Ken’s first mission after the duel came three days after sunrise training.

  Daen stood in front of Squad 9, holding a sealed scroll bearing the Hokage’s personal crest. Not ANBU. Not military police. Direct chain from the top.

  That alone told Ken something had changed.

  Daen broke the seal, read the contents, and didn’t speak for a long moment. Then:

  “Ken. Solo recon. Borderline B-rank.”

  Daisuke blinked. “Wait—what?”

  Reina frowned. “Since when do genin get solo B-rank missions?”

  Daen ignored them, eyes still on Ken. “Infiltration and extraction. Target: a suspected rogue operating outside the northern ridge. Vilge wants a report and field action only if low-risk.”

  Ken adjusted the strap on his sword. “When do I leave?”

  “Now.”

  The mission was short.

  Clean.

  Ken moved through mist and shadow, identified the rogue, and confirmed a false trail pnted to bait out leaf operatives. He didn’t engage. He didn’t leave a trace. He returned before nightfall.

  When Daen read the report, he didn’t look pleased.

  “They’re testing you.”

  Ken nodded. “I know.”

  “Seeing if you can handle the kind of missions they don’t assign to kids. Seeing if you're a tool they can use outside the cn.”

  Ken looked down at his hands. “Let them try.”

  Daen handed him the report scroll back. “Don’t give them a reason.”

  Two days ter, during weapons drills, Reina finally asked what no one else had.

  They sat beneath the tree line during cooldown. Daisuke had dozed off on his cloak, and Daen was reviewing formation notes nearby.

  Reina looked over at Ken.

  “Back in the duel... how did you beat him?”

  Ken didn’t answer at first. Then he unsheathed his bde halfway—just enough to show her the smooth, water-rippled edge. His reflection stared back at them both.

  “I knew he’d rely on genjutsu,” he said quietly. “It’s what Sharingan users do. Especially against someone younger.”

  Reina blinked. “So you just… avoided it?”

  “I trained every spar, every movement, every breath—to never give him the chance.”

  She studied him carefully. “You believed you could win that easily?”

  Ken’s voice was ft. “It was never about belief. It was about control. If I didn’t let him start, I’d already won.”

  That same afternoon, news rippled through the vilge like a thrown kunai across still water:

  Itachi Uchiha—promoted to Chūnin at age ten.

  Top score. One-week completion time. Solo target elimination. Perfect mission record.

  Ken heard it from three different jonin by the end of the hour.

  When he passed through the market ter that evening, whispers followed him again—but this time mixed with a different name.

  “Itachi and Ken… same age.”

  “One left the cn. One became its future.”

  “Same blood, opposite paths.”

  Itachi arrived at sunset.

  Ken was meditating by the creek behind the training grounds, sword unsheathed beside him. His shirt was off, drying on a branch, exposing pale scars etched into skin like hand-drawn maps.

  Itachi approached silently, but didn’t mask his chakra.

  Ken didn’t open his eyes. “You passed.”

  “Yes.”

  Ken opened his eyes, standing slowly.

  They looked at each other—same height, same calm demeanor. One wore his hitai-ate proudly.

  The other, not at all.

  “You heard about the duel,” Ken said.

  “I did.”

  “You came to ask why?”

  “No.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow.

  Itachi's voice was quiet. “I came to ask if you’re really not coming back.”

  Ken looked past him, toward the cn compound in the far distance, just visible through tree lines and rooftops.

  “They made their choice,” he said. “Now I’ve made mine.”

  “I don’t agree with what they did,” Itachi said.

  “But you stayed.”

  Itachi didn’t answer.

  Ken didn’t bme him.

  “You’re going to change them from the inside,” Ken said.

  Itachi nodded. “That’s the pn.”

  Ken’s eyes hardened slightly.

  “I’m not interested in pns. I’m living my own story now.”

  A beat passed.

  Itachi’s voice lowered. “Then I’ll watch from the inside.”

  “And I’ll keep walking from the outside.”

  They parted without further words.

  That night, Ken went home.

  Not to the cn halls.

  Not to any pce that bore a fan.

  But to his house.

  Daiki and Airi sat on the porch, both older than he remembered, even though it had only been a few weeks.

  His mother’s face was pale. His father’s eyes were hard.

  Ken bowed slightly. “I came to see you.”

  Airi stood slowly. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

  Ken stepped closer. “I had to.”

  “You made enemies,” Daiki said. “Real ones.”

  “They made themselves the moment they used you both to leash me.”

  His parents didn’t argue.

  Ken looked at them. Really looked.

  “I won’t ask you to defend me,” he said. “Or even to understand.”

  He pced a sealed scroll on the table—it held his records, income slips, and his new status.

  “I’ll keep your names clean. I’ll stay away if I have to. But I won’t apologize.”

  Airi’s voice cracked. “You could’ve waited. Found another way.”

  Ken crouched in front of her, gently taking her hand.

  “If we stayed quiet, we’d be buried under what our cn’s become. I won’t live that way.”

  He stood again.

  “I want to live this life to the fullest. Every part of it. The pain. The joy. The fight. All of it. Not just the version written for me.”

  Daiki finally nodded.

  “You’ve always walked your own path,” he said quietly.

  Ken didn’t smile.

  But his eyes softened.

  He left before midnight.

  Sword on his back.

  Head high.

  And as he disappeared into the shadows of Konoha’s quiet alleys, more and more people began to wonder—

  Not just who he was.

  But what he might become.