c3: In-Class Test
"Eat up already if you don't, I'm taking yours!" Uzumaki Kushina announced with her usual bold grin, her hand smacking her flat chest with carefree confidence.
Yakumo stared helplessly at the steaming bowl of tonkotsu-flavored ramen in front of him. His chopsticks hadn't moved since they sat down. The entire situation had unfolded mere minutes ago.
After completing his second daily task, Yakumo's immediate instinct was to retreat as fast as possible. But Jōnin-level movement speed was not something he could outrun not when his target was Uzumaki Kushina, the Nine-Tails Jinchūriki herself.
In the blink of an eye, she stood before him.
"Hey, little brother," she said, towering slightly over him, "you looked at me twice in under ten seconds. And that red-hair line? You were obviously talking about me, weren't you?"
Her grin deepened as she playfully jabbed his shoulder with her right hand. Despite the friendly gesture, Yakumo froze instantly. Her chakra, vast and oppressive, leaked out naturally it was like being pinned beneath a waterfall.
"N-not at all," Yakumo stammered unconvincingly. It was that terrifying Jinchūriki sensory ability the Nine-Tails' buff to perception. Even his faint admiration had been caught.
Still smiling, Kushina leaned closer. "Since you've got such good taste, how about I treat you to something special? My favorite food."
Yakumo could only guess that she was happy to be praised—especially for something she'd once been teased about as a child. Despite his reluctance, resistance was futile. She practically dragged him toward Ichiraku Ramen, her chakra suppressing him with every step.
"Uncle Teuchi, two bowls of tonkotsu ramen!" Kushina called cheerfully.
Yakumo snuck a glance toward Mori Yoshiko, who stood hesitantly at the street corner. The rich aroma of pork broth floated through the air. The smell alone made his stomach rumble.
"…Eat," Kushina urged with a raised brow.
Minutes later, staring at his now-empty bowl, Yakumo couldn't stop the thought from surfacing.
"…It really was delicious."
"Why were you peeking at me?" Kushina teased as she wiped her lips with a napkin, catching him mid-gaze.
Yakumo had to admit: she was beautiful. Not just her face her lean yet powerful figure spoke of long hours of shinobi training. And those long, pale legs looked like they could break a log with one kick.
"This… uh…"
"Oh-ho?" Kushina narrowed her eyes playfully. "You didn't just fall for me at first sight, did you? Hate to break it to you, but your big sister here already has a boyfriend."
"That's no! I-I'm gonna be late for class see you later, big sister!" Yakumo yelped. He grabbed Mori Yoshiko by the wrist and sprinted toward the academy like a heartbroken boy running from his first rejection.
Behind them, Kushina watched him disappear into the crowd. The corner of her mouth curled into a rare, gentle smile.
It was only the second time someone had sincerely complimented her red hair. The first was Minato Namikaze, the boy who would later become her husband and the Fourth Hokage.
Whoosh.
A gust of wind swept past as a figure silently appeared beside her. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, his smile was soft and unmistakable.
"You're in a good mood today," Minato observed, his tone warm.
"I just ran into a funny kid," Kushina said, her eyes following the retreating figure in the distance.
…
"Huff… huff…"
Having run several hundred meters, Yakumo finally stopped once he was sure Kushina wasn't chasing him. The "being late" excuse had been just that an excuse.
"I really hope I didn't attract too much attention."
"Submit task."
Once again, the warm sensation surged from his core to his limbs the feeling of chakra gently increasing and refining. The system's feedback filled him with a mild euphoria, and he couldn't help smiling.
Then, a voice cut in cold and quiet.
"So… Yakumo really likes that kind of girl?"
Mori Yoshiko's tone was soft but somehow chilly. Yakumo turned toward her in surprise.
"N-no way!" Yakumo replied quickly, his voice full of dramatic sincerity. "Of course not!"
Yoshiko didn't say anything, but her narrowed eyes spoke volumes. The wind blew her bangs slightly across her face as she continued walking ahead of him, arms crossed.
Yakumo sighed. Shinobi life was already hard enough he didn't need emotional landmines too.
The first-year instructor was a man named Keisuke Shimizu—a stern, middle-aged shinobi with a lean frame and eyes sharp as a hawk's. His flak vest, faded and singed at the edges, made it easy for Yakumo to guess: Shimizu had probably only recently returned from the Third Shinobi World War. His posture and sudden intensity during quiet moments hinted at lingering post-war trauma likely PTSD, a condition rarely acknowledged among shinobi but all too real.
The morning consisted of four foundational subjects: geography of the Elemental Nations, Konoha's shinobi history, current power structures among the Five Great Nations, and the standard ideological indoctrination on eternal loyalty to the Leaf and the Hokage. The latter, often disguised as ethics class, was clearly a subtle version of shinobi brainwashing.
Yakumo, unlike many of his classmates, paid serious attention to every word. In a world where knowledge could mean the difference between survival and death, these lessons were anything but boring.
In one particular session on the classification and counter-mechanics of ninjutsu, Yakumo scribbled diligently. He mused silently: If Asuma Sarutobi had studied harder, maybe he would've recognized that the Jashinist Hidan used a curse-based ritual ninjutsu rather than assuming it was a regular taijutsu-enhanced attack...
He stole a quick glance at the younger Asuma Sarutobi, who at that moment was whispering with Kurenai Yuhi, clearly distracted. Yakumo shook his head.
"Feidan, good job," he muttered with ironic praise.
Unexpectedly, on this very first day, Instructor Shimizu announced a full combat test. The purpose? A no-weapons sparring match under strict, almost brutal conditions.
Test rules: no tools, no chakra-enhanced jutsu, and no surrender without a fight.
Shimizu's exact words echoed in Yakumo's mind: "Konoha doesn't raise cowards. If you kneel before battle, don't bother standing again."
After a bland-faced meal of Mori Yoshiko's lovingly prepared bento, Yakumo joined the class at the open-air training field behind the academy. Posted on the wall was the match roster.
His eyes scanned down:
Hatake Kakashi vs. Sarutobi Asuma
Uchiha Hengyan vs. Hyuga Shinkawa
Hyuga Masami vs. Uchiha Asuka
Then finally:
Jing Yakumo vs. Kenta Koyahara
Both Yakumo and Kenta were civilian-born, lacking clan support or kekkei genkai. Still, it was no comfort.
When the match began between Kakashi and Asuma, Yakumo finally understood the weight of clan heritage. Both were only 8 or 9 years old, yet their movements were precise, disciplined. Agility easily rated above a 7 on a 10-point scale; raw strength was slightly lower, maybe a 5 or 6. But together? Unreachable. Mountains to Yakumo's current level.
Although Asuma was no pushover, it was Hatake Kakashi who truly stood out—his execution was sharp, calculated. After a dozen back-and-forth blows, Kakashi used a well-timed leg sweep and shoulder throw to plant Asuma into the dirt.
They exchanged the Reconciliation Seal, showing mutual respect despite the outcome.
One bout followed another. Yakumo watched with narrowed eyes, slowly internalizing the massive gap between him and his peers. A gap not of talent but of experience, stamina, and chakra control.
Finally—
"The next bout: Kenta Koyahara vs. Jing Yakumo."
"Yakumo, just do your best," Mori Yoshiko whispered from the sidelines. "You don't have to win. You've never been good at this kind of thing…"
"I know," he nodded softly.
According to memory, the original Yakumo Jing wasn't a strong fighter. Adapting a transmigrated soul didn't instantly fix that. Transformation, like chakra control, took time.
The two boys met in the center ring.
"The seal of opposition," Instructor Shimizu ordered.
"Please guide me," Kenta said curtly.
Their eyes locked. Kenta's skin was darker, and his limbs more muscular he had the physical edge, even before the fight began.
At the signal, Yakumo lunged, throwing a textbook straight punch toward Kenta's shoulder. But Kenta sidestepped with ease, countering with a backhand to Yakumo's chest that knocked him off balance.
Yakumo stumbled. In that split-second, Kenta dropped his weight and drove Yakumo to the ground. A clean takedown.
But Yakumo's left hand shot out instinctively and grabbed Kenta's wrist.
Too slow. No chakra support…
Despite having received a chakra refining method from the system, Yakumo still hadn't fully extracted chakra. Like many civilians, the absence of guidance made it near-impossible to achieve it overnight.
That was also why he deliberately hid his potential during the academy entrance test. Two days ago, his chakra signature had been completely flat. Just another orphan with no future.
Laughter erupted from the sidelines. Dozens of classmates snickered at how easily Yakumo was defeated.
Exactly as expected. He had no plans to shine here.
He was well aware that even if he displayed exceptional talent, his best possible future would be as a tool in Root or a masked operative in Anbu fates he had no interest in.
He made the Reconciliation Seal half-heartedly and walked off. "What a pain," he mumbled.
He returned to his seat, watching the next match begin. A few others fared even worse than him some knocked out cold in seconds.
Yakumo closed his eyes and smirked quietly. It wasn't about winning today. It was about knowing when not to stand out.
---