Chapter 2: A Line in the Sand
"Okay, go down and find a seat," the teacher said, voice flat and uninterested.
Uzumaki Kushina didn't speak. She simply nodded and made her way to the back of the classroom, slipping into the seat beside the only person who had spoken up for her: Asakawa Naoki.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her gaze landing on the black-haired boy.
Moments ago, when the entire class had taken turns laughing at her long red hair, most had either joined in or smiled in silence. Even the teacher had chosen to look the other way. It was only Asakawa Naoki who had stepped in—who had taken the brunt of their ridicule without hesitation.
To Kushina, a stranger in a strange village, that meant everything.
"You're welcome," Asakawa replied, his voice soft but firm. "I just can't stand watching people get bullied."
He meant it. Even though he knew who she was—even though the Uzumaki name carried weight—his decision to speak up wasn't calculated. It came from a place he rarely acknowledged: resentment. He hated bullies. Always had.
In his previous life, back in the Celestial Empire, he'd never been bullied. But that didn't mean he hadn't seen it happen. And now, in this life, in this foreign world, it disgusted him all the same.
What did he have to lose anyway? He wasn't going to become a ninja. That door was already closed. He'd probably be out of this school in a few days, and the opinions of these classmates wouldn't matter in the long run.
"Still. Thanks," Kushina said again, more firmly this time. She extended her hand toward him, small and soft, but unwavering.
"My name is Uzumaki Kushina."
Asakawa blinked. A beat passed before he reached out and shook her hand lightly, offering a smile. "Asakawa Naoki. Nice to meet you."
Her hand lingered in his for a second longer than necessary. The warmth steadied her. Somehow, her chest didn't feel quite as heavy anymore.
*Maybe this place won't be so bad,* she thought.
***
The first-year curriculum at Konoha's Ninja Academy was, unsurprisingly, light. School ended early, typically around three in the afternoon.
"Asakawa, I'm heading home first," Kushina called out as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
"Alright. See you tomorrow," he replied.
As soon as she disappeared down the hall, Asakawa began gathering his things. Realistically, he wouldn't be here much longer. There wasn't any point. He wasn't cut out to be a shinobi—not in this body, not in this system. With the stipend from his deceased parents, maybe he could start a small shop or peddle some wares.
But first, he had to grow up.
"It's fine. I'll make it work," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "If I can't become a ninja, I'll hire one someday to guard my business."
A small smile tugged at his lips. It was half-joke, half-dream.
But as he stepped outside the classroom, he paused. Just around the corner of the building, a familiar flash of red caught his eye. Kushina.
She was cornered.
"Little Tomato, still acting tough, huh?"
"If the teacher weren't there earlier, we would've shut you up right in class!"
"And that coward Asakawa? Hah. He didn't even leave with you. We'll deal with him tomorrow."
There were four of them—the same group that had laughed the loudest earlier. Yamagami Taro stood at the front, short and pudgy, the self-proclaimed leader of the group. The rest—Matsushita Muroto, Mita Shota, and Sato Heiji—stood just behind him, puffed up with fake bravado.
Kushina clenched her fists. "This has nothing to do with Asakawa. If you have a problem, face me."
"Oh? Protecting your little traitor friend now?" Taro sneered.
The name-calling didn't stop. "Little Tomato" this, "traitor" that. Every word was sharper than the last.
As Taro reached out to grab her hair, Kushina flinched—not out of fear, but from sheer frustration. Her red hair wasn't just hair. It was her identity. A mark of the Uzumaki clan. Noble. Powerful. Sacred. And now, in Konoha, it had become something ugly—something to be mocked.
Before she could react, Muroto and Shota had each grabbed one of her arms, holding her back.
Her strength—her chakra—was more than theirs. But she was still seven. In a contest of brute strength, against two boys holding her down, there was only so much she could do.
"She's strong," Muroto warned, tightening his grip.
"Relax," Heiji laughed. "She's just a girl. What's she gonna do?"
He didn't notice the figure behind them.
"Let go of her," came a voice like flint, calm but heavy.
They turned. Too slow.
Asakawa's fist connected with Taro's nose in a single clean hit. There was a sickening crunch, followed by a high-pitched yelp.
"AAGHH—!"
Blood gushed down Taro's face as he stumbled back, clutching his nose.
"You—! You bastard!"
In a heartbeat, the bullies swarmed him. Four boys, fists flying, shouting and grunting.
Asakawa didn't try to fight them all. He couldn't. He covered his head, protecting his vital spots, bracing against the blows. Hailstorms of pain slammed into his arms and sides.
But then—salvation.
Kushina, free from their grip, lunged forward. She kicked Sato Heiji square in the back, sending him sprawling.
Asakawa saw his chance. With a twist, he brought his knee up and kicked Mita Shota in the crotch. The boy went down instantly, groaning like a deflated balloon.
One down.
He turned on Taro, slammed a punch straight into his face again, then again. The fat boy dropped, hands guarding his face, whimpering in fear.
Always take down the loudest first. That's what he'd learned watching gang shows back in his old world. Hit the leader, and the rest crumble.
Muroto came at him next, fists flailing. But his strikes were hesitant now. Shaken.
Asakawa didn't stop. He wasn't some trained fighter, but desperation made up for form. He kicked, punched, clawed—anything that would drive them back.
Kushina didn't run either. She launched herself at the remaining two, screaming curses, fists flailing. She took a few hits herself, but by the time a teacher arrived, it was clear who had lost.
"STOP IT!"
Masaki Yuto, the class teacher, yanked Asakawa off the now-crying Taro and separated the others. Behind him stood Namikaze Minato, who had gone to get the teacher. He rushed to help Kushina—but she shoved his hand away, glaring.
She didn't need help. Not from someone who watched until the last minute.
Asakawa didn't say anything. He was panting, bruised, aching everywhere. But he had no regrets. He'd drawn a line in the sand. He wasn't one of them.
Let them call him a traitor.
He wasn't like them.
Somewhere on the roof of the senior building, a pair of sharp eyes had watched everything unfold—silent, amused, interested. The boy in the shadows leaned back and smiled faintly.
"Asakawa Naoki, huh… Not bad."
******
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