Sasuke's Crack

Practical combat training was scheduled for Thursday afternoon.

Iruka divided the class into two groups and had them stand on opposite sides of the field. Today's training was one-on-one taijutsu sparring. The rules were simple: knock down the opponent or render them unable to fight; no ninja tools, and no attacks to the head. Iruka stood in the middle with a whistle in hand, looking more serious than usual.

"First match—Sasuke Uchiha versus Mizuki Kazuya."

Standing in formation, Shuo Ye raised his eyes when he heard the name.

Sasuke stepped out from the edge of the group. His stride was steady, his shoulders relaxed, and his gaze settled on no one. Sunlight fell across his face, making his expression look flat—not calm, but flat. Like a polished stone.

His opponent—Mizuki Kazuya—was a boy noticeably bigger than Sasuke. His family ran a fish shop, and he had helped move goods since childhood, so he had some strength in his hands. He walked to the center of the field and assumed a starting stance, wearing a nervous smile.

"Please go easy on me, Sasuke."

Sasuke did not answer.

Iruka blew the whistle.

Mizuki Kazuya's first punch missed completely. Sasuke shifted aside with such a small movement that the students nearby did not even see how he had dodged. Mizuki's fist brushed Sasuke's shoulder, and the momentum made him stumble forward a step. Sasuke drove a backhand punch into his shoulder. Mizuki let out a muffled grunt, reeled backward, and staggered three or four steps.

"So fast..."

Someone in the back muttered.

Sasuke did not stop. He caught up and kicked Mizuki in the knee. Mizuki's leg buckled, his balance collapsed, and he fell into the sand, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Iruka raised his whistle—normally, this was where it should have ended. The opponent was down. The match had been decided.

But Sasuke did not stop.

He stepped up in front of Mizuki, bent down, and raised his right fist.

"Sasuke!" Iruka shouted sharply.

The fist came down. It struck Mizuki's shoulder—not his head, but with no less force. Mizuki gave a short scream, his body jerking off the sand.

"Sasuke, stop!" Iruka rushed forward.

Sasuke raised his fist again.

This time, Iruka caught his wrist. He gripped it tightly and pulled him back.

Sasuke turned to look at him.

From the formation, Shuo Ye caught the look in Sasuke's eyes in that instant—not anger, not madness, but a thin layer of ice. There was an undercurrent beneath it, but the surface showed nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Iruka dragged Sasuke to the edge of the field. Two students helped Mizuki up. One shoulder had swollen, his face was covered in sand, and his eyes were red, though he did not cry.

"Sasuke Uchiha..." Iruka's voice was low, filled with disbelief. "You stop when your opponent goes down. That is the most basic rule. What were you doing just now?"

Sasuke looked at Iruka without speaking.

"Answer me."

"The rule is to knock down the opponent." Sasuke's voice was flat. "He hadn't lost the ability to fight."

"He was already down!"

"Being down doesn't count. If he can get up, he can still fight."

Iruka drew a deep breath, his chest rising and falling several times. He released Sasuke's wrist—slowly, as though afraid he would leave marks if he kept gripping it.

"Listen carefully." Iruka bent down until they were eye level. "In my class, when your opponent falls—that fight is over. Understand?"

Sasuke met his eyes.

Those black eyes held Iruka's gaze for three seconds. Then they shifted away.

"Understood."

There was no defiance in his tone. But there was no apology, either.

Iruka straightened and gave a long blast on his whistle. Ten-minute break.

Shuo Ye walked to the faucet at the edge of the field, turned it on, and splashed a handful of water over his face.

The water was cold. A few wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead. He swept them back and leaned against the wall.

In the distance, Sasuke sat alone beneath a cherry blossom tree, knees drawn up in his arms, chin buried between them. The other students all kept far away from him. No one went over to speak. Even the girls who usually liked following Sasuke only watched from afar, not daring to approach.

It was not that they were afraid of him. They simply did not know how to face a Sasuke who had suddenly changed.

Last year, he still smiled. Last year, after taijutsu class, he would discuss things with others, saying, "That move you did just now was amazing." Last year, he would nod when he met classmates in the hallway. Last year—before the massacre—the Sasuke from then and the Sasuke now were not the same person.

Shuo Ye shook the water from his hands and took two steps toward the cherry blossom tree.

He saw Sasuke's shoulders trembling.

Only slightly.

He was not crying. It was like he was using all his strength to keep his body taut, and after being tense for too long, his muscles had started to shake uncontrollably.

Shuo Ye stopped.

He wanted to say something, but he could not think of what. He had been an only child in his previous life, and he had no siblings in this one either. Comforting people was not his strong suit.

Besides—comfort was not what Sasuke needed. Shuo Ye understood that clearly.

What he needed was an older brother.

Shuo Ye stood there thinking for a long time. Then he turned and walked back to the faucet.

The faucet was still dripping. Drop by drop, water struck the concrete with a tap-tap sound.

He twisted the faucet shut.

The tapping stopped.

Iruka sat in the staff office for a long time.

A grade record book lay open in front of him, recording every student's taijutsu score from that day. When he turned to Sasuke's section, his pen hovered in midair.

His results were overwhelming. Speed, strength, reflexes—every category far surpassed those of his peers. In the entire Ninja Academy, not a single student could suppress Sasuke in taijutsu.

But he did not write down the score. Beside Sasuke's name, he wrote a small note:

"Continued attacking after opponent was down. Cold eyes. Completely different from last year."

After writing it, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

The door opened.

Mizuki—the one who had taken a beating that day—stood in the doorway with the school medic. A medicated patch was stuck to his face, and one arm hung in a sling. His injury was not serious, only a soft tissue bruise, but the medic had insisted that he come explain the situation to Iruka.

"Iruka-sensei," the medic said, "Mizuki's shoulder isn't fractured. It's only swollen. He should be fine after resting for two days."

"Okay, I understand."

The medic left. Mizuki remained in the doorway.

Iruka beckoned him inside.

"Mizuki, are you all right?"

"I'm okay. It doesn't hurt that much." Mizuki sat in a chair with his head lowered, rubbing at his school uniform pants with his fingers.

"What did you want to say?"

Mizuki looked up at Iruka, then lowered his head again.

"Sasuke, he... he wasn't like this before. Last year, we played soccer together on the field. He was the goalkeeper. When I scored, he didn't get mad. He even ran over and patted my shoulder."

Iruka said nothing.

"I don't know what happened to him." Mizuki's voice grew softer and softer. "I know about what happened to the Uchiha Clan. But I..."

He stopped.

"I just wanted to have a match with him. I didn't mean anything else."

Iruka moved his chair in front of Mizuki and crouched down.

"I know what you meant. Sasuke probably knows too." He patted Mizuki's uninjured shoulder. "But when some people are hurt, it takes a very long time for them to heal. His wound hasn't even scabbed over yet. If you touch it, he'll attack."

Mizuki fell silent for a while.

"Then when will he get better?"

Iruka did not answer. He stood and looked out the window.

The field was empty. The branches of the cherry blossom tree swayed in the wind. Under it, a boy crouched on the ground, tracing something in the sand with his finger. The solitary boy from earlier had already left.

"I don't know either," Iruka said.

After school, Shuo Ye did not leave.

He sat in the last row of the field bleachers, his backpack on his lap, watching the sunset.

The clouds on the horizon had been burned orange-red, layer upon layer, like some enormous loaf of bread torn into strips and soaked in the sky. There were no students left on the field. The student on duty had finished sweeping up the fallen leaves, put the broom in the equipment room, and locked the door with a click.

Then Sasuke came out of the classroom.

He walked slowly. His backpack hung from one hand, one strap dragging along the ground and leaving a crooked line in the sand.

As he passed the bleachers, he saw Shuo Ye.

Their eyes met for an instant.

Shuo Ye opened his mouth.

Sasuke looked away and kept walking.

Shuo Ye watched his back—his shoulders had become narrower than they had been a year ago, and his hair had grown longer, covering half the back of his neck. He walked differently than before the massacre—he used to have a slight bounce in his steps, his heel landing first before springing forward. Now, every step was solid, heel and sole touching down at once, as though he were stepping on stone slabs above a dark current.

After taking a few steps, Sasuke stopped.

He did not turn around.

"What is it?"

He was speaking to Shuo Ye. His voice crossed the open field, its trailing edge scattered by the evening breeze.

Shuo Ye stood from the bleachers.

"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to call your name."

Sasuke stood there for three seconds, then left.

Shuo Ye sat back down.

The field gate shut behind him. The iron gate slammed against its frame with a bang, its echo circling the empty school grounds several times. Shuo Ye reached into his backpack and found the rice ball Ino had stuffed into it that day—tuna filling, wrapped in seaweed, still carrying a faint warmth.

He took a bite.

The sky turned completely dark.

He finished the last bite of the rice ball, licked his fingers, slung on his backpack, and climbed out from behind the bleachers—he did not want to use the main gate, which had long been locked. Climbing the wall was faster.

When he landed, he stepped on a pebble. It pressed into his sole, but it did not hurt.

He walked along the road home. The shops lining both sides of the street had already closed, with only a few taverns still lit. Light leaked through their door cracks, drawing strips of gold across the ground. He walked over those strips of light as though stepping on piano keys.

When he passed Yamanaka Flower Shop, he glanced at the second floor. The window was lit. The curtains were pink, printed with star patterns.

Ino was probably doing her homework.

He did not stop and kept walking.

When he turned into the Uchiha Clan District, he heard footsteps behind him. Very soft, soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the wind.

Shuo Ye stopped.

The footsteps stopped too.

He did not turn around.

"If you want to follow me, then follow me," he said. "No need to hide."

There was silence for a few seconds.

Then Naruto's voice came from the mouth of the alley. "H-how did you know it was me?"

Shuo Ye turned around. Naruto stood beneath a streetlamp, his orange jacket shining under the light. He clutched two shuriken in his hand, as though he had just returned from the training field.

"Your footsteps," Shuo Ye said.

"I was clearly stepping really lightly..."

"The sole of your right shoe is more worn than the left. When you walk, your right side makes a heavier sound."

Naruto looked down at his shoes. The tread on his right sole was indeed nearly worn flat, while the left still had a ring of patterning.

"You're scary," Naruto said.

"Why were you following me all the way?"

Naruto shoved the shuriken into his pocket, walked a few steps closer, and stopped at the edge of the streetlamp's circle of light. Sweat covered his face, and half his hair was damp against his forehead, but his eyes were bright.

"I saw Sasuke today."

"Yeah."

"He knocked someone down and kept hitting him. That guy's arm was all swollen."

"Yeah."

"He wasn't like that before."

"Yeah."

"Do you know how to say anything besides 'yeah'?" Naruto frowned.

"I can also say, 'Why are you sticking your nose into this?'"

Naruto choked. Then he pulled his hand from his pocket and scratched the back of his head, making his hair even messier.

"I'm not sticking my nose into anything," he said, his voice lowering a little. "I just... think he's unhappy."

"No one's happy."

"You're unhappy too?"

Shuo Ye looked at him.

The streetlamp's light flickered over Naruto's eyes, making those blue irises look like two marbles—clear enough to reveal the imperfect patterns inside. When seven-year-old Naruto asked, "You're unhappy too?" there was no probing in his tone, no sympathy, only simple curiosity.

Like he was asking, "Which ramen shop is today's ramen from?"

Shuo Ye turned his head away.

"I'm going home."

"Hey!" Naruto shouted after him. "You still haven't answered me!"

Shuo Ye raised a hand and waved. It was the kind of wave that meant, "All right, that's enough," not "Goodbye."

Naruto watched his back and muttered, "What was that?"

He stood beneath the streetlamp, tossing the shuriken in his hand and catching it, tossing it and catching it. He threw it three times and caught it three times—three months ago, he would not even have dared imagine such a result. Now, he could catch the shuriken he tossed himself under the lamplight.

"I've improved," he told the streetlamp.

The streetlamp did not respond.

Naruto shrugged, stuffed the shuriken, its surface already scuffed, back into his pocket, and kicked a pebble as he walked away.

The night wind passed through the Uchiha Clan District, through its empty streets, through its tightly shut doors and windows, through corridors beneath the eaves where dust had gathered in a thin layer. In the end, only the sound of the wind remained.