Protagonists (1)

A few hours later...

The air was hushed, disturbed only by the soft rustle of paper and the occasional scratch of pen against parchment.

Shisui sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, thumbing through Akai's meticulous notes. His brow tightened with every turn of the page.

Across from him, Akai leaned over a newer binder, scribbling fresh observations with swift strokes. His haori sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, stained with dried black ink and faint traces of cursed energy.

Shisui exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing at a diagram sprawled across the parchment. "Neutral lapse, huh..." he muttered, raising his hand.

He concentrated.

Unlike chakra, there were no hand signs here. No set structure. No seals.

Only raw emotion—drawn from the recesses of his brain, pulled from the same well where fear, anger, pressure, and regret brewed.

Then, with a soft hiss, it responded.

His palm flickered to life, casting off a haze of smoke-like energy—dark green with black-edged trails that swirled and drifted like ink suspended in water.

Akai glanced up, sensing the shift. "Oh. You managed to trigger the lapse. Not bad."

Shisui gave a small nod, still watching the smoke curl above his hand. "Yeah... but the subtraction part is still a mess. It's like trying to wrestle fog. No hand signs, no rules. It's nothing like ninjutsu."

Akai flipped a page with a dry snap. "That's the whole point. Cursed energy isn't logical—it's reactive. Emotional. You don't control it with rules. You bend it with sheer intent. And even then, only if you've mastered it."

Shisui sighed again, eyes drifting back to his hand. The smoke shimmered faintly—then twitched.

He froze.

His voice came low, tense. "There's... something above you."

Hovering over Akai was a symbol—green and glowing. A perfect circle, with an X etched clean through its center, pulsing ominously in the still air.

Akai raised an eyebrow, glancing upward with an expression caught between curiosity and mild concern. The ceiling was empty. Nothing hovered above.

But then his gaze dropped to Shisui's outstretched hand—the swirling green lapse, the way it pulsed upward like it was reaching for something beyond the room. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing with a spark of recognition.

"...Ah," Akai murmured. "That might be your innate cursed technique."

Shisui blinked. "Innate?"

"Yeah." Akai tapped the binder in front of him, then gestured to the one Shisui had been flipping through. "It's in the notes—toward the back, I think. I've been circling the idea for a while now, but... I never had another subject to test it on. Just me."

He stood and crossed the room in a few easy steps, flipping to a loosely scribbled page barely held together by a corner clip. The title read: Innate Technique Theory—half-finished, scrawled in rushed ink.

"See," he said, pointing to the page, "when someone awakens cursed energy, they don't all learn the same things. Some people don't learn tricks or methods—they manifest something unique. A power that reflects who they are. It's not taught. It's born."

Shisui frowned, trying to piece it together. "So, like... a kekkei genkai? Is that what this is? What does it even do?"

Akai hesitated, visibly thrown off by the comparison.

"...Kind of?" he muttered, scratching his jaw. "I mean, I wouldn't call it that. But yeah, maybe. I'm still piecing it together. The moment someone becomes aware of cursed energy, there's a spark—some kind of latent potential that can crystallize into a personal technique. Like the energy chooses its own form."

Akai stepped back, raking a hand through his ink-streaked hair, fingertips dragging through the dried clumps absently.

"If more people truly understood cursed energy," he said, voice low, thoughtful, "I think most of them would end up with innate techniques. Not learned—just... awakened. It's not something you mold like chakra. It molds you."

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then, without warning, he held out his hand.

"In my case," he added, almost casually, "I call mine Curse Eater."

Resting in his palm was the severed, bloodied paw of a chained fox—its fur matted, claws cracked, and faint curses still clinging to it like mist. Shisui's eyes widened. He could see it now—no cursed lens or filter needed. Just raw vision, granted by his own growing understanding of cursed energy.

His stomach turned all the same.

"Ugh—what the hell is that?" he muttered, face twisting.

Akai shrugged. "Snacks."

Shisui quickly looked away, down at his own hand.

The green lapse shimmered faintly, then spiraled upward one last time before fading into the air like steam.

He exhaled, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright then. Since you've handed me something useful... I guess it's only fair I return the favor. I'll teach you a thing or two."

Akai didn't even glance up from his binder. "You already did."

"Huh?" Shisui blinked, tilting his head, clearly baffled.

But before he could ask—

Akai was gone.

Blink.

Suddenly, there were more of him. Not clones—Shisui could tell. They were all moving. Fast. Too fast.

Shisui's eyes widened. "...Shunshin?"

His Sharingan traced the blur of motion as best it could, watching Akai weave through the air like a phantom, his movements sharp, vanishing and reappearing in unpredictable angles across the training field.

He genuinely didn't expect that.

The Body Flicker Technique—Shunshin—wasn't rare. At its core, it was simple: infuse chakra into your muscles, vitalize your body, and accelerate beyond normal limits. 

The true barrier was control, not power. Chakra requirements varied with distance and elevation, sure—but most users didn't hit the ceiling because of that.

It was the balance that got them.

People underestimated the inner ear.

The ear wasn't just for hearing—it was the body's gyroscope. Deep inside, a fluid chamber responded to motion, sending impulses to the brain through hair cells. These signals told you whether you were moving up, down, sideways—helped you orient, focus.

That's why spinning and stopping so suddenly made people dizzy. The liquid kept moving even after the body stopped, creating dissonance. Headaches, vertigo, nausea—it all stemmed from that simple delay.

If you used Shunshin once, in a straight line? You might get a little disoriented.

But if you used it everywhere, in short bursts—vanishing and reappearing across a field like it was your private sea of afterimages?

The fluid in your inner ear wouldn't just slosh—it would shatter you from the inside out.

And yet, Shisui had mastered it.

That's when it clicked for Akai. As his eyes tracked Shisui's subtle stance and internal chakra modulation, he realized what the older boy was doing.

He was controlling the liquid inside his inner ear.

Not unlike water walking, he was using precise chakra manipulation to stabilize the fluid, to command it—so it moved when he moved, stopped when he stopped. Not letting it shake on its own. Eliminating the delay.

That's how he could keep moving so unnaturally fast, so often, without ever getting dizzy.

Akai skidded to a halt beside Shisui, a faint grin on his face. "So that's the trick."

Shisui lifted an eyebrow. "What, you thought I just had a strong stomach?"

"No. You have a very obedient vestibular system."

"...I don't even know what that means," Shisui muttered.

Akai laughed lightly. "It means I'll be studying your brain next."

Shisui took a step back. "Don't."

.

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With Shion—

After a somewhat irresponsible shopping spree involving questionable spending choices and a single regretful keychain purchase, Shion finally returned to her apartment. She tossed her bags onto the couch, stood in the center of the room, and took a deep breath.

It was time.

Her grand master plan.

Her ultimate countermeasure against the absurdity of this stupid fanfiction world she couldn't believe she was still stuck in.

With the solemnity of a surgeon preparing for open-heart surgery, she tied her hair back into a bun, secured her frilly pastel apron (which had "Princess of Doom" embroidered in sparkly thread), and snapped on a pair of gloves.

"Let's start," she muttered, eyes narrowed.

The chopping board trembled under her righteous fury.

Slice.

Chop.

Dice.

Sauté.

But somewhere in the chaos of onions being diced and pork stock simmering, it hit her—

This was cooking.

This "grand master plan" she had mentally hyped up since breakfast, the one that was going to change everything and show this fanfic reality who's boss... was curry. Actual, honest-to-goddess curry.

The rich scent of caramelized onions and pork fat coated the apartment like a thick curtain. By the time she'd finished, the redness of the sky had long since faded into the soft velvet of night.

Removing her gloves and apron, Shion undid the ribbon in her hair, letting her golden strands fall back to her shoulders as she made her way to the bath. The hot water soothed her frustrations—mostly.

Only after stepping out of the bath, towel-drying her hair, and slipping into her soft loungewear did she finally hear it.

The voices.

One loud. Whiny. Annoying but unmistakably Naruto.

The other? Low. Lazy. Disinterested even when apologizing. Akai.

Shion padded softly to the apartment door, leaned against it, and tilted her head, pressing her ear gently to the wood.

"Like I said, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Apologies not accepted! I was waiting for six—"

"Five."

"...FIVE hours, ya know?!"

There was the sound of muffled foot stomping and the comedic fury of one Kyuubi Jinchūriki being dramatically betrayed by his friend.

"You're the worst kind of friend, ya know?!"

Akai's reply came with absolutely zero urgency. "We'll eat at Ichiraku's tomorrow. My treat."

"...You're the best kind of friend, ya know!"

Shion pulled her head away from the door, blinking a few times. A light sweat rolled down her temple.

"...Interesting conversation as always." she whispered with a deadpan face, utterly unsure if she was charmed or annoyed by their back-and-forth.

But then Shion's ears perked up.

"They'll eat at Ichiraku tomorrow," Akai had said.

Wait a second—did that mean... they hadn't eaten yet?

A wicked grin slowly crept across her face.

Perfect.

She spun around on her heel like a battle-hardened tactician who just saw a hole in the enemy formation. Her eyes flicked toward the still-warm pot of curry, steam lazily rising from it like a beckoning aura of victory. Then to the door. Then back again.

Her plan wasn't over—it was just evolving.

Moments later, the unmistakable slam! of the boys' door echoed through the hallway.

It was time.

Shion stepped out of her apartment like a culinary demon queen prepared for war. Both hands were clad in heat-resistant gloves, gripping the handles of a still-boiling pot of curry. Slung over her back with what looked like industrial-grade climbing rope was an entire rice cooker, still full of freshly cooked rice—now cooled to the perfect texture.

The sheer weight of it all made her legs wobble.

Her spine trembled under the gravity.

Her arms shook like a beginner ninja trying to lift a boulder during training.

But she gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

The first impression will not falter.

I am bringing hospitality and intimidation in equal parts.

Clunking step by clunking step, she finally stopped in front of their door—next to the boys who were, moments ago, bickering like an old married couple.

She took a breath. Her bangs clung to her forehead from a combination of bath steam and panic sweat. She shook them off.

Then she raised one foot dramatically like she was summoning the spirit of Gordon Ramsay and—

Knock-knock-knock.

"Excuse me!" she sang sweetly, despite the obvious strain in her voice from carrying a pot of molten lava and ten kilograms of rice. "May I have a minute!?"

Her eye twitched from the sheer weight of everything.

A drop of curry landed on her slipper.

Her smile was strained.

This was it.

This was her entrance.

So she waited.

And waited.

...And waited.

The door didn't open.

Not even a crack. Not even a shuffle of footsteps from inside.

Her smile, still stuck in place, began to tremble.

What... the hell?

Was Akai ignoring her?

No. No no no. That couldn't be it.

Was she hated that much?!

Her thoughts began spiraling. Was it yesterday? When she accidentally dropped the F-bomb to his face during that hallway exchange? "FUCK!" Ugh. She didn't even cursed specifically to him, but he definitely looked at her like she just threatened to set his shoes on fire.

Shion began gritting her teeth, knuckles whitening around the pot's handle.

Was she seriously about to fail her plan on the very first attempt?!

With curry?!

Are you kidding her?!

But then—click.

Five excruciating minutes later, the lock finally turned with a soft click.

The door creaked open.

Standing there was Akai.

Eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.His hair was damp and sticking out in wild directions, a towel sloppily thrown over his head like he'd barely remembered to dry off. He looked like someone who had just lost a duel with the shower drain.He blinked at her. Once. Slowly.Like a raccoon caught mid-crime.

Apparently, the reason for the delay was simple: the moment he entered his room, he went straight for the bath.

His mouth opened—then closed again.

He clearly recognized her. But dropping her name out of nowhere would've raised questions, so instead, he played dumb. "Uh… I'm Akai. You're the neighbor, right?"

"Y-Yes… I'm Shion," she stammered, trying not to panic.

Now that she was facing him up close, the weight of the plot hit her like a genjutsu to the face.

"...What's all this?" he asked, voice hoarse and flat, almost bored.

The sheer lack of emotion contrasted so violently with her over-the-top mental spiral that she wanted to scream.

Shion forced a smile that had no right to be called friendly. It looked more like a glitch in her face.

"I heard you haven't eaten," she said, with a cheerfulness that sounded vaguely like a threat. Her arms trembled under the weight of the curry pot balanced between them.

"So I made enough to feed the entire Leaf Village. I'm considerate like that."

WHY DID I SAY THAT?? her brain shrieked.

She fumbled to backpedal. "I mean—uh, I just made too much. For myself."

Akai stared.

Then his eyes dropped to the floor where she'd set everything down: a steaming pot of curry with the lid still on, fogging up slightly from the heat; a rice cooker; and a clear tupperware filled to the brim with golden pork cutlet, the breading visible through the plastic like a humble confession.

Then he looked back up at her.

"…Those look heavy. Did you carry all that before I even opened the door?"

"No," she said, deadpan. "They levitated themselves next door through my sheer will to survive."

"...Huh?" he asked, blinking—but otherwise completely unfazed.

"Never mind."

He stepped aside. "Come in, I guess."

She nearly collapsed in relief as she shuffled inside triumphantly.

First impression intact.

Barely.

Shion stood by the small kitchen counter, trying her best not to fidget. Her curry was bubbling gently in the pot, and the rice was almost done reheating. She smoothed her apron, checked her reflection in the rice cooker's shiny surface, and discreetly pinched her cheeks to bring a bit more color to them.

This was only their second meeting. First impressions were everything. And though she wanted to blurt out something clever or impress him with some cryptic remark about cursed spirits, she held back. Too soon. Way too soon. If she said something weird now, he'd definitely think she was crazy—or worse, suspicious. She needed to be careful.

Her eyes drifted toward him.

Akai sat at the low dining table, legs crossed, notebook open, scribbling like a little professor. The round glasses perched on his nose caught the low light from the single ceiling bulb. He looked ridiculously focused, tongue poking ever so slightly out the side of his mouth as he wrote. Shion blinked.

Ugh, fiction boys are so unfair.

He wasn't even trying, yet somehow he managed to land in that sweet spot between cute and unapproachable. The oversized glasses didn't help—on anyone else they'd look goofy, but on him? They just added to that quiet mystery vibe.

Of course, he was four. Like her. Shion had to remind herself of that. No amount of scribbled notes or serious faces could change that reality. Still, it was hard to think of him as just another preschooler when he looked like a mini-dark-sorcerer in training.

She stirred the curry, letting the aroma fill the air.

"Rice's almost done," she said casually, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Akai didn't even look up from his binder. "Okay," he muttered, pen still dancing across the page.

Shion puffed out her cheeks slightly, half annoyed and half amused. A 'thank you' wouldn't hurt, you know...

But no matter. She was just getting started. This time around, she was going to win the game with good food and subtle charm—not suspicious info-dumping about the nature of curses.

"Do you have any bowls?" she asked sweetly, putting on her best guest-who's-also-kind-of-helping voice.

Akai pointed lazily toward a dusty cupboard without glancing up. "Top left."

Shion opened it to find exactly two bowls. Dusty. Mismatched. She exhaled through her nose and smiled.

Alright then, challenge accepted.

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.

.

Meanwhile, Akai was silently spiraling.

Why the hell is the protagonist here?

There she was—Shion—smiling like a perfectly innocent cinnamon roll, barging into his room like she belonged here, and now cooking him curry like this was some cozy slice-of-life spin-off.

He watched her hum a little tune while she stirred the pot, rice cooker quietly chugging behind her. The smell was amazing. His stomach growled before he could stop it. Damn it. She even cooked his favorite.

This was suspicious.

He was going to step in, at least help with washing the dusty bowls to create some sense of normalcy. "Ah? It's dusty, isn't it? I'll help with washing them," he offered offhandedly.

But she turned around and hit him with that smile. The bright, cheerful, protagonist-mode smile.

"Leave it to me!" she beamed.

Akai blinked. His hand slowly retracted, hovering awkwardly mid-air before lowering back down to the table.

Was she testing me? Or… trying to prove something?

He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. It had to be that. She was gauging his reactions. That sweet smile wasn't just surface-level sunshine—no, no, this was calculated. Shion was always a little impulsive in the fanfic he read. Yesterday, she even dropped the F-bomb to his face. But now, here she was, switching gears like she was in a dating sim trying to raise his affection stat.

Then it hit him.

Wait a minute. I shouldn't even exist.

His scribbling pen slowed to a stop. His glasses slid a little down the bridge of his nose.

He wasn't in the original Naruto series. Not in her story either. A half-Hyuga, half-Uchiha OC with cursed energy and suspicious knowledge of fanfiction clichés? That screamed second transmigrator energy.

Shion was probably getting uneasy. Rightfully so.

She suspects I'm one of those hidden reincarnators who'll turn evil later on. Probably thinks I'm gathering cursed spirits and plotting to betray Naruto or some shit.

...Which wasn't entirely off base, considering how many notes he had on fleshcrafting and cursed seals.

"Wow," he murmured under his breath, barely audible. "She's right on the money."

He needed to act friendly. Gain her trust. Disarm her suspicion before she decides to pull some "protagonist power of friendship punch" and blow his cover.

Unbeknownst to Akai, across the room, Shion was having the exact same internal meltdown.

Wait a damn minute, she thought, eyes narrowing as Akai adjusted his glasses and scribbled something ominous in that cursed little binder of his. The way he moved—too precise. Too rehearsed.

She wasn't in the original Naruto series. She wasn't even in his story.A shrine maiden OC with random future-vision powers and suspiciously genre-savvy instincts?That didn't just hint transmigrator energy.It screamed it.

"She must be a reincarnator. Just like me."That's probably what he's thinking right now, Shion realized with a mental wince.

Her pulse spiked.She quickly looked away and stirred the curry like her life depended on it, pretending not to feel his stare burning into the back of her head.

He probably thinks I'm a suspicious second transmigrated side character who'll betray him later like every other cliche fanfictions. I need to show I'm harmless. Helpful. Friendly. Preferably adorable.

"Rice is ready~!" she chirped, way too enthusiastically.

Akai blinked. "...Thanks. Smells good."

They exchanged fake smiles, thin and brittle, like two actors forced into a scene neither of them rehearsed.

On the surface?

Kalm.

Internally?

PANIK.

I need to gain their trust.

I cannot get eliminated as a potential threat.

ACT NATURAL. ACT. NATURAL. ACT NATURAL.

And so, in a cramped, dimly-lit apartment with only a pot of curry and a mountain of suspicion between them, two reincarnators sat across from one another.

Each one pretending not to know.

Each one pretending not to guess.

Each one pretending the other wasn't a walking, talking, plot-breaking wildcard just like them.

Dinner had never been so tense.

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To be continued.