"I'm back."
The house was, as always, spotless—not because her mother cleaned obsessively, but because every Aburame household looked like this. Controlling insects to handle daily chores, including cleaning, was the most basic of basics.
Her mother, Yumi, was the only family Maki had left. Her grandparents had died during the Warring States Period, and her father perished in the First Great Ninja War, in the twelfth year of Konoha.
Yumi was a chuunin—an unremarkable ninja in terms of skill. She had retired from active duty years ago to raise Maki alone, supporting them both by running a small inn.
Outside, the sky had already darkened. Yumi, long used to Maki's late returns, simply greeted her in a soft voice.
"Welcome home. I'll heat up your food."
"Mm."
Maki nodded, cool and distant.
It wasn't that she disliked Yumi. She respected her as a mother—but respect wasn't the same as warmth.
Though Maki looked like a child, she wasn't one—not in mind, not in soul. She had never opened her heart to Yumi, and so their relationship remained distant.
As for Yumi, she was a first-time mother with no parenting experience, compounded by the quiet, socially withdrawn nature typical of the Aburame. She never really knew how to connect with her daughter.
So at the dinner table, there was no usual small talk or shared laughter. Just silence—and Yumi's gentle gaze lingering on Maki, tender and uncertain.
After the meal, Maki quietly returned to her room, closed the door, and resumed her own work.
Yumi, meanwhile, spent her evening reading. There was only one ninjutsu scroll in the entire house, and she had read it countless times.
Since she was old enough to speak, Maki had taught herself to read and write. Now, she could easily understand everything on that scroll.
Her father hadn't left behind much. Despite being a jounin, his legacy amounted to little: a few clan techniques, the basic Three Body Jutsu, and not much else.
The clan's insect techniques were versatile enough that they rarely needed other jutsu—but in Maki's case, this limitation was frustrating.
What she really wanted was to learn the Shadow Clone Technique. With that, she could effectively cheat—split herself to train or work multiple tasks at once.
But without the scroll or access, she had no way to learn it.
Unless...
"Maybe I need to show I'm worth investing in..." she murmured.
She toyed with the scroll in her hands. The most valuable part of her inheritance wasn't the jutsu—it was her father's written experience with the parasites. With it, she could avoid countless rookie mistakes.
The entire scroll boiled down to one core idea: "Hide well. Release the insects."
There were numerous small tricks inside—techniques to reduce presence, blend in, and avoid detection. The very first line, bolded and underlined by her father, read:
"Silence is golden."
Most members of the Aburame clan lived by this. In that way, they resembled the Hyuuga clan—stoic, composed, and secretive.
It suited Maki just fine.
She wasn't much of a talker.
But she also knew that once discovered by the enemy, the game was over.
That was how her father had died. The returning clan members said he was caught off guard—trapped head-on during a battle and unable to escape.
Putting down the scroll, Maki picked up one of the books she'd bought recently. It wasn't about ninjutsu, nor was it a light novel to kill time. It was a mix of school textbooks—math, physics, chemistry—and essays on geography, culture, and local customs.
Among them, biology had captured her the most. While reading, she'd occasionally glance over at the insect swarms around her to relax.
Some of the new bugs she had cultivated still moved aimlessly, unsure of their role. A few had already started digging and building nests.
Was that a sign of progress?
No—it wasn't according to plan. Nesting should only come after mating. These nest-building strains would have to be eliminated.
She continued reading late into the night, only stopping when her mother's alarm reminded her it was time for bed.
With that, Maki's day came to an end. The next morning, she resumed her daily routine—not work, but class.
On the walk to school, it was obvious to anyone who glanced her way: the tired look behind her mask betrayed a lack of sleep.
By the time she arrived, she was nearly late. While the ninja academy didn't have formal early study hours, Maki was almost always the last one to show up—just before the cutoff.
Strangely, the noisy classroom always quieted for a brief moment when she walked in. Then, as if nothing had happened, the chatter would slowly return.
Children were simple, but that simplicity often made them cruel.
Most of her classmates disliked her.
It wasn't really their fault. The bugs living in and around Maki sparked instinctive feelings of fear and disgust. The parasites released chemical signals—pheromones—that most kids weren't even aware they were reacting to.
Maki could sense them all.
With her bugs' help, she could identify even the subtlest chemical traces in the air. Her insects couldn't classify these pheromones yet, but she was building a database—tagging each unique signature, identifying reactions, matching them to moods and behavior.
Once it was complete, she intended to share it with the Aburame clan—a sophisticated communication system built on pheromone-based signaling.
The clan already used pheromones in a rudimentary way, but it was primitive—just a basic system of messages left behind by bugs, varying only by concentration.
Her classmates didn't realize why they felt uncomfortable around her. But Maki knew: it was instinct, hardwired biology reacting to her presence. They were afraid.
As she walked to her seat, the children nearby subtly shifted away, giving her space.
Sometimes, Maki hated how sensitive she was to all of this. But after everything she'd been through, she'd learned not to care. She wasn't interested in playing pretend or acting friendly just to fit in.
The silence suited her fine.
At her core, Maki didn't think of herself as cold or detached. In fact, she saw herself as lively—maybe even cheerful in her own way.
Just… not here.
When the teacher entered the classroom, lessons began as usual. The first session of the day was a cultural studies class—basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. For many of the children, especially those from civilian backgrounds, even these simple subjects were a struggle. Some couldn't read or write at all, and most had to count on their fingers. Teaching them required extraordinary patience and effort.
Take Jiraiya, for example—a white-haired boy who stood out for all the wrong reasons. Not only did he have no foundation to speak of, but he was also… well, not the brightest. He constantly joked around, always making noise. Despite the teacher's frequent exasperation, he somehow became the class clown—the kind who made others laugh even when the teacher wanted to cry.
Frankly, most people—Tsunade included—saw him more as an unevolved monkey than a fellow student.
A month passed, and the lessons remained focused on basic education. Geography, history, ideology, and politics were all crammed into the schedule. Compared to the vague, simplistic primary school lessons Maki remembered from her past life, these were just as intense, if not more so.
Since the academy used a six-year graduation system—without divisions like middle or high school—the curriculum was dense. The pace was relentless. If you couldn't keep up, you were left behind. Though the pressure hadn't hit most of the students yet, Maki could already see it coming. The signs were there in the syllabus. The school had no intention of nurturing every child—it was sink or swim.
When it came to academics, the school didn't expect excellence from every student. Their teaching method was pure rote learning—just cram everything in. Only the truly intelligent or highly disciplined could keep pace. Everyone else would eventually be weeded out.
To Maki's disappointment, there wasn't a single course focused on actual ninja skills—no jutsu, no chakra control, nothing of the sort. The only physically-oriented class was a daily exercise session. It consisted of running laps, basic drills, and stretches. But even this was enough to reveal each student's potential.
Tsunade, who shared Maki's desk, quickly became the top performer in taijutsu thanks to her family's rigorous training. She defeated every student who challenged her, one by one, and soon earned the undisputed position as the class's strongest.
Under her dominance, the class fell into order. The children stopped fighting and causing trouble.
Everyone except Jiraiya.
Whether it was thick skin or a thick skull, he never stopped challenging Tsunade—again and again. Maki saw it clearly: it wasn't just stubbornness. It was admiration. Maybe even something like a childish crush.
Tsunade was undeniably beautiful. Though several other girls in the class were just as good-looking, her status as the "Princess of Konoha" gave her an unshakable aura. To the boys, she was the default class idol—and plenty of them liked her.
Jiraiya may have been loud and foolish, but he wasn't entirely talentless. His taijutsu was weak, but even without proper training, he still ranked somewhere in the middle of the class. Considering this was an elite group—mostly made up of children from established ninja clans—that was no small feat.
If only he weren't so hopeless in academics.
The true lowest-ranked student was a quiet, gentle-looking boy named Orochimaru.
With his delicate features and soft demeanor, he was often mistaken for a girl. As a result, the other boys bullied him relentlessly.
And Tsunade, the so-called class queen, wasn't yet the kind of person to intervene or protect others. She lacked the kindness—or perhaps the awareness—to care.
Orochimaru became increasingly withdrawn over time. Eventually, he stopped speaking altogether, sinking into near-total silence.
Still, a few others in class had caught Maki's attention…
________
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