Morning light spilled across the rooftops.
The sun had just risen, the world slowly waking. A trace of lingering coolness still clung to the air.
By this time, Makoto was already awake, seated on the veranda of his modest home, immersed in his morning practice.
This small courtyard had once belonged to his parents. It was the only thing they had left him. Of them, he knew almost nothing—just their names, and that they had once been shinobi.
Makoto knelt in silence on the wooden floor, dressed in plain black clothes. His hands rested quietly on his knees, eyes closed, breath calm and even. He seemed like a statue in meditation, his presence gently interwoven with the world around him. Any sudden movement might break the tranquil harmony of the moment.
A bamboo practice sword lay beside him. Swordsmanship was the only skill he had brought with him into this world. And he had a general sense that the martial strength of this world was rather high. From the moment he arrived, he had never missed a day of early training.
Strictly speaking, his "morning practice" was less about physical conditioning and more about tempering the mind and nurturing the spirit. He was still a child, after all—his body too young for real martial exercise. His physical condition was perhaps a little healthier than average, but hardly remarkable.
"Makoto!"
A voice called out from beyond the courtyard wall. It sounded like a child. In the quiet morning, it rang out clearly. Makoto slowly opened his eyes, a hint of resignation in his expression.
"So early today?"
He rose and crossed the courtyard toward the gate.
"Makoto!"
"Takemi Makoto, if you don't open the door, I swear I'm gonna kick—"
Creak.
The wooden gate swung open.
The boy's voice cut off mid-threat. Seeing Makoto's expressionless face, he scratched his head with an awkward grin.
"I thought you weren't home," he said sheepishly.
He was about the same age and build as Makoto, with tousled brown hair and dark red war paint smeared across his cheeks.
"What's the rush? You're here early," Makoto said.
"Come on, let's go! Sis made tuna sashimi this morning. She told me to come get you."
Without waiting for a reply, the boy grabbed Makoto's arm and tried to drag him off.
"Hold on a second." Makoto calmly stopped him, turned around to close the gate, and only then walked off with him at a relaxed pace.
Though clearly impatient, the boy had no choice but to match Makoto's stride.
His name was Inuzuka Kiba—Makoto's only real friend in this world. But, being a child, Makoto often found himself the one looking after him.
Ordinarily, someone like Kiba—rowdy, impulsive, and blunt—would have little patience for someone as quiet and seemingly uptight as Makoto. But their friendship had roots deeper than temperament: their parents.
Kiba's mother, Inuzuka Tsume, had once been comrades-in-arms with Makoto's father, Takemi Tsukasa. After Tsukasa's death, she had taken it upon herself to look after the orphaned boy, even becoming his legal guardian.
Thanks to that bond, Kiba and Makoto shared a close, if complicated, relationship.
At first, Kiba had taken no interest in Makoto, thinking him too stiff and "stuck-up." But over time, things changed. Every time Kiba got into trouble—and it was often—Makoto would smooth things over with Tsume, helping him escape one punishment after another. Feeling grateful and just a little smug, Kiba had eventually "reluctantly" accepted this polite, well-behaved "little brother."
Since then, he never played without dragging Makoto along, using his presence like a charm to ward off his mother's wrath.
Makoto hadn't been too eager to play childish games at first. But out of respect for Inuzuka Tsume, who had shown him such kindness, he went along with it.
And so, he became Kiba's reluctant tagalong.
The Inuzuka home wasn't far. In a matter of minutes, they arrived at the gate, and Kiba burst through it like a whirlwind.
"Mom! Sis! We're back!"
Makoto stepped through the threshold just as a girl around thirteen or fourteen appeared in the courtyard. She wore an apron and held a tray in each hand, each bearing plates of food.
"Oh, Makoto, you're here! Come eat—there's fresh tuna sashimi today!" she said with a bright smile.
"Good morning, Hana," Makoto said with a respectful bow.
"Kiba, go help bring out the rest," she called over her shoulder.
"Ugh, fine." Kiba grumbled, but went without protest.
"Do you need a hand?" Makoto offered politely.
"No need, Makoto. You just go sit and wait," Hana said cheerfully, then turned and walked inside with the trays. Makoto followed quietly behind her.
Kiba watched them go, then muttered under his breath, pouting.
"Makoto's here already?" a voice called from within.
Makoto entered the room and saw Inuzuka Tsume seated cross-legged on the floor. Four dogs lay beside her—one with deep blue fur, the other three gray. The blue one, large and wolf-like with a single blind eye, was named Kuromaru. He was Tsume's ninja hound and could speak like a human.
The other three, smaller and sleeker, were the Graymaru triplets. They belonged to Hana, who was now a genin. These hounds, unlike Kuromaru, could not speak.
"Aunt Tsume." Makoto bowed respectfully.
"Have you ever thought about raising a ninja dog of your own?" Kuromaru asked, eyeing Makoto with a familiar, curious expression. "You're going to be a shinobi too, right?"
Tsume said nothing, simply watching him. It was clear the choice was his.
Makoto blinked, surprised, then slowly shook his head. "I'm not part of the Inuzuka clan. Wouldn't that be… inappropriate?"
"We wouldn't teach you any of our secret techniques," Tsume said. "But even just having a ninja dog would be a big help for recon missions."
"I see… I'll think about it once I've officially become a shinobi," Makoto replied carefully, not turning her down outright.
Tsume nodded without pressing further. Her meaning was clear: she didn't expect him to form the kind of deep, lifelong bond that the Inuzuka did with their hounds. This would be something more like Hatake Kakashi's partnership—for support, not soul-bound companionship.
"Where's that rascal?" Tsume asked Hana, who was arranging bowls on the table.
"I sent him to fetch the rest of the food."
"You little punk! What's taking you so long—you trying to die out there?" Tsume roared toward the door.
Makoto's brow twitched. Tsume never shouted at him like that—only at Hana and Kiba. Especially Kiba. Though she wasn't exactly gentle with Makoto, she was far more measured.
A moment later, Kiba came running in, arms full of dishes.
Tsume rose, marched over, and grabbed him by the ear.
"You good-for-nothing brat! Always dragging your feet. You're nothing but trouble outside this house!" she barked, yanking his ear hard.
"Ow ow ow! That hurts!" Kiba yelped. He never dared talk back to his mother.
Makoto and Hana didn't even flinch. It was a daily ritual at this point.
At the table, Kiba ate quietly, ears still bright red. Tsume had pulled hard.
"One week from now, I'm sending you both to school," Tsume announced suddenly. All three children paused mid-bite.
"School?" Kiba exclaimed. "You mean the ninja academy?!"
Makoto, too, looked uncertain.
"You're both of age. It's time," Hana explained gently. "And the academy's accepting new students now."
Makoto nodded slightly in response.
"Make sure you get along with your classmates, okay?" Hana said, smiling warmly. "Kiba, I'm counting on you to look after him."
"Like I need to look after him," Kiba scoffed.
Wham!
Tsume slammed her fist down on his head.
"You little idiot! If you get into trouble at school, I'll skin you alive. You do whatever Makoto tells you, got it?"
"Did you hear me?!"
Kiba clutched his head, eyes watering, and nodded like a chicken pecking at rice.