---
"I'll be back!"
Asuma Sarutobi's voice ca out strained, almost desperate. He turned on his heel and stalked off the training ground, acutely aware of every eye tracking his exit. If they hadn't been in class, he would have bolted long ago.
Hanekawa couldn't suppress his smile.
Poor Asuma. He walked right into that one.
The setup had been almost too easy. Hanekawa had deliberately let Asuma think he'd won the first exchange, building his confidence before systematically dismantling it. Not through raw power—through psychology. Make him overcommit, make him predictable, make him lose so badly he'd have no choice but to co back for more.
Mission accomplished.
"Those kunai were incredible," Rin said, her eyes bright with genuine admiration. "How did you control them like that?"
Obito's jaw tightened. "That's an Uchiha technique. We invented it."
"Really?" Rin tilted her head. "I've never seen you do it."
"I... well..." Obito's forehead beaded with sweat. "It's just... I haven't practiced it much."
Sure you haven't, Hanekawa thought, watching Rin's polite smile suggest she didn't quite believe him either.
Kakashi, anwhile, had gone very still. His single visible eye tracked Hanekawa with renewed interest—the kind of look that ant he was filing away observations for later use. Smart. Kakashi would be prepared next ti.
That was fine. Hanekawa preferred opponents who learned.
---
The mont class ended, Asuma practically exploded out of the training ground.
He burst through the Hokage's office door so hard it slamd against the wall.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, peacefully smoking his pipe on the sofa, nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Lost again?" the Third Hokage asked mildly.
Asuma's entire body went rigid. I haven't even said anything yet.
The injustice of it burned. He stord into his room and locked the door, collapsing onto the bed in a spiral of teenage misery. His fingers twitched with the urge to smoke—to do sothing, anything to feel less pathetic.
In the living room, Hiruzen set down his pipe and summoned one of his ANBU operatives with a subtle gesture. Within minutes, he had a detailed account of the sparring match.
It was remarkably brief.
Hiruzen had expected Asuma to lose this ti—the boy had been training hard, but Hanekawa was operating on a different level entirely. What impressed him, however, wasn't the victory itself. It was how Hanekawa had won.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The boy had read Asuma perfectly. Understood his psychology, his patterns, his desperation to prove himself. Then he'd exploited every weakness with surgical precision.
Combat intelligence, Hiruzen thought, stroking his beard. Just like Minato.
He rose and walked to Asuma's door. "Do you know where you lost?"
The door opened after a mont. "Where?" Asuma's voice was hollow.
"Combat experience," Hiruzen said, allowing a small smile. "Technique alone isn't enough. You need to understand your opponent."
"How do I get that?"
"You want to learn? I'll teach you." Hiruzen raised his voice slightly, letting a hint of his authority show. "I am the Hokage, after all."
---
Saturday morning found Hanekawa making his way through Konoha's streets toward the hospital. His Konoha-style swordsmanship training had progressed to 30%—solid progress, but today's focus was different.
dical ninjutsu awaited.
"Hanekawa! You're back!"
"Look how tall you've gotten!"
"Have you eaten? Co visit my station!"
The nurses greeted him with enthusiasm that bordered on overwhelming. He'd visited the hospital enough tis to borrow dical texts that he'd beco sothing of a fixture—and his good looks certainly didn't hurt his popularity, especially given his connection to Yakushi Nonō.
If you don't work hard, you beco a woman's plaything, Hanekawa reminded himself, offering polite nods as he navigated the gauntlet of attention.
He knocked on Nonō's office door.
"Co in."
He pushed it open and stopped short.
Tsunade sat at the desk, chin resting on the back of her hand, leaning forward with an expression of casual amusent. The position was deliberately calculated—and it worked.
"Long ti no see, little one," she said, her voice warm with sothing that might have been affection or might have been teasing. With Tsunade, it was often hard to tell.
"Lady Tsunade." Hanekawa recovered quickly, offering a respectful greeting.
"Nonō ntioned you've been studying dical ninjutsu?" Tsunade's eyes glead with interest.
"I'm trying to," Hanekawa admitted. "Though I'm still in the theory phase."
"Books are useless without practice." Tsunade stood, her movents fluid and confident. "Nonō and I have a surgery scheduled. You can observe."
Hanekawa's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Co on then."
Nonō's expression flickered with concern—worry that Hanekawa might not be ready for the reality of an operating room. But she said nothing as Tsunade led the way out.
At the operating room entrance, a blonde-haired man in his thirties approached urgently. "Lady Tsunade, please. He's our only survivor."
Yamanaka Haiichi. The patriarch of the Yamanaka clan himself.
That's not good, Hanekawa thought. If both Tsunade and the Yamanaka clan leader were personally involved, this was serious.
He followed Nonō into the operating room.
The sll hit him first—sharp, tallic, overwhelming. Blood. His stomach twisted, and he had to force himself to breathe through his mouth.
On the operating table lay a ninja. Ordinary-looking. Maybe Chunin-level at best.
But the injuries...
Hanekawa's eyes narrowed as he took in the severity of the wounds. This wasn't a simple mission gone wrong. This was sothing else entirely.
"Hanekawa," Tsunade said, not looking up from her examination, "if you're going to faint, do it now. I don't have ti to catch you."
Fair enough.
He steadied himself and stepped closer, forcing his mind into analytical mode. The nausea faded, replaced by clinical curiosity.
This was real dicine. Not theory. Not textbooks.
This was what it ant to save lives.
And as Tsunade's hands moved with practiced precision, Hanekawa began to understand why she was legendary.
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