After careful consideration, Shirō realized a glaring flaw in his mindset:
Although he often told himself he wasn't the story's protagonist, deep down, he still behaved as if he were.
Just look at his setup: a transmigrator with a point-based system, moving within a familiar, fixed plotline. That was practically the textbook "protagonist template" from the novels he had read in his previous life.
Otherwise, why would he keep comparing himself to legends?
And not just any legends—he was measuring himself against the likes of Itachi Uchiha, one of the most gifted shinobi in the entire world (barring the Ōtsutsuki bloodline), Heroic Spirits who had left their mark on human history itself, and shinobi from the Uzumaki and Senju clans whose chakra reserves rivaled that of Tailed Beasts.
If he didn't subconsciously think of himself as a protagonist, would he even dream of reaching such absurd heights?
It was like starting a small business and deciding from day one that your only goal was to surpass Jack Ma.
The truth was simple: Shirō had grown overconfident. Not unusual—every man has his rebellious phase. Before transmigrating, he'd been in his early twenties, still close enough to adolescence to think big dreams were just a matter of time and grit.
But keeping that mindset here was dangerous. Very dangerous.
It didn't mean he'd stop working hard—he'd already pushed himself this far, so there was no reason to slow down now. As the old saying went: "A journey of a hundred miles is completed at ninety." The final stretch demands the most discipline.
However, he could no longer afford to cling to protagonist-level expectations. What if he wasn't the main character, but just a side quest giver for the real one? Or worse, what if the "author" simply stopped writing because the story lost popularity?
Better to prepare for the worst.
---
By the time he finished reflecting, the arena had already been cleared by the Hidden Sand Village staff.
> "Next match, Hidden Hot Springs Village forfeits! Winner—Konoha's Minato Namikaze! Following that, Sasori of the Hidden Sand versus Hideyoshi of Takigakure!"
Shirō didn't bother watching Sasori's fight. There was nothing to learn—at least, not in this phase of the Chunin Exams. Apart from the three Great Nations, most of the other villages had sent genuine Genin to compete. Meanwhile, the Great Nations' "Genin" were more like Chunin or Jōnin-level fighters in disguise.
The gap was huge.
The Takigakure shinobi, at best, could hit elite Chunin level. Sasori's victory was inevitable, especially since he could end a fight without showing his full hand—just a touch of poison and it was over.
Shirō's attention drifted back to Minato. He looked at the blond with undisguised envy. This guy's luck was outrageous—it wasn't technically a bye, but it felt like one.
Since the start of the third stage, Minato hadn't fought even once. The only intel opponents had on him was "he's fast."
Minato finally noticed the staring. "Shirō… why are you looking at me like that?"
"Brother Minato, be honest—did you pray to some insanely effective deity?"
"No? Why would you think that?"
"Then why's your luck so good?"
"…How should I know?" Minato muttered, clearly done with the conversation.
Shirō thought about it a little longer, then decided Minato must have some future son's spirit watching over him. That sounded as logical as anything else.
---
As expected, Sasori won without revealing much. But the next match caught everyone's attention—Rasa versus Midnight Chen Ichiro.
Chen Ichiro wasn't Rasa's equal, but he wasn't weak enough to immediately forfeit. He might not win, but he could at least test Rasa's abilities.
Once the hand seals were made, Ichiro charged—then froze mid-step. Rasa was hovering in the air, standing on a mass of golden sand.
Flying. With sand. Great.
Ichiro didn't know the Super Lightweight Rock Technique, so this was going to be a nightmare. Still, as a shinobi of Iwagakure, retreating without trying would be shameful.
He went in hard, dodging and waiting for an opening. Finally—there!
> "Earth Release: Earth Dragon Bullet!"
It was his strongest ranged jutsu. But Rasa slipped out of the way, his golden platform shifting effortlessly.
No luck. But Ichiro didn't give up. His chakra reserves, however, were running low—he only had enough for one more Earth Dragon Bullet.
While Ichiro was looking for a second opening, Shirō's mind was elsewhere. He was already thinking of a Noble Phantasm that could counter Rasa—but it would only be effective if Rasa was high in the air. The higher, the deadlier.
The trick would be getting him up there without burning too much chakra on setup. If he ran out before activating the projection… that would be humiliating.
Minato, on the other hand, wasn't overthinking it. His plan was simple—Flying Thunder God. To counter Magnet Release, he'd even prepared wooden kunai. The moment he got a mark close to Rasa, it wouldn't matter how high he flew.
---
Ichiro finally spotted what he thought was Rasa's weakness. Every so often, Rasa would pause briefly in the air. It was subtle, but not invisible.
Seizing the moment, Ichiro fired again.
> "Earth Release: Earth Dragon Bullet!"
This time, Rasa didn't dodge. He formed a shield of golden sand instead, blocking the attack completely.
The crowd murmured. Whether this was a real limitation in Rasa's technique or just bait to mislead opponents, the information was now out there.
It didn't matter—Ichiro was out of chakra. He surrendered immediately. No shame in that; he had fought with everything he had.
> "Winner—Hidden Sand's Rasa! Next match, Iwagakure's Kitsuchi versus Hidden Sand's Mibu Sukezane!"
The following bouts were more evenly matched—except Kitsuchi's. The man was four to five years older than Minato and nearly ten years older than Shirō. The difference in strength was obvious.
It proved one of Shirō's favorite theories: the older shinobi get, the more shameless they become. Just look at the Third Hokage and the Third Tsuchikage—masters of fighting dirty with a smile.