Before the Hyuga clan's ancestral hall, the gathered clansmen slowly filled the courtyard for the funeral.
When Hyuga Satoru arrived, many members of the branch families came forward to greet him. At seven years old, Satoru was already well-known throughout the clan.
In the past two years, under Hyuga Hiashi's deliberate efforts to raise his standing, Satoru often hosted joint training sessions, inviting Branch Family members to spar with him. Through these bouts, his strength and talent had become recognized by all.
By now, the branch members' respect for him was no longer just deference to his Main Family status—it was genuine respect for Hyuga Satoru himself.
Having grown older, he had shed much of his childish softness. His once-round features now bore faint, sharp lines that gave him the air of a young prodigy.
Though still a child in years, his bearing—shaped by a lifetime within the Main Family—radiated a quiet, commanding presence. Standing among the crowd, Satoru naturally drew attention.
As custom demanded, he greeted the representatives of each Branch Family one by one.
Of the coffins lined before the shrine, how many of the fallen did he personally know?
Perhaps none at all.
But this was not the kind of event a Main Family heir could ever skip. Even Hiashi, and Satoru's two-year-old sister, had to attend.
These clan members had died in battle—sacrifices made, officially, for Konoha. But in truth, their deaths also protected the Hyuga Main Family.
And as the chief beneficiaries of that system, the Main Family had to be present to mourn.
"Big Brother!"
A crisp, childish voice broke Satoru's thoughts.
Turning around, he saw a small boy in plain mourning robes standing behind him. The child's delicate features bore a six-part resemblance to his own.
The boy timidly tugged at Satoru's sleeve, but when Satoru turned, he immediately released it and bowed respectfully.
"Neji," Satoru said with a faint smile, crouching to gently ruffle the boy's hair. "When did you get here? Where's your father?"
Hyuga Neji—his uncle Hizashi's son—was only three years old, yet had already begun basic shinobi training.
In fact, Neji's first lessons in taijutsu hadn't come from Hizashi, but from Satoru himself.
His talent was remarkable. Though not quite at Satoru's level, it was enough to make many Branch Family members envious. Hizashi took pride in his son's promise—after all, in a world as cruel as theirs, talent meant survival.
Even the Hyuga clan couldn't escape the chaos of the ninja world. The rows of coffins before them were proof of that truth.
"I just got here," Neji answered softly. "Father went to speak with Uncle Hiashi. He told me to stay with you."
Feeling Satoru's gaze, the boy lowered his head shyly—but soon lifted it again, eyes bright with expectation.
Neji's feelings toward Satoru were complicated.
He was still at the age when children wanted playmates, yet because of his lineage, he had few friends and began training far too early. Among the people he knew, Satoru was both the closest in age and the one he admired most.
And perhaps because Satoru had also been his taijutsu teacher—who had on occasion "disciplined" him rather painfully—Neji harbored a natural sense of awe toward him.
But that awe was mingled with genuine affection. For Neji, fear and fondness coexisted without contradiction.
"Alright," Satoru said gently. "Stay close and don't wander off."
Glancing toward the inner hall, he saw Hiashi and Hizashi standing beside the bereaved families. As clan head, Hiashi would preside over the ceremony, while Hizashi, his right hand, managed the other arrangements. Both were certain to be busy.
Hizashi's wife had been in poor health since giving birth to Neji, and so had not attended. Naturally, the task of watching the boy had been entrusted to Satoru—and Hizashi trusted his nephew completely.
From across the hall, Hizashi seemed to notice Satoru's gaze and sent him an apologetic look. Satoru sighed softly and nodded in understanding.
"Excuse me—please move aside."
The low, cold voice came unexpectedly from behind. Instinctively, Satoru pulled Neji closer and stepped aside, then turned to look.
A tall man in a standard jonin vest strode past him—Orochimaru.
As he passed, Orochimaru tilted his head slightly, his snake-like golden eyes meeting Satoru's for the briefest moment before turning forward again.
Following behind him was a girl of thirteen or fourteen—Mitarashi Anko, his disciple, whom Satoru had seen once or twice before.
In that fleeting instant of eye contact, Satoru felt a wave of oppressive pressure roll off Orochimaru's body—a sensation like invisible needles pricking at his skin. His brows drew together. Only when the man walked away did the feeling fade.
Beside him, little Neji had instinctively shrunk behind his older brother, using him as a human shield to escape Orochimaru's gaze.
"Big Brother… who was that?" he whispered nervously. "He's not from our clan, is he?"
Before Satoru could answer, his guardian, Hyuga Keisuke, spoke first:
"That, young master, is Lord Orochimaru, one of Konoha's Legendary Sannin," Keisuke explained. "He commands the forces on the Kirigakure front. He was also the direct superior of Yuta and the others."
"Yuta" referred to one of the fallen now lying in a coffin before them.
Neji nodded vaguely, not fully understanding. Keisuke, however, had directed the explanation more toward Satoru than the child.
"I see," Satoru murmured, nodding slightly. "No wonder he's here."
But the crease between his brows did not fade.
Orochimaru…
That was not a man he wanted to be involved with.
He couldn't tell exactly how far along Orochimaru's descent into darkness had gone at this point—but it didn't matter. Satoru had no desire to get entangled with someone so dangerous, someone so utterly unpredictable.
Because people like that—meant risk.
And unpredictable risk was the one thing Hyuga Satoru refused to tolerate.
Yet somehow, it seemed… this "risk" had just come knocking on his door.
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