The midday sun hung high over the Senju training grounds, glinting off the steel of blades and the sweat of young shinobi. Dust clouds rose from the worn practice field as shouts rang out and wooden dummies splintered under chakra-enhanced strikes. Itama stood on the edge of the grounds, arms folded, eyes scanning the activity with a steady calm.
Today, the clan had organized a joint sparring session—veterans overseeing young genin and trainees, many of whom had never fought outside simulations. With the war against the Uchiha still pressing, every lesson in control and combat counted.
Itama had not planned to participate. His role lately had leaned more toward internal care—healing instruction, basic morale, and quiet surveillance under Hashirama's loose encouragement. But when one of the instructors, Senju Riku, approached him with a firm nod, everything shifted.
"Your student, Daiki, keeps holding back," Riku said. "He listens only to you. Step in."
Itama glanced at the boy—a wiry genin with brown eyes and chakra control that far outpaced his taijutsu. Daiki stood awkwardly across from a much older trainee, feet stiff, movements guarded. His hesitation was clear.
"Very well," Itama said.
He stepped into the ring.
---
The gathered crowd murmured as Itama entered the sparring circle. Most of the younger Senju idolized him quietly. His return from presumed death had cast an air of legend over his name. Still, few had seen him fight—at least, not seriously.
Itama gestured to Daiki. "Come. Try to strike me."
The boy hesitated. "But I—"
"No buts. If you don't strike, you'll never learn to protect anyone."
Daiki steeled himself, then charged. He was fast for his age, leading with a chakra-infused palm strike. Itama slid past it easily, twisting his body to deflect without countering. Another strike came. Then a kick. Both missed.
"Again," Itama said.
The boy tried harder, frustration burning behind his focused eyes. He leapt forward with a rotation technique and caught Itama's side. Itama grunted faintly, adjusting. He hadn't expected the boy to evolve mid-spar. Still, he made no move to retaliate.
Then the accident happened.
---
A second older genin, Akiji, impatient and proud, stepped into the ring unannounced.
"Let me try," Akiji said, cracking his knuckles.
Riku frowned but didn't stop him.
Itama narrowed his eyes. "This isn't your match."
"Just one round," Akiji insisted.
Before anyone could protest, Akiji dashed forward, chakra already pulsing at his palm. He was using a high-impact shock strike—far too much power for a spar.
Itama shifted to avoid the blow. But Daiki, startled by Akiji's intrusion, stumbled backward—into Itama's blind spot.
Akiji's chakra-loaded palm hit squarely.
Itama twisted at the last second to shield Daiki with his own body, absorbing the full brunt of the strike. The chakra surged into his ribs, and he collapsed to one knee as the air burst from his lungs. Bones cracked. The world tilted.
Chaos erupted.
---
Hashirama was there in moments, appearing in a blur of motion. "Stand back!" he ordered, kneeling beside Itama.
Blood trickled from the corner of Itama's mouth. He could barely breathe. Ribs broken. Internal bruising. Chakra imbalance. He had shielded the boy instinctively—but the attack had been far too aggressive.
Daiki sobbed quietly, clutching at Itama's sleeve. Akiji stood frozen in shock. The crowd had gone silent.
Hashirama's hands glowed with green light, immediately beginning to heal the internal injuries. "What were you thinking?!" he barked at Akiji without turning. "This was a controlled spar!"
"I—I didn't mean to—" Akiji stammered, but no one was listening.
Tobirama arrived seconds later, face grim, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.
He said nothing, but the cold sharpness in his gaze cut through the stillness.
---
Itama was moved to the medical tent and stabilized within an hour, thanks to Hashirama's direct healing. But word spread quickly: the respected, returned Senju—once thought dead—had nearly been killed during a sparring match.
The story twisted with every retelling. Some said Akiji had lost control. Others whispered that he had attacked on purpose. And more still hinted at deeper conspiracies—because it wasn't just the strike that raised suspicion.
It was what happened afterward.
---
Later that evening, as Itama lay resting, Tobirama entered his tent without a word.
He closed the flap behind him.
"You didn't block that strike," Tobirama said.
Itama opened his eyes slowly. "I protected Daiki."
"You could've neutralized Akiji before he got near. You sensed his chakra signature. I saw it in your stance. But you hesitated."
Itama remained silent.
Tobirama's eyes narrowed. "Was it guilt? Or restraint?"
"I didn't want to hurt a clanmate."
"That kind of hesitation will get you killed," Tobirama said flatly.
Itama's voice was faint. "Better me than the child."
Tobirama's expression didn't change, but something in his posture stiffened. "You've changed. Your movements. Your chakra signature during the impact... It wasn't just earth and water. It wasn't even just wood."
Itama didn't respond.
Tobirama stepped closer. "I don't care what you learned out there in exile. But understand this: if it ever endangers this clan, I will act. Brother or not."
He left without another word.
---
Outside, murmurs of distrust circulated. Some of the elders began asking questions. Why had Itama reacted so slowly? Why had the rogue chakra traces around the impact flared into a faint green-brown spiral, unfamiliar to any known Senju healing technique?
Why had the accident felt so... unnatural?
Akiji was questioned but released, claiming ignorance and shame. Still, suspicions lingered.
And in the night, while the camp slept, Itama opened his eyes in the silence of his tent and stared at his hands.
They trembled.
Not from pain.
From power.
Power he still didn't fully understand.
And now... the clan was beginning to fear it.