Kakashi Hatake sat on the ground, chest heaving, looking decidedly less like a prodigy and more like someone who'd just gone ten rounds with a mountain. Every sparring session with his father was an exercise in controlled humiliation.

  "Rest for a bit," Sakumo said, sheathing his sword with practiced ease.

  The White Fang of Konoha—feared across the ninja world, and apparently immune to the concept of going easy on his own son.

  Sakumo's gaze shifted to Hanekawa, who was still running laps around the training ground. "Your classmate?"

  "Hanekawa," Kakashi confirmed between breaths. "He's decent with illusions."

  "Just illusions?" Sakumo's tone suggested he'd seen something more.

  Kakashi hesitated. His father had a way of reading people that bordered on supernatural. "What did you notice?"

  "Good stamina. And confidence." Sakumo stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The same kind you have."

  "He beat Asuma," Kakashi said flatly. "Confidence is warranted."

  "Perhaps." Sakumo smiled slightly. "He might become a worthy rival for you."

  Kakashi didn't respond. He didn't need to. Hanekawa wasn't Asuma—he wouldn't fall for basic genjutsu tricks. But a rival? That was premature.

  Geniuses, Sakumo reflected, were always arrogant. Including his son.

  ---

  Hanekawa finally stopped running, wiping sweat from his forehead. He'd lasted thirty minutes longer than his previous record. The "Strong Body" entry was already paying dividends. He didn't notice when Kakashi and Sakumo left—he was too focused on his own progress.

  The week that followed fell into a comfortable rhythm: mornings at the training ground, afternoons practicing shuriken throws in the woods outside his house. Repetition, refinement, progress.

  Sunday morning arrived with the kind of crisp clarity that made early training worthwhile.

  Hanekawa was already running when the white-haired father and son appeared. Sakumo and Kakashi had grown accustomed to his presence; they trained in companionable silence, each pursuing their own goals.

  Ten minutes into his run, Hanekawa felt it—a shift in his body's efficiency. His speed increased by roughly a tenth, but more importantly, his breathing remained steady. No strain. No struggle.

  A breakthrough.

  Sakumo's eyes narrowed as he noticed. "Kakashi."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His son looked over.

  "Your assessment was premature," Sakumo said with genuine interest. "He's progressing remarkably fast."

  Kakashi's competitive instincts flared. "I'll defeat him before the semester ends. I'm applying for early graduation."

  "I look forward to it," Sakumo said. "I'll be watching."

  "You won't be disappointed," Kakashi replied, drawing his short sword.

  The White Fang and his prodigy son resumed their dance of steel.

  ---

  An hour later, Hanekawa's system chimed:

  [E-Rank Talent Entry: Swift Legs - Acquired]

  [Trigger Condition: Reach peak Genin-level speed]

  [Effect: Increase leg strength by 10%]

  The improvement was subtle but significant. Leg strength wasn't just about raw power—it translated directly to speed and endurance. He opened his full system status:

  Current Entries in Progress:

  - Student Master (E-Rank): Requires first place in theory exam

  - Seven Ninja Tools (E-Rank): Four of seven mastered (Shuriken, Kunai, Senbon, Fuma Shuriken)

  - Medical Ninja (D-Rank): Not yet acquired

  That last one made his head hurt. Medical textbooks were a special kind of torture. No wonder medical ninjas were rare—the learning curve was brutal. But Tsunade made it worth the effort. Always did.

  He closed the system and headed home.

  ---

  The moment Hanekawa opened his front door, the world shifted.

  His surroundings flickered—walls became too uniform, colors slightly off, shadows falling at wrong angles. His chakra disrupted instinctively, shattering the illusion like glass.

  Kurenai stood in the entryway, arms crossed, looking thoroughly annoyed. "How did you break it?"

  "Your details are sloppy," Hanekawa said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She glared at his hand but didn't pull away. "Illusions are like art—the more refined, the less suspicious they seem."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will. After I shower." He kicked off his shoes. "Then we'll work on your technique."

  ---

  Twenty minutes later, Hanekawa emerged from the bathroom to find Kurenai sniffing the air suspiciously.

  "You smell nice," she said, then immediately looked embarrassed at her own observation.

  Please tell me she means the soap and not something else. "Hair dryer. Go get it."

  "Why don't you?" Kurenai's hands went to her hips—her default power stance.

  "Payment for the lesson," Hanekawa said smoothly, settling onto the sofa.

  Kurenai's expression cycled through several stages of indignation before she retrieved the hair dryer with exaggerated reluctance. "Don't expect me to actually dry your hair!"

  "Wasn't planning on it," Hanekawa replied, turning it on.

  "Hmph!" She glared at him with those ruby eyes, but she didn't leave.

  He finished drying his hair, then produced a lollipop from his pocket. "For you."

  Kurenai's eyes locked onto it immediately—then she caught herself. "No!"

  "Sure?"

  He unwrapped it and popped it in his own mouth.

  "Wait—!" She lunged forward, and he smoothly transferred the lollipop to her mouth instead. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed suspiciously, but she didn't spit it out.

  "Come on," Hanekawa said, standing. "Time for your illusion lesson."

  Kurenai followed, her steps light, the lollipop firmly in her mouth and a small, satisfied smile playing at her lips.