In the quiet streets of Shizunakure, where even the wind moved with restraint, the only place that dared disrupt the stillness was the academy. Children laughed, argued, trained, and dreamed beneath its weathered rooftops — a nest of future shinobi who had not yet tasted the weight of storms.

Kairo Nozaru, only twelve, sat near the window with his arms loosely crossed, as far from the noise as possible. They had just graduated into genin, and yet he already felt exhausted. The classroom buzzed with excitement — too loud, too chaotic, too alive. His storm-fed senses pricked at every sound, making irritation simmer just beneath his calm exterior.

When Iuko-sensei entered, the room fell into a shaky hush.

“Alright, class,” the teacher announced, voice echoing lightly against the wooden walls, “from today onward, you will be assigned to your respective jōnin. I’ll be dividing you into teams of three.”

Kairo lowered his gaze to the window, watching the drifting mist outside. Teams. He didn’t need them. He didn’t want them. But if he wanted vengeance for his fallen clan… if he wanted to rise high enough to change the world… then he would have to endure all this noise.

He tuned out the first sets of names, uninterested — until the final group was read aloud.

“Lastly, Team Harmony. Naomi Yukishiro… Renjiro Uzuhara… and Kairo Nozaru.”

Kairo exhaled slowly — almost a groan. Perfect. He would be stuck with that loud boy who kept declaring himself Kairo’s rival at random, and a girl he’d never spoken a single word to. The universe clearly had a sense of humor.

The class dispersed into newly formed teams, and the three of them sat together in an awkward half-circle. Well — two of them sat. Renjiro complained endlessly.

“Why am I in the same group as him?” he grumbled, jabbing a thumb at Kairo. “I’ll surpass you soon, teme! Just watch!” “I swear the Shōrai himself rigged this—”

Kairo ignored every word.

Between them sat the quiet girl: Naomi Yukishiro, hands folded politely on her lap, eyes focused somewhere far beyond the walls. She didn’t speak, didn’t complain, didn’t even shift. A gentle stillness radiated from her — something Kairo couldn’t quite understand yet, but felt lingering like unsaid truth.

Time stretched. Minutes crawled into hours. One by one, every team was met and claimed by their jōnin.

Except them.

By the third hour, Renjiro was sprawled dramatically on the table, Naomi remained unmoving, and Kairo was contemplating whether to walk out entirely.

Then—

SLAM.

The door burst open with a sound like the crack of distant thunder.

A woman stepped inside, tall and commanding, her presence flooding the room before her voice even rose. She wore attire that seemed almost careless, showing more skin than any traditional jōnin uniform would ever allow — but the confidence she carried made it feel intentional, powerful. Her golden eyes swept the room with the lazy sharpness of someone who had seen too many wars to be impressed by anything anymore.

“Alright,” she said, tone unfiltered and unapologetic, “where are the brats I’m supposed to drag into adulthood?”

Her footfalls were unhurried but heavy with authority, and for a moment, even the dust in the room seemed to freeze.

Renjiro straightened instantly. Naomi lifted her gaze. And Kairo… felt something shift, an instinct sharper than irritation.

This woman was not careless. She was dangerous.

Her eyes landed on them — the final unclaimed team.

A slow smirk formed on her lips. “There you are,” she said. “Team Harmony, huh? Let’s see if any of you can actually keep up.”

And in that instant, even Kairo knew: their lives were about to change forever.