The mission scroll had said "B-rank," but something about the weathered edges of the parchment and Junko-sensei's tightened expression when she handed it to us suggested more. Three weeks as Team Fifteen had taken us through a gauntlet of D-rank missions—chasing escaped pets, weeding gardens, and delivering scrolls within the safety of Konoha's walls. But this? Escorting a merchant caravan through Midnight Pass? My fingertips tingled as I rolled the scroll closed, a physical response to information my conscious mind pretended not to recognize.
"This represents a significant step up in responsibility," Junko told us as we gathered at Konoha's eastern gate. The first light of dawn painted her face in shades of amber and shadow. "The merchant guild specifically requested shinobi protection for this caravan. Their cargo is primarily medicinal herbs harvested from the northern valleys—rare compounds that Konoha's hospital desperately needs."
Kenji stood at perfect attention, as he always did during briefings. "Expected opposition, Sensei?"
"Nothing specific," Junko replied, "but Midnight Pass has a reputation. The narrow route creates natural bottlenecks, perfect for ambushes. Bandits have been active in the region, and there are reports of rogue ninja taking contract work to intercept valuable shipments."
Hana was making notes in her ever-present pad, her green eyes flickering occasionally to study my expression. We'd developed an odd dynamic over the past few weeks—she'd watch me, I'd pretend not to notice, and we'd both act like this strange dance of observation wasn't happening.
"The merchants are waiting at the crossroads," Junko continued. "We'll meet them there and accompany them through the pass. If all goes well, we'll be back in Konoha within four days."
If all goes well. Something in my chest tightened at those words. When had things ever gone according to plan?
The merchant caravan consisted of five weathered wagons drawn by sturdy mountain horses. The lead merchant, a middle-aged man with sun-creased skin and calloused hands, bowed slightly to Junko. "We're grateful for your protection. These herbs represent a full season's harvest—we can't afford to lose them."
He gestured toward the covered wagons where bundles of dried plants and sealed containers were secured with rope and canvas. The scent of the herbs drifted on the morning breeze—sharp, medicinal, valuable. I recognized some of them from my studies: moonflower, used in antidotes; thread moss, a crucial component in blood-clotting agents; blue fennel, the foundation of several chakra-restorative medicines.
We took our positions around the caravan—Junko at the front, Kenji at the rear, while Hana and I flanked the sides. The formation was textbook for a small team escort mission. As we began our journey toward Midnight Pass, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle between my shoulder blades.
The passage itself lived up to its ominous name. Sheer cliffs of dark stone rose on either side of the narrow path, casting deep shadows across our route despite the midday sun. In places, the path narrowed to barely twice the width of a wagon, forcing us to proceed in single file. The air felt close and still, trapping the dust kicked up by the horses' hooves and the creak of wagon wheels.
"Stay alert," Junko called back to us. "Visibility is limited, and sound carries strangely here."
I scanned our surroundings with practiced eyes, but it was something else that first caught my attention—a prickle at the back of my neck, a sense of wrongness that preceded actual observation. Then I began to notice the details: a cluster of small stones arranged too neatly at the path's edge; a broken twig hanging from a scrub bush at exactly eye level; faint scuff marks on an outcropping that natural erosion wouldn't create.
My pulse quickened as fragments of memory—or were they premonitions?—flashed through my mind. I'd seen this before, or would see it, or had dreamed it. The sequence wasn't clear, but the outcome was: an ambush at the narrowest section of the pass, where the path curved between two massive boulders. Earth-style jutsu would trigger a landslide, cutting off retreat, and then—
"Akira? You okay?" Hana's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. She had moved closer without my noticing, her green eyes sharp with concern.
"Fine," I managed, forcing my hands to unclench. "Just... staying alert."
She clearly didn't believe me. "You're practically vibrating with tension. What do you see?"
What could I tell her? That I was experiencing memories of events that hadn't happened yet? That I knew with bone-deep certainty we were walking into a trap?
"The stones there," I said instead, pointing to the neat arrangement I'd noticed. "And the broken branches. They're markers."
Hana followed my gaze, her brow furrowing. "Could be natural..."
"They're not." The conviction in my voice surprised even me. "And there are chakra traces on that outcropping—faint, but recent."
Her eyes widened slightly. "How can you tell from this distance?"
I'd said too much. Sensor abilities weren't part of my official skill set. "I'm... sensitive to residual chakra. Part of my barrier training," I added, the lie bitter on my tongue.
As we progressed deeper into the pass, each step brought fresh evidence that confirmed my fears. Scratches on rocks positioned to catch the light in a specific way. Disturbed earth where someone had recently waited. The subtle shimmer of chakra residue from concealment jutsu.
My throat felt dry, my palms damp. I caught myself unconsciously forming the hand seals for a barrier technique and forced my fingers to relax. The worst part wasn't knowing we were heading into danger—it was not knowing how to warn the others without revealing impossible knowledge.
"You're on edge." Junko had dropped back to walk beside me, her voice pitched low so the merchants wouldn't hear. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like this place," I said, which wasn't a lie. "The terrain favors ambushers."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's obvious to anyone with basic tactical training. You're acting like you've seen ghosts."
I felt a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognized as panic trying to break through my carefully constructed composure. "Those markers along the path—they're not natural. Someone's been through here recently, marking positions."
"What markers?" Junko's gaze sharpened.
I pointed out the stones, the broken twigs, the scuff marks—evidence that seemed glaring to me but apparently hadn't registered with the others.
"How do you know they're markers?" she pressed. "This could be ordinary trail debris."
"I..." My mind raced for a plausible explanation. "I read about similar ambush tactics in the archives. Historical accounts from the Second Shinobi War described how rogue ninja would prepare mountain passes for attacks."
It was flimsy at best. What kind of genin spends their free time studying obscure historical battle tactics? But it was the best I could manage without revealing my impossible foreknowledge.
Junko studied me for a long moment. "We'll proceed with caution," she finally said, though her expression remained troubled. "Keep your observations coming."
As she moved back to the front of the caravan, I noticed Kenji and Hana exchanging glances. Kenji's face showed a mixture of confusion and respect, while Hana's eyes narrowed in that analytical way that always made me feel transparent. I'd confused them both—acting strangely, noticing things I shouldn't, knowing things I couldn't explain.
The path ahead narrowed further, curving between two massive boulders exactly as I'd foreseen. My heart hammered against my ribs as we approached the spot where I knew—with terrifying certainty—that our enemies waited. The question wasn't if the ambush would come, but when—and whether I could protect my team without revealing the full extent of my cursed knowledge.
——————————————
The rumble came first—a deep, subterranean growl that vibrated through the soles of my sandals. Before anyone could react, the cliff face to our right fractured with a sound like the world splitting open. Massive chunks of rock broke free, tumbling toward the caravan in a deadly cascade exactly—precisely—as I had foreseen. Not déjà vu. Not intuition. Memory. My body moved before my conscious mind could catch up, hands already forming seals for a technique I'd practiced a thousand times in dreams.
"Ambush!" Junko's voice cut through the chaos, but I was already in motion.
Hana stood directly in the path of a boulder the size of a wagon wheel, her attention fixed on the cliff top where shadowy figures had appeared. She hadn't seen the danger hurtling toward her. Without thinking, I abandoned my position, crossing the space between us in three chakra-enhanced bounds.
"Barrier Technique: Impact Shield!" I slammed my palm against the ground as I reached her, a translucent blue dome materializing around us just as I collided with Hana, knocking her sideways. The boulder struck my barrier with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The shield held just long enough, the massive rock deflecting to crash into the path beside us.
Hana stared at me, her green eyes wide with shock. "How did you—"
"No time!" I pulled her to her feet as my barrier dissolved. All around us, the narrow pass had erupted into chaos. Merchants scrambled to control panicked horses, while Kenji had engaged two attackers who had dropped from the cliffs. Junko stood atop the lead wagon, her hands flashing through seals as she countered another earth-style jutsu from above.
The attackers wore nondescript clothing in muted grays and browns, their faces covered with cloth masks that left only their eyes visible. No headbands, no village insignia—rogue ninja for hire, just as Junko had warned. But I knew more about them than their appearance revealed.
I saw the leader before he fully emerged—a tall figure with a distinctive stance who lurked behind a rocky outcrop on the eastern cliff. His hands were already moving in the sequence for a water-style jutsu I recognized from memories that shouldn't exist.
"Junko-sensei!" I shouted. "The leader uses water-style jutsu—he'll target the caravan first!" The words escaped before I could consider how impossible my knowledge would seem.
To her credit, Junko didn't waste time questioning me. She pivoted immediately, her own hands forming counter-seals just as a massive jet of water shot from the outcrop, aimed directly at the wagons carrying the precious herbs. Her fire technique turned the water to steam before it could reach its target.
Three more attackers emerged from a crevice I'd noted earlier—a hiding spot perfectly positioned to flank us from behind. Kenji hadn't seen them yet, engaged as he was with the enemies before him.
"Kenji, three enemies hiding in the outcrop to your right!" I called out, abandoning all pretense of normal battlefield awareness.
Kenji reacted instantly, completing his current opponent with a decisive strike before whirling to meet the new threat. The precision of his movements was extraordinary—each step, each strike calculated for maximum efficiency with minimum wasted energy. His training showed in every line of his body as he intercepted the flanking attackers before they could fully emerge from cover.
I forced myself to focus on the immediate threats rather than the questions I knew would come later. Two attackers had broken through to the central wagon where the most valuable herbs were stored. I cut them off, my hands already forming the seals for another barrier technique.
"Barrier Technique: Containment Wall!" The translucent blue barrier rose from the ground, cutting across the path between the attackers and their target. They collided with it hard, clearly not expecting the sudden obstacle.
One wore gauntlets with metal claws that gleamed with a poisonous sheen—a weapon I recognized from a future memory where its scratch had left a merchant paralyzed for weeks. The other carried a short sword that hummed with wind-nature chakra, capable of cutting through standard barriers.
"Hana! The one with the sword uses wind chakra—it'll cut through my barrier!" I called out, already adjusting my technique to compensate for a weakness my opponent hadn't yet demonstrated.
Hana appeared beside me, kunai in hand, her movements fluid as water. "On it!"
She launched three kunai in rapid succession, forcing the swordsman to defend rather than attack my barrier. The timing was perfect—the exact moment when his stance shifted to prepare for his wind-enhanced strike.
Across the battlefield, our teammates were similarly turning the tide. Junko had engaged the water-style user directly, her superior speed and fire techniques creating a devastating counter to his attacks. Kenji had dispatched two of the three flanking attackers and had the third on the defensive.
I maintained my barrier, trapping the two attackers who had targeted the central wagon. The one with the clawed gauntlets struck at my chakra wall repeatedly, while the swordsman continued dodging Hana's precisely aimed weapons.
"Your barrier won't last forever, boy," the gauntlet-wearer snarled, his voice muffled by his mask.
He was right. I could feel the strain on my chakra network, the familiar burn spreading through my pathways. Maintaining a barrier of this size while remaining combat-ready was testing my limits. I needed to end this quickly.
"It doesn't need to," I replied, suddenly dropping the barrier just as Hana launched another volley of kunai.
The unexpected dissolution of the wall caught our opponents off-guard. The kunai struck the gauntleted attacker in the shoulder, while I lunged forward to engage the swordsman. Having observed his fighting style—both in this battle and in memories of a future that hadn't happened yet—I anticipated his diagonal slash before his muscles had even tensed to deliver it.
I slipped inside his guard, a basic Academy move executed with timing that made it seem advanced. My kunai found the pressure point at his elbow, temporarily numbing his sword arm. As the weapon clattered to the ground, I delivered a precise strike to his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs and sending him to his knees.
Within minutes, what should have been a devastating ambush had turned into a decisive victory for our team. The attackers who remained conscious fled back up the cliffs, leaving four of their comrades either unconscious or too injured to escape.
As the dust settled, I became acutely aware of three pairs of eyes fixed on me. Kenji's held a mixture of respect and wariness, as if he couldn't quite reconcile my performance with his previous assessment of my abilities. Hana's analytical gaze swept over me with renewed intensity, cataloging every incongruity between what I'd done and what should have been possible.
But it was Junko's expression that concerned me most. She stood amid the aftermath of battle, her jonin vest dusty but largely undamaged, studying me with the calculating look of someone reassessing a potential threat.
"Secure the prisoners," she ordered, her voice level. "We'll question them once we've moved the caravan to safer ground."
As my teammates moved to comply, I busied myself checking the wagons for damage, trying to ignore the weight of Junko's gaze. I'd revealed too much—not just skill, which could be explained away by training or talent, but knowledge that had no rational source. Knowledge of an enemy's techniques before they were used, of attack patterns before they developed, of dangers before they materialized.
The battle was won, but I'd lost something more valuable: my anonymity. My carefully constructed facade of being merely skilled rather than impossible had cracked, and through those cracks, questions would inevitably follow.
——————————————
We made camp three kilometers past the ambush site, in a sheltered valley where the walls of the pass finally relaxed their stranglehold on the path. The merchants huddled around their own fire, their relieved chatter occasionally punctuated by nervous laughter—the sound of people who had glimpsed death and walked away. Our team's fire burned separately, the flames casting long shadows across faces that no longer looked at me the same way. I pretended to be absorbed in checking my equipment, but my fingers moved mechanically while my mind calculated the questions coming my way and the lies I would need to tell.
Kenji maintained his usual precise movements as he set up the perimeter seals, but I caught him watching me from the corner of his eye. His posture had changed subtly—the slight tension in his shoulders suggested heightened alertness, as if reassessing a variable in an equation he thought he'd already solved.
Hana was less subtle. She sat cross-legged beside the fire, her green eyes rarely leaving me as she sharpened her kunai with deliberate, even strokes. The scrape of metal against whetstone formed a rhythmic counterpoint to the crackling flames.
"The merchants report no damage to their cargo," Junko announced, returning from her inspection of the caravan. "We'll resume travel at first light. Hana, Kenji, take first watch."
My teammates nodded and moved to their positions without comment. As they stepped away from the firelight, Junko turned to me.
"Walk with me, Akira. I want to check the eastern perimeter."
Her tone was casual, but the request wasn't optional. I rose and followed her away from camp, into the dusky shadows between stunted pine trees that clung to the rocky soil. Crickets chirped in the underbrush, their evening song oddly comforting against the tension humming between us.
Junko stopped when we were well out of earshot of the camp, turning to face me with arms crossed over her jonin vest. The fading light caught the thin scar near her temple, making it appear deeper than it was.
"We're going to talk about what happened today," she said without preamble. "And you're going to give me straight answers."
I kept my expression neutral despite the anxiety churning in my gut. "Yes, Sensei."
"How did you know exactly where they would attack? How did you know their jutsu types before they used them?" Her eyes fixed on mine, sharp and unrelenting. "And don't tell me it was from reading historical accounts."
I looked away, focusing on a distant rock formation. "I analyzed the terrain. The narrow point between those boulders was the obvious choice for an ambush."
"That explains why you were nervous approaching that section. It doesn't explain how you knew the leader used water-style jutsu before he appeared, or that the swordsman channeled wind chakra before he demonstrated it."
My mind raced for plausible explanations. "I... noticed signs. Moisture in the air near the leader's position. The way the swordsman's blade was constructed suggests wind enhancement."
Junko's expression hardened. "You're insulting both of us with these explanations. I've been a jonin for eight years, Akira. I know when someone is hiding something significant."
"I have good instincts," I tried again. "And I've studied various jutsu patterns. Sometimes I can anticipate—"
"You pulled Hana away from that boulder before it even broke free from the cliff," she interrupted. "Your back was turned. You couldn't have seen it."
The conversation was sliding rapidly downhill. Each explanation I offered only dug me deeper into a pit of obvious lies. How could I explain that I sometimes experienced memories of events that hadn't happened yet? That in some other timeline, I'd watched Hana die beneath that boulder? That I'd seen the water-style user drown a merchant in his own lungs?
"I'm waiting, Akira."
I swallowed hard, settling on a partial truth. "I sense things sometimes. Chakra patterns, danger... it's hard to explain. Like intuition, but stronger."
She studied me for a long moment. "Some shinobi develop sensory abilities beyond the norm. That might explain some of what I saw today. But not all of it."
"I can't explain it better than that," I said, hearing the defeat in my own voice.
Junko sighed, her posture relaxing slightly. "Whatever you're hiding, I hope it doesn't endanger the team. Today, your... instincts... saved lives. But secrets between teammates create vulnerabilities that enemies can exploit."
Her words struck deeper than I'd expected. The weight of my knowledge—the responsibility of carrying future memories that no one else could understand—had always felt isolating. But now that isolation was taking physical form, creating distance between me and the people I was supposed to trust with my life.
"I would never intentionally put the team at risk," I said softly.
"I believe that," Junko replied, her tone gentler. "But intentions and outcomes aren't always aligned."
She reached out, placing a hand briefly on my shoulder. The contact was unexpected, almost parental in its reassurance. "When you're ready to talk about what's really going on, I'll listen. Until then, be careful about how much you reveal in combat situations. Your teammates will have questions I can't answer for you."
We walked back to camp in silence, the unsaid words between us heavier than any conversation could have been. At the edge of the firelight, Junko gave me one last measuring look before moving to check on the merchants.
I returned to my bedroll, acutely aware of the changed atmosphere. Kenji had positioned himself slightly differently than usual during his watch—still attentive to the perimeter, but with a clearer line of sight to my position. Protective? Wary? Perhaps both.
Hana returned from her patrol route, settling on a fallen log near my bedroll. Her notebook appeared in her hands, but for once, she wasn't writing. Instead, she tapped the closed cover rhythmically with her fingernails, clearly wanting to speak but unsure how to begin.
"You saved my life today," she said finally, her voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the others. "That boulder would have crushed me if you hadn't reacted so quickly."
"Anyone would have done the same," I replied, avoiding her gaze.
"That's not true. No one else saw it coming. No one else could have reached me in time." She paused. "How did you know, Akira?"
Our fingers brushed as she reached out to emphasize her question, and I felt a spark—static from the dry air, but it jolted me nonetheless. Or perhaps it was the earnestness in her green eyes, the genuine concern beneath her analytical exterior.
For a brief, dangerous moment, I considered telling her everything—the dreams that weren't dreams, the knowledge that sometimes flowed into my mind unbidden, the burden of seeing possible futures and trying to navigate between them. The words rose to my lips, wanting release from the prison of secrecy I'd built around them.
But then I remembered other futures I'd glimpsed—ones where trust led to tragedy, where shared secrets became weapons in the wrong hands, where good intentions paved roads to outcomes worse than the ones I was trying to prevent.
"I just... reacted," I said instead. "Something caught my eye, and I moved."
Disappointment flashed across her face, quickly masked by her usual composed expression. "I see."
She stood, tucking her notebook away. "Whatever you're not saying, it helped us today. But Akira..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Teams function on trust. If you can't trust us with whatever this is, it makes me wonder what else you might be holding back."
As she walked away to resume her watch position, the distance between us seemed to stretch beyond the physical space—a gulf of unspoken truths and withheld confidences. Kenji nodded to her as they passed, his eyes briefly meeting mine across the camp before returning to their vigilant sweep of the perimeter.
I lay back on my bedroll, staring up at stars partially obscured by wispy clouds. The successful defense of the caravan should have brought our team closer, forged bonds through shared danger and victory. Instead, my actions—necessary as they were—had created new barriers between us, invisible but tangible.
The irony wasn't lost on me. The seal specialist, expert in barriers, was now trapped within one of his own making—a barrier of secrets that protected a future no one else could see, at the cost of connections in the present that I was only beginning to value.
——————————————
My apartment welcomed me with the familiar embrace of solitude—a small, silent space untouched by the complexities of human interaction. I locked the door behind me, activating the security seals with a practiced pulse of chakra, and finally allowed my shoulders to slump beneath the weight I'd been carrying. The mission to Midnight Pass had been completed successfully. The merchants and their precious cargo had reached their destination unharmed. By all official metrics, Team Fifteen had performed admirably on our first B-rank assignment. So why did victory taste like ashes in my mouth?
The late afternoon sun slanted through my single window, illuminating the organized chaos that defined my living space. Scrolls covered every available surface—stacked on the small table, arranged in precise rows along the bookshelves, rolled and categorized in wooden bins beneath my bed. Ancient texts on sealing theory sat alongside modern treatises on chakra manipulation, all bristling with color-coded markers and annotations in my cramped handwriting.
On the western wall, partially hidden behind a sliding panel, hung a map of the Five Great Nations marked with cryptic symbols and dates that would mean nothing to anyone but me. Some had already passed—small events I'd nudged in different directions. Others loomed in the future, growing steadily closer with each passing day.
I moved to my desk and unlocked the bottom drawer with a sequence of chakra pulses. Inside lay my most precious possession—a journal bound in plain black leather, its pages filled with a cipher I'd invented using elements from three different ancient languages combined with a numerical substitution system. Even if found, it would be indecipherable to anyone else.
My fingers traced the most recent entry, made before departing for the Midnight Pass mission. The precise symbols detailed my ongoing research into a particular future event—one that would claim thousands of lives if left unchecked. Beside it, I'd sketched a complex seal matrix still years from completion, designed to counter a technique that didn't yet exist in this timeline.
I pulled out a pen and began a new entry, the familiar rhythm of encryption slowing my racing thoughts:
*Mission to Midnight Pass revealed dangers in my approach. Foreknowledge triggered protective instincts before conscious control could prevent reaction. Saved H from falling boulder—action unexplainable through normal means. Directed team against attacks not yet launched. J suspects. K wary. H curious. Timeline implications unknown. Saved lives today, but at what cost to overall mission? Must develop better containment strategy for future incidents.*
The pen paused over the page as I considered the implications. Today's actions had been instinctive—protecting Hana from the boulder, warning Kenji about the flanking attackers, alerting Junko to the water-style jutsu. Each intervention had saved lives and prevented injuries. Each had also driven another nail into the coffin of my carefully constructed persona.
How many such incidents could occur before someone—Junko, the Hokage, perhaps even my teammates—began investigating more deeply? Before they discovered the impossible truth that even I didn't fully understand? The visions of possible futures that plagued my dreams, the knowledge that flowed into my consciousness unbidden, the burden of seeing tragedies before they occurred and trying to prevent them without unraveling the entire fabric of time.
I added another line to my journal:
*Priority remains the Crimson Moon Event. Four years, two months remaining. All other concerns secondary.*
The written reminder helped center me. Whatever complications arose from today's mission, my purpose remained clear. The incident at Midnight Pass was minor compared to the catastrophe I was working to prevent—a night four years from now when the sky would turn red and thousands would die in a single, devastating attack on Konoha. An attack I'd witnessed in dreams so vivid they couldn't be anything but prophecy.
A sharp knock at my door startled me from my thoughts. I quickly closed the journal, returning it to its hidden compartment before approaching the door. My hand hovered over the release seal as I extended my senses, recognizing the chakra signature on the other side.
Hana.
For a moment, I considered pretending to be absent. But the subtle fluctuation in her chakra suggested she'd already detected my presence—her sensor abilities were more refined than I'd initially estimated.
I deactivated the security seals and opened the door to find her standing there, a small container in her hands. Her long black hair was loose from its usual ponytail, falling around her shoulders in slightly damp waves that suggested a recent shower. Her bright green eyes assessed me quickly, noting my disheveled appearance and the dark circles under my eyes.
"You left immediately after reporting to the mission desk," she said by way of greeting. "No dinner."
She held up the container. The aroma of miso and grilled fish wafted from it, making my stomach clench with sudden hunger. I hadn't eaten since the morning's field rations.
"I brought extra," she added when I didn't immediately respond. "My mother always makes too much."
The mention of her mother—that casual reference to family, to connections beyond duty—created an unexpected hollowness in my chest. I stepped back, a silent invitation for her to enter.
Hana's eyes widened slightly as she took in the scroll-covered interior of my apartment. Her gaze lingered on the texts splayed open on my desk, the diagrams pinned to my walls, the stacks of research materials occupying every available surface.
"You've been busy," she observed, setting the food container on the one clear corner of my table.
"Research," I said vaguely, hastily gathering some of the more sensitive scrolls and tucking them away.
"On what?"
"Various sealing techniques. Barrier modifications." The partial truth again—my constant companion.
Hana's gaze remained uncomfortably perceptive as she produced two sets of chopsticks from her pocket. "You disappeared as soon as we reached the village. Kenji thought you might be avoiding us."
I accepted the chopsticks, focusing on opening the food container rather than meeting her eyes. "Just tired. The barriers during the ambush drained my chakra more than I let on."
"That's not why you're avoiding us."
Her directness caught me off-guard. I looked up to find her studying me, her head tilted slightly, her lips a crooked line of gentle concern rather than her usual analytical disinterest.
"I'm not avoiding anyone," I insisted weakly.
"You knew things during that ambush that you couldn't possibly have known," she said, ignoring my protest. "You saved my life before danger was even apparent. You predicted attack patterns that hadn't formed yet."
I remained silent, mechanically separating my portion of the food.
"Junko-sensei won't tell us what you discussed," Hana continued, "but I'm not blind, Akira. Something's going on with you, something beyond the skills listed in your file."
The food sat untouched between us as the moment stretched uncomfortably. In another life, another timeline, perhaps I could have shared the burden with her—this perceptive, steadfast kunoichi who noticed details others missed. Perhaps we could have worked together toward the future I was trying to secure.
But the risks were too great. The more people who knew, the more variables entered the equation, the greater the chance of catastrophic deviation from the path I needed to maintain.
"I appreciate the food," I said finally. "And your concern."
She recognized the deflection for what it was, disappointment flickering briefly across her features. "The team works well together. Today proved that. But we could be stronger if..."
"If what?"
"If you trusted us enough to be honest about whatever it is you're hiding," she finished quietly.
We ate in silence after that, the food excellent but tasting of little beyond the tension between us. When she finally rose to leave, I walked her to the door, unsure what to say to bridge the distance my secrets had created.
At the threshold, she paused. "You can trust us, you know," she said before stepping out into the hallway. "Whatever it is."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded like finality. I reset the security seals, then moved to the small bathroom where a cracked mirror hung above a stained sink. The face that stared back at me looked older than my years, shadowed with fatigue and the weight of knowledge no one should carry alone.
How much longer could I maintain this charade? How many more missions would reveal impossible knowledge I couldn't explain? How many times could I deflect the growing suspicions of people who were becoming more than just teammates?
The future I was working to protect required my complete focus, demanded sacrifices I'd always been willing to make. I'd accepted isolation as the price of that mission long before I'd met Hana, Kenji, or Junko.
Yet something had changed. The weight of my secret felt heavier now that I had people who might actually care enough to help carry it. People whose trust I was systematically destroying with every necessary lie.
I turned away from my reflection, from the questions I couldn't answer and the truths I couldn't share. The journal waited in its hidden compartment, full of encrypted warnings about a future only I could see.
That would have to be enough company for now.