Graduation day came quietly.

  There were no banners. No cheering crowds. Just a line of students standing in the sun, casting long shadows across the polished stone courtyard of the Academy.

  Ken stood near the edge, arms crossed, eyes steady.

  He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t excited.

  He was ready.

  The final test hadn’t been difficult. Clone Jutsu, Transformation, Substitution—standard fare. He’d passed cleanly, without fir, just enough to avoid attention. His Sharingan had remained unused during the exam. He hadn’t needed it.

  When the headband was handed to him, he tied it low around his neck, beneath his colr.

  Not out of shame.

  Out of intent.

  Some wore their symbols for pride. Ken wore his to remind himself of the weight it carried.

  He was shinobi now. No more safe spaces. No more training days. From here on, mistakes could mean death.

  And he didn’t intend to die.

  After the ceremony, each graduate received a sealed scroll.

  Official clearance to access the vilge’s C-rank jutsu catalog.

  Ken took it back to his home and opened it in silence.

  Inside were copies—approved, vilge-safe versions of jutsu scrolls. Elemental manipution, basic strategy techniques, clone variants, weapon channeling. Not rare. Not groundbreaking. But useful.

  He combed through the list, cross-referencing wind and water styles, and marked three:

  Suiton: Mizurappa – Violent Water Wave. A short-range bst jutsu, good for breaking lines or forcing movement.

  Fūton: Shōtotsu Kaze – Colliding Wind Pulse. A mid-range burst of compressed air that could knock weapons out of hands or break guard.

  Kōsoku Kaihi – High-speed Evasion. A movement technique that funneled chakra into leg muscles, simir to Body Flicker but more controlled, without teleportation.

  Nothing fancy. Nothing fshy.

  But everything had a purpose.

  Three days ter, squad assignments were posted.

  Ken arrived early, just after dawn. The assignment board stood just outside the Academy gates. A small crowd had already gathered—new genin standing with their parents, pointing, talking, comparing.

  Ken moved past them quietly and scanned the names.

  Squad 9

  Uchiha Ken

  Yamashiro Reina

  Nakamura DaisukeJonin Leader: Morita Daen

  Ken stared at the names for a moment.

  He didn’t know them.

  Not yet.

  But he would.

  They met that afternoon at Training Ground 14.

  A quiet, overgrown clearing surrounded by willow trees and a shallow stream. Perfect for a first meeting—private, peaceful, and away from prying eyes.

  Ken arrived first. Then came Reina—slim, sharp-eyed, with pale skin and dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail. She wore her headband wrapped tightly around her bicep, like a badge of honor.

  She nodded at him politely, no smile. “Uchiha?”

  “Ken,” he said.

  “Reina,” she returned, sitting against a tree.

  Next came Daisuke—taller than most, with a broad build, light brown hair, and a confident grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He had a scar across his jawline already, despite being fresh out of the Academy.

  “Squadmates, huh?” he said. “Guess we’re stuck together.”

  Ken said nothing.

  Reina raised a brow. “You look like the kind of guy who trains alone.”

  Ken just shrugged.

  Then their jonin arrived.

  He didn’t drop from a tree. He didn’t appear in a puff of smoke.

  He walked.

  Morita Daen was tall, with a deep tan, gray streaks in his hair, and a half-lidded expression that gave the impression he hadn’t slept in days. He wore standard jonin gear, with an extra scroll case strapped to his left thigh. A pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, unlit.

  “Squad 9,” he said, giving them a gnce. “You’re not dead. Good start.”

  No one replied.

  “Names I already know,” he continued, pulling a small notebook from his vest. “Uchiha Ken. Graduated quietly. Sword user. No fire chakra. That one’s gonna piss off half the cn.”

  Ken didn’t blink.

  Daen moved on.

  “Yamashiro Reina. Top five in your year. Precise chakra control. Medical nin candidate.”

  Reina gave a small nod.

  “Nakamura Daisuke. Borderline reckless. Great taijutsu. Low patience. Should be fun.”

  Daisuke frowned, but said nothing.

  Daen closed the notebook. “Here’s the deal. I don’t care who your parents are. I don’t care what your cn expects. You’re mine now.”

  He dropped the notebook into his bag and looked at them seriously for the first time.

  “I run a real squad. We’ll train hard, fight smart, and survive worse. If you want to py ninja, transfer out now.”

  No one moved.

  Daen exhaled. “Alright. Then tomorrow morning, 0500. We start.”

  He turned and walked off without another word.

  Later that day, Ken sat by the river, practicing hand seals with his new jutsu scrolls. He didn’t need to impress anyone. But he did need to be ready.

  His squad was a mix—tension, silence, and uncertainty. That was fine. It gave him space. And space meant time to think, to adapt, to prepare.

  He gnced at the water and the reflection of his own eyes.

  Still bck.

  His Sharingan hadn’t reawakened since the duel.

  He didn’t force it.

  Let it come when it needed to. Not before.

  That night, as he y in bed, Ken thought about the words Daen had said:

  "You're mine now."

  It was the first time anyone outside the cn had cimed him like that. Not for legacy. Not for honor. Just for the work ahead.

  It felt… real.

  And Ken knew something for certain:

  This wasn’t the end of his path.

  This was where it began.