, even heartbeat. Believe you aren’t there.”
I pulled the cloak tighter, settling into its weight, and let out a long breath. The seals came smoother this time, chakra wrapping around me like a veil. I thought of fog seeping through the trees, or rainwater sliding over glass.
The shimmer spread, steady and thin. For a moment, even I couldn’t tell where I ended and the clearing began.
Rin’s expression shifted, approval, but also focus. “Good. Now move.”
That was harder. Every step threatened to shake the veil loose. The jingasa tilted when I ducked low, my cloak dragging lightly against the grass. At five paces, the shimmer cracked a little. At seven, it collapsed entirely.
How I had managed to move whilst it was active during the training exercise at the academy, I had no clue.
“Better,” Rin said, her voice even.
We tried again. And again. Ten paces. Then twelve. Then thirty. Sweat slid down my temple, but the veil held just long enough before it stuttered apart.
Finally, Rin held up a hand. “Enough. You’ve made real progress today. Any more and you’ll just burn yourself out.”
I exhaled hard, tugging my cloak back into place as if it had kept me steady through the whole ordeal. “Not bad,” I admitted, though the sting of failure still lingered.
Rin smiled, soft but tired, and brushed her hand against my jingasa like it was part of me. “Keep practicing. One day, they won’t even know you were ever there.”
Kohari circled me slowly, her expression sharp, a long wooden staff tapping against her shoulder like a metronome. “Again.”
I hefted the chigiriki, the weighted chain coiling around my wrist before I snapped it forward. The iron head shot out with a hiss, slamming against the wooden dummy’s side. The impact rang solid, but Kohari only frowned.
“Too slow. By the time you hit me like that, I’ve already gutted you.”
I bit back a groan. Every Saturday with her was the same, my body dragged home sore, my arms shaking, my shoulders aching, everything aching, and yet I kept coming back. Because no matter how brutal she was, I always left stronger.
“Keep your core tight,” she barked, snapping the staff down to knock my chain out of rhythm.
I reset, tightening my grip on the chain as it rattled, the iron weight whipping back into my palm.
This time, when I lashed out, I let the cloak swing with me, momentum carrying through. The strike landed cleaner, the head of the chigiriki biting deeper into the wood.
Kohari’s lips twitched into something that almost looked like approval. “Better. Now again. Faster.”
And so it went, over and over, chain and weight singing through the air, Kohari’s staff darting in without mercy. Every mistake I made was punished threefold, her strikes tapping bruises into my arms and ribs.
By the time she finally lowered her weapon, I was drenched in sweat, panting.
She nodded once, satisfied. “You’re learning. The kanabo gives you power. The chigiriki gives you reach. Balance them, and you’ll have the start of a real style.”
I bent over, hands on my knees, chest heaving. “Do you… ever go easy?”
Her smile turned sharp. “Easy doesn’t save lives.”
I groaned, but despite the sting in my shoulders, I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. She was evil, but she was right.
By the time I limped back through the compound, the sky was bleeding orange with sunset. My arms ached from shouldering the chigiriki, my ribs stung where Kohari had jabbed me with her staff, and my legs felt like lead.
“Looking lively,” Shisui called as he appeared around the corner, a wooden practice tanto slung over his shoulder. He looked almost as worn out as I felt, his hair sticking damp to his forehead.
“Lively isn’t the word I’d use,” I muttered, rubbing at my shoulder. “Kohari nearly beat me into the dirt with a staff for three hours straight. She says it’s training.”
“Brutal,” he said, though his grin betrayed him. “You’re getting good with that chain, though. I could barely keep up last spar.”
“That’s only because you weren’t trying,” I shot back.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re actually improving.”
For a moment, the exhaustion slipped away, replaced by a flicker of pride. Coming from Shisui, that meant something. Even if it felt a little like pity.
We fell into step together, heading toward the house. The compound was quiet at this hour, most of the neighbors tucked inside, lights glowing softly behind paper screens.
“Think it’ll ever get easier?” I asked after a moment.
“Training?” Shisui tilted his head, considering. “Probably not. But maybe we’ll just get strong enough that it feels easier.”
I huffed a laugh at that. “You’re too optimistic."
“Realistic,” he corrected with a smirk. Then he nudged my arm lightly. “Come on. I’ll cook tonight. You look like you’ll collapse if you even try to.”
I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.