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Year 45 of Konoha, on the eve of the Third Shinobi World War.

The autumn air was crisp and clear.

At the Ninja Academy's training ground.

Aburame Jianxing leaned against a tree trunk, basking in the warm afternoon sunlight. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes narrowed contentedly, his long lashes seeming to cradle streams of golden light.

It was so comfortable he wanted to go, meow, meow, meow.

Beside Jianxing squatted a delicate-looking black-haired boy. He wore an utterly nonchalant expression, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, looking like a roguishly handsome punk. He held a branch and drew earnestly on the ground.

Hyuga Ryosuke, a member of the Hyuga Branch Family and one of Jianxing's few friends, was known for his good looks and his utterly unreliable soul.

"What are you drawing?" Jianxing asked curiously.

"Can't you see for yourself?"

"I did. I asked because I couldn't understand it."

Ryosuke stared at the drawing on the ground and pondered for a moment. "Sorry, it's too abstract. I can't understand it either. It can be whatever you think it is."

He really was that unreliable!

"Being a ninja is such a waste of your artistic talent," Jianxing said sincerely.

"I think so too."

Ryosuke wholeheartedly agreed, then laughed without the slightest shame. He raised his head slightly, and the sunlight fell across him from the side as though someone had cranked a beauty filter to level ten, drawing shrieks from the girls around them.

"So handsome!"

"I'm dying! I'm dying... He looked over here!"

"Relax, he was looking at me. Get lost, ugly!"

"..."

Ryosuke put on a troubled expression, though he was secretly thrilled. Two words described him perfectly: secretly smug.

"Shallow," Jianxing said disdainfully.

"Who? Me or them?"

"Both."

"Blatant Envy." Ryosuke looked at Jianxing