The faint morning sunlight spilled across the empty training field. A single pop echoed through the clearing — the last of Boruto's shadow clones burst into smoke, returning every memory of the fight straight into his mind.
The rush of images — Shino's fall, Mitsuki's lightning, the final Rasengan — faded just as quickly, leaving Boruto standing alone under the lingering scent of ozone.
He exhaled. Shino-sensei should be awake by now.
That meant only one thing.
The real culprit — the one behind the Ghost incidents — would soon appear to collect the chakra.
Boruto closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his right iris flickered — the faint glow of the Jōgan spreading outward like ripples in still water.
He scanned the forest. Chakra traces glimmered like threads in the air, some faint, others pulsing with darker hues. Then—
Found you.
On a branch high above the training field stood a girl cloaked in black. Her petite frame was concealed beneath the robe, her face hidden behind a mask.
From the scattered remnants of corrupted chakra drifting through the trees, ghostly motes converged on her body — gathering, fusing, disappearing into her form.
Sumire Kakei.
Boruto's pupils contracted. His instincts had been right.
For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, drawing in that corrupted energy, unaware that a pair of luminous eyes below were watching her every move.
Then she raised her hand — and wood burst from the earth beside her in a small, twisting bloom. Not perfect, but unmistakably Wood Release.
She can use Mokuton, too? Boruto thought, jaw tightening. It wasn't polished, but it was real.
That was enough proof. He couldn't let her vanish again.
The moment Sumire leapt down from the tree, Boruto was already gone from his spot. He reappeared several paces ahead on the forest path, hands in his pockets, waiting.
She moved quickly — too quickly. Her chakra trail blurred as she rushed toward the academy. But as soon as she flickered forward, Boruto appeared directly in her path.
"...!"
Before she could react, she collided with him.
Thud—
Boruto's inner thought flashed with mild disbelief. I thought she'd dodge. Guess I overestimated her reflexes.
Sumire froze, startled to find herself pressed against someone's chest. Then, realizing who it was — and that her secret might've been exposed — panic set in.
In one fluid motion, she slipped a kunai from the pouch behind her back and aimed for his side.
But Boruto just smiled. "Hey, easy there. I just wanted to remind you— there's a speed limit around here."
Sumire froze mid-motion. She knew that voice instantly.
Her kunai hovered just short of his jacket, trembling. For a heartbeat, she wanted to drop it — but then the thought of revenge, the purpose drilled into her since childhood, hardened her resolve.
She thrust.
Boruto caught the blade with his bare hand. A faint crack sounded as the edge pressed against his palm, but didn't pierce through.
Her breath caught.
"Sorry," Boruto said lightly, "I've been training a bit. Guess my skin's tougher these days."
For a second, the air between them shifted — a strange silence neither could name. Her hair brushed his chin; the scent of rain and wood smoke lingered.
Then Sumire broke free, slipping from his grasp with practiced grace. The kunai flipped back into her hand, her stance tightening, face hidden behind the mask once again.
She said nothing. The less she spoke, the safer her secret stayed. All she wanted now was to escape — quietly, unseen.
The two of them stood opposite each other across the narrow forest path, shadows dancing between them. The wind stirred the leaves, carrying only tension.
Then, Boruto sighed. "I've got class," he said casually. "We'll pick this up later."
He turned and walked off, as if nothing had happened.
Sumire stood frozen, utterly bewildered. Of all the possible outcomes she'd expected — capture, confrontation, exposure — this wasn't one of them.
But as he vanished through the trees, she exhaled shakily. He didn't expose me…
For now, their fragile peace remained.
By the time Boruto returned to the academy grounds, Shino and Mitsuki were just arriving. They looked worn — especially Shino, whose pale expression spoke of fatigue and regret.
Boruto strolled up to them, grinning as if nothing had happened. "You guys sure took your time. Class started ages ago. C'mon, sensei, we've already had two self-study sessions."
Shino looked at him — silent, bewildered. Then his lips twitched into something between a grimace and a smile. "Boruto… you—"
Boruto cut him off with a laugh. "No worries, sensei! Today's battle exercise was great practice. Learned a ton about adapting to bad situations. Gave me a lot to think about!"
Mitsuki nodded, tone perfectly smooth. "Yes, Shino-sensei. Your adaptability and combat awareness were impressive. It was a valuable experience for us."
That drew a faint, weary smile from Shino. "You two… really are something."
He paused, looking between them, and then said softly, "You performed exceptionally well. Especially you, Boruto — your awareness, your analysis, your teamwork. You turned a hopeless situation into victory. I'm proud."
Boruto grinned, scratching his head, pretending to look humble — but inside, his thoughts were smug. Nice. That should earn me some extra points when Mom hears about it.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the academy, Sumire quietly sealed her black robe inside a scroll and tucked it away.
Her heart was still racing. The air felt too warm; her cheeks burned.
Why… why did he let me go?
By the time she reached the school gates, she forced herself to breathe normally, smoothing her hair, adjusting her uniform. She even splashed cool water on her face in the washroom — but the warmth on her skin refused to fade.
Finally composed — at least outwardly — she stepped into the classroom.
Her eyes widened.
"Bo… Boruto?" she whispered under her breath.
There he was — sitting cross-legged among his classmates on the playground, relaxed as ever, chatting like he'd been there all along.
Her thoughts spun. But… he was behind me. How—?
She hesitated at the doorway, confusion still written across her face, before slipping quietly back to her seat.
Chocho Akimichi leaned closer, eyes squinting. "Class rep, why's your face so red? You got a fever or something?"
Sumire jolted. "No—no! It's just… really hot today."
Chocho blinked and looked up at the sky. The clouds covered nearly the whole sun; a cool breeze rustled through the trees.
"…Uh-huh," she muttered, popping another chip into her mouth.
Crunch.
Hot day, huh? she thought dryly, watching Sumire's flustered expression. Right.
And so, under the gray morning sky, Sumire sat silently — her heart still pounding, her gaze drifting once, twice, toward the blond boy who, for reasons she didn't understand, had let her go.