Tomoya's POV:
The soft aroma of jasmine tea filled the air as I sat with Iroh on the veranda, overlooking the serene koi pond that stretched out beneath the gentle arch of the wooden bridge. The water's surface rippled slightly with the occasional breeze, sending delicate patterns across its mirrored face, while colorful koi fish drifted lazily beneath. The tranquility of the moment was occasionally interrupted by bursts of laughter and the rhythmic patter of feet against the wooden floors inside the mansion, creating a charming contrast to our peaceful tea ceremony.
"It seems our young master is putting up quite the fight," Iroh mused, his tone light with amusement. He gestured with his teacup toward the chaos unfolding beyond the shoji doors, his eyes crinkling at the corners with barely contained mirth. The thin paper doors did little to muffle the commotion inside.
I couldn't help but smile as I took another sip of tea, savoring its delicate floral notes. Inside, Raiden darted past the hall, a determined maid trailing behind him with a neatly pressed suit draped over her arm, her face flushed with exertion. His nimble movements reminded me so much of his training—precise and calculated, even in rebellion.
"It's hard to blame them," I said, setting my cup down on the lacquered tray between us. The porcelain made a soft clink against the wood. "He is too cute not to dress up. But I must admit, watching this unfold... it's rather entertaining." My fingers traced the rim of my cup, feeling the warmth that still radiated from it.
The sound of hurried footsteps grew louder as more maids joined the chase, their voices calling out instructions to one another in increasingly desperate tones. One of them called for reinforcements, her voice pitched high with frustration, and soon members of the White Lotus guards appeared, their disciplined movements contrasting hilariously with the frantic energy of the maids. Their formal uniforms seemed particularly out of place as they attempted to corner my elusive son.
"They've escalated," Iroh chuckled, leaning back slightly against the wooden post, his stocky frame relaxed despite the chaos. The sunlight caught the silver strands in his hair as he tilted his head. "Do you think they'll catch him before we leave?"
"They have to," I replied, a hint of exasperation in my voice, though my eyes betrayed my amusement. I smoothed a wrinkle from my own formal kimono, already dressed for the occasion. "This is a formal event, and the Yaoyorozu family's gala requires us to dress the part. They won't let him escape looking like he just finished training with grass stains on his knees and his hair disheveled."
As the chase continued, punctuated by crashes and apologetic yelps, Iroh turned the conversation to a more somber topic. His face settled into thoughtful lines, the earlier humor fading from his eyes. "I met someone interesting the other evening," he began, his voice thoughtful as he gazed into his tea as if reading divinations. "A woman named Kaina Tsutsumi."
The name was unfamiliar, but the tone in Iroh's voice suggested a story worth hearing. The sudden shift in atmosphere made me set my cup down completely, giving him my full attention. "Go on," I prompted, my voice softening as I leaned slightly closer.
He described her burden—the torment she'd endured under the Hero Public Safety Commission. Manipulated, used, and discarded when no longer convenient. Her struggles mirrored the kind of suffering that haunted me from my past. The details he shared made my chest tighten with recognition. Muzan had once done the same to me, trapping me in a web of fear and servitude, stripping away my agency and leaving me as a pawn in his grand design. The memories, though centuries old, still felt fresh enough to make my fingers tremble slightly around my teacup.
"She's a prisoner in her own life," I murmured, my heart aching for the woman I had never met. My voice carried the weight of personal understanding. "Just like I was."
Iroh placed his hand over mine briefly, a quiet gesture of support. The warmth of his palm was grounding, pulling me back from the dark memories threatening to surface. "Your empathy is a gift, Tamayo," he said softly, using my old name with gentle familiarity. "But I see the sadness in your eyes. Let us not dwell too deeply tonight."
He turned his gaze back to the chase, deliberately lightening the mood. "Besides, look at our young warrior. He's giving them quite the workout."
I followed his gaze and couldn't suppress a giggle as I saw Raiden vault over a low railing with impossible grace, dodging a maid's outstretched arms by mere inches. His face was alight with mischievous joy, reminding me that despite his old soul, he was still very much a child in many ways. The sight was almost theatrical, and even the normally stoic guards seemed to enjoy the challenge of trying to corner him, their stern faces breaking into reluctant smiles.
"He's quite the escape artist," I said, laughing lightly, grateful for the return to the present moment and the simple joy of watching my son's antics. The sound of my laughter felt healing, washing away the shadows of the past that had momentarily darkened our conversation.
Raiden POV:
"You'll never take me alive!" I shouted, bolting through the main hallway with all the speed my small legs could muster. The maids were relentless in their pursuit, their faces set with determination that bordered on frightening. I had no intention of letting them catch me. Formal attire? No, thank you. I'd rather face a squad of enemy shinobi than be stuffed into those stiff, uncomfortable robes that restricted my movement and made me feel like a dressed-up doll on display.
I had far better things to do with my afternoon, like practicing my chakra control by the old oak tree or playing with the koi fish who seemed to recognize me now. But no—today, the maids were out for blood. Or, at least, out to dress me like some kind of princely doll.
I zigzagged through the mansion's polished corridors, sliding around corners and ducking under the arms of startled servants. The marble floors were smooth beneath my bare feet, allowing me to pick up speed as I evaded my pursuers. They were clever, I'd give them that—they'd stationed people at all the usual exits, anticipating my escape routes. But I was faster and more resourceful than they expected.
As I burst through the ornate back door and into the sunlit garden, I felt a rush of triumph wash over me. The immense koi pond stretched before me, its surface shimmering like scattered diamonds under the golden afternoon sun. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms filled the air, momentarily distracting me before I spotted the trap they'd laid.
Two guards flanked me on either side, their movements synchronized as they closed in, while another approached steadily from behind, cutting off my retreat. My only option? The pond. Without hesitation, I drew on my training, channeling my energy into my legs and leapt high into the air, feeling the wind rush past my face.
As I descended toward the water's surface, I focused my chakra into the soles of my feet with intense concentration, just as Mama had taught me during our evening sessions. "Feel it flow like a river to your feet," her gentle voice echoed in my mind. When I landed, the surface of the water held firm beneath me, not even a ripple spreading outward.
I grinned wildly, racing across the pond with the guards in hot pursuit, their heavy footfalls sending small waves across the water's surface. The chakra exercises were starting to pay off in ways I hadn't expected. My control had improved significantly over the past few weeks, though it didn't help that my chakra levels kept rising at an alarming rate. It was like trying to contain a raging river within a delicate teacup—constant practice was the only way to keep it manageable and prevent destructive outbursts.
Halfway across the pond, I felt a subtle shift in the air—a disturbance in the chakra flow around me. My senses flared in warning as three figures emerged from beneath the water's surface with barely a sound. Hands shot up to grab my ankles, but I reacted instantly, jumping high into the air with a burst of chakra-enhanced strength. As I twisted mid-flight, watching the surprised expressions on their faces, two more guards broke the surface on either side, shooting ninja wire from their specialized wrist gauntlets.
The thin, nearly invisible wires wrapped around my torso and legs, and for a moment, they thought they had me secured. Then, with a loud poof and a cloud of white smoke, I vanished, leaving nothing but a wooden block in my place.
With a paper tag carefully attached to the wooden block, I had ensured my escape would be both effective and dramatic. The guards barely had time to register what was happening before the tag began to sizzle, its edges curling as the specialized ink ignited from within.
Then it detonated with a satisfying whump—not powerful enough to cause harm, but more than sufficient for my purposes. A dense cloud of gray smoke erupted outward, billowing rapidly across the pond's surface and engulfing my would-be captors in a disorienting haze. I could hear their confused shouts and coughs as they stumbled blindly in the thick fog, their coordinated pursuit dissolving into chaos.
The smoke tag was one of my special creations—designed to last longer than standard-issue shinobi Tags and with a particular compound that made it difficult to disperse even with wind manipulation. Through the swirling tendrils of smoke, I caught glimpses of the guards' silhouettes as they collided with one another, their disciplined formation now completely shattered.
The substitution jutsu and Smoke tag worked like a charm—just as Uncle and Mama had shown me last week.
"You'll never catch me!"
As I neared the far edge of the pond, plotting my next escape route through the bamboo grove, the water in front of me suddenly erupted like a geyser. A guard I hadn't noticed—Takashi, one of Mother's most trusted—emerged from his hiding place, bending the water into elegant yet unbreakable tendrils that wrapped tightly around my waist and arms before I could form the hand signs for another substitution.
The water coiled around me like living rope, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggled against Takashi's liquid restraints, but they only tightened. My fingers—useless and immobile—couldn't form a single hand sign, and my chakra pathways felt blocked as the water pressure increased. Every attempt to access my bending met with frustrating resistance.
"Well done, young master," Takashi said with a respectful but triumphant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've given us quite the challenge this afternoon, but I'm afraid the chase ends here.
Defeated and dripping wet, I could only glare as he carried me back across the pond, my feet dangling uselessly above the water. The maids were waiting at the edge, their eyes gleaming with victory and their arms loaded with towels and formal garments.
"Traitor!" I yelled at Takashi, then muttered under my breath, "And shame on me, for getting caught so easily. I should have sensed his presence."
Takashi chuckled good-naturedly, handing me over to the waiting maids, who immediately began fussing over my damp clothes and disheveled hair. They whisked me away toward the bath and then to the dreaded dressing room, where layers of formal robes awaited me. My protests and dramatic sighs fell on deaf ears as they efficiently prepared me for the evening gala.
As I was led away, resigned to my fate, I caught sight of Mama and Uncle Iroh standing on the arched stone bridge overlooking the pond. They were laughing behind their sleeves, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my capture. Even Takashi, the guard who had outsmarted me, bowed respectfully to them before returning to his duties at the water's edge.
I narrowed my eyes at my mother and uncle, promising silent revenge even as they waved cheerfully. Someday, I'd win this game of cat and mouse. My skills were improving daily, and eventually, no formal event would claim me. But today, unfortunately, wasn't that day.
The lingering warmth from the bath clung to my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort that contrasted sharply with my mounting embarrassment. Though I appreciated the maids' attentive care, being fussed over like a helpless infant was definitely not how I'd envisioned spending the evening before such a prestigious event. My cheeks still burned fiercely from their incessant cooing and doting, treating me as if I were some adorable, fluffy kitten rather than a future shinobi warrior. Their gentle hands and soothing voices, while well-intentioned, had only intensified my discomfort throughout the entire bathing ritual.
When they finally retreated from the room, leaving me in blessed solitude, I exhaled a deep, relieved sigh. Standing before the full-length ornate mirror that dominated one wall of the dressing chamber, I critically examined my reflection. Clad in nothing but plain black boxers, I couldn't help but scrutinize every detail of my developing physique. Despite the rigorous training regimen I'd been following, stubborn traces of baby fat still clung to my cheeks and gathered around my midsection. At least it was considerably less noticeable now, a testament to the grueling exercises Mama insisted I perform each day. The subtle definition beginning to form in my arms and shoulders offered some consolation, though I knew I had miles to go before achieving the warrior's build I aspired to.
The mahogany door creaked open without warning, and I instinctively straightened my posture, shoulders pulling back and chin lifting slightly—a conditioned response to unexpected company. Three maids entered in perfect synchronization, each carrying neatly folded clothing stacked in their slender arms. They moved with the mechanical precision of a well-rehearsed assembly line, their expressions focused and professional as they approached. I tried desperately not to fidget under their evaluating gazes as they methodically set each garment down on the nearby lacquered table, arranging every piece with meticulous care as if I were some elaborate puzzle they'd been tasked with assembling.
The first maid, a young woman with a gentle face and deft fingers, approached holding sleek black pants and a matching shirt. With a subtle gesture, she indicated I should raise my arms. Suppressing a sigh, I complied grudgingly, allowing her to help me slide the shirt over my head and onto my torso. The fabric embraced my skin with surprising comfort, fitting snugly but not restrictively—like a perfectly tailored second skin crafted specifically for my measurements. The material felt luxurious against my flesh, breathable and remarkably flexible, designed to permit full range of motion while maintaining temperature regulation. I noticed the thoughtful details as the sleeves extended all the way to my hands, culminating in elegant loops that hooked securely around my middle fingers, effectively covering the backs of my hands while leaving my palms free. It was a perfect blend of practicality and refined style.
The pants followed next, covering my legs completely and matching the shirt in both texture and sophisticated design. Once the first maid completed her task, the second stepped forward with reverent care, holding what I immediately recognized as an exquisite kimono. My eyes widened involuntarily as I took in the intricate patterns meticulously embroidered across the dark navy fabric—so deep it appeared almost black in certain light. Delicate white tree branches stretched and twisted across the material like an artistic rendering of winter, interwoven with meaningful symbols that immediately captured my attention: the distinctive Senju crest with its elegant curves, the spiraling whirlpool of the Uzumaki clan, and the iconic red and white fan of the Uchiha. Silver highlights traced the edges of the garment, catching the light with subtle brilliance and adding an undeniable touch of refined elegance.
The hakama came next, its pleated form flowing yet structured, providing the perfect complement to the kimono's more fitted silhouette. Finally, the third maid approached with measured steps, carrying the haori that would complete the ensemble. This outer garment bore the Uchiha symbol prominently on the back, bold and unmistakable—a declaration of my heritage and identity. With practiced movements, she draped it carefully over my shoulders, securing it with expert precision.
All three maids stepped back in unison, admiring their collaborative handiwork with appreciative eyes. One of them, the youngest with rosy cheeks and a cheerful disposition, giggled softly behind her hand. "Young Master, you look so handsome," she exclaimed with genuine delight. Then, unable to contain herself, she added, "And absolutely adorable!"
Adorable? ADORABLE?! The word struck me like a physical blow to my dignity. I immediately puffed out my cheeks in indignation and planted my hands firmly on my hips, striking what I hoped was an intimidating pose. "I am NOT adorable!" I protested vehemently, my voice rising slightly. "I'm a mighty warrior of the three great clan's!"
The maids exchanged knowing glances, their eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement before erupting into another round of soft giggles. My protests, rather than commanding respect, seemed only to fuel their perception of my supposed cuteness. Thoroughly frustrated, I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, attempting to project an imposing aura that, judging by their continued smiles and suppressed laughter, fell embarrassingly short of my intention.
Before I could launch into another futile defense of my dignity, the door opened once more, this time with a graceful, deliberate movement. Mama entered the room with ethereal poise, and the effect was immediate—all three maids straightened their postures, their laughter evaporating into respectful silence. I turned to look at her and found myself momentarily speechless.
She was absolutely breathtaking, a vision that seemed to belong more to the realm of dreams than reality. Her kimono mirrored the design concept of mine but was executed with soft pink and purple highlights instead of silver, creating a harmonious visual connection between us while maintaining distinct individuality. The exquisite fabric shimmered faintly under the ambient light, catching and reflecting it like morning dew, while intricate floral patterns—cherry blossoms and wisteria—adorned the edges with delicate precision. The maids murmured reverent praises about her extraordinary beauty, which she acknowledged with a graceful nod, neither dismissing nor embracing the compliments—simply accepting them as one might accept the observation that water is wet.
Mama's perceptive gaze fell upon me, and her perfectly shaped lips curled into a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes. "You look very handsome, Raiden," she said softly, her voice melodious and soothing.
Despite my earlier frustration, I felt an unmistakable flush of pride warm my cheeks at her approval. "Thanks, Mama," I replied with heartfelt sincerity. "You look beautiful too." The words seemed woefully inadequate to describe her radiance, but they were honest.
She glided across the room with effortless grace and gently adjusted the collar of my haori, her touch light and caring. "Shall we?" she asked, extending her hand toward me.
I nodded decisively, suddenly feeling more confident, and together we departed the dressing room, leaving the maids to tidy up behind us.
When we reached the grand entrance of the mansion, Uncle Iroh was already waiting for us, his substantial figure somehow managing to appear both imposing and welcoming simultaneously. He too wore a formal kimono in the same deep navy color scheme as ours, though his was accented with distinctive white and silver highlights and featured the White Lotus emblem subtly embroidered along the edges—a nod to his spiritual affiliations that most would overlook but those in the know would immediately recognize. Behind him stood four guards at attention, each dressed in their immaculate combat gear, their expressions alert and vigilant while maintaining respectful deference.
I immediately recognized two familiar faces among the security detail. One was the stern-faced guard who had overseen my first trial, a reliable presence whose silent competence I had come to respect despite our limited interactions. The other was Takashi who had intercepted me earlier that day during the chase through the gardens. The moment my eyes landed on him, indignation flared anew, and I pointed an accusatory finger directly at him. "Traitor!" I exclaimed loudly, the word echoing slightly in the spacious foyer.
Takashi, raised a single eyebrow, his expression a perfect blend of confusion and amusement. He pointed to himself with exaggerated innocence. "Me? A traitor? You must be mistaken, young master," he replied, his tone playful.
"Oh, I'm not mistaken!" I shot back, my voice filled with theatrical outrage. "You sold me out to the demon maids! You knew exactly what you were doing when you caught me and brought me back!"
"Sold you out? I was just performing my duty to ensure your safety and proper preparation," he replied, maintaining his façade of innocence while his eyes danced with barely concealed mirth. "A loyal servant of the household would do no less."
The two of us continued our verbal sparring match, trading accusations and defenses back and forth, much to the evident entertainment of everyone present. Uncle chuckled deeply, his eyes twinkling with unabashed delight at our exchange, while Mama simply shook her head with a small, indulgent smile playing at the corners of her lips. The other guards maintained their professional stoicism, but I didn't miss how the corners of their mouths twitched suspiciously, betraying their amusement at my dramatic indignation.
Eventually, Uncle stepped forward, his substantial presence naturally commanding attention. "Now, now, Raiden," he intervened, his voice warm and rich like honey-sweetened tea. " Takashi, was merely ensuring you looked your absolute best for tonight's gathering. A noble cause in service to the family's reputation, wouldn't you agree?"
I huffed dramatically but recognized when to concede a battle, especially against Uncle gentle wisdom. "Fine," I relented, crossing my arms across my chest with deliberate emphasis. "But I'll remember this betrayal. Vengeance may come when least expected."
With the minor drama resolved and all preparations complete, we proceeded to the waiting limousine that would transport us to the event. The vehicle's interior was spacious and opulently appointed, with buttery leather seating, polished wood accents, and subtle lighting that created an atmosphere of refined luxury—a perfect extension of the grandeur awaiting us at our destination. As the powerful engine hummed to life and the vehicle began to glide smoothly down the driveway, I couldn't help but experience a complex mixture of mounting excitement and nervous anticipation.
This marked my first attendance at such a formal, high-profile social gathering. Part of me buzzed with curiosity about meeting children my own age from other prominent families, perhaps even forming connections that could prove valuable in the future. Yet another part harbored considerable anxiety about the prospect of interacting with high-ranking dignitaries, clan leaders and other important people. What if my etiquette faltered? What if I accidentally said something inappropriate or offensive?
Mama, with her uncanny ability to sense my emotional state, must have noticed the subtle signs of my internal turmoil. She placed a gentle, reassuring hand atop my head, her touch instantly radiating comfort through my entire being. "Raiden," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper yet somehow cutting through all my anxious thoughts, "just be yourself. You have a kind heart and a sharp mind, and those qualities are what truly matter in this world of appearances and politics."
Uncle Iroh leaned forward slightly, adding his own wisdom with characteristic warmth. "And remember, nephew," he said, his tone simultaneously casual and profound, "confidence paired with humility, like a perfectly brewed cup of jasmine tea, can navigate you through almost any social challenge. Too much of either will leave a bitter taste, but the right balance creates harmony."
Their words penetrated the armor of my anxiety, easing the tightness that had been building in my chest. I found myself smiling despite the lingering nervousness, drawing strength from their unwavering support and guidance. With them beside me, I suddenly felt more capable of facing whatever challenges the evening might present.
I glanced between Mama and Uncle, drawing comfort from their calm, assured presence. Mama, with her timeless beauty and quiet strength; Uncle, with his deceptive blend of jovial warmth and formidable wisdom. Whatever happened tonight at this gathering of the elite, I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn't be facing it alone. Straightening my posture and squaring my shoulders, I silently prepared myself for the evening ahead, determined to make them proud.