Iruka checked the clock for the third time that morning.
Thirty minutes late. Again.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled slowly, and forced himself to focus on the scroll in his hand.
Maybe he's not coming today. Maybe he got sick. Maybe the Hokage reassigned him to another class. Maybe the gods showed mercy.
As if summoned by karmic irony, a knock echoed through the classroom.
A few students turned.
Most already knew what was coming.
Iruka closed his eyes.
Of course.
The door slid open with all the ceremony of a grand performance.
Satoru Gojo walked in with the same confident, easy stride as the day before — shoulders relaxed, bag slung lazily over one shoulder, not a care in the world.
He glanced over the class, gave a soft nod like a celebrity acknowledging his fans, and then faced Iruka.
"Apologies for the delay," he said smoothly, voice even and calm. "I overslept again."
Not even an attempt at a real excuse. No explanation. No guilt. Just… that.
He started walking toward his seat as if the matter were resolved.
Iruka's eye twitched.
Is this going to be every day?
Some students rolled their eyes. Others — mostly those seated near him — were quietly thrilled.
Ino sat up straighter.
Sakura tried not to stare.
Naruto looked like he was considering throwing his eraser at the back of Satoru's head.
Iruka cleared his throat and forced a strained smile.
"Gojo… just take your seat."
"Gladly," Satoru replied, sliding into his desk with a graceful, lazy flop, like he was settling into a throne.
He leaned back, hands behind his head.
"Hope I didn't miss anything important."
Iruka stared at him for a long moment.
Then returned to the board, muttering something under his breath that might have been a prayer for patience… or a threat.
Iruka turned to the board, lifting a piece of chalk with a tired sigh, ready to resume the day's theory lesson. But just as his hand touched the board…
He froze.
...Wait. I was about to take them to the training field.
He turned back around with another sigh, starting to speak:
"All right, class, we'll be moving to—"
Pause.
Blink.
Full mental shutdown.
Satoru Gojo was no longer in his seat.
Again.
Now he was sitting beside Hinata Hyuga — a row and a half away from where he'd been moments ago — his hand gently resting on the girl's head, softly stroking her hair like she was a treasured pet or a nervous kitten.
Hinata, to the shock of anyone who had ever met her, was not just on the verge of fainting.
She was smiling.
She's smiling?
Iruka blinked. Twice.
"Wha—... When did he—?!"
Satoru, noticing the attention, looked up with the most innocent smile imaginable.
"Iruka-sensei, Hinata-chan seemed a little nervous. I'm just trying to cheer her up. You said we're comrades now, right?"
Hinata turned crimson, but didn't move away.
Choji dropped his bag of chips.
Naruto looked like he might explode on the spot.
Ino clearly regretted switching seats before class.
Iruka opened his mouth, then closed it.
Then opened it again.
Eventually, he just pointed to the door, voice more exhausted than angry.
"…To the training field. Now."
Satoru gave Hinata one last wink, patted the top of her head like a farewell blessing, and rose to his feet with the casual swagger of a hero called to destiny.
"Duty calls."
The walk to the training field was mostly uneventful — a bit of chatter, some groaning from students who preferred indoor lessons, and Iruka trying to keep a headcount without losing his mind.
But when they arrived at the edge of the clearing, Iruka did another quick scan out of habit… and stopped dead in his tracks.
Hinata was walking a few steps behind him.
Alone.
And Satoru Gojo?
Satoru Gojo was now holding hands with Sakura Haruno.
When did that happen?!
Sakura looked… conflicted. Her face was red, but her grip didn't loosen. Her eyes occasionally flicked toward Sasuke, as if weighing some internal decision.
Sasuke, for his part, didn't even glance back. He was too busy pretending nothing around him mattered. It probably helped that his eyes were currently locked on a distant tree like it owed him money.
Iruka blinked. Again. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.
"Gojo."
Satoru turned with the same relaxed smile he always wore, as if this was completely normal.
"Yes, sensei?"
"…Never mind."
He couldn't deal with it right now. He had actual work to do.
The class lined up at the training field, the sun casting long shadows over the row of wooden targets.
Iruka took a deep breath, slipping into instructor mode.
"Alright! Today's focus is shurikenjutsu. We'll start with stance, aim, and proper release. Accuracy comes with repetition — no one's hitting bullseyes on day one."
He turned, grabbed a handful of practice shuriken from a supply box, and began demonstrating.
Satoru Gojo watched with keen interest, nodding slightly with each technical cue. When Iruka explained wrist rotation, Satoru copied the motion in the air, testing the angles. When Iruka detailed shoulder alignment, Satoru adjusted his stance before anyone else.
Huh, Iruka thought. At least he's paying attention.
He handed out the practice shuriken and moved along the line of students, correcting posture and encouraging the ones clearly struggling.
"Keep your elbow straight, Naruto."
"Chōji, no snacking until after we're done!"
"Sakura, release later don't snap your wrist too early."
But every time Iruka glanced back toward Gojo… he was somewhere else.
At first, he was near the middle of the line, standing next to Hinata, calmly pointing at her stance and whispering something that made her giggle.
A few minutes later, he was at the far right, beside Ino, tossing a shuriken with such theatrical flair that she clapped before realizing it completely missed the target.
By the time Iruka walked over to speak to him directly… he was now next to Sakura again.
Iruka froze.
"Weren't you just—" he began.
"Yes?" Satoru replied innocently, standing in perfect shuriken form.
"…Never mind," Iruka sighed.
But then the boy threw. The shuriken whistled through the air and landed with a clean thunk, dead center in the ring.
Iruka blinked.
"Good. Very good, actually."
Satoru gave a modest shrug.
"I just do what you say, sensei."
It sounded respectful, but something about the way he said it made Iruka feel… vaguely taunted.
The worst part?
It wasn't even sarcasm.
He was listening. He was doing the drills. He was focused. He even asked solid questions — about target height, throwing angles, wind compensation, chakra-assisted grip.
But still…
Every time Iruka turned away for more than thirty seconds…
New girl. New spot. Same smile.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
He's like a plague in motion.
But a plague with good form.
Which somehow made it worse.
As the lesson progressed, Iruka started mentally taking notes. Not just about who needed extra practice — but about who was already standing out.
Sasuke Uchiha was no surprise. Iruka had expected near-perfect scores from the boy, and Sasuke didn't disappoint. Every single shuriken landed on target. The precision was clinical.
Still, Iruka smiled softly as he wrote the name down.
'He's got the talent, but he's also got the discipline. That's worth something.'
Then there was Shikamaru Nara, who had sighed dramatically before even picking up a shuriken, but still hit over 80% of his targets with minimal effort. Iruka had to hold back a comment.
Lazy genius. If he ever learns to care, he'll be unstoppable.
Sakura Haruno caught him by surprise. A civilian-born kunoichi with razor-sharp focus and form that mirrored his own demonstrations. She missed a few, sure, but her improvement was fast and consistent.
Iruka noted her down with a small nod.
Always good to see a bright civilian rising up.
And then...
Satoru Gojo.
Iruka didn't know what to make of him.
He wasn't from a noble clan. Not a Uchiha, not a Hyūga, not an Aburame or a Nara or anything with historical weight.
But his performance was undeniable.
Good grip. Sharp angles. Calculated throws. A natural sense for trajectory and chakra-assisted movements, even if he made it all look like an afterthought.
Iruka watched as Gojo stepped back from his last throw, brushing imaginary dust off his uniform with theatrical flair.
Then he strolled over to Hinata Hyūga, whispered something, adjusted her stance with a gentle touch on the elbow — and watched proudly as her next throw landed much closer to the target.
Iruka narrowed his eyes.
A few minutes later, he was giving tips to Ino Yamanaka, all smiles and casual proximity. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear mid-lesson made Iruka's eye twitch.
I need to write a report.
He pulled out his clipboard and scribbled a quick note.
"Student: Satoru Gojo – notable shuriken accuracy. Potential prodigy. Non-clan origin. Observe closely. May require guidance... or supervision.
Also possibly courting Hyūga and Yamanaka heiresses simultaneously.
Send report to Hokage."
He sighed, then glanced back toward Satoru — just in time to see Chōji raising a hand.
"Hey, Gojo! How did you do that wrist flick thing—?"
"Ask Iruka-sensei," Gojo said, without looking.
And then turned to Sakura, stepping into her throwing stance to offer some "guidance."
Iruka's jaw tightened.
Of course. He only helps the girls. Of course he does.
He gritted his teeth, watching the white-haired boy smile like he owned the training field.
This kid's going to give me an ulcer.