Before the second class that morning, Yamashiro Takuma had everyone clear off their desks.
Paper, pens, little cloth bundles of midday snacks—all of it went into their drawers. The classroom immediately filled with soft wooden clacks, like a handful of pebbles being pushed back into a box. Che laid his ordinary pen down horizontally, let his palm linger on the desk edge for a moment, then sat up straight.
Two new words had appeared on the blackboard.
Hand seals.
Kiyo had barely settled into his seat before sucking in a breath. "Are we learning to breathe fire today?"
Morita Yu murmured beside him, "First learn how to position your hands properly."
"Positioning your hands is easy, isn't it?"
Yamashiro Takuma turned around as though he had heard that. "Anyone who thinks it's easy is more likely to tie their fingers in knots today."
Laughter broke out across the classroom. Kiyo immediately shut his mouth and placed both hands neatly on his knees.
Che set his hands in place as well, but something inside him slowly tightened.
Hand seal class had come sooner than he expected.
He had thought there would be more time—at least until reading, posture, and rules had been drilled into them more firmly before the Academy got to seal sequences. But reality was not following the vague rhythm he remembered. Or perhaps there had always been a class like this, and in his past life, as a viewer, he had never cared to remember when Academy children learned "Ram" and when they learned "Snake."
His memories had no answer. Reality was written on the blackboard.
Yamashiro Takuma did not demonstrate right away. Instead, he held out his hands.
"Today, we won't mold chakra or perform any jutsu. We're only learning to recognize the hands, the sequence, and