Two White Cards

"Ringo."

When Iruka called his name, he was staring out the window in a daze. His chin rested on one hand, his textbook open to page thirty-seven, though he hadn't read a single line. Ginkgo leaves fluttered outside, sunlight piercing through them and scattering across the desktop.

The chalk writing on the blackboard was crooked—three lines. The final stroke on the right side of the character for "body" in "physical energy" dragged on far too long. Iruka's handwriting had always been like that—earnest, but not very pretty.

"The steps for extracting chakra."

"Form hand seals. Focus your mind. Convert physical energy."

Iruka nodded. "Correct. Sit down."

He sat. Someone in the back muttered quietly, "Lucky. He just happened to be on that page." He didn't turn around. He was used to it. Over the past nine years, the two things he had heard most often were: "Ringo? Oh, that orphan." "Ringo? Him? Don't know him." Being forgotten was another layer of shell. Inside it, he didn't have to deal with people.

Naruto was asleep again. Drool hung from the corner of his mouth, about to drip onto his textbook. Sasuke sat properly, though nobody knew where his eyes were looking—he got good grades, so he could pass even without listening.

Hinata had her head lowered over her textbook, her ears faintly red. Ringo's gaze lingered on her for less than a second. The Hyuga clan's eldest daughter. She had nothing to do with him.

Outside the window. That white card from yesterday had changed his body a little. Nothing earth-shattering, just something subtle. For example, he could sense when someone in the classroom glanced over at him—not stared, just flicked their eyes over him before looking away.

He wouldn't have noticed that before. That fifteen percent included awareness of his surroundings. When Iruka wrote with chalk, his wrist paused ever so slightly—the instant he exerted force. The girl in the front row's hair drifted left before drifting right—he could distinguish the order.

No one had ever paid attention to these little details before.

Now, he did.

The dismissal bell rang. He packed his things. A little ball of eraser shavings sat on his desk, and when he pushed it away, the system vibrated.

[Detected a white card dropped within one hundred meters—pick it up?]

His pen nearly slipped from his hand.

Who had dropped it? Iruka had been quite engaged while teaching. Or was it that person practicing shuriken? Outside the window, in the direction of Training Ground Three, there was a distant figure. The system gave no name, only a direction and distance.

He didn't go immediately. He waited until the hallway had emptied before heading outside. He couldn't move too fast. If he moved too fast, people would look at him—he didn't need people looking at him. As he went down the stairs, the sole of his shoe scraped the edge of a step. He steadied himself on the railing, his palm drenched in sweat.

A few people were still running laps on the field. He skirted the entrance to the training ground and followed the low shrubs. Leaves scraped his arm, leaving a red mark. He checked it. The skin wasn't broken; it just itched.

He was there. That tree. Its bark was rough and dug into his back when he leaned against it. He turned sideways, using the trunk to conceal himself.

It was still him. That chunin. He was still throwing shuriken. The sun had tilted westward, stretching the shadows long. After finishing a round, he paused to catch his breath, sweat running from his temple to his chin. Then he started again—five shuriken in one hand this time. Two clipped the edge of the wooden target and bounced away. He frowned, then pulled out another five.

He waited until his heartbeat slowed. Then he tapped [Yes].

[Pickup successful. Obtained white card "Basic Shuriken Technique Fragment," placed in card slot.]

A second white card. On its surface, a little figure threw shuriken—raising the arm, hooking the fingers, flicking the wrist. The three movements played over and over. His luck wasn't bad today.

He opened the synthesis interface. The two white cards lay there. The system displayed a prompt:

[Two white cards of the same quality detected. Place them in the synthesis slot?]

He tapped it. The two cards flew from the card slots into the synthesis slot—actually flew. With a whoosh, they vanished from the slots and landed in the synthesis slot. The synthesis slot lit up, and three lines of text appeared below it.

[Path A—Stable Synthesis · 85% success rate: Obtain "Shuriken Technique Enhancement" (purple).]

[Path B—Risky Synthesis · 50% success rate: May obtain a composite long-range ability (gold). Failure may destroy one white card.]

[Path C—Extreme Synthesis · 15% success rate: May directly obtain a secret taijutsu technique (orange). Failure may reduce card slot limit by 1.]

Ringo stood still.

A was safe. Purple was stronger than white, but not by much. B was a gamble, fifty-fifty. C—only a lunatic would choose that.

Wind swept in from the other side of the training ground, rustling the leaves. The sound was loud. The wind shoved the shadows on the ground into a wavering dance: the wooden targets' shadows, the trees' shadows, and his own shadow pressed against the tree. None of them were steady.

Three seconds. He chose B.

It wasn't because he was confident. He was just sick of choosing A. He had spent nine years learning to play it safe. Enough was enough.

A roulette wheel appeared on the panel. Made of light, suspended in midair. Its left half was gold, its right half gray, with "Destroyed" written on the gray half. Each took up half the wheel.

The wheel began to spin.

He swiped it with a finger—not a real finger, but the finger in his mind. The wheel spun with a hum. Gold and gray blurred together until he couldn't tell them apart.

It stopped.

Gold.

[Path B synthesis successful! Obtained gold card "Wind Release: Wind Cutter Technique"!]

Golden light fell across his face. It wasn't dazzling, just like the sudden brightness when the sun burst from behind the clouds. He squinted. The golden light spread over a crack in the tree trunk, making it appear deeper. A woven-pattern purple border encased gold. The card bore an icon of a wind blade—an arc of cyan lines. Two lines of small text sat beneath it:

[Quality: Gold (Legendary)]

[Synthesis path: White ×2 → Risky Path B (50% success rate)]

Fifty percent. There had been a one-in-two chance of destruction. He had gambled two lousy white cards into a legendary card. If the roulette wheel had shifted one finger-width farther, his card slot would be empty now. He wouldn't even have had the fifteen-percent taijutsu chance.

He looked at his hands. All ten fingertips were trembling.

His legs trembled too. It felt as though someone was knocking against his kneecaps. During those few seconds while he waited for the wheel to stop, he had held his breath. Only now did he remember that breathing was a thing.

He swallowed. His throat was dry. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Nine years. For the first time, it wasn't luck, and it wasn't something someone had given him. He had chosen it himself. He had gambled himself. If he lost, he would accept it. But now, he had won.

He tapped the card.

[Use successful. Wind Release: Wind Cutter Technique activated. Effect: Wind-nature chakra gathers at the fingertips and is released under mental guidance—produces an arc-shaped wind blade. Range: fifteen meters. Cooldown: three minutes.]

A gold card. Legendary. Fifteen-meter range, three-minute cooldown. He hadn't even graduated yet, and he already held a gold card nearly equivalent to B-rank. No teacher had taught it to him. No exam had earned it for him. He had synthesized it himself. He licked his lips—the skin was peeling. He didn't know when they had become so dry.

He closed the panel. He rubbed his hands on his pants, leaving two palm-shaped sweat marks. The wind was cool, blowing his hair over his forehead. The tree rustled softly.

Tomorrow. He would go before dawn.

He would test this card.

He wanted to see what it looked like when something fifteen meters away was cut open.