CHAPTER 4

The mid-morning sun spilled gently through the pink canopy of a blooming cherry blossom tree, its petals fluttering in the breeze like falling snow. Below the shade, the scent of earth and blossoms mingled with the faint aroma of tea resting untouched beside a small, square table. At its center, a wooden shogi board sat between a pair of stools—only one of which was occupied.

A small boy, barely two years of age but with an expression too calm for his age, sat quietly. His pale, pupil-less eyes were fixed on the board as his tiny fingers moved a silver general with delicate precision. There was no opponent. No one to counter his moves. He was playing against himself—or perhaps against the thoughts in his head.

Haruka Hyuga was not a normal child.

To most, he was the prodigious heir to the Hyuga Clan: gifted, composed, and blessed with a maturity far beyond his years. But beneath the carefully composed surface was a soul that had already lived a full life. A man who had once walked the quiet provinces of the Philippines, a licensed lawyer, and a store owner who had chosen peace over ambition. A man who had died of cancer with no regrets, only to awaken in a world where power meant survival.

And now he played shogi under a cherry tree, surrounded by tradition, duty, and eyes that constantly watched.

One such pair of eyes belonged to the Hyuga clan guard standing a few meters away, silent and vigilant. He was a jonin-level shinobi assigned to keep watch over the heir, but to him, this assignment felt different. Haruka was… strange. Not in a threatening way, but in a manner that unsettled him.

There was something in the boy's movements. Something in his gaze. Even now, watching him shift pieces across the board with quiet concentration, the guard felt as though he were observing a mind far older than the body it inhabited.

"This kid's too sharp…" he thought, narrowing his eyes.

Then Haruka broke the silence.

"Uncle," he said softly, still not looking up from the shogi board. "Why do you think the Hyuga clan doesn't use other forms of ninjutsu?"

The guard blinked. The question came out of nowhere, soft-spoken yet clear. It wasn't the words that surprised him—it was the tone. Calm. Measured. Almost… philosophical.

"Hm?" the guard responded, tilting his head slightly. "That's because our Gentle Fist is precise and effective, young master. Our taijutsu is unmatched. Why rely on something less refined?"

Haruka nodded absently, then lifted his gaze—his eyes meeting the jonin's directly.

The guard froze.

There was something about those eyes. Despite being a child, Haruka's pale gaze seemed to pierce through him. Not in the way a Byakugan user would analyze chakra point, but emotionally, spiritually. It felt as if the child could see through his thoughts, as though every doubt, every unspoken opinion, was laid bare under that gaze.

"It's pride then, isn't it?" Haruka said, his voice low and unwavering. "We pride ourselves too much on our ways. We've built an entire philosophy around one method of combat… and closed ourselves off to everything else."

The guard felt his jaw tighten, slightly annoyed. "With respect, young master, that's not—"

"I'm not disrespecting our traditions," Haruka interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "But I've been reading. The records. The archives. Our clan's history. We are strong, yes. Respected. But we've also suffered. We've stagnated. While the Uchiha evolved their Sharingan to cast genjutsu and copy jutsu, we remained the same—pure taijutsu practitioners. I believe we can be more."

The guard swallowed. There it was again—that maturity. That heavy, uncomfortable truth wrapped in the voice of a two-year-old.

"…So what will you do then, young master?" he asked, curiosity finally breaking past irritation.

Haruka smiled, turning back to the board. With a soft clack, he moved a rook forward two spaces.

"I'll master our ways first," he said, eyes still on the pieces. "I'm a Hyuga. That means something. The Byakugan is a legacy I intend to honor. But once I've done that… I'll look outside."

He finally looked up again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

"I'll learn what the world offers. Not out of defiance—but out of necessity."

The guard was silent.

There was a strange stillness in the air now. The kind that made the wind seem louder. A few cherry blossom petals drifted down from the branches above and landed softly on the table.

The jonin had guarded many children before—some noble-born, others destined for greatness. But never had he met one that made him feel… small. As though the words of a toddler were a prophecy waiting to unfold.

"You're wise beyond your years, young master," he said finally, his voice laced with both awe and concern. "Perhaps too wise."

Haruka tilted his head slightly. "Maybe. But wisdom without action is wasted, don't you think?"

A pause. Then a grin.

"Besides," Haruka continued, "I'm still just a child. I'll cry when I scrape my knees. I'll get scared of thunder. I'll play shogi and laugh with my mother. I have time to be a child… for now."

That final phrase echoed in the guard's mind long after the conversation ended.

For now.

As the guard walked away later that day to report to Hiashi, his thoughts were tangled. He had no idea what the boy would become in the year's to come. A visionary? A rebel? A savior?

All he knew was that the heir of the Hyuga was not like the others.