Nao's Three Rules

The words "edge district" lingered in Che's mind through the night, and not even the steam from breakfast the next morning could wash them away.

After breakfast the next day, Nao called Uchiha Che aside beneath the eaves.

The northern courtyard was a little cold in the morning. Beneath the half-charred locust tree, Kiyo and Saori were lining up small stones, as if building a village only they could understand. From the southern side came the sounds of lumber being moved, while clan members spoke in low voices. No one said the word "relocation" aloud, but it had already settled on everyone's shoulders like dust.

Nao held a small cloth pouch in her hand.

"Sit."

Uchiha Che sat beneath the eaves, his back neither particularly straight nor too slouched. He had learned something recently: acting too obedient around Nao was useless, because she could see through it; acting too casual was useless too, because she would simply knock him on the head.

Nao placed the pouch before him.

Inside were several things: a roll of thin bandages, two blunted training shuriken, a charcoal pencil, and a small wooden tag. Nothing was written on the tag, and its edges had been smoothed so it would not prick his hand.

"For me?" Che asked.

"They aren't gifts. They're rules."

"That doesn't sound as good as gifts."

"Then shut up and listen first."

Uchiha Che obediently shut his mouth.

Nao raised one finger. "First: until your injury heals, no throwing on your own, no practicing Fire Release, and no pushing chakra toward your throat. You can practice your stance, grip, breathing, and basic control, but no session may exceed a quarter of an hour."

Che nodded.

"Second: you may keep records, but don't show them to people carelessly. What you write down can cause more trouble than what you say aloud. Paper won't explain things for you."

Che nodded again.

Nao raised a third finger. "Third: if Anbu, ninja from other clans, or adults you don't know ask you questions, answer only the simplest facts first. Don't try to be too clever, don't help them complete their questions, and don't say too much just to seem innocent."

Uchiha Che looked up.

These three rules sounded less like caring for a child and more like a compact survival manual.

Nao looked at him. "Remember them?"

"I remember. First, don't practice recklessly. Second, paper can cause trouble too. Third, don't add unnecessary scenes when answering questions."

Nao raised an eyebrow. "Add scenes?"

"It means saying things that aren't needed."

"You do that plenty normally."

"So I'll begin correcting myself today."

Nao clearly did not believe him, but she did not press the matter. She picked up the blank wooden tag and handed it to Che.

"What is this?"

Che took it and examined it. "A wooden tag with nothing written on it."

"From now on, place it beside you whenever you practice basic control. Before you begin, ask yourself three questions: Why am I practicing now? At what point should I stop? If something goes wrong, how will I cover it up?"

Uchiha Che fell silent for a moment.

"Aunt Nao, did you used to look after troublesome children?"

"I'm looking after one now."

"Then he must be under a lot of pressure."

"I'm under even more."

Che lowered his head to look at the wooden tag and finally stopped joking.

The blank tag was like a reminder. It was not as heavy as the clasp from his father's forehead protector, nor as fine as his mother's chakra needle, but it was practical. Before every practice session, ask why, where to stop, and how to wrap things up. It sounded excessively calm, but that was exactly what he needed.

Because his body had already wanted to cross the line more than once.

During Fire Release class, the structure of the Great Fireball was like a lamp that made his throat grow hot. At the medical station, healing chakra made his body want to imitate it. During shuriken training, he could clearly throw more accurately, yet he had to restrain his movements within a reasonable range. None of those things alone was serious, but small things added up into anomalies in a file.

Nao pushed the bandages and charcoal pencil toward him as well.

"Use the charcoal pencil to record how training feels. Don't write sensitive words. For example, don't write Anbu, Nine-Tails, or Sharingan rumors on your training paper."

"Then what should I write?"

"Breathing, sensation in your hands, pain, and time."

Che thought about it. "Can I write, 'Today my chakra was like unruly soup'?"

Nao rubbed her forehead. "If you insist on writing it, at least make sure no one else can understand it."

"Then I'll write it."

Nao sighed. "You child, you're half serious and half ridiculous."

"Otherwise I'd be lopsided."

This time, Nao could not hold it in and laughed softly. The smile quickly faded, but it loosened the air beneath the eaves.

She rose to leave, then stopped again.

"Che."

"Mm?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. But don't treat everyone as something you need to avoid."

Che's hand tightened slightly around the wooden tag.

Nao did not look at him. She only looked toward Kiyo and Saori in the courtyard.

"If a person only knows how to hide, eventually they won't know where they're going."

After she left, Uchiha Che sat beneath the eaves for a long time.

Kiyo ran over, and when he saw the training shuriken in the pouch, his eyes lit up.

"Can you practice now?"

"No," Che said. "They're meant to remind me that I can't practice."

Kiyo looked confused. "If you can't practice, why did they give them to you?"

"Because adults sometimes like using things to remind you not to use things."

Kiyo became even more confused.

Saori walked over and looked down at the wooden tag.

"Why are there no words on it?"

Che turned the tag over. "Because it's responsible for making me think clearly, not for thinking in my place."

Saori nodded, as though accepting that explanation.

"Then will you write something on it?"

Che thought for a moment, picked up the charcoal pencil, and wrote one small character on the back of the tag.

"Stop."

Kiyo read it aloud. "Stop?"

"Mm," Che said. "This word is more likely to save your life."

During his basic control practice that morning, he placed the wooden tag beside his knee.

Why practice? To make chakra stop more steadily and not rush about wildly.

At what point should he stop? If the heat in his palm lasted more than three breaths, or if his shoulder started to ache, stop.

If something went wrong, how would he cover it up? Say his wound hurt, stop practicing, and go find Nao.

Only after going over those three sentences in his mind did he close his eyes.

Chakra rose from his abdomen, clearer than it had been in previous days, like a small cloud of warm mist. He did not push it into his palm. He only guided it along his chakra pathways to near his wrist, then slowly pressed it back down. Once, twice—on the third time, the warmth nearly spilled out through his fingers.

He opened his eyes and looked at the word "Stop" on the tag.

Then he truly stopped.

That was harder than continuing to practice.

Because he knew he could try just a little more.

Those four words—just a little more—could probably kill a great many people in the ninja world.

Che picked up the charcoal pencil and wrote on his training paper:

"Chakra reached the wrist and wanted to move outward."

"After stopping, there was a slight tightness in my chest."

"Did not continue."

The charcoal tip paused over the paper. He lowered his head and added another small line.

"When I stopped, my fingers went numb. I wanted to continue, not because I needed to, but because I was unwilling to accept it."

After writing that line, he spread open his right hand. A trace of heat remained in his palm, like an ember beneath stove ash that had not fully gone out. He stared at that sensation until it gradually dispersed, then closed his fingers.

This was not an impressive training result.

But it was concrete. Concrete enough that when he looked at this paper again in the future, he would remember the wind beneath the eaves that day, the corners of the wooden tag, Nao's lowered voice, and the moment when he had nearly crossed the line.

After writing those final four words, he felt inexplicably satisfied.

Not because he had made great progress, but because he had finally defeated that little bit of greed.

In the afternoon, Uchiha Jian came to inspect the children's stances. Seeing the wooden tag beside Che, he bent down and took a look.

"Stop?"

Che nodded. "Aunt Nao gave me a training companion."

Jian glanced at Nao. She stood by the courtyard gate, her expression calm.

Jian did not ask further. He only said, "Being able to stop is harder than being able to charge ahead. Remember that."

Uchiha Che looked at him.

Together with Nao's three rules, those words seemed to add another piece to his method of survival.

That night, he put the wooden tag into his wooden box, but did not bury it at the bottom. It was different from his parents' belongings, and different from Anbu records. He needed to take it out often, to remind himself not to let his talent lead him by the nose.

Before sleeping, Che wrote Nao's three rules in his notes.

"Don't practice recklessly."

"Records can cause trouble too."

"Don't add unnecessary scenes when answering questions."

Below them, he added another line:

"Don't only know how to hide."

After writing that, he paused for a long time.

Of course he had to hide.

Hide from Anbu, hide from Root, hide from premature fame, hide from death on the night of the clan massacre.

But Nao was right. If he only knew how to hide, he might eventually become a shadow with no direction.

Uchiha Che set down the charcoal pencil and looked out at the night beyond the window.

"Then I'll hide while moving forward," he whispered. "Not hide and stop."

It sounded like he was making excuses for himself.

But for now, it worked.