Open Outsider Training [Class]

[Rakujo Reika]

The second floor of the Toraono Dojo was quieter than the yard below.

Reika moved through the stone corridor with unhurried steps, her boots barely sounding against the worn floor. She wore travel-worn but intentional clothing: a cropped, reinforced jacket left open over a fitted wrap top, the fabric chosen for flexibility rather than appearance. Utility straps rested low at her hips, securing small pouches and tools without clutter. Her trousers were fitted for movement, tucked neatly into her boots, and a scarf lay loose at her neck—practical, easily adjusted. Clean bandages wrapped her hands and forearms, stark against the darker tones of her clothes, immaculate despite use.

Nothing about her outfit suggested a traditional instructor. Everything about it suggested someone who expected movement. She stepped into the assigned classroom and closed the door behind her. The room felt… contained.

Rows of desks faced a chalkboard worn smooth by years of use, the walls decorated with childish drawings and half-torn announcements for upcoming examinations. Here and there, faint scorch marks scarred the stone—evidence of accidents that had happened even where jutsu was supposedly forbidden. Narrow windows cut into the outer wall let in filtered subterranean light, pale and indirect. Reika crossed the room slowly, jacket shifting with each step, eyes taking in sightlines and distances. She rested her hands briefly on the teacher’s desk at the front, bandaged palms pressing lightly into the wood.

She drew a slow breath and pulled the heat inward. The warmth that often lingered around her like a second presence folded away under discipline. The air responded almost immediately, the ambient warmth of the underground complex bleeding out until the room felt subtly, unmistakably cool. Not cold enough to distract. Just enough to sharpen awareness. Reika exhaled. Better. She stepped away from the desk and paced once along the front row, noting where students would cluster, who would hide near the back, who would lean forward too eagerly. She stopped near the chalkboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and turned it over between her fingers without writing anything. “No heat.” she murmured to herself. “No spectacle.” She set the chalk down again.

Beyond the closed door, the academy stirred, footsteps echoing through corridors, voices calling names, the scrape of chairs as students were dismissed and redirected. The Toraono Dojo was waking into its next lesson cycle. Reika returned to the center of the room and stood there, posture relaxed but grounded. Her red eyes were calm now—no glow, no pressure—just a steady presence that made the cool air feel intentional rather than accidental. Soon, students would arrive expecting a lecture, a list of rules, another instructor eager to correct them.

Reika had no intention of raising her voice. She intended to let the cold speak first. And then she would see who paid attention when things actually got started.

 

[Tsuchigumo Maya]

The morning for Maya had been busy; clan chores were a new thing. Checking the tunnels, cleaning. Things had felt tense lately. Ever since she learned her parents' dark secret, she had not slept well.
But her newfound friendship with her sister had helped keep her afloat at least.

The school's bells made her flinch. 'Ah, I don't want to be late.' Maya hurried down the corridor towards the classroom. Her hair is bouncing.

As usual, her hair was combed straight, with perfectly straight bangs and edges. She was wearing a silk tunic with a wide silk sash.

Maya entered the class, only to see she was the first one there. She felt her chest tighten. 'Oh no,' she held her head low. She peeked at the teacher. She didn't look like their usual instructor.

"U-uhm hello, s-sorry if I'm late. I'm Tsuchigumo Maya..." She whispered in a small voice. She then bowed her head before scurrying to the back and taking a seat. She had been working on her confidence for the last week or so, but she still struggled with herself.

'I hope there isn't a fight today...' Maya thought, there had been so many fights recently. It was a bit overwhelming.

[Topic entered]
[1/5, wc 208/1000]

 

[Chikamatsu Ayaka]

The hallway outside the classroom was empty.

That was, objectively, a good sign. It meant she wasn't interrupting something already in progress. It also meant there was no crowd to slip into unnoticed, no moment of general shuffling and chair-scraping to use as cover. Ayaka had been standing three steps from the door for approximately forty-five seconds, her basket pressed against her chest, her free hand already finding the fabric of her sleeve.

'Just go in. The flyer said this classroom. This is the classroom. You are allowed to be here. You were assigned to be here. Just open the door and go in.'

She opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was the temperature. Not cold, exactly — more like the deliberate absence of warmth, the kind of carefully maintained cool she recognized from the Chikamatsu's drying rooms where temperature-sensitive compounds were stored. Not accidental. Intentional. Ayaka's golden eyes moved immediately to the instructor before she could tell herself not to look.

Red eyes. Bandaged hands. An economy of movement that suggested someone who had stopped needing to perform competence a long time ago.

'She's very still. That kind of still is — pay attention to that, that matters, don't just stand in the doorway.'

There was already one other student — Maya, she realized with a small, relieved breath. Maya's presence was the closest thing to an anchor Ayaka had in a room full of unknowns, and she crossed toward her without consciously deciding to, the soft sound of her footsteps barely registering in the cool quiet.

She paused at the desk beside her, and then, because the silence felt like it required something, she turned carefully toward the instructor and bowed from the waist, arms at her sides.

"I'm sorry for the interruption. I'm Chikamatsu Ayaka."

The words came out at approximately half the volume she had intended. She straightened, and because her eyes had nowhere safe to go, she let them settle on the instructor's hands. The bandaging was clean. Precise. Someone who wrapped their own hands regularly and had done it long enough that the tension was second nature.

'Don't stare at her hands. That's strange. Stop it.'

She dropped into the seat beside Maya without further comment, set her basket carefully on the floor where it wouldn't be in anyone's way, and folded her hands on the desk in front of her.

The room was very quiet. The cool air settled around her shoulders like something intentional, and despite herself, Ayaka found her breathing slowing to match it.

'Okay. Okay, you're in. You're sitting down. That's — that's the hard part done.'

She glanced sideways at Maya, just briefly, and gave her the smallest possible nod that still counted as acknowledgment.

"...Hello again."

[Topic Entered]

 

[Rin Naomi]

Naomi would walk through the Toraono Dojo as she thought to herself about different classes. She has already propelled much further than she thought that she would in the past few days, but she is finally getting a hold of her own powers. She was even able to learn some new techniques and be able to use them quite well. Not perfect but should be able to get the job more done. She had her hands clasped behind her back as she seemed to bounce down the hallways of the Dojo.

The Genin would look at the announcement boards that are usually scattered throughout the Dojo looking for any classes that might be in session. Ever since her first class as the odd gal out, being the oldest one there, even older than the teacher, weirdly enough, she had fought down the embarrassment that comes with awakening to her own powers later than everyone else. She found one that was open. Taking note of the room number, the Genin would make her way there.

Upon opening the door, she caught her breathe, "Wow, you're as pretty as Lady Kyuji." She would say to the older woman. She would mean it as just a compliment, something that she almost always does, compliment people. Naomi bowed to the older woman, "Thank you for teaching us Sensei." Before she turned her attention to the other two students in the classroom.

Her eyes went wide and seemed to sparkle as she caught sight of one of the girls that she knew. "Ayaka, it's so nice to see you again. I missed you girl." She would give Ayaka a quick hug before she turned her attention over to the other girl. She seemed familiar to Naomi, but she can't put her finger on where. Maybe the class with Rika? There were plenty of kids there and it was hard for Naomi to keep track of who is all who.

She would offer her hand to shake, "Hello, my name is Rin Naomi. What's yours?" She would give the girl in the silken dress a warm smile. Whether the girl shakes her hand or not, Naomi would sit down after a few seconds and pay attention to the older woman that seems to be the teacher.

(topic entered)

 

[Yoru]

A few days had passed since my first class, where I had learned to mold chakra more efficiently and demonstrate a technique or two to our sensei for the class. That class was an introductory level course from my perspective, but it proved valuable as it helped me work on little things that I had not noticed previously that I was doing that were providing a disadvantage. While it felt like it was thrown together, it had done what it needed to do and I had been practicing the past few days at home. I knew I was no expert yet, but I was going to get there before too long with some more practice and potential guidance from the instructors.

That is one of the many reasons that I was walking up to the second floor of the prestigious Toraono Dojo today for my second class of my young career. It was definitely different from being on the outskirts of the village for my prior one where Rika demonstrated a wide variety of techniques. It felt normal in comparison, but even if we had a normal class today, it still offered valuable information especially since the flyers that were plastered around stated our instructor was a special guest. I wasn't sure how often the village had special guests nor whom they considered one, but it could prove to be a valuable lesson that would benefit all of us that attended it today.

It would not take me long to find the classroom and enter the room to feel the atmosphere feel cooler than what we were accustomed to in the village. It could have been an honest change in a thermostat or someone in the room was using a technique to cool it down - not that I was complaining as it could get hot in the village with us being in a desert. Almost immediately, I would see three of the attendees from the previous class already seated near the back of the room. There was the older blonde that seemed to have overdid it with maintaining the Ram Seal to the point that she was given a food pill I believe to get her back to normal. The other two in the room were the two shy girls that didn't seem to have the most confidence in the world, but they were likely like most of us in the class, nervous and anxious. They didn't seem to have changed much however as they both looked uncomfortable still. Then, there was an older woman in the front of the room that I assumed was our teacher - she seemed relaxed like this was not the first time that she was in front of a group. I wondered what she had in store for us!

I would take a seat beside the older girl and give a smile to each one of my fellow students to try to make any nerves shake themselves out of their systems. But, I admit, I was also nervous but prepared.

 

[Chikamatsu Zuto]

Zuto had made some major life improvements since his first class. For starters, he didn’t look, nor smelled, like a garbage pail kid. His hair was still a sort of dishwater blond, not the true golden curls the Chikamatsu proudly wore, but it was not at least out of his eyes. Still long and shaggy, the cuts to his bangs clearly indicated he had done it himself. Still, self-hygiene at his age was incredibly important. The linger look of self doubt and righteous anger graced his face like some serious RBF, but he had a far more approachable aura now than he did in his first real class. Even his clothing suggested something more self confident. A navy-blue sleeveless turtleneck tucked into a pair of dark, baggy Kevlar pants. Combat boots were confidently tied around the ends of his pants, tucked expertly within the boots for maximum dexterity. At his side, in contrasts to his broody teenage colors, was the white sheath and golden lotus tusba that carried his inherited blade. It hung loose, and not tight to his side but, seemingly on purpose as if to indicate an unusual fighting style.

One class ended, his blue eyes flicking up to the ticking clock on the wall to note how much time he had to get to the second floor classroom. A pang of hunger hit his stomach, something new to him as the grips of depression started to loosen; but he didn’t have the time to worry. Ever since his first class and, unlocking his nature, the boy took an odd turn to his studies. Where he had struggled, now he excelled, and picked up extra classes to boost his experience. When the optional class came up on the board a couple of days ago, he signed up, second from the top; the splattered signature of Momoku’s thumbprint the only one who had beat him.

Fighting the gnawing sensation in his stomach, Zuto quickly ascended the stairs to the second floor and did a light jog down the long halls to reach a classroom rarely used by any but elective teachers. His hand touched the shoji-style door, and slid it open to feel the air shift. It wasn’t a cold air that breezed over and past him, but more like something that sucked the heat away from his body. As he crossed the threshold, his blue eyes caught others seated; girls from his previous class. Including his incredibly fraught family member whom, he was actually surprised to see.

Absently his hand rested on the tsuka of his weapon, fingers gently tracing the tightly tied blue silk before slipping around and grabbing the weapon entirely. His heart fluttered in defiance, and somewhere in his mind that thing, that pushed the dark corners of his mind roared in fury. But, the young sword-user walked, step by step, towards Ayaka, and sat in a desk directly in front of her; as if in the attempt to give her someone to hide behind.

There was still something forced to his movements though. As if he positioned himself to “guard,” Ayaka because he was supposed to; not because he wanted it. At the very least though, he was trying and, no longer felt violent towards the girl herself. It was an improvement.

 

[Momoku]

Momoku had been having a great week. After his first class, he had taken the lessons learned to heart; so much so that he had begun channeling his chakra subconsciously while moving, using it to help him navigate the darkness he had grown almost completely accustomed to. He was also relying on his other senses more frequently than before, giving him a solid range of awareness around him. The feelings of drive and determination sparked by that first class had pushed him to take his training even more seriously, and he had even taken his clan up on its offer to help him find new courses to accelerate his progress.

It was through that offer that Momo had discovered the class being held at the prestigious Toraono Dojo, and he signed up without hesitation. Finding the registration page, Momoku reached into one of his pockets, retrieved an ink pad, and pressed his thumb firmly against it before leaving his mark on the page.

He arrived at the Dojo earlier than intended and found himself waiting for it to open. "Bit overeager, I suppose," he chuckled to himself. With nothing better to occupy his time, he settled against a wall and began cycling his chakra through his body; may as well get some training in before class. He was pulled back to his senses when a bell rang from within the Dojo. Pushing himself off the wall, he made his way inside.

After asking around, Momoku found the hallway outside the classroom. He took a slow breath, let it out, then opened the door with his head held high and his back straight.

"Hello there! My name is Hokkyoku Momoku, but just call me Momo." A wide grin spread across his face as he said it. He recognized a few of the other students already, identifying them by their scent or the sound of their voices. One stood out in particular; a distinct, metallic tang coming from the student's weapon. "Hrm. Well, at least he doesn't smell like body odor anymore," Momoku thought to himself.

Hearing more activity on one side of the room, he navigated toward it, his cane rolling lightly across the floor. The faint ringing it produced echoed back to his ears, letting him map the space around him and avoid any obstacles. Finding an unoccupied desk, Momoku sat down and waited for the class to begin.

[Topic Entered]

 

[Otsuka Sumire]

It would seem Sumi's time following the class with Rika had unfolded rather differently than it had for most of her classmates. Having attended that single session, she'd simply coasted along on the novelty of it for a while. Not particularly driven by any burning desire to become a great shinobi, the generally jovial little girl had instead spent her days doing what she did best: wandering the market district on a very important mission. She was determined to crown a favorite among the many food stalls! A task that had proven far more difficult than anticipated, given that nearly everything she'd sampled so far was a serious contender.

After about a week of this delicious routine, however, Sumi found herself wishing she had someone to share it all with. Good food, she was beginning to suspect, was only half as good eaten alone. And so she decided to sign up for another class and try again at making better headway with her peers. Heading over to the Toraono Dojo, she checked the same board she'd used before and was pleased to find a sign-up sheet with several names already written down. She scrawled her own signature at the bottom - messy, but unmistakably loopy - and headed home to enlist Mother's help with the second half of her plan. The part that she hoped would do most of the heavy lifting.

The morning of the class, Sumi woke early with a bright smile already on her face, despite having spent half the night staring at the ceiling in a fit of excitement. She took her time getting ready; carefully brushing out her long, bushy hair before weaving it into a thick plait that hung neatly down the center of her back. A comfortable gi, knee-length shorts, and cloth wraps on her hands and feet completed the look. She paused to flash a grin at her reflection then turned and practically skipped down the hall to find her foster mother waiting in the kitchen, ready to see the plan through to the end.

Several hours later, Sumire strolled through the front doors of the dojo carrying a flat, slightly oversized box tied loosely with a green ribbon. She paused at the board long enough to double-check the sign-up sheet, gave a single confident nod, and headed up the stairs toward the listed classroom. She was nearly at the top when she spotted the boy she'd fumbled so awkwardly with during the last class, and her feet very nearly carried her right back down again. Fortunately, the weight of the box in her hands provided a helpful reminder of her purpose, and she steadied herself just in time to watch him disappear through the door ahead of her.

She stopped just outside, letting the door settle shut before drawing a slow, quiet breath. From inside came the muffled scrape of a chair across the floor. Another breath. A small, firm nod to herself and she carefully balanced the box in one hand, pushed the door open, and stepped through. Hitching a bright smile back onto her face, she swept a quick glance around the room. Everyone here had been in her previous class. Every single one of them. Something in her chest loosened just slightly. This was exactly the second chance she'd been hoping for. She stepped toward the instructor and opened the box.

Inside, arranged in a neat rectangle, sat an assortment of pink cupcakes; each crowned with a swirl of rich chocolate frosting. Taken together, the frosting across the whole arrangement had been carefully decorated to form words, written in the same loopy hand as the signature on the sign-up sheet. In bright pink icing, they read: Hi, my name is Sumi!

 

[Rakujo Reika]

The door had opened again and again, each arrival bringing a new shift in the air of the classroom. Reika did not interrupt any of them. She simply watched. The coolness in the room remained steady, subtle but deliberate. Not a draft, not the chill of underground stone alone. The absence of heat had purpose behind it, something disciplined, controlled. It sharpened sound. The quiet scrape of chairs, the soft rustle of fabric, the small nervous breaths of students finding their places. Every motion carried just a little farther in air that refused to soften it. Her red eyes moved calmly from one student to the next as they entered.

The first girl, Maya, had tried to disappear the moment she stepped through the door. Reika noticed the hesitation in her shoulders, the way her voice shrank inward when she introduced herself. She also noticed where Maya chose to sit: the back row, where walls felt closer and expectations farther away.

The second, Ayaka, was quieter still, though in a different way. There was a carefulness to her movements, a deliberate observation behind her golden eyes. She noticed the temperature immediately. Noted the bandages. The kind of mind that catalogued details before committing to action.

Reika did not acknowledge the attention.

The third arrival, Naomi, entered like a burst of sunlight that had accidentally wandered into the wrong season. Compliments delivered freely, warmth offered without hesitation, energy that rippled through the room whether anyone asked for it or not. Reika allowed the praise to pass without reaction, though the faintest flicker of amusement touched her eyes.

Then came Yoru, studying the room with open curiosity, quietly measuring the unfamiliar instructor who waited at the front.

Zuto followed shortly after, carrying the presence of someone trying very hard to be different from who they had been yesterday. His posture shifted toward Ayaka almost unconsciously, placing himself between her and the room in a protective instinct he may not have fully understood yet.

Momoku entered with confidence shaped by different senses entirely. The soft roll of his cane, the faint ringing it produced against the floor, mapping the room through sound rather than sight. Reika’s gaze lingered there for half a breath longer. Awareness that did not depend on vision was something she respected.

Finally, Sumire arrived with a box. Reika watched the girl cross the room and open it, revealing an array of cupcakes carefully arranged with a cheerful introduction written in frosting. 'Hi, my name is Sumi!'

The classroom had shifted completely now. Nervousness, excitement, awkward familiarity between students who had met before, the soft hum of personalities colliding inside a room that had only minutes ago been empty stone and silence. Reika let it exist. She allowed several seconds to pass after the last student settled. The quiet returned slowly, settling like sand after wind. Then she moved. Her boots carried her forward from the center of the room toward the chalkboard. The motion was unhurried, controlled, someone who never wasted energy but never rushed either. She picked up the chalk again, turned it once between her fingers, and finally wrote.

Three simple words.
SURVIVAL ISN’T FAIR

The chalk tapped lightly against the board as she set it down. Only then did she turn back to the room. Her gaze moved across every student present, lingering just long enough on each face to make it clear she had been watching them long before they noticed her doing so. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, quiet enough that the room had to listen rather than wait to be addressed. “Before we begin...” She said, her eyes drifting briefly toward the open box of cupcakes, “You may share those if you wish.”

A faint pause. “But do not mistake kindness for safety.” Her gaze returned to the students. “You are here because someone believes you may survive long enough to become shinobi.”

Not become strong. Not become heroes. Survive.

The word settled into the cooled air between them. “Most lessons you will receive will teach you how to fight.” Reika folded her bandaged hands loosely behind her back. “This one will teach you when not to.” Her eyes moved slowly across the room again. “You will hear stories about courage. About standing your ground. About protecting others no matter the cost.” A small shake of her head followed. “Those stories are often written by people who survived. Not by the ones who died proving them wrong.”

The room felt quieter now than it had when they first arrived. Reika gestured once toward the words written on the board. “Today we talk about fear.” Another small pause. “And why listening to it will keep you alive longer than pride.” Her gaze settled briefly on Maya in the back row. Then Zuto. Then Momoku. Then the rest of them. “Running away...” She said simply, “Is one of the most advanced survival techniques you will ever learn.” The faintest hint of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“Most shinobi never master it.”

[Post 2/5 and WC met]