The shinobi supply shop owner ran a practiced eye over the sack of ore Seiran had hauled in, then looked up with an approving grin.
"Quality's solid, and you've got volume," the man said, weighing a chunk in his palm. "I can do five thousand ryo."
Five thousand.
Seiran felt a familiar spark of anticipation kindle in his chest. That was significantly better than the four thousand ryo the other shops had offered—which meant he was one step closer to affording a custom electromagnetic railgun.
The decision to liquidate his stockpiled ore had been pragmatic. After last night's encounter with Rin Uchiha by the Naka River, he needed to keep a low profile. The less attention he drew over the next few days, the better. He still had no idea how she'd interpret their little "spar"—or whether word would reach the Uchiha main family.
Let's be honest: he'd brawled with an Uchiha at the compound's edge and left her looking thoroughly defeated.
The polite version involved phrases like "spirited clash" and "mutual respect."
The reality? He'd turned her into a pretzel.
Seiran accepted the stack of bills from the shopkeeper, his mind already calculating the damage. If his electromagnetic abilities ever came to light—and given how hard he'd gone last night, they probably would—he needed countermeasures in place. The Hyuga main family wouldn't take kindly to learning he possessed a kekkei genkai outside their control.
"You thinking about something, kid?" The shopkeeper grinned at his pensive expression.
"Just appreciating fair business," Seiran replied smoothly, letting his Byakugan eyes crinkle with practiced innocence. "The other shops were stingy. You're a good man."
The shopkeeper's chest puffed out slightly. "Really? Well, you've got talent, kid. Why not come work here? I'll pay—"
A twitch ran down Seiran's forehead.
"—uh, just joking!" The shopkeeper laughed nervously, catching Seiran's expression. "Just messing around!"
Idiot, Seiran thought flatly. One look at my eyes tells you everything about my clan standing. Working retail wasn't in his future, no matter how much ryo it paid.
---
Seiran walked into the Academy classroom braced for whispers.
Instead, he found quiet industry. Students bent over notes and scrolls, muttering practice drills to themselves. Rin sat at her desk, head down, methodically reviewing material. She didn't even glance his way.
Relief washed through him. Whatever had happened last night, it hadn't blown up yet.
He slid into his seat just as Anko Mitarashi leaned over with a grin. "You look exhausted again. Late-night training?"
"Obviously."
"Mm-hmm." Her expression turned suggestive. "Vigorous training?"
Seiran ignored her, already mentally compartmentalizing the problem of what excuse to construct for his abilities.
"Hey, you ready for the practical assessment?" Anko asked suddenly.
Seiran's head snapped up. "Assessment?"
"Don't tell me you forgot?" Anko's eyes went wide. "The semester's almost over. Finals are right now. Everyone's been reviewing for two weeks!"
Damn.
He'd been so focused on his own projects that he'd completely tuned out the Academy's calendar. Around him, the classroom hummed with last-minute cramming—and now he understood why. They weren't gossiping about his fight. They were panicking.
"I just didn't realize we were that close," he muttered.
"You're saying that like you weren't planning to study anyway," Anko said flatly. "Seriously, you're lazier than Obito. People are already betting on you failing."
Seiran said nothing, though his jaw tightened. The comparison to Obito stung more than he wanted to admit.
By afternoon, Instructor Fujino Daikichi had herded the entire class to the training grounds. The instructor stood before them like a farmer surveying his crop, practically beaming. Most of his students had made real progress this semester—they had potential, futures, promise.
Then his gaze landed on two specific students.
Obito Uchiha was clearly some kind of family anomaly—lazy, accident-prone, and somehow still managing to be enthusiastic about everything. At least they had Rin to prove the Uchiha clan actually produced competent shinobi.
And then there was Seiran.
At least Obito tried. The guy was a weirdo, sure, but he showed up and put in effort.
Seiran, on the other hand? The kid slept through lectures. He cut training sessions. Instructor Fujino had never seen him seriously engaged with a single lesson all semester. Meanwhile, Hyuga Iroha from the same clan demonstrated perfectly adequate diligence.
Why was the gap so vast?
The instructor's headache intensified. This year's batch was absolutely full of peculiar families.