The Nara compound, shaded by towering pine and lazy sunbeams, seemed a world apart from the sterile, echoing void of the White Room.
For Ayanokoji, it might as well have been another planet.
His room faced a koi pond, its waters still and dappled in orange and gold. Birds chirped in the distance. At night, he could hear the wind rustling through trees—not the hum of fluorescent lights or the static buzz of surveillance equipment.
He spent most of his time reading.
Shikaku gave him access to the clan's archives—scrolls on chakra theory, battle strategy, historical conflicts, and biographies of famous shinobi. Ayanokoji absorbed it all with frightening speed. He began annotating the texts, pointing out errors or offering refinements to tactical formations that had stood unchallenged for decades.
Shikaku didn't stop him.
He only said, "Keep your mind sharp. But don't let people see the whole blade."
---
The Academy entrance ceremony arrived faster than expected.
Ayanokoji stood at the gates of the Konoha Ninja Academy in his standard navy blue uniform, the forehead protector still absent—those were earned. Around him, children laughed and clung to parents. Some cried. Others boasted loudly about becoming Hokage or the next Sannin.
He remained still.
Even in a crowd, he seemed distant. Observing, not participating.
Shikaku stood behind him, arms crossed. "Just watch for now. Don't show off. You're a Nara before anything else."
Ayanokoji nodded.
He didn't need the warning. In the White Room, he'd learned long ago: the more people *saw*, the more they *wanted*.
---
Classroom 3-A was filled with noise. Rows of desks, blackboards, and windows that looked out over the Hokage Monument. But Ayanokoji saw only angles—blind spots, escape routes, reflective surfaces for indirect observation.
He took a seat in the second row, far enough to avoid attention but close enough to assess everyone.
To his left, a boy with a broad grin and spiky blond hair kicked the air under his desk, humming off-key.
"Hi! I'm Naruto Uzumaki!" the boy said, leaning over. "What's your name?"
Ayanokoji looked at him. "Ayanokoji."
"That's a mouthful," Naruto laughed. "You talk like a ghost."
He didn't respond. Naruto eventually turned his attention elsewhere, undeterred.
Across the room sat Sasuke Uchiha, his eyes scanning the class with quiet arrogance. Ayanokoji noticed how his posture was relaxed but his hands were always close to his sides—ready to react.
Two desks over was Shino Aburame, silent and unreadable. Hinata Hyuga sat near the window, nervously playing with the edge of her sleeves. Kiba Inuzuka had already started arguing with someone over whose clan was stronger.
So many clans. So many faces. So many variables.
And none of them had been through what he had.
---
Their instructor, a scar-faced Chūnin named Umino Iruka, clapped his hands to call the class to order.
"Alright everyone, settle down! Today's the start of your journey as future ninja of Konoha!"
The room quieted.
Iruka smiled warmly. "You'll be learning chakra control, ninjutsu, taijutsu, history, strategy—and more importantly, how to protect your comrades. This isn't just about power. It's about loyalty, teamwork, and heart."
Ayanokoji tilted his head slightly.
*Teamwork.*
*Loyalty.*
*Heart.*
Words that had no meaning in the White Room. There, power was control. Trust was a liability.
Iruka handed out textbooks. "Now, let's go around the room. Say your name and what you want to accomplish as a ninja!"
When it was Ayanokoji's turn, all eyes turned to him.
He stood slowly.
"Ayanokoji Nara," he said flatly.
"And what's your dream?" Iruka asked.
He paused.
It would be easy to say something meaningless—like "protecting the village" or "becoming strong."
Instead, he said, "I want to understand the truth."
The room went quiet for a moment.
"Truth about what?" Iruka asked gently.
"All of it."
Then he sat down.
Naruto blinked, confused. Sasuke narrowed his eyes. Hinata fidgeted. Shikamaru, seated one row behind, muttered, "Troublesome."
---
Weeks passed.
The Academy routine settled in. Physical training in the mornings, academic study after lunch, and chakra control practice in the evenings.
Most students struggled with the basics—balancing chakra, simple transformation techniques, or shadow cloning theory.
Ayanokoji performed them flawlessly. But he never did more than necessary. Never first. Never last. Just… average.
At least, that's what everyone believed.
At night, alone in the forest near the compound, he practiced real control—fine-tuning chakra threads, silent movement, one-handed seals, improvised genjutsu scripts.
Shikaku watched from afar sometimes, puffing on his pipe, saying nothing.
---
One day during sparring class, Kiba called him out.
"You're always quiet like you're better than us," he said, jabbing a thumb at Ayanokoji. "Let's see what you've got, ghost-boy."
Ayanokoji stepped into the ring calmly.
Iruka nodded. "Alright. No weapons. First to yield or go down."
Kiba charged like a wild animal, claws out, teeth bared. His chakra surged in short, sharp bursts—aggressive and unfocused.
Ayanokoji waited.
At the last second, he sidestepped, angled Kiba's momentum forward, and tapped him gently behind the knee. Kiba dropped face-first into the dirt, stunned.
It had taken two seconds.
Iruka blinked. "Uh… match over. Winner: Ayanokoji."
The class erupted in murmurs. Naruto cheered. Sasuke stared harder. Shikamaru sighed, "Yeah, that tracks."
Kiba jumped up, red-faced. "That was a fluke!"
Ayanokoji said nothing.
---
That evening, Shikaku poured two cups of tea and sat across from his son on the porch.
"You let him bait you into that match."
Ayanokoji nodded. "Calculated response."
"You're getting attention."
"I'm controlling the type of attention."
Shikaku took a sip of tea. "Just remember, the more they notice you, the more the ones like Danzo will too."
Ayanokoji stared out at the trees. "Then I'll make sure they see what I want them to see."
The wind picked up, scattering leaves across the garden.
Ayanokoji's eyes remained cold. Focused.
Hidden behind still waters was a mind like a whirlpool—deep, consuming, and impossible to escape.
---