The Hidden Uchiha Gamer

(Shiina's POV: Yeah, this was going to happen eventually)

The library had always been my retreat. Ever since Akari started training my mind, the library had become one of my favourite places to be. A place where the world felt smaller, quieter—where I could breathe without the weight of expectations pressing down on me. A place of solitude and of tranquillity. A place where my thoughts don't have to be a chaotic mess, or maybe a place where I could figure things out.

The shelves loomed high, crammed with countless stories and endless knowledge, most about Prominent figures in Shinobi history; old and new alike. Some about the Great Shinobi Wars, others about the formation of the 5 Great Villages, some about other worlds where instead of Chakra there's Magic and Mana. Maybe there's a story or 2 about a singular Shinobi who achieved the impossible for Shinobi. 

Morning light filtered through the tall windows, its golden hue dancing on the polished wood floors. It was serene here, like time had decided to take a break.

Akari's presence was the only thing that could disturb that stillness—and not in a bad way. I watched her from across the room as she browsed the shelves, her expression calm but sharp, like she was piecing together a puzzle only she could see. She carried herself with a kind of precision I couldn't help but envy, as if she had everything under control—even when she didn't.

But today, her focus felt heavier, more deliberate. She wasn't just scanning for a random read; she was searching for something specific.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" I asked, my voice breaking the silence but not shattering it.

She paused, her fingers lingering on the spine of a book. "Just something that might help," she said without looking at me.

I frowned, resting my chin on my hand as I leaned over the table. "Help with what? You've already got most of this stuff down better than anyone else."

Her lips curved slightly—not a smile, more like an acknowledgment. "That doesn't mean there isn't more to learn."

She wasn't wrong, but I had a feeling she was dodging the real reason. Akari didn't like to admit when she was working on something for herself, even though I knew she was just as human as the rest of us. Maybe even more so. Or maybe she wasn't.

It was hard to tell when she almost always had that expression on her face. I don't think that can even be called an expression, actually, it was just rather stone-faced.

I watched Akari as she moved between the shelves, her fingers trailing over the spines of the books. She always had this intense focus, like everything she did had to be part of some grand plan. It was one of the things I admired about her—the way she could make even the smallest task seem important.

But then again, it was also what made her a little... intimidating. Especially with that constant expression on her face. And her monotonous voice. 

Still, I couldn't let her have the upper hand so easily. "Well, if you're struggling, I could always lend a hand," I teased rather light-heartedly.

That got her to glance my way, one brow raised. "You've been staring at your book for ten minutes without turning a page," she said dryly.

I straightened up, heat rising to my face. "I was... reviewing!"

Her rare, fleeting smirk made an appearance. "Right."

Okay, so maybe she wasn't entirely wrong. But in my defence, the book wasn't exactly riveting. It was a dry manual on combat technique's—one of Akari's recommendations. Something about the pressure points that are useful to hit and how to find them. And as much as I wanted to impress her by memorizing every move and diagram. I'd been done with the page 5 minutes ago, but I had been focused on her for the last 5 minutes. 

"Memorizing isn't the same as understanding," she said, as if reading my thoughts. She moved closer, setting her own book down on the table next to mine. "You're good at this, Shiina. But you're holding yourself back by trying to make everything perfect."

That gave me pause. "I'm not... holding myself back," I said, though it came out less certain than I'd intended.

I felt a hand place itself on my shoulder as Akari looked me in the eyes. Her gaze was steady but was not unkind, in fact it was strangely warm, "You are. You're already good at what I'm teaching you. But you keep hesitating, second-guessing yourself. Why?"

Why? Because I didn't want to mess up. Because I didn't want to let her down. She started training me, for no apparent reason whatsoever and I didn't want to let her down because of that. But how was I supposed to say that without sounding ridiculous? 

How was I supposed to say that I valued her more than she thinks?

"I just... want to get it right," I said finally, looking down at the book.

"You won't get it right if you don't trust yourself," she said, her voice softer now. "You know the moves, Shiina. I've seen you execute them perfectly during practice. But in the moment, you hesitate, and that's what's holding you back."

Her words hit harder than I expected. She wasn't criticizing me; she was trying to help me see what I couldn't on my own.

A small smile tugged on my lips, "Akari Chan is the best!" I exclaimed moving my hand to the gift she had given me merely a month ago. Warmth filled my heart when I thought about that day. 

"Alright, it's time to get going now, I hope you're ready for some harsher practice. I'm going to make you practise that footwork again." Akari spoke, her tone contemplative for some reason.

I groaned, but I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face as I pushed my chair back and stood up. Akari might have been intimidating, frustrating, and a little too perfect for her own good, but she was also my friend, and the one who was training me. 

As we walked through the library's grand doors, the echo of our footsteps filled the cavernous silence, blending into the faint rustle of pages being turned in distant corners. I couldn't help but glance at Akari again. Her stride was purposeful, her posture unyielding—like she was born knowing exactly where she was headed.

Me? I was a little less sure of myself.

The training, the constant drills, the impossible standard I felt she set—it all felt like climbing a mountain with no summit in sight. But that was just Akari's way, wasn't it? She pushed me, not because she wanted to watch me struggle, but because she believed I could do it. It was both comforting and terrifying.

"Shiina," her voice cut through my thoughts, calm and steady. "You're drifting again."

"Am not," I lied, straightening my posture as if that would somehow make it true. "I was just... thinking."

Her lips twitched at the edges—almost imperceptibly, but enough to betray her amusement. "Thinking doesn't help much when you're supposed to be moving."

There it was again, that tone of hers. Not condescending, not harsh, just... matter-of-fact. It was infuriating how right she always seemed to be.

"Fine, fine," I muttered, rolling my shoulders as we stepped into the Orphanages courtyard. The open space was bathed in sunlight, the gentle breeze carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers from the nearby garden. It was almost serene—if not for the impending "harsher practice" Akari had promised.

I shifted uneasily, my hand brushing against the light blue, diamond-shaped hairpin that was connecting to a delicate yellow flower-shaped hairclip, I stared at the one she wore. The exact same design. I wondered where she got the Ryo for them both, but it didn't matter. These hairclips were proof of our bond. Back then, I didn't fully understand why she'd chosen to train me—I still didn't—but this gift... it had become my anchor. A reminder that she saw something in me, even when I didn't.

"Alright," she began, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the courtyard like a battlefield strategist. "Show me the footwork sequence we worked on yesterday. No hesitation this time."

I swallowed hard, nodding as I stepped into position. The sequence was simple in theory—steps, pivots, and a fluid transition into a defensive stance. But in practice? It was like trying to catch smoke. Every time I thought I had it, doubt crept in, tripping me up.

"Breathe," Akari said, her voice softer now. "Focus on the flow, not the perfection."

Easy for her to say. She was like a river in motion—graceful, relentless, and utterly unstoppable she made a fight look beautiful. But I wasn't her. I was... me. And maybe that was okay.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the world fade away. The weight of expectations, the nagging voice of doubt, the fear of failing her—all of it. When I opened my eyes again, I moved.

One step, then another. Pivot. Shift. Défense. The sequence unfolded like a melody, each movement harmonizing with the next. It was not perfect of course, but it felt... right. Natural. Like for once, I wasn't fighting against myself.

When I finished, I looked to Akari, half-expecting a critique. Instead, she gave a small nod, her expression unreadable but her eyes... proud.

"Better," she said simply, but that single word carried more weight than a thousand praises.

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, relief and pride bubbling up in equal measure. "See? Told you I could do it."

Her brow arched. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've got a long way to go."

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, waving her off. But deep down, her words only fuelled my determination. 

As we continued the session, I found myself glancing at her again, not with envy, but with gratitude. Akari wasn't just my mentor; she was my friend. And in her own quiet, stoic way, she was teaching me more than just technique. 

And for that, I'd follow her lead—no matter how high the mountain.