Takeo didn't need sensory jutsu to feel it.
The ego entered the house two full seconds before his son did.
There was a distinct energy to Satoru's footsteps that day — louder, looser, almost bouncing with self-satisfaction. The kind of walk that said "I've conquered the world, or at least the classroom." Takeo could practically hear the internal soundtrack playing behind it.
Of course he impressed people, he thought, arms crossed as he leaned by the hallway, waiting. The kid's smart. Talented. Handsome — not that I'll say that out loud. But now... now he thinks he's a damn legend.
The door opened.
"Home! Your prodigal son returns, victorious as always!"
Takeo didn't move.
"You're thirty minutes early."
"I worked harder, so I got done faster." Satoru grinned, casually kicking off his sandals.
"That's efficiency, old man."
Takeo raised an eyebrow.
"Is that what they're calling flirting with half your class now?"
Satoru froze mid-step.
"...Tactical charisma."
Takeo sighed.
"You know, if your head gets any bigger, I'll have to reinforce the doorframe."
"Don't blame me. Blame my devastating charm and elite shuriken accuracy."
He was impossible. Takeo knew it. But deep down, past the sarcasm and the snark, he could also see the hunger — the drive. And that… that part, Takeo respected deeply.
Still, there were lines to be held. Balance to be kept.
And nothing humbled a cocky kid faster than cold water and chakra mismanagement.
Without another word, Takeo turned on his heel and headed for the back of the house.
"Outside," he said.
Satoru blinked.
"Wait, again? We already—"
"You've walked on trees. Time to walk on water."
Satoru's grin returned in full force.
"Oh-ho. You think I'm ready?"
"No," Takeo muttered.
"But your ego is."
Takeo stood at the edge of the backyard, arms crossed, eyes on the small artificial pond shimmering in the afternoon light.
'He's good. Too good, maybe, he thought. Mastered tree-walking faster than I expected. Then he slid down it like some drunk gecko… and somehow made that work too.'
It was almost annoying how fast Satoru learned. Worse still — the boy knew it.
'If I praise him, he inflates. If I push too hard, he may shut down'. Takeo exhaled slowly.
'I need something that'll humble him just enough… without killing the fire.'
His gaze sharpened as an idea sparked — a bit underhanded, but nothing malicious.
'He wants to walk on water? Fine. The goal will be to run across it. Full speed. From one end to the other.'
He looked down at the still surface of the pond and almost smiled.
'He'll think it's impossible. He'll try to prove it isn't. And while he fails and fails again… he'll unknowingly master the fundamentals.'
Was it manipulation?
Probably.
But with a kid like Satoru — all talent, all ego, all fire — gentle honesty wasn't going to cut it. You had to play him at his own game.
The back door creaked open.
"So," Satoru called, tossing his bag aside.
"We doing water miracles today or what?"
Takeo pointed at the pond.
"You're going to run across it."
Satoru blinked.
"…Run? Like, speed? Momentum?"
"Exactly. No hesitation. No stumbling. Full sprint from this edge to the other."
Satoru narrowed his eyes.
"…That's way harder than just walking."
"Yup," Takeo said, stepping forward.
"But if you don't challenge gravity with enough arrogance, it won't take you seriously."
Satoru stood at the edge of the pond, brows furrowed, arms loose at his sides, barefoot and soaked from the ankles down.
He had tried five times already.
Five glorious, soaking failures.
Each time he sprinted, he managed a few steps — then sank, splashed, or stumbled in ways that would've made a lesser student give up. But Satoru? He laughed every time he got wet.
"Again," he muttered, shaking off water like a mutt, chakra flaring beneath his feet.
Takeo leaned on a tree, watching in silence, arms crossed.
He's pushing. That's good.
Satoru inhaled sharply, then ran.
The first few steps looked the same — wobbly chakra, unsteady surface tension — but halfway across, his expression changed. His core locked. His feet flowed. His control snapped into place like puzzle pieces aligning.
He didn't stop.
He ran clean across.
Then skidded to a stop on dry ground, arms raised in triumph.
"YEAH!" he shouted, laughing.
"Did you see that?! The water respected me!"
Takeo blinked.
"Huh."
"Let's go again!"
And again, Satoru ran — perfect form, stable chakra, no splash. The water barely rippled beneath him.
And again.
Three perfect runs. Back to back. On chakra control alone.
Takeo stood there, arms slack now at his sides, brow twitching slightly.
This kid…
He didn't say it out loud. Couldn't. If he did, Satoru would probably ascend into the heavens thinking he was a god.
But inside, Takeo was screaming.
'He's a prodigy.'
A real one.
And that terrified him.
Satoru jogged back over, grinning ear to ear, water droplets glittering under the midday sun.
Satoru jogged back over, grinning ear to ear, water droplets glittering under the midday sun. His white hair clung messily to his forehead, eyes blazing with triumph and just the right amount of smugness.
He held up three fingers.
"Three times. Perfect form. Not even a splash."
He winked.
"I'm basically a walking miracle."
Takeo didn't respond right away. He stared at the wet footprints trailing behind his son — too symmetrical, too balanced, too correct to be luck.
He grunted, turning away before the boy could catch the flicker of pride in his eyes.
"You're late for lunch," he muttered.
"Or…" Satoru said, falling into step beside him.
"I'm just early for greatness."
From the back door, Aiko's voice rang out like a dinner bell laced with exasperation.
"If the two of you don't get in here right now, I swear I'm feeding the neighbors!"
Satoru winced.
"She sounds serious."
"She always sounds serious."
They stepped inside, steam and the smell of grilled fish greeting them instantly. Aiko stood over the stove with a ladle in hand, glaring as if chakra control was no excuse for being late to lunch.
Satoru threw his arms wide.
In the dining room, the three of them sat around the small wooden table — a cozy, sun-warmed space that always smelled faintly of miso and old tatami.
Satoru devoured his rice like a boy who'd just conquered nature itself — chopsticks moving fast, confident, almost cocky.
Aiko ate with quiet dignity, occasionally flicking her gaze toward her son with something between pride and concern.
Takeo, however, barely touched his food.
His eyes weren't on the fish.
They were distant — locked on something far past the shoji walls and the peaceful garden outside.
Satoru was talented. That much was clear.
Too talented.
And in Konoha, talent didn't just draw attention. It drew expectations. Targets. Manipulation. Pressure.
Takeo had seen it before — how the system praised prodigies, built them up as symbols, then quietly fed them to the flames when their usefulness ran dry.
No clan to shield him. No political ties. No bloodline prestige.
Just a civilian boy with a dangerous spark behind his eyes.
'He'll stand out. Too much.And standing out in the ninja world…'
Takeo's grip on his chopsticks tightened.
It meant being used.
He glanced at Satoru, who was mid-rant about how his tree-scaling technique was "basically art." The boy was glowing — proud, loud, and completely unaware of the subtle machinery already starting to notice him.
Aiko caught his expression. She didn't speak, but her hand brushed lightly against his under the table.
He understood.
They had to prepare him. Shield him, if they could — not just from kunai and missions, but from the silent politics of power. From being seen as a weapon before he was even a man.
From becoming someone else's tool.
Takeo took a long breath, then finally picked up his chopsticks.
"Eat slower, Satoru," he said, voice level.
"No point in being fast if you're choking."
Satoru raised an eyebrow, mouth still half full.
"Pretty sure choking is part of the drama."
Takeo sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.
'You idiot... you have no idea what's coming.
And I'll do everything I can to make sure you never see the worst of it.'
'Even if it means lying to you.'
'Even if it means keeping you just a little arrogant… and a little blind.'