A light frost still clung to the ground as Yuki made her way toward the Academy, condensation from her breath dancing in the early morning breeze. Konoha was still in the last grips of winter, stubborn patches of snow lingering along the edges of the quiet streets. She didn’t shy away from the chill—she embraced it. As she walked, the scent of bread baking and dumplings being prepared for the morning rush drifted through the air. This was her favourite time of day—the stillness before the rest of the world woke up.
She paused at one of the few shops open at this hour, ducking inside long enough to grab a cup of coffee before continuing on her way.
The Academy came into view through the bare branches of the trees, its familiar outline softened by the pale light of dawn. For now, its windows were dark, the training yard empty save for a thin layer of frost that glittered like chakra dust beneath the sky. Yuki slowed her steps without quite meaning to, savouring the quiet. Soon enough, the halls would echo with shouted complaints and the scrape of sandals against polished floors.
Inside, the classroom greeted her with the faint scent of chalk and old wood. She set her bag and coffee down at the front desk, fingers brushing against a stack of neatly rolled lesson scrolls waiting to be unbound. Fine chalk dust clung to the blackboard ledge, undisturbed, as though the room itself were holding its breath.
The rows of desks were just as she remembered—older students toward the back, the more eager or disciplined clustered closer to the front, and a few familiar trouble spots already claiming the seats nearest the windows. She approached the classroom she would be occupying for the day, pausing as nostalgia settled in. It never ceased to amaze her how little the place had changed. She could still remember sitting at one of these desks herself, craning for a better view of the board, dreaming of missions and jutsu rather than standing at the front of the room. Here, time seemed to stand still, measured in the inevitability of it all: students eager to learn, teachers ready to guide them, and the quiet rhythm of Konoha life carrying on as it always had.
Footsteps began to echo down the corridor, faint at first, then louder as the first students arrived. A group of Genin laughed quietly near the entrance, their voices bouncing off the walls. Yuki watched them from the doorway of her classroom. Even in their morning chatter, she could see the sparks of ambition, curiosity, and the unpolished but raw potential of future shinobi.
She sipped her coffee slowly, feeling its warmth spread through her hands, and allowed herself a small smile. These small, mundane moments—the smell of the classroom, the shuffling of feet, the whispers of young ninjas—were what made teaching here so endlessly rewarding. No matter how fast the world outside moved, inside these walls, the lessons endured, as steady and reliable as the sun rising over the Hokage Monument. Today, like every day, she would guide them a little further, one scroll, one lesson, one gentle correction at a time.
[Topic Entered]
[Word Count: 535/1,000]
Last edited:
