Naruto: Reforming the system

Soji didn't head home after visiting Sasuke. His feet carried him through side alleys and across rooftop paths until the village opened into the small northern training yard—one of the older ones, tucked behind the main academy. Weatherworn dummies, cracked stones, a few tall trees just beginning to shed their leaves. Empty this early, or so he thought.

He moved to the center, set his scroll beside the bench, and exhaled. The air was still. Not hot, not cold—just still.

He began by cycling chakra—slow, steady. Not molding it. Just feeling the pressure as it moved through his coils. Fire came easy now. Not gentle. Not subtle. It roared to life behind his sternum and pushed outward, eager to escape.

He let some of it leak into the ground.

A wisp of steam rose from the dew-soaked soil beneath his feet.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

"Whoa… hey, is that Sasuke?"

Soji turned slightly.

A small group had gathered near the yard's entrance: Shikamaru, Choji, Naruto, Kiba, and Shino. They stood clustered in uneven formation—Naruto already halfway toward him, Kiba eyeing the steaming patch of ground, Shino motionless in his coat and glasses.

"Wait," Kiba said, tilting his head. "That's not Sasuke."

"He cut his hair," Shikamaru said mildly. "Used to spike it more."

Naruto was still squinting. "Wait, wait—you're Soji, right? The other Uchiha?"

Soji gave a small nod. "That's right."

"You guys are brothers, yeah?" Kiba asked, stepping closer. "I mean, you look almost the same."

"We're twins," Soji said. "Fraternal. I just started wearing my hair differently last week."

"Ohhhh," Naruto said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Man, that makes so much more sense. I thought I was going crazy."

Shikamaru smirked faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Shut up."

Choji, who had been quietly snacking on something fried, gave Soji a respectful nod. "Didn't know you trained out here."

"I usually don't," Soji admitted. "Just needed the space today."

They stood there a moment longer, the awkwardness barely noticeable. Then Soji said, "You're welcome to join me."

Kiba grinned. "You don't have to ask twice."

---

They began sparring in pairs—light, non-serious matches. Kiba and Naruto went first, loud and clumsy and full of energy. Shikamaru declined, of course, and Choji followed his lead, happily watching while finishing his snack. Shino surprised everyone by volunteering to go second, facing Soji without hesitation.

Their match was quiet.

Shino didn't speak once. He moved carefully, watching Soji's steps, redirecting instead of clashing. Soji kept his chakra suppressed, unwilling to test fire against someone who moved with such subtlety. They broke after three minutes.

"You don't fight like Sasuke," Shino observed calmly.

"No," Soji said. "We're very different."

When they took a short break, Soji sat beside the water pump and finally asked, "Can I ask something strange?"

Naruto, half-bent over and sweating, looked up. "Huh?"

"Do you think the Hokage system is… necessary?"

That got their attention.

"What do you mean?" Kiba asked, blinking.

"I mean the whole idea of one person deciding everything. One leader for the entire village. Does that make sense to you?"

Shikamaru leaned back on his elbows. "It makes sense if they're the strongest and smartest. But that's rare."

Choji tilted his head. "My dad says the Hokage carries the village's heart. That if you cut the heart out, everything falls apart."

"But shouldn't there be more people making decisions?" Soji asked. "More voices? Or maybe a different kind of leadership altogether?"

Naruto frowned. "I dunno. The Third's pretty awesome. He's always been there, right?"

"He has," Soji agreed. "But not forever."

Shino adjusted his glasses slightly. "Systems become traditions. Traditions become institutions. Even flawed ones."

Kiba scratched his ear. "You sound like Shikamaru."

"I was just about to say that," Naruto muttered.

Soji smiled slightly. Then his tone shifted.

"What about the ninja system itself? Do you ever think it's too focused on fighting?"

Kiba raised an eyebrow. "We're ninja. What else would it be for?"

"I mean the jutsu we learn. The missions we do. All of it's built around combat, infiltration, assassination…" Soji paused. "But what if it wasn't? What if jutsu was developed for other things—farming, construction, medicine? Things that help people without hurting anyone."

Choji blinked. "You mean like… jutsu to grow crops faster? Or build houses with Earth Release?"

"Exactly," Soji said. "What if being a ninja didn't mean fighting? What if the shinobi system was used to build the village, not just protect or destroy things?"

That quieted them.

Shikamaru eventually muttered, "Sounds like a lot of work. But I get it."

Shino nodded slowly. "It would require a different philosophy of advancement. Right now, strength determines rank. If jutsu were used for creation instead of destruction… merit would have to be judged differently."

Soji nodded. "It would."

Shikamaru looked at him for a long time.

"You're asking questions most adults don't bother with," he said finally.

Soji shrugged. "I don't think kids have the luxury of not thinking about the world they're going to inherit."

Shino nodded, deliberate and thoughtful. "Then perhaps we should start building it early."

Naruto stretched out on the grass. "You guys think too much."

---

They didn't solve anything. Of course they didn't. But something changed that morning—not in the answers, but in the fact that the questions were spoken aloud. That someone asked. That someone listened.

And for a while, under the late summer sky, the conversation continued.

Not like a debate.

More like a fire catching in dry grass.

A spark, but one that might spread.

---

Soji remained in the yard long after the others left.

The sun had shifted, angling through the trees and warming the stones beneath him. The marks from their sparring had already begun to fade—dust settling, grass bending back into shape. Nothing changed on the surface.

But beneath it?

He had learned something.

Not just about them—but about the kindling inside people. The dry wood waiting for flame.

They weren't warriors yet. Not leaders. Not threats. But they had minds. Opinions. Voices.

And if he could reach them now—before the world carved deep into their bones—maybe they could grow into something different.

Not just tools sharpened by tradition.

But something new.

Soji stood, brushed the dust from his palms, and looked toward the academy wall.

Not all change started with rebellion.

Some of it began with questions.

And questions were like fire—dangerous, illuminating, impossible to ignore once lit.