The hallway lights buzzed like a lazy hive as Sasuke Uchiha pushed through the side door of Konoha West High. Morning air still clung to his hoodie, cool and faintly metallic. He didn’t bother lowering the hood. A few juniors at the trophy case turned their heads; one girl’s whisper broke into a nervous laugh. Sasuke ignored them, earbuds in but silent, a familiar decoy against conversation.

He moved as if he’d mapped every blind spot—past the front office where the receptionist’s chatter blurred into white noise, past the water fountain where two freshmen tried to look invisible. His eyes scanned everything without seeming to, a habit he no longer noticed. Every camera angle, every creak of the floorboards—cataloged and stored.

Locker 117. Combination flicked open in a single twist. Inside: a thin stack of textbooks, black notebook, a worn copy of Crime and Punishment. He slid the notebook into his bag and shut the door with a soft metallic click.

“Yo! Broody!”

Naruto Uzumaki’s voice cut through the buzz like a thrown rock. Sasuke didn’t need to turn to picture the grin: blond hair sticking up like static, sweatshirt half-zipped, sneakers untied.

“You know that nickname’s pathetic,” Sasuke said, pivoting just enough to see Naruto’s wide grin.

“Yeah, but it gets you to talk, so—win for me.” Naruto fell into step beside him, matching stride for stride. “Basketball after class? You, me, one-on-one. No excuses.”

“Not interested.”

“You never are. That’s why I keep asking.” Naruto’s grin sharpened into a challenge. “Scared I’ll finally beat you?”

Sasuke spared him a sideways glance—cool, faintly amused. “You’d have to show up on time first.”

They reached first-period chemistry as Sakura Haruno stepped from the doorway, a thick binder balanced on one arm. Pink hair tucked neatly behind an ear, green eyes bright with purpose. She caught Naruto’s shoelaces in a single glance.

“Again?” she said. “Trip over those in the lab and you’ll spill acid on yourself. And maybe me.”

Naruto bent to tie them, mumbling something about “fashion statements.”

“Good morning, Sasuke,” Sakura said, her tone clipped but warm enough to notice.

Sasuke gave the briefest nod, the ghost of acknowledgment she’d learned to read as a full greeting.

Chemistry blurred by. Sasuke finished the quiz in ten minutes, lines of neat handwriting filling the page. When the bell rang, Kakashi Hatake—homeroom teacher, perpetual mystery—was leaning in the doorway with a paper cup of coffee and a paperback novel. Silver hair defied gravity; his single visible eye crinkled with lazy amusement.

“Efficient as always,” Kakashi said, taking Sasuke’s quiz without looking at it. “Ever consider slowing down to enjoy the process?”

“Pointless,” Sasuke replied.

“Spoken like a true perfectionist.” Kakashi’s smile deepened, but his gaze sharpened briefly, as if measuring something behind Sasuke’s eyes. "Class we have a new student you can come in."