Chapter 8

The Academy was a place where children dreamed of becoming shinobi. For me, it was a place to observe.

Days turned into weeks, and I settled into a routine. Classes were easy, the lessons repetitive. Most of my classmates struggled with basic chakra control exercises, while I had already mastered them before ever stepping foot inside the Academy.

It would've been easy to outshine everyone, to showcase my true ability. But I didn't.

I knew better than that.

Danzo was watching. The village was watching. If I stood out too much, I would be forced into something I didn't want. Power wasn't meant to be flaunted—it was meant to be used when necessary.

So I played my role. I wasn't at the top, but I wasn't at the bottom either. I placed myself firmly in the middle, skilled but not remarkable.

But there were moments—small ones—where I allowed glimpses of my true self to surface.

Like in taijutsu practice.

Iruka-sensei paired us up for sparring, and I quickly assessed my opponent: Kiba Inuzuka.

He was aggressive, instinct-driven, fighting with the wild confidence of someone who had never truly been outmatched.

The moment the match began, he lunged.

I sidestepped effortlessly, letting his momentum carry him past me. His movements were strong but predictable. Too reliant on direct attacks.

He growled in frustration, spinning to attack again. This time, I met him head-on, parrying his strike and twisting his wrist just enough to unbalance him. He staggered back, eyes widening.

"Whoa—what was that?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I let him come at me again, dodging and redirecting, never fully counterattacking. Just enough to frustrate him, to make him realize his mistakes.

Iruka eventually called the match, and Kiba dropped to the ground, panting.

"You're better than you let on," he muttered, eyeing me warily.

I just shrugged. "You rely too much on forward momentum. You leave your sides open."

Kiba blinked, processing my words. Then, surprisingly, he grinned. "Heh. Maybe you should teach me sometime."

That was the first time I realized something important.

People didn't always need to see power—they just needed to see enough to respect it.

Despite my efforts to stay in the background, I found myself forming connections. Kiba was persistent, always dragging me into conversations or challenging me to small competitions. Shikamaru was surprisingly easy to talk to, his sharp mind a rare thing among our classmates.

And then, there was *her*.

Hinata Hyuga.

She was quiet, always sitting at the edge of our small group, never forcing herself into conversations. But she listened. She observed.

One afternoon, after another uneventful class, I found myself alone on the Academy training field, practicing my kunai throws. The rhythm of it was familiar, calming.

I sensed her presence before she spoke.

"You… you don't miss."

I turned slightly, catching the way she fidgeted with her fingers. She was watching me, her lavender eyes curious but hesitant.

I pulled another kunai from my pouch and threw it, embedding it into the target's center. "It's just practice."

She was silent for a moment, then hesitated before speaking again. "You… you move differently than the others."

That made me pause.

Most wouldn't notice. My style wasn't flashy or aggressive like Sasuke's. It wasn't instinct-driven like Kiba's. I moved with precision, calculation. Every step planned.

I glanced at her, studying the way she shifted under my gaze. She wasn't trying to flatter me. She was just *honest*.

I considered my next words carefully. "And you watch people differently than the others."

Her face turned red instantly, her hands tightening into fists. "I—I don't—"

I smirked. "It's not a bad thing."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard.

For the first time, I realized Hinata was *different*. Not weak like others assumed. Not invisible like she believed. She *saw* things.

And that made her interesting.

The conversation ended when Kiba called her from across the field. She gave me one last look before scurrying off.

I watched her go, an unfamiliar thought settling in the back of my mind.

Maybe the Academy wouldn't be so boring after all.

---

Time passed, and our lessons grew more advanced. We learned proper chakra control, more refined taijutsu techniques, and started diving into the fundamentals of ninjutsu.

I let myself grow, but carefully. Never too much, never too quickly.

Sasuke, on the other hand, was different. He had changed since the massacre. He pushed himself harder than anyone, determined to be the best, to surpass Itachi. His frustration was obvious whenever he wasn't the top student.

I could see the anger simmering beneath his cool facade. The loneliness. The desperation.

He wouldn't reach out, but I knew he needed someone.

One evening, I found him training alone behind the Academy, throwing kunai at a target with a scowl on his face.

"You're gripping too tightly," I said as I approached.

He tensed before glancing at me. "What do you want?"

I ignored the hostility. "If you grip too tight, you sacrifice control. Loosen your fingers. Let the kunai flow, not force."

He narrowed his eyes but tried it. The kunai landed closer to the center.

A pause. Then, begrudgingly, "Tch. Whatever."

I smirked.

He didn't say it, but I knew.

This was the closest thing to thanks I was going to get.

---

By the time the first year of the Academy was coming to an end, I had settled into my place within the class.

Not the top. Not the weakest. Just another student.

But underneath that facade, I was sharpening my mind, refining my techniques, preparing for the future.

Because one day, when the time was right…

The world would know the name *Raiden Uchiha*.