Neji Hyuga sat still beneath the moon, the last embers of clarity flickering behind his eyes. The night was thick with change.
But far across the village, another flame was burning hotter.
Training Ground 8 was dark and silent when Iruka stood there alone.
Kakashi and Guy had already left after Iruka's parting words:
"Meet me here in one hour. Midnight. Bring everything you need."
Now he had just under an hour left. Just enough time to face the one opponent he never skipped—discipline.
A single clone flickered into existence, carrying a scroll pouch stuffed with smoke bombs, suppression seals, and chakra thread tools. The real Iruka nodded his thanks and dismissed it with a puff of smoke. Then he stepped forward and drew his sword.
Not the wooden practice blade.
The real one.
Enma.
He gripped the hilt tightly, exhaling slow.
One thousand swings.
His daily routine. His promise to the beast within.
"If I don't finish…" he muttered under his breath.
The system's silent voice echoed in the back of his mind like a warning etched into his bones:
"Failure to complete training. Penalty: Double the next day. Emotional suppression override enabled until completed. No shortcuts."
Iruka didn't question it. He just started swinging.
Forty-five minutes earlier…
The door creaked open to his apartment. Iruka stepped inside, sweat on his brow, mission heavy on his shoulders—and blinked in surprise.
Naruto was asleep on the couch, snoring gently, a blanket tossed over him.
Kurenai Yuhi stood in the kitchen, arms folded, a pot of soup simmering beside her.
Iruka blinked. "…Kurenai?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You left your student alone, Iruka."
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I left a clone—"
She cut him off. "Your clone dispelled after twenty minutes. He overtrained and nearly collapsed from chakra fatigue. I found him passed out at the training ground."
She ladled soup into a bowl with calm efficiency. "So I brought him here. Fed him. Let him rest."
Iruka exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
Kurenai turned, eyes narrowed. "So. Where were you that was so important?"
Iruka hesitated. "Hokage-sama called me in. Council business."
She tilted her head. "Did something happen?"
He looked at her evenly. "…No. But something will."
That was enough to silence her for a beat. She stepped aside as he moved to the storage chest and started preparing.
Scrolls. Chakra tags. Wire. A medical pouch.
After a few minutes of quiet, she spoke again. "Just be careful."
Iruka glanced up at her and offered a soft smile. "Always."
As he buckled the last strap, Kurenai's gaze dropped to the sword on his hip.
"That's not the blade you used for the spar. It looks… regal. Heavy with intent."
Iruka glanced down, then gave a faint chuckle.
"He's Enma. One tough bastard."He adjusted the strap across his chest. "Almost drained me—would've killed me if I couldn't handle him."
Kurenai's brows rose, surprise flashing in her eyes. "And you still kept him?"
Iruka smirked. "What can I say? He has good taste."
Kurenai rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved despite herself. "Try not to get killed by your fan club, then."
Kurenai stepped closer, voice gentler now. "When will you be back?"
"Tomorrow morning. If not… check the Hokage's office."
She frowned. "I don't like that answer."
Iruka smiled and moved toward the door. "Goodnight, Kurenai."
"Iruka—"
He paused at the door.
"Come back in one piece."
He didn't answer.
He just nodded—and vanished into the night.
Back at Training Ground 8.
Sweat poured down his back. His grip on Enma stayed tight. His breathing was steady, timed with each swing. The night air split with every slash—clean, sharp, unrelenting.
This wasn't discipline.
This was survival.
Every motion carved away hesitation. Every swing burned out doubt.He wasn't just sharpening his blade—he was sharpening himself.
Because hesitation in the dark got people killed.Because conviction wasn't a feeling—it was a choice you made with every cut forward.
And tonight? He needed every shred of feeling he had.
Nine hundred.
His clone had returned earlier with the supplies. Mission gear was ready. Kakashi and Guy would arrive in ten minutes.
Nine-fifty.
His arms shook. His breath turned ragged.
One more set.
One thousand.
He stopped. Enma hung by his side, glinting faintly under the moonlight. His knuckles were bloodied, his forearms tight with tension—but he was done.
Just in time.
Behind him, two chakra signatures flared in the distance.
One moved with quiet precision.
The other… was shouting.
"BEHOLD! A NIGHT MISSION BATHED IN THE FLAMES OF YOUTH!"
Iruka sighed, already regretting inviting Guy.
Kakashi appeared beside him first, flipping a kunai in one hand. "Looks like you didn't waste the hour."
Iruka sheathed Enma. "Didn't have the luxury."
Guy landed next, dramatic as ever, sweatband gleaming.
"Are you ready, comrades? For tonight we strike at the shadows with the power of the sun!"
Iruka rolled his shoulders. "I hope you brought the loud entrance, Guy. We're going in fast and silent."
Kakashi's visible eye curved with amusement. "Silent huh? That'll be hard for Guy."
Iruka and Kakashi both chuckled. Guy crossed his arms and pouted dramatically, though his eyes still sparkled with anticipation.
Guy's expression turned serious. "Then let our silence hit like lightning."
Iruka's gaze drifted once more toward the hidden hills where the Root base slept beneath the surface, festering.
Louder, with finality in his voice:
"Let's end this."
Without another word, the three flickered away—silent blurs through the night, wind and leaves the only sign they'd ever stood there.
Three shinobi.One mission.No mercy.
And deep beneath Konoha…
Root was about to learn what it felt like to be struck by lightning—swift, silent… and utterly unstoppable.
To be continued....