Ichiha

Ichiha remembered the silence just before the sound. The entire training plaza in Waterfall City had gone quiet, waiting for the trainee with the patched eye to fail. Their instructor had set an impossible task: strike ten targets suspended over the roaring cascade with a single arrow before it touched the water. A test meant to humble. They drew the string back to their cheek, a theatrical flourish that earned a few scoffs. But as they released, the arrow didn't just fly; it bloomed. A single wooden shaft exploded into a storm of pure light, a hundred phantom arrows arcing through the mist. Each found a mark. Ten targets shattered. The other ninety dissolved into spray. The silence that followed was different—it was awe. From the edge of the plaza, Asayaka, who had been watching unnoticed, gave a single, slow nod.