Two Steps Behind

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Chapter One: Threads in the Mist

The morning sun cast long shadows through the school gym's skylights, streaking across the hardwood floor like golden threads. Aiko's breath misted faintly in the cool air as she twisted her hips and drove her palm into the training dummy's padded chest with a soft thump.

Again. And again.

The rhythm was everything. Flow, precision, breath.

She moved through her kata like a dancer locked in a private performance-each movement purposeful, honed from years of repetition. In her mind, the world outside the mat didn't exist. No whispers. No rumors. No pressure. Only the discipline of jutsu.

"Aiko."

The voice cut gently through the silence.

She turned mid-form, startled. Ren stood by the edge of the mat, holding a bottle of barley tea and a rolled-up towel. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he wore a simple white hoodie with his backpack slung loosely over one shoulder. There was a small smudge of flour on his sleeve, as if he'd just left the kitchen.

"You forgot this." He held out the towel.

Aiko blinked, then smiled faintly. "You didn't have to."

"I know." He shrugged. "But you always do that thing where you push yourself and forget your hands get raw."

She took the towel. Their fingers brushed, just briefly. His were warm.

"You're too observant," she muttered.

"It's either that or fail home economics again," he joked.

Aiko chuckled, her posture softening. "Still making those rice buns?"

"I added miso this time. Want one?"

She gave him a sideways glance, then nodded.

They sat side by side on the bench at the edge of the training area. Ren handed her the rice bun wrapped in wax paper. The smell was warm and savory. Aiko took a bite and let her body relax for the first time all morning.

Ren leaned back, watching the light shift through the skylight. "You've been training harder than usual."

"I need to qualify," she said simply.

"You already did, didn't you?"

"For the regional? Yeah. But the All-Nation Junior Tournament is coming up. Only one student from our district gets selected."

Ren didn't say anything right away. Then, quietly: "You'll get it."

Aiko didn't respond. Her eyes were distant.

"There's something else," Ren said.

She glanced at him.

"You've been... distracted," he continued. "Since last week. Did something happen?"

Aiko hesitated. "There's been some trouble. With a few upperclassmen. Nothing serious."

His brow furrowed. "Are they bothering you?"

"Just words. I can handle it."

Ren looked at her for a long moment. "Do I know any of them?"

Aiko raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do? Throw flour at them?"

"I was thinking more chili oil," he said dryly.

She smirked. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe. But you're my friend, and I notice when something's wrong."

Aiko glanced down at her hands. They were red from the wooden dummy strikes. "They said I don't belong in the tournament. That jutsu is for 'real fighters.' Not girls who just look pretty doing flips."

Ren's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "You could break their wrists in two seconds."

"That's not the point."

He nodded slowly. "Then what is?"

Aiko sighed. "I keep thinking... what if they're right? What if the judges think the same thing?"

"They don't."

"You can't know that."

"Yes, I can," he said, more firmly now. "I've watched you train since we were kids. You're more disciplined than half the dojo. You practice before school, after school, sometimes even during class."

She smiled faintly. "I miss those days. When it was just about the moves, not proving myself."

He leaned back, arms behind his head. "You're still that girl. The rest-noise. You do jutsu because it's in you. And because you love it."

She looked at him. Really looked.

Sometimes she forgot how calm he was. He didn't have that flashy confidence most boys tried to wear like armor. Ren was quiet, grounded, like a calm sea. Steady.

"I wish I could borrow your head for a day," she said.

"Only if you promise not to burn anything while cooking."

That made her laugh-loud and sudden.

The moment was warm, suspended between them.

Then, as if fate remembered they were teenagers in a world full of secrets, Aiko's phone buzzed.

She pulled it out. One new message.

No sender. Just a number.

"Careful who you trust. Not everyone's watching your back."

Her smile faded. Her fingers clenched.

Ren noticed instantly. "What is it?"

She hesitated. Then locked the screen and shook her head. "Spam."

Ren didn't press.

But she felt his gaze linger a second longer.

---

That afternoon, Aiko returned to her locker to find her training bag torn open. Her gloves were missing. Her uniform sliced down one side. Her name tag had been pinned to the inside wall with a thumbtack.

No blood. No note.

Just malice.

She stared at it, frozen.

The hallway was empty. The air felt still.

It wasn't just upperclassmen teasing anymore.

This was deliberate.

Her stomach sank.

She had enemies now.

---

That evening, she sat by the canal near the school's back wall. The water was slow and dark, carrying pieces of floating sakura petals from trees upstream.

Ren found her there, holding the ruined uniform in her lap.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat beside her, silent.

When she finally spoke, it was a whisper. "Someone's trying to break me."

Ren didn't react with shock or anger. He just exhaled. "I thought it might be more than words."

She blinked. "You suspected?"

"I've seen the way they look at you. The way people go quiet when you walk past."

She turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd tell me when you were ready."

Aiko stared at the water.

Then-quietly-"Do you think someone from the tournament is behind it?"

"I don't know," Ren said carefully. "But I'll help you find out."

She nodded slowly.

For the first time that day, her shoulders relaxed.