With Sakura's trembling confession about Kentaro, the truth cracked like thunder across the halls of the Ikari estate. Fury erupted within the clan like wildfire—voices raised, swords unsheathed, vengeance demanded. But V moved like a shadow among them, silencing outrage with chilling efficiency. One by one, he quelled the storm.
Back in the ancestral home, Sakura's main family collapsed beneath the weight of revelation. There were screams. Broken sobs. Mothers clutching children, elders weeping into trembling hands. The shame, the grief—it consumed them. Yet as the days passed, their tears dried, leaving behind something harder. The family chose to endure. To rebuild. Together.
But Ikari Muji was not so easily mended.
He stood apart, shoulders heavy with invisible chains. Guilt gnawed at his bones. He had failed her—his daughter. And worse, he had failed as an older brother. Kentaro's sins were a scar he could not wash clean.
"You did what you could, Muji-sama," V said quietly, standing beside him in the dark courtyard.
Muji's voice cracked. "I failed my family, V... and I failed him too... the one who you have once lov—"
"I told you not to speak of him." V's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and cold.
"I'm still a failure," Muji murmured.
V struck a match, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. The flame flared briefly before vanishing into the night. A curl of smoke slipped from her lips and rose to the stars.
"Then stop being one," V said. "You keep drowning in guilt, and Sakura might decide to follow you into the abyss."
She didn't wait for a reply. Her raven hair flared behind her as she turned and walked into the shadows.
Muji stood alone, wind tugging at his robes… and he closed his eyes.
No more weakness.
He would rise—not for himself, but for Sakura. For the Ikari name. This time, he would be the father she needed. And the leader his clan deserved.
**
The halls of Soshiki Academy were quiet at this hour, echoing only with the faint chirping of cicadas outside the window. The room was simple—tatami floors, a low table, and a sliding door left half-open, letting in the late afternoon light. Sakura sat, knees drawn to her chest, her eyes distant.
V-sensei stood across from her, arms crossed, saying nothing. She simply… waited.
Finally, Sakura's lips parted. "I had nightmare about him. Still."
Her voice was small, like it didn't want to be heard. But it was.
V's red eyes didn't waver.
"I was only four," Sakura whispered. "He'd come into the room, smell like old cigarettes, and—" her voice cracked. "I didn't even understand what was happening until much later. But even now, sometimes, I hear footsteps when I try to sleep, I... freeze. Like I'm four again. Like I'm powerless. Stuck in that trunk."
Silence.
"I hated him." Sakura said shakily. "And I hated myself for being too weak to stop him."
"You were four, Sakura." V voiced out, her tone low, steady. "There was no battle to win. You survived. That's enough."
The girl trembled. "But that bastard… he died without even a single remorse."
V stepped forward.
Sakura's voice cracked again. "I didn't want him to die. I wanted him to hurt first. I wanted to break him the way he broke me, but... but I slashed him anyway… haaaaa, it was out of rage. I didn't even cry when..." Her eyes widened.
And that's when the tears fell—suddenly, helplessly, pouring like a dam broken by time. She covered her face, body curling inward like she was trying to disappear.
Then came warmth.
V knelt in front of her and pulled her into her arms.
No words.
No speeches.
Just quiet, steady warmth. A silence that said, I'm here. You're safe now.
Sakura clung to her like a child lost in the storm.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, the tears slowed. Her sobs turned into hiccups. She sniffled loudly.
"I—I got snot on your blouse." Sakura muttered.
"It's dry clean only." V deadpanned.
Sakura pulled back with a snort. "S-sorry."
"I'll send you the bill."
Sakura blinked, then gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "You're the worst teacher. Ever."
"Correct. But I'm also right."
"You're not gonna lecture me about emotions?"
"No. Emotions are human. You're human. If anyone says otherwise, punch them."
"…Even the Principal?"
"Especially the Principal."
Sakura giggled. It was messy. Ugly. Beautiful.
"I don't feel strong sometimes."
"Good. That means you're honest. People who think they're always strong usually die screaming."
"…That's horrifyingly comforting, actually."
"Welcome to mentorship."
**
Principal Minamoto stood at the center podium, backlit by a giant red-and-gold banner that screamed in calligraphy: "CONQUEST OF THE STRONGEST IN KYOTO!"
He radiated excitement, his snowy beard twitching like an overcharged squirrel. "Ahem! My dear fledglings of chaos and discipline! In two months, our beloved Soshiki Academy will be sending representatives to Kyoto Soshiki Academy for the Friendly Inter-School Tournament!"
The students cheered in response. It's a once in-two-years event, and some have been looking forward to it.
Off to the side of the stage, V leaned against a support beam, sipping from her thermos like it was whiskey.
"Friendly, my ass," she muttered under her breath. "The last one had a kid break his femur during the handshake."
Behind her, the rest of the staff sat in various states of confusion and coffee deprivation.
Maeda Daiki, the battle instructor and biceps enthusiast, flexed just sitting still. "Do we get matching uniforms this time or am I bringing my own crop top again?"
Miyawaki Kota, the sleepy genjutsu specialist, blinked slowly. "Wait. We're going to Kyoto? Thought it'd be just for the students, no?"
Ishii Toji, the blood arts teacher, cracked his neck. "I'm only coming if there's a buffet."
Arata Sayuri, the elegant but terrifying alchemy instructor, stirred her tea calmly. "You're all embarrassing."
Standing next to Minamoto, Secretary Saiaka looked like she'd rather be hit by a truck than be here. Clipboard in one hand, radio earpiece in the other, she radiated corporate trauma.
Minamoto pointed dramatically at the main stars: Yamada, Ryosuke, Ren, and Sakura. "You four! Are officially entered into the Rookie Bracket!"
The students erupted into cheers once again. Some even stood on chairs. Yamada simply did not care. Ryosuke did a finger-gun pose. Sakura blinked blankly. Ren just looked mildly confused.
Minamoto's voice boomed: "You are our gambles—ahem, I mean, our GLADIATORS OF PROMISE!"
Saiaka, with the reflexes of a long-suffering assistant, leaned in and muttered through gritted teeth, "Sir, we talked about this. No gambling references."
"Oh yes. Right. My mistake," he chuckled. "Our non-bettable warriors of honor!"
From the sidelines, V raised her hand lazily. "Hey, Saiaku…" she purred.
Saiaka's left eye twitched. "It's Saiaka, dumbass! Sa-i-a-ka! My name does not mean 'worst'!"
"No, but your coffee does."
"Fine. Don't ever ask for one. Ever. Again!" She whispered.
The students gasped like it was a live drama taping.
Minamoto wheezed into the mic. "She's not wrong…"
Saiaka's voice was dangerously polite. "Maybe if someone in this school drank actual coffee instead of that imported black sludge from the ninth circle of hell, I wouldn't be in cardiac counseling."
"I told you, it's a cold-brew concentrate from Yugoslavia."
"It tastes like battery acid and regret."
V shrugged. "Powerful combo."
"I'm calling HR." Saiaka hissed, furiously scribbling notes on her clipboard.
"Joke's on you," Kota yawned, lifting a finger, "we don't have HR. V scared them off last year."
Daiki grinned. "That was the most exciting meeting I've ever been to. She kicked the table in half."
"Damn right I did." V muttered.
"You're all exhausting." Sayuri sighed, cradling her teacup.
Toji, looking mildly amused, glanced at V. "So are you taking bets this time or not?"
"No gambling!" Saiaka shouted.
"…Is it really gambling," V drawled, "if I already know we're gonna win?"
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
Ren trained in the dojo, blade in hand, sweat dripping from his chin as he practiced high-speed katas under the watching eye of V.
"You hesitate too much," she said.
"I'm trying not to slice Yamada again."
"Slice Yamada more."
"…Yamada's right there."
Yamada looked like he just wanted this to be over with. "I heard that and I object, V-sensei!" He narrowed his eyes.
Meanwhile…
Sakura was in the underground gym, punching through reinforced training dummies with raw emotion, V's earlier words echoing in her head. You're human. Punch harder.
Ryosuke was in the mirror, perfecting his entrance pose.
"I call this one: the Dragon King's Smile."
Saiaka passed by, muttering, "More like Dragon King's Cringe."
"Hey!!"
After Yamada was spared, he was researching "how not to get punched in the face by your teacher and survive after you pull a prank," which mostly involved YouTube compilations of martial arts fails.
The week went on, full of sweat, bruises, and collective yelling. The four grew stronger—not just in skill, but in heart.
They were getting ready.
The Conquest of Kyoto loomed on the horizon.
RYOSUKE
(Katana Training with Tomo-sensei)
I gritted my teeth, raising my blade again. The sun was too bright. My sweat itched. My legs were shaking. And worst of all, my dearest uncle Tomo here was smiling.
"Again." He ordered.
"Uncle… we've done this seventy fucking times."
"That was sixty-nine. You're one short. And no cursing. Tsk! Kids these days…"
"Nice." I tried to joke, but my shoulders were burning.
He chuckled, pushing up his sleeves and stepping into the ring with me. "You're fast, Ryo-chan—"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
"Right, right. Okay. Anyway, you're not precise yet. Your swing has too much emotion."
"That's because you keep slapping the back of my head when I parry wrong!"
"That's discipline. And also... fun. Te-he."
The fuc—, did he just te-he me?
Gross!
I charged again. He parried me easily, spinning and knocking the katana from my hands.
"Okay, that was rude."
My uncle smirked and flicked his fingers. "You're too soft."
"I'm literally bleeding."
He pointed at my shin. "That's a paper cut."
"I hate your definition of paper."
SAKURA
(Ninja Arts with Toji-sensei)
"Again." Toji-sensei said flatly, hands in his pockets, standing upside down on a tree branch like gravity meant nothing to him.
I panted, crouched below, covered in mud, twigs, and betrayal.
"But I did the clone Jutsu!" I yelled up.
"Yeah. One of them had a unibrow."
"That's a style choice!"
"Not when the enemy dies laughing before you stab him."
I grumbled and reset the hand seals. "Kage Bunshin no—ugh, no, I said that wrong—!"
There was a poof. My clone appeared. She had two left feet. Literally. Like, anatomically. Even she looked horrified.
Toji jumped down, flipped effortlessly, and poked the clone. She exploded into smoke.
He looked at me. "Stop thinking about failure. And stop picturing your ex when you visualize the enemy."
"YOU CAN READ MINDS?"
"No," he deadpanned. "But that guy's face shows up on every clone's chest like a tattoo."
…I need help.
YAMADA
(Arata Eyes & Healing with Sayuri-sensei)
"Focus." Sayuri-sensei said softly. Her eyes gleamed like moonlight over steel.
I nodded once, eyes closed. The hum of the energy inside me was faint, but growing stronger with each breath. I placed my hands on the simulation dummy's chest. Healing was precise. Purposeful. Absolute.
I could see the bones beneath the surface. The muscles. The damage.
And then… light.
The glow of the Arata Eyes—the lineage of sight and clarity—flickered into place.
"Healing rate: stable," Sayuri-sensei said quietly behind me.
I didn't answer. Words were unnecessary.
Then a loud fart noise echoed from behind the trees.
I blinked, turning slightly.
Sayuri sighed. "Ignore Ren. He's losing a fight with Daiki-sensei."
"…Understood."
REN
(Battle Strategy with Daiki-sensei)
"Alright, kid!" Daiki-sensei shouted, pounding a whiteboard into the dirt like a war general who moonlighted as a wrestling coach. "First step of battle tactics: BEING SHREDDED."
"...Like your t-shirt?" I asked.
"No. Like your spirit when someone smashes it. And then you build back. STRONGER."
Daiki posed. There were sparkles. I don't know where they came from. Probably self-confidence.
"I'm not gonna lie to you, Ren," he said, turning his hat backward like a 90s anime protagonist or something. "Your last plan? Sucked."
"That wasn't a plan. That was me tripping on a rock."
"Which is why we train!"
He grabbed a stack of mini-figures and slammed them on the whiteboard. "Okay, pretend this peanut is you."
"Why am I the peanut."
"Because you're crunchy and full of potential."
I sighed. "...What's the grape?"
"That's your enemy. Now watch this."
He crushed the grape under his fist. Juice everywhere.
I stared. "I've learned… nothing."
"You've learned war, Ren."
**
V stood at the balcony above the training yard, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Her students—her rookies—were a mess. But they were her mess. Covered in bruises, sweat, and dirt. But getting stronger. Day by day.
Ryosuke was complaining. Again.
Sakura had summoned another clone with a mustache.
Yamada had begun to emit a faint blue aura of control.
And Ren was currently arguing with Daiki over whether peanuts were viable combat metaphors.
She smirked.
They'll be ready.