A week had passed since the meeting at the Hyuga clan estate.
A quiet, misty morning blanketed the Shimura residence, a place rarely visited by outsiders. Inside the traditional wooden house, two figures sat facing each other on slightly worn yet clean tatami mats. The walls were made of aged wood and paper sliding doors—everything appeared simple, almost dull.
Mizuki sat in seiza, wearing a pristine white kimono with no pattern, her long black hair neatly tied back. Across from her, Danzo Shimura sat with perfect posture, dressed in a dark black kimono that made his gaze seem even deeper and unreadable.
Mizuki subtly glanced around the room, trying to absorb the impression left by the home of the man who would become her teacher. There were no excessive decorations, no luxurious furniture, not even paintings or clan emblems on the walls. Only an old sword hung in the corner, and stacks of documents arranged with obsessive order.
'So bland...' Mizuki thought as she observed the details of the room. 'But perhaps because of that, everything feels so... ninja.'
The aura that radiated from the house was not one of warmth or beauty. It was one of emptiness—silent and controlled. As if the entire building had been constructed not to be lived in, but to endure time. It felt like the house had been designed by someone who wanted to leave no trace—only purpose.
'This is the essence of a true ninja... the kind I imagined in my previous life. Quiet, silent, bland, and emanating a faint sense of danger. But if you look closely... there's nothing unusual. And precisely because of that… everything feels threatening.'
Mizuki turned her gaze as Danzo's voice broke the silence.
"How old are you now?" Danzo asked, his voice deep, slow, yet commanding.
"Six," Mizuki answered quickly, though mentally she felt much older.
Danzo nodded slowly. "At your age, I was already on the battlefield. No protection. No grand strategies from jonin. Just orders—and blood. There was no Ninja Academy back then. No graduation system. Only those who could kill fast enough and survive long enough."
His tone remained flat, but there was a shadow behind his eyes. For a moment, Mizuki felt like she was staring into a bottomless, ancient well.
"Many died. My friends... including Kagami. Sarutobi—Hiruzen, he survived and became Hokage. I survived too. But the price was high." Danzo looked toward the paper window where the silver morning light filtered through.
Mizuki didn't interrupt. She knew this story wasn't just for remembrance—it was meant to be understood. There was a lesson behind every word Danzo spoke, and she listened carefully.
"History books don't write everything. They only record what's worth remembering, not what needs to be learned. But I have no interest in the romance of history. I want you to know this world is unfair. Illogical. And unforgiving to the weak. Only those who act quickly, without hesitation, will survive."
After a brief silence, Danzo reached for the ceramic teapot before him and poured warm tea into two cups. A thin steam rose from the surface.
"With this," he said as he handed a cup to Mizuki, "we are now officially teacher and student."
No spell. No symbolic ceremony. Just a cup of warm tea in each hand.
Mizuki accepted the cup with both hands, gazing at the calm, greenish liquid. It was bitter when she took a sip—but not enough to make her grimace.
'I prefer it this way. Simple. Direct. The world of ninja is a battlefield, not a stage. After living as the little princess of the Hyuga clan, full of rules and etiquette, having a teacher like Danzo feels… refreshing.'
A few minutes later, they stood in the backyard of Danzo's house—a sand-covered training ground with a few small pine trees and large stones arranged naturally. A cool breeze carried the soft rustling of leaves. The cold morning air touched Mizuki's skin, but she stood firm.
Danzo stepped into the center of the yard, then turned to face her.
"Attack me," he said calmly. "With killing intent."
Mizuki stared at him for a moment, evaluating whether this was a trap to test her mindset, but found no deception on Danzo's face. No emotion. No challenge. Just an order.
For someone like him… even a hundred Mizukis wouldn't make him sweat. But that's not the point.
She lowered her head briefly, then activated her Byakugan. Her pupils dilated, veins near her temples bulged sharply. She shot forward, her small frame almost like a shadow skimming the ground.
Her hand aimed for Danzo's tenketsu points, her Gentle Fist technique flowing swiftly.
"Hakke Kūshō!"
A palm of compressed air shot out, but Danzo merely shifted slightly, avoiding it with ease. Mizuki continued with a combination of low kicks and sharp palm thrusts to the chest.
But Danzo remained untouched.
Mizuki didn't relent. She threw several shuriken at close range, following up with a Kawarimi no Jutsu, reappearing from behind and striking again. Danzo deflected her with one hand, as if he had read every move.
Using Henge no Jutsu, she transformed into one of the Hyuga elders, appearing from the right side—just an illusion, but enough to distract for a split second.
Yet before she could land a hit, her body was twisted and lightly slammed to the ground.
Thud!
Mizuki rolled, dust flying. But she quickly got up, her breath heavy. Her face remained serious, full of determination.
Danzo observed her with no expression. "Weak," he said flatly. But there was no scorn in his voice.
"But fast," he continued. "And you don't waste time overthinking. That's good. A slow mind is more deadly than any enemy technique."
Mizuki steadied her breath, sweat dripping down her temple. Though her body was exhausted, her heart felt lighter.
'I lost—but I learned. I wasn't raised to win... I live to endure and evolve. Danzo isn't just a teacher. He's a constant test that will temper me.'
Danzo glanced at the sky, its color beginning to shift, then turned back to Mizuki.
"Tomorrow afternoon after you return from the Academy, we'll begin daily training. From the basics. Forget all the comforts you had in the Hyuga clan. Here, there's no status. Only results."
Mizuki looked at Danzo and nodded slowly. "Yes, Danzo-sama."
Danzo returned her gaze, and for the first time that morning, gave a slow nod. "Don't call me with honorifics. On the battlefield, there's no time for politeness."
Mizuki gave a faint smile. "Then… yes, sensei."
—
For the past six months, every afternoon after Academy, Mizuki underwent intense training under Danzo Shimura's supervision. In what seemed like a short time for most, her abilities had improved drastically—not just physically, but in observation, discipline, and shinobi thinking. Yet Danzo never taught her a single jutsu. For him, until Mizuki graduated from the Academy, the only thing worth mastering was every technique and secret of the Hyuga clan.
"With the Byakugan, you don't need cheap tricks," Danzo once said as they stood in an empty courtyard in a restricted area, surrounded by tall trees and fading dusk. "Hyuga techniques have proven themselves on the battlefield for thousands of years. Mastering them completely is more important than a thousand jutsu that'll only waste your time."
Mizuki stood with sweat trickling down her temple, breath ragged after completing her fourth rotation of tenketsu drills. In her mind, she knew Danzo wasn't just boasting. There was a reason why the Hyuga clan still stood tall through generations of war. Not just because of the Byakugan, but because of their fighting system—Jūken, the soft fist.
But it's important to note that Jūken wasn't merely a series of punches in the traditional sense. It was a system—a comprehensive method to destroy enemies from within by targeting their chakra flow. Jūken didn't need to look powerful to be deadly. A single touch, aimed at the right tenketsu, could permanently cripple an enemy.
"There are millions of ninjutsu in this world," Danzo once said while they sat by a river after training. His voice was calm but filled with unwavering conviction. "But the Hyuga only need one: Jūken. Because through it, they've survived for centuries."
Mizuki stared at the calmly flowing water, her mind processing his words. There was something silent yet terrifying in the Hyuga's faith in their art. While other clans chased spectacle, Hyuga chose precision and efficiency.
Typically, Hyuga clan members only learned one or two basic ninjutsu for emergencies, then dedicated their lives to mastering Jūken. Moreover, as part of the Hyuga main branch, Mizuki had unrestricted access to all their secret scrolls and ancient techniques. No censorship. No limits. Nothing withheld.
Danzo, though not a Hyuga himself, never held back in his training. He pushed Mizuki to her physical limits daily, sharpening her foundation without mercy. But Mizuki never complained. She didn't see training as suffering—but as a process to become her strongest self.
"Focus on chakra distribution in your palms," Danzo said firmly. "You're losing pressure at point fifty-eight. That could mean death on the battlefield."
"…Understood," Mizuki replied quietly, though her eyes remained steady and unwavering.
Sweat drenched her, her breath labored, but the fire in her heart burned brighter than the pain. Mizuki didn't just want strength—she wanted to understand the system that upheld the shinobi world. And Danzo, with all his darkness and manipulation, was the best teacher she could've hoped for.
Of course, Danzo had his own agenda. With the blessing of the Hyuga elders—whether genuine or mere formality—he studied the clan's ancient scrolls. As someone who had lived during the era of Madara Uchiha and experienced the legendary power of the Mangekyō Sharingan firsthand, Danzo refused to believe the Byakugan was a stagnant dojutsu. In his mind, if the Sharingan could evolve, then so could the Byakugan.
But he never shared that theory with anyone… except one person.
"Did you know," Danzo said one night as they rested in the underground training chamber, "Mangekyō Sharingan isn't inherited. It's born through trauma… suffering."
Mizuki lifted her face, her pale glowing Byakugan gazing back. "Then… can the Byakugan evolve too?"
Danzo didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at the flickering lantern flame, then finally murmured, "I want to believe that no dojutsu is truly finished. Each holds the potential to evolve."
From that night on, a seed of expectation took root in Mizuki's heart. She no longer saw the Byakugan as a complete inheritance, but as a foundation for something greater. There was a possibility yet unexplored. She felt it—in her instincts, in the way chakra flowed through her veins.
One day, while they were planning her next training regimen, Mizuki asked innocently but with calculation, "Sensei… may I apply for early graduation from the Academy?"
Danzo stared at her for a long time before finally shaking his head. "Unnecessary."
Mizuki frowned slightly. "But if the goal is efficiency, wouldn't it be better for me to begin official missions as soon as possible?"
A faint smile crossed Danzo's lips—a rare sight. "You're misunderstanding the meaning of efficiency. The Academy isn't just for learning ninjutsu. It's about interaction. About understanding the ideologies that shape this village. About learning who is a friend… and who is not."
He looked at Mizuki sharply. "And… your body is still developing. No matter how intelligent or mentally strong you are, you're still a child. Even the finest weapon needs time to be forged."
Those words sank deep into Mizuki's heart. She bowed her head slightly, reflecting on the meaning. Although part of her wanted to step into the real shinobi world immediately, she knew Danzo was right. Some strength could only come with time.
As the night breeze blew gently, Mizuki once again took her stance. Her Byakugan glowed in the dark, sensing every shift of air, every fluctuation of chakra around her. She wasn't done. This was just the beginning.
And from the shadows, Danzo watched his student with an unreadable expression. In his heart, he knew… if there was one person who could prove the theory of Byakugan's evolution, it was Mizuki.