The year was Konoha 45, on the eve of the Third Shinobi World War.
The autumn air was crisp and clear.
At the Ninja Academy's target range.
Aburame Jianxing leaned against a tree trunk, the afternoon sunlight warming his body. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes narrowed contentedly, his long lashes seeming to cradle the golden light.
It was so comfortable it made him want to go: meow, meow, meow.
Beside Jianxing squatted a handsome black-haired boy with an indifferent expression, a grass stem between his lips, looking roguishly cool. 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, possessed a handsome face and a wildly unreliable soul.
"What are you drawing?" Jianxing asked curiously.
"Can't you see for yourself?"
"I did. I'm asking 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 was just that unreliable!
"Being a ninja is such a waste of your artistic talent," Jianxing said sincerely.
"I think so too."
Ryosuke deeply agreed and laughed without a shred of shame. He tilted his head slightly, and the sunlight fell across him from the side as though he had maxed out a beauty filter, drawing shrieks from the girls.
"So handsome!"
"I'm dying! I'm dying... He looked over here!"
"Relax, he's looking at me. Get lost, ugly!"
"..."
In response, Ryosuke put on a troubled look while secretly delighting inside. Two words described him perfectly: secretly smug.
"Shallow," Jianxing said disdainfully.
"Who? Me, or them?"
"Both."
"Blatant Envy." Ryosuke looked at Jianxing teasingly and raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, vividly embodying a single phrase—
Asking