The Uchiha compound was quiet in the early morning, as it always was. Kenji had been awake for an hour already, having completed his meditation and basic conditioning before the sun had fully cleared the Hokage faces. The sun was still casting its early-morning glow now, painting his entire room a warm gold that Kenji had always associated with comfort and safety. He was reviewing his notes on chakra theory when his father appeared in the doorway of his small room, his frame seeming larger than life for a brief moment as kenji looked up from the floor-level table beside his bed.
"There's a special class today," Nagi said, his voice carrying that particular weight it always held when discussing Kenji's education. "Taught by the Hokage himself. I've arranged for you to attend."
Kenji looked up from his notes, dark eyes wide for just a fraction of a second before settling back into their usual calm observation. The Hokage. Nao. The man whose face was carved into the mountain, whose policies were reshaping the entire village's relationship with shinobi arts. His father had never mentioned knowing the Hokage.
"The Hokage," Kenji repeated, a question hidden in the statement.
"I work in the administrative wing," Nagi said, and something flickered across his face; embarrassment, perhaps, or the old wound of his desk job. "I heard about it through proper channels. It's a small class. Only a few students. This is an opportunity, Kenji."
An opportunity. Kenji knew what that meant. Another chance to prove himself. Another stage on which to demonstrate that the Uchiha were not finished. The weight of his clan and the responsibilities he possessed weighed heavy on his shoulders this early in the morning, but he didn't let it show in front of his father--he never would. It wasn't that he feared the man--on the contrary. He loved his father very much, and wanted to make him happy and proud--two things that he always was when Kenji delivered on his potential and lived up to his name.
"I'll be ready," he said, his intonation as solemn as a 7-year old could possibly sound.
Nagi nodded once and was gone.
Kenji dressed carefully in his dark navy kimono top, the Uchiha crest positioned perfectly between his shoulder blades. He checked his reflection in the small mirror: his hair was still a mess, but that was normal. He couldn't tell it what to do even when he combed it--his mom said it had a mind of its own and had long-since resigned herself to simply cutting it to a semi-manageable length. His pale face looked back at him, seven years old and already carrying the weight of a legacy, slight bags under his pitch-black eyes.
He left early. He always left early.
The walk to the Academy was familiar, but Kenji's mind was elsewhere, turning over possibilities. He had read what little was publicly available about the Sixth Hokage. Nao had taken office during a period of significant change, advocating for shinobi to be seen as something more than weapons. He wanted coexistence with the creatures now roaming the lands, wanted to shed the village's purely military identity.
Kenji wasn't sure what he thought about that. His father spoke of restoring the Uchiha to their former glory, and glory, in the old stories, meant power on the battlefield. But the Hokage was talking about something different. Something that made Kenji's thoughts tangle like yarn. He had decided a while ago to simply do his best at everything he did, and serve the village in whatever way that would restore honor to the Uchiha name.
He reached the Academy and found the correct classroom easily enough. The door was slightly ajar. He could hear voices inside.
"--must have weekly reports and mentor the intern that I place in your care. Every week, there is a meeting with the client, too. How does this make you feel..?"
Kenji recognized the voice as belonging to the Hokage. He paused, hand hovering near the door. He had been taught not to interrupt. But he had also been taught that arriving exactly on time meant arriving late.
He pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside.
The classroom was small, more like a study than a lecture hall. A mahogany table dominated the center. The Hokage stood near a board where he had written something in crayon: Project: The Phoenix Protocol. He was addressing another figure: a young woman Kenji didn't recognize, though something about her presence felt layered, complex, like a book with more pages than its cover suggested.
Kenji moved silently to the side of the room, positioning himself where he could observe without being in the way. He offered a small, precise bow to the Hokage, then to the woman, acknowledging their presence, before he took a seat near the front and remained silent as he listened to the words the Hokage was saying.
His dark eyes swept the room in an instant, cataloging everything. The Hokage was leaning against the table, but there was something off about his posture--a carefulness, a slight favoring of one side. Injured? He hadn't heard anything about the Hokage getting hurt--but then, he suppose he wouldn't have. He was just a fresh genin, the hitae-itae on his forehead still polished and shiny without a scratch on it.
Kenji cut his eyes over to the woman who the hokage had been speaking to, wondering how she could respond--and whether he could gather the context of what they had been talking about before he entered the room.
