Raizen awoke before dawn, his sheets tangled from restless sleep. A knot coiled in his stomach, tightening with every thought. Two weeks of relentless training, bruises, split knuckles, endless drills — and yet doubt still whispered in the back of his mind.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples.
This really sucks… what if I fail?
He let out a bitter breath. If I'd had this body even a month earlier, I'd pass with ease. Now… I'm not so sure.
Raizen crossed his legs and closed his eye, trying to steady himself. His breathing slowed, finding rhythm. Root yourself. Breathe. Endure. He repeated the mantra until his pulse began to calm.
A soft knock came at his door. Raizen blinked, then rose to slide it open.
To his surprise, it wasn't just Taro. His father Jairo stood tall and solemn, his presence sharp as stormlight, while his mother's calm grace softened the edges of the room. Taro lingered respectfully behind them.
"Come," Jairo said simply.
Confused, Raizen followed them to the dining hall. The long table was set, steam rising from bowls of rice, grilled fish, and miso soup. His mother gestured for him to sit between them.
For a moment, the knot in Raizen's stomach eased. The storm outside rumbled faintly, but inside the hall was warm.
His mother served him first, smiling faintly. "Eat, Raizen. Even the strongest storm needs fuel."
He nodded, tucking into the meal. His father ate in silence at first, sharp eyes watching him. Then, at last, Jairo spoke:
"You've trained harder in two weeks than most children do in a year. Whether you pass or not, you've already changed. That is what matters."
Raizen swallowed, meeting his father's gaze. The words hit heavier than any training post.
His mother brushed a hand across his hair, voice soft but steady. "Don't doubt yourself. A test measures skill — but will and resolve? Those can't be scored on paper."
When the meal ended, Jairo stood and placed a firm hand on Raizen's shoulder. Lightning seemed to hum faintly in his grip. "Do not fight to prove yourself to others. Fight to prove yourself to yourself."
Raizen bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
As they turned to leave, Taro stepped forward, bowing low. His voice carried a rare warmth.
"Good morning, young master. As you know, today is the academy's entrance exam. I wanted to personally wish you luck. Your father, your mother, and I — we have all seen your effort. We know the bruises, the late nights, the mornings you could barely stand but refused to quit. No matter what happens today, you've already honored the Tsukihana name."
Raizen's throat tightened.
Taro straightened, his voice rising like thunder across the hall. "Stand tall. Root yourself. Remember the Fist of Falling Stars — a star does not ask permission to fall. It simply crashes, and the world feels it."
Raizen clenched his fists, fire sparking in his single clear eye. The knot in his stomach hadn't vanished, but it had changed — not fear, but fuel.
"I'll make the world feel it," he said.
His parents exchanged a glance, quiet pride in their eyes.
Outside, thunder rolled low over the mountains as if answering his vow.
Raizen's parents decided to personally escort him to the Academy that morning — a rare gesture that spoke volumes. His mother's hand brushed his shoulder before they left the compound, her quiet smile grounding him. His father walked beside him in silence, his presence sharp as the thunder in the clouds above.
When they arrived, the sheer sight of the crowd made Raizen's stomach clench. Hundreds of children filled the courtyard — some clan heirs dressed in fine robes, some orphans with patched clothes, and countless civilians who looked lost and out of place.
And when Raizen stepped into view, every eye turned.
"The Tsukihana heir…" someone whispered.
"I heard he's arrogant. Bullied his friends just to look strong," another muttered.
"He's got that weird blind eye too, doesn't he?"
The words slithered through the air like blades, but Raizen didn't flinch. He'd trained until his body bled. Let them talk.
Then, a familiar voice broke the tension.
"Raizen!"
He turned and saw them pushing through the crowd — Daichi, Aika, and Mizue. Relief washed through him, though he masked it with a grin.
"What? You guys are here too?"
Aika smirked. "Yeah. Taro told us you've been training like crazy, so we figured we'd try too. We even trained together these last few days."
Raizen blinked. "Wait — trained? You three?"
Mizue nodded quickly, her eyes shining with excitement. "We didn't go as hard as you, but we practiced throwing kunai and running drills. We want to stand with you, Raizen. Not behind you."
Daichi rubbed his neck, glancing away. "I… still don't think I'm good at this stuff. But if you can change, then maybe I can too."
For the first time in weeks, Raizen felt the knot in his chest loosen. He wasn't walking into this test alone.
But before he could say anything more, a wave of chakra pressure rolled over the field like a crushing tide.
Gasps echoed. Heads whipped up toward the Academy roof.
Several chūnin stood at attention, and at their center was a single figure — a tall, sharp-eyed jōnin whose presence silenced the crowd without a word. His uniform bore the insignia of Kumogakure's elite, his aura carrying the stillness of thunder just before it struck.
"I am Principal Shiori Kanzō," he said, his voice carrying like a storm. "I oversee this Academy."
Every whisper died. Children stood straighter, instinctively reacting to his command.
"As you all know, this Academy exists to mold civilians, orphans, and heirs alike into shinobi worthy of Kumogakure. But hear me clearly: simply standing here does not mean you will be admitted."
Uneasy murmurs spread again.
"The Academy is not a playground. It is where we temper the future blades of this village. The weak break here. The strong rise. To prove yourselves, you will undergo the entrance exam."
Gasps. Some children paled, others whispered frantically. Many had come expecting to walk straight into a classroom, not fight for the right to belong.
Shiori's chakra pressure flared again, snapping the crowd silent.
"Yes, there is an exam. But understand this: we are not cruel. We will not deny a child with potential. If you show even a spark of talent, you will be admitted to the General Class."
Relief rippled through the civilians. But Shiori's next words froze the air.
"However… the exceptional will not be thrown into the same pit as the ordinary."
He raised a hand, and the chūnin behind him unfurled a banner marked with a golden crest.
"The Elite Class. Only the most promising will enter. The benefits are clear: personal mentorship from jōnin, access to advanced techniques, and the chance to graduate as chūnin — or even candidates for the Raikage's guard."
Whispers erupted again, but this time with awe and envy.
Shiori's gaze swept the crowd, sharp as lightning. "The path you walk today will decide your future. General class means you survive. Elite class means you thrive. Fail entirely, and you will be turned away — forever."
Raizen's chest tightened. He had assumed only a handful of students would make it at all. But this system was different. Even average children had a chance. Yet he didn't want average. He wanted the golden crest. He wanted the Elite Class.
He clenched his fists, fire burning in his eye. I won't just survive here. I'll stand at the top.
Principal Kanzō's voice boomed across the courtyard:
"Now we begin the first test. We will assess two things: how much chakra you possess — and how well you can control it. Do not panic. Failing this does not automatically disqualify you. But it will show us who among you has trained… and who has been wasting time."
The students lined up into neat rows under the watchful eyes of chūnin. The tension was heavy — some kids shuffled nervously, others stood stiff and proud. One by one, sensory-nin placed a hand on each child's shoulder, calling out a number that echoed across the field.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
Mostly low numbers. Occasionally a "one" that made the crowd snicker, or a rare "five" that earned raised brows. A "six" was enough to stir whispers.
Raizen's stomach tightened as the sensor moved closer. His friends stood just ahead of him.
Aika stepped forward first. The chūnin touched her shoulder. "Three." She nodded — not great, not terrible.
Mizue came next. "Two." Her face fell slightly, but Raizen caught her eye and gave her a nod of encouragement.
Then Daichi. The hand settled on his shoulder, chakra flickered, and the chūnin's brow lifted. "Five."
Gasps rippled through the line. Daichi blinked in shock, staring down at his own hands. Raizen grinned inwardly. Not bad, Daichi.
Then the sensor's hand fell on him.
For a moment, Raizen felt the probe — not hostile, not kind, just searching. Then the chūnin's eyes widened. His breath hitched.
"Ten!"
The number cracked like thunder. Heads snapped toward him. Murmurs erupted instantly.
"Ten?!"
"Is that even possible?"
"The Tsukihana heir…"
Even Kanzō himself shifted, his sharp gaze locking onto Raizen with interest.
For a heartbeat, Raizen felt like the storm's center. The knot in his stomach loosened. With chakra alone, I've already carved my place here.
⸻
The second phase came swiftly. A chūnin passed out leaves, instructing each student to balance one on their forehead.
Kanzō's voice carried again: "Volume means nothing without control. You will hold the leaf with chakra alone. Too little and it falls. Too much and it bursts. You have three attempts. Write your name, your chakra number, and your longest time. Begin."
The courtyard filled with children scrunching their brows, tongues sticking out in concentration. Most leaves slid off instantly. Some popped away with little bursts of static.
Daichi clenched his fists, his leaf sticking only three seconds before tumbling off. His volume was high, but control was nonexistent. He muttered under his breath, frustrated.
Mizue surprised them all — her leaf clung for twelve seconds, her face red with focus.
Aika managed seven. Both girls grinned nervously, relieved at passing at all.
Raizen watched them quietly. It makes sense, he thought. Less chakra means easier control. Like Sakura in the original timeline. But if someone has high reserves and strong control… that's rare. That's dangerous.
He pressed his own leaf to his forehead and breathed. Inhale. Exhale. Root and steady.
The leaf didn't so much as twitch. One minute. Two. Three. By five minutes, Raizen sighed and plucked it off himself.
Gasps echoed. Some kids glared in envy. His friends stared in awe.
Mizue broke the silence with a grin. "Since when did you become so cool, Raizen? First a ten, now this? How much training did you do?"
Raizen chuckled, scratching his head. "Let's just say… I knew this test was coming. So I practiced every day."
Mizue laughed, but Daichi's shoulders slumped. His eyes flickered with envy he tried to hide. Raizen noticed — and filed it away for later.
⸻
When the last papers were collected, Kanzō's voice boomed again.
"We have measured your chakra. We have tested your control. Now…"
His chakra flared suddenly, pressing on the children like a stormfront. Some staggered back, others stiffened with fear.
"Now begins the physical test. Speed. Strength. Endurance. Weapon accuracy. This is where you will be pushed beyond your limits. This is where we will see who among you are weak — and who are strong."
The courtyard fell silent. The air crackled with expectation.
Raizen's blood surged in his veins, fists tightening. Finally.
The chūnin led the students to the Academy's training grounds. It was massive — wide stretches of dirt, obstacle walls, dummies, weapon posts — but what caught Raizen's eye was the oval-shaped track carved into the center. Four hundred meters across, nothing but packed earth and dust. The ground was scarred from years of drills; Raizen could already feel the weight of generations who had run it before him.
So this is where they'll separate the strong from the weak, he thought.
Principal Kanzō stepped forward, his presence pulling every eye back to him. His voice boomed across the grounds like thunder rolling through the mountains.
"Here we will test your speed and endurance. Not just one or the other — both."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"You will run laps around this track. Each lap is four hundred meters. Your performance will be judged on two factors: how fast you complete each lap, and how many laps you endure before collapsing. Points will be awarded for both."
He swept his gaze across the sea of nervous faces.
"Understand this: you may run only a few laps — but if they are blistering fast, you will earn recognition. Or you may push your body farther than the rest, piling lap after lap at a steady pace. Either path earns points. What will not earn points…"
His chakra surged suddenly, pressing down on them like a weight. "…is quitting before you have nothing left to give."
The courtyard fell silent. Even the bravest clan kids stood straighter.
Kanzō's eyes narrowed, sharp as lightning. "This is where we see which of you are weak… and which of you are strong."
Dust stirred as a breeze swept the track. Raizen's fists clenched at his sides, his pulse hammering. He had trained for this — lungs burning, legs aching, body screaming. He would not be the one to break.
A whistle cut through the air.
"Begin!" Kanzō barked.
The field erupted in motion. Dust rose as dozens of children surged forward, some sprinting recklessly, others pacing carefully.
Raizen launched forward, legs pounding against the dirt. His lungs filled with sharp air, but he matched his breathing to his stride — inhale, exhale, steady rhythm. Root, breathe, endure.
By the first lap, the group had already begun to break apart.
Some notable figures stood out immediately:
• Karui — fiery red hair whipping in the wind, sprinting with raw aggression. Her speed was sharp, but she burned energy fast. She snarled at anyone who tried to keep pace.
• Omoi — calm and deliberate, running with efficient strides. He kept his breathing measured, conserving energy. Raizen noticed the way Omoi's eyes flicked side to side, always calculating.
• Samui — her pace was deceptively steady, almost lazy. Yet she never faltered, her expression cool and unreadable. Others who tried to match her fell behind quickly.
• Tetsuo — a towering boy for his age, broad-shouldered, his steps pounding like drums. His raw strength ate up the ground, but his form was clumsy.
• Reina — dark hair tied back, her movements fluid, like she had already memorized the rhythm of the track. She ran with a dancer's grace, conserving both speed and stamina.
Raizen kept note of them, but more names emerged as the laps dragged on.
• Atsuro of the Kamizuru Clan — thin but fast, a boy whose clan was rumored to control insects. His pace was erratic, but when he pushed, he could blitz past others.
• Kaien of the Mabui Clan — short and wiry, moving like lightning itself. His clan was known for transmitting information instantly across distances, and his reflexes showed it.
• Riku of the Funato bloodline — water-born, his stamina was relentless, each lap faster than the last. His clan was rarely seen in Kumo, but their endurance was unmatched.
⸻
By the third lap, children were already dropping out, gasping, clutching their sides. Some cried as they stumbled from the track, watched coldly by the chūnin.
Mizue and Aika pushed bravely, though their faces flushed red. They weren't fast, but they refused to quit. Daichi surprised himself by maintaining a solid pace, his "five" of chakra reserves carrying him further than most.
Raizen felt the burn rising in his legs, but he welcomed it. He had trained for this moment, forcing his body beyond limits until collapse became familiar. Where others slowed, he dug deeper, pulling strength from his breath.
Each inhale steadied him. Each exhale drove him forward.
Endure.
The laps ticked higher. Ten. Fifteen. Children began to collapse left and right. Only a handful still pushed at full pace: Karui snarling through clenched teeth, Omoi cool as ice, Samui steady as stone, Reina gliding, and Raizen driving himself harder with every stride.
Gasps rose from the crowd of families watching from the sidelines. Even the chūnin exchanged glances. Kanzō himself narrowed his eyes, watching intently.
Raizen gritted his teeth, pushing into the final stretch. His body screamed, but his heart surged. He wasn't just running a test. He was proving himself — to his clan, to his parents, to every whisper that said he'd fail.
As he crossed his last lap, dust swirling around him, Raizen's stride faltered but did not break. He staggered, then steadied. His chest heaved, but his eye burned bright.
The whistle blew.
"Enough!" Kanzō thundered. His gaze swept across the exhausted children. Only a fraction remained standing, sweat-drenched and gasping.
A faint, rare smile tugged at his lips.
"This… this is where we see who are strong."
The chūnin wasted no time setting up the next trial. The students were led to a row of heavy wooden posts driven deep into the dirt, each one scarred with dents and splinters from years of training. Beside them stood crates stacked with weighted stones and practice weapons.
Kanzō's voice rolled across the ground, sharp and commanding.
"Next is the strength test. Shinobi who cannot deliver decisive force will die quickly in battle. Each of you will strike the posts — fists, palms, or kicks — until you can strike no more. We will measure not only raw power, but how long you can keep delivering it."
The children lined up. One by one, they struck. Some barely made the posts rattle. Others crumpled after only a handful of blows, clutching sore hands.
Then the clan heirs stepped up.
• Tetsuo slammed his fists into the wood like hammers, the ground shaking with each blow. His technique was sloppy, but his sheer size and muscle drew murmurs of awe.
• Karui unleashed a flurry of wild kicks, each one snapping loud against the post. Her strikes lacked endurance, but her explosiveness turned heads.
• Omoi was the opposite — calm, precise, every strike clean, conserving energy so he could keep going long after others stopped.
• Samui simply stepped up and delivered measured, perfect blows, each one thudding with quiet authority. She never broke pace, never showed strain.
• Reina struck with fluid rhythm, almost dancing with the post, her movements efficient but deceptive — conserving her stamina while still delivering impact.
When Raizen's turn came, whispers rose again. The boy with the ten. Let's see if he's more than just chakra.
He set his stance — low, rooted, Taro's lessons burning in his mind. Root. Breathe. Crash.
His first strike landed with a thunderous crack, rattling the post so hard nearby kids flinched. A second blow, heavier still. A third, his knuckles splitting, blood smearing the wood.
Gasps spread. Even Kanzō's brow twitched upward.
Raizen's arms screamed, but he pushed on. Ten strikes. Twenty. Thirty. Each one weaker, but he refused to stop. His chest heaved, but his stance held until the chūnin called time.
He staggered back, sweat streaming, his fists raw and trembling. Yet he was smiling.
I can do this. I belong here.
⸻
The students were then guided to the accuracy field — rows of targets pinned to wooden boards, some near, some far. Buckets of kunai and shuriken waited beside them.
Kanzō's voice sharpened.
"Now, accuracy. The weapon of a shinobi is useless if it cannot strike where it is meant to. You will throw twenty projectiles. Distance and precision will be judged."
The first waves of children threw clumsily, missing entirely or only grazing the edges. Some clan heirs did better, hitting center marks with ease.
Then the standouts began.
Omoi threw with surgical calm. Nearly every kunai buried itself near center, his precision drawing impressed murmurs.
Samui followed — slower, but every throw was clean, consistent, deliberate.
Karui hurled hers with raw force. A handful stuck deep into the center, but several missed wildly — she growled at every miss.
Reina surprised many, striking her targets in fluid rhythm, each throw following the last like a flowing dance.
Tetsuo… missed almost everything. His brute strength didn't translate, and laughter rippled through the crowd until a chūnin silenced them.
Finally, Raizen stepped forward.
He picked up his first kunai, adjusted his stance, and recalled his training. Angle the head. Breathe with the throw. Steady.
The first few hit clean — thuds into the center ring. Relief flickered through him. But then… the weakness crept in.
From his blind side, his throws went wild, skimming edges or missing entirely. He grit his teeth, adjusting, but the more he forced it, the more obvious the flaw became.
Whispers rose again.
"Did you see that? He can't hit from his left…"
"Thought he was supposed to be a prodigy?"
Raizen's jaw tightened. He forced himself to switch targets, focus harder — but each attempt from that side wavered. By the end of his set, only twelve of twenty had hit true.
A decent score… but far from the elites.
He glanced at Omoi's perfect spread, Samui's consistency, Reina's grace. Even Karui's raw aggression had left deeper marks than some of his throws.
For the first time that day, doubt pricked him again.
His friends tried to mask their concern. Aika muttered, "Still better than me…" Mizue gave him a nervous smile. But Daichi's eyes narrowed — not mocking, but quietly calculating.
Raizen clenched his fists. So this is it. This is where my weakness shows.
But instead of despair, he felt the fire spark again. Then I'll find a way around it. Blind spot or not, I'll make them see me.
Kanzō's gaze lingered on him longer than most. He gave nothing away, but in his eyes there was a flicker — not dismissal, but curiosity.
As the test ended, the air thrummed with anticipation. The next trial would be the sparring matches — where weakness and strength alike would be laid bare.
The chūnin began clearing the center of the training ground, etching a ring into the dirt with chalk and wooden markers. The air grew tense — every child knew what was coming.
Principal Kanzō stepped forward, arms folded behind his back. His grin was sharp, almost cruel.
"The second-to-last test," he declared, "will be one-on-one combat. You will be matched at random. The goal is simple: defeat whoever stands across from you."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the students. "There are only two rules: first, this is a pure taijutsu spar — no ninjutsu, no weapons. Second, no killing. We are not the Mist."
Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, but it quickly died under Kanzō's glare.
"Lose, and you are not eliminated. You still have your previous scores and the written exam to fall back on. But understand this — victory here will greatly boost your standing. This ring will show us your heart, your discipline, and your will."
The chūnin moved through the students, handing each a slip of paper with a number. The numbers were placed in jars, and Kanzō himself drew two at a time.
"The first match!"
Two names were called — and Raizen's head snapped up when he heard one of them.
"Aika."
⸻
Aika's Match
Aika stepped into the ring against a civilian-born girl. For a moment, the two circled, eyes darting, nerves taut. Then the civilian girl lunged forward with wild, flailing punches, clearly hoping for a lucky knockout.
Aika's expression sharpened. At the last second she ducked low, slid past the girl's guard, and hooked her ankle.
The girl's momentum carried her forward, slamming her face-first into the dirt. Gasps and laughter burst from the sidelines.
Aika didn't waste the opportunity — she twisted, pinned the girl's arms behind her back, and planted her knee firmly between the girl's shoulders. The proctor stepped forward, raising his hand.
"Winner: Aika."
Her friends cheered, and Raizen grinned. Quick, efficient, decisive. For a civilian-born girl, it was damn impressive.
⸻
Mizue's Match
The next match called Mizue's name. She squared up against a larger boy with broad shoulders and a mean grin.
As soon as the fight started, the boy charged straight at her, fists up.
Mizue reacted fast — she kicked up dirt into his eyes, then drove a sharp kick between his legs. The boy doubled over, only for Mizue to crack him under the chin with a clean uppercut.
The crowd roared.
But the boy didn't fall. He shook off the blows, wiped his eyes, and snarled. He came at her again, and this time Mizue slipped around him, striking at his blind spots. She wasn't strong, but her precision was sharp — quick jabs to the ribs, hooks to the liver.
The boy grunted but absorbed the hits, then suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her by the waist. He slammed her into the dirt, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Gasps rang out.
Still, Mizue refused to quit. She spat in his face, kicked him off, and scrambled back to her feet. She struck his knee, forcing him down, then hammered him with three quick shots — chin, gut, liver. Perfect spots.
But the boy ate them. With a roar, he yanked her hair and rained fists down onto her face. Before the blows could get ugly, the proctor stepped in, pulling him back.
"Winner: civilian boy."
Aika rushed to Mizue's side, helping her up. Raizen crouched by her, pride in his eyes.
"You fought brilliantly," he told her. "Perfect tactics. If your strikes carried more power, you would have dropped him."
Mizue winced, bloodied but smiling faintly. For the first time, Raizen realized just how much his friends had grown too.
⸻
Daichi's Match
The next name made Raizen's chest tighten.
"Daichi."
His friend stepped nervously into the ring — and across from him stood Kaien Mabui, a boy from one of Kumogakure's respected clans. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Raizen clenched his fists. A civilian versus a clan heir… Daichi's going to need more than luck.
The match began.
Kaien blurred forward with startling speed, feinting high before snapping a kick toward Daichi's head. But Daichi didn't bite — he raised his guard, blocked the strike, and snatched Kaien's leg midair. With a grunt, he hurled him across the ring.
The crowd erupted.
Kaien twisted midair, landing on his feet with perfect balance. He darted forward again, unleashing a flurry — low kick, body strike, high kick. Daichi blocked, sidestepped, ducked. When Kaien's stance opened, Daichi surged forward, ready to counter.
But Kaien pivoted mid-kick, snapping a spinning heel that cracked against Daichi's cheek. The blow sent him staggering back, but Daichi refused to fall — and as he went down, he grabbed the boy's foot and dragged him to the ground with him.
The two scrambled, Kaien spitting into Daichi's eyes to break free. He retreated, breathing harder.
The crowd leaned in — this fight was different. This wasn't one-sided.
Daichi wiped his eyes and smirked. Calm. Determined.
He feinted high, and this time Kaien fell for it. Daichi's fist snapped up into his chin, stunning him. In an instant, Daichi followed with a brutal series: a shot to the nose bridge, a jab to the throat, a heavy punch to the solar plexus, a hook to the kidney, and a strike to the knee.
Kaien crumpled.
The courtyard fell silent — then exploded with cheers and shouts.
"Winner: Daichi!"
Gasps of disbelief rippled through the crowd. A civilian boy had just floored a clan heir. Even some of the chūnin raised their brows in surprise.
Raizen's chest swelled with pride. His friend had done it. He wasn't the same timid boy who once followed from behind.
A few more matches rolled by — civilian versus civilian, the occasional clan heir flattening some unlucky opponent. Raizen watched closely, studying every movement, every stance. He wasn't just spectating — he was analyzing. The Kamizuru boy drops his guard after kicks. The Funato runner struggles to change direction fast. Even the Mabui heir… predictable feints.
Then his name rang out.
"Raizen Tsukihana… versus Reina."
The murmurs started instantly. The Tsukihana heir. Against… a civilian girl.
Raizen stepped into the dirt ring, his heartbeat steady but his chest tight. Across from him stood Reina — slender, quick-footed, eyes sharp and calculating. Everything about her screamed speed.
She'll be hard to hit. But if I land one clean strike… it's over.
The proctor raised his hand. "Begin."
Raizen settled into his rooted stance, lowering his weight. Reina didn't move at all — just tilted her head, watching him with a faint smirk.
"Hm," she said lightly. "I've heard about you. Blind in your left eye, aren't you? Completely exposed on that side."
His focus wavered. She knows…
Reina's grin widened. "Don't worry. I'll test it for myself."
Raizen clenched his fists. "How about you stop talking and find out just how weak I am."
Anger surged. He lunged forward, forgetting Taro's lessons, throwing wild punches meant to silence her. Reina ducked, weaved, slipped past every swing like smoke.
"Wow," she mocked, "your aim's even worse than most civilians."
She slid to his blind side, her fist snapping into his jaw. The hit wasn't strong, but the sting of humiliation was worse.
Raizen's teeth ground together. His punches grew tighter, heavier, but Reina was too fast — weaving between his blows, flicking him with quick jabs.
"Pathetic," she spat. "A clan heir with all that chakra, all that strength… and this is the best you can do? Anyone born into your body would already be a powerhouse. You're just wasting it."
The words burned worse than the strikes. She doesn't know… she doesn't know the hell I've been grinding through these last two weeks. Every day, every hour, clawing my way forward.
Rage bubbled, and something darker slipped free — words that weren't entirely his own.
"As if you know anything about me. You're just some jealous nobody who wishes she had a clan backing her. A peasant who should be grateful to breathe the same air as me."
The words echoed, venomous. Raizen blinked — shocked at himself. That… wasn't me. That was him. The old Raizen bleeding through.
Reina's expression hardened. "So that's what you really think."
Her strikes came sharper now, aiming only for his blind side. Quick jabs to the ribs, sharp chops to the temple. They stung, but his Sage-born body absorbed them. He growled and lashed out — finally catching her in the gut with a crushing blow.
The impact lifted her off her feet. She crumpled, coughing blood into the dirt. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Raizen stepped forward, ready to finish it — but Reina's eyes blazed with fury.
"I hate all of you clan brats," she spat, staggering up. "You've never starved. Never fought for scraps. And you dare call me beneath you?"
With a sudden burst of speed, she darted low — aiming not for his body, but his eyes.
Raizen's vision flashed white-hot as her fingers gouged at his blind side. He reeled, clutching his face, vision swimming.
And then her fury rained down. A storm of blows pummeled his ribs, liver, temple. Each strike sharp, precise, aimed at vital points. His body could endure — but not forever.
He staggered, blinking furiously, and then — nothing. Reina vanished.
A sharp sweep took his legs from under him, and before he could react she had him in a headlock, her arm crushing his throat. His lungs screamed for air. His vision darkened.
"Yield," she hissed in his ear, tightening the choke.
Raizen clawed at her arm, fury burning, but the darkness crept in. His body, so strong, so resilient, was still a cage without control.
"Enough!" the proctor barked, stepping in. He pried Reina off, raising her arm. "Winner: Reina."
The courtyard erupted. Shouts of disbelief. Gasps. Murmurs racing like wildfire.
"A civilian… just beat the Tsukihana heir."
"She outmaneuvered him completely."
"Maybe he's not as great as they say."
Raizen lay on his side, gasping for breath, shame burning hotter than the bruises. His fists trembled. I lost. In front of everyone. To a civilian.
Reina stood tall, blood on her lips, fire in her eyes. "Remember this," she snapped. "Your strength means nothing if you can't control it."
The crowd roared again — half in awe, half in mockery. And for the first time, Raizen felt the true weight of failure in this new life.
The sparring rings were cleared, leaving bruised children limping back into formation. Raizen's throat still ached from Reina's choke, his pride burning hotter than any injury. But there was no time to dwell. The chūnin ushered them toward the classrooms.
Inside, long rows of desks stretched across the room. Ink, brushes, and thick sheets of parchment waited at each seat. The air was heavy with tension — the silence of children who'd been shouting and fighting moments ago now filled with nervous scratching of brushes.
Kanzō stood at the front, hands folded behind his back.
"This is the final portion," he said, voice sharp as a kunai. "The written exam. Knowledge is a weapon sharper than steel — if you cannot think, you cannot lead, and you cannot survive. The questions will cover Kumogakure's history, mathematics, basic tactics, and problem solving. Cheating will result in instant dismissal. Begin."
The proctors distributed scrolls. Children unrolled them with trembling hands. Raizen's eyes scanned his paper — maps of mountain passes, word problems about rations, diagrams of formations. His mind sharpened.
This is my arena.
He set to work, brush strokes flowing with confidence. His nights of study paid off — cartography questions were easy after weeks of mapping the compound. The math felt like child's play compared to his old world. The tactical problems? He attacked them with vigor, laying out strategies like miniature battle plans.
All around him, children groaned. Some scratched nonsense, others stared blankly. Mizue chewed her brush in frustration, Aika scowled at her page, and Daichi scratched his head, sweating. Raizen kept his focus.
By the time the final call came, he leaned back in his chair, breath steady. This time, he knew he had won.
⸻
Scene — The Results
Evening settled over the courtyard as the children gathered again, exhausted and bruised from a day of trials. The tension was suffocating. Parents watched from the edges, eyes sharp, waiting to see whose child would rise and whose would be left behind.
Principal Kanzō stepped forward. His chakra flared, demanding silence.
"You have completed the entrance exam," he said. "All who showed potential will be admitted to the Academy. But not all students will walk the same path."
A banner bearing the golden crest of the Elite Class unfurled behind him, snapping in the mountain wind.
"The following students have been selected for the Elite Class."
He began to read.
"Karui of Kumogakure."
Cheers erupted from her side, her grin wide and defiant.
"Omoi of Kumogakure."
Omoi only gave a calm nod, but his eyes gleamed with quiet pride.
"Samui of Kumogakure."
She stepped forward coolly, expression unreadable, though a faint smile ghosted her lips.
"Tetsuo of the Ironblood line."
The massive boy bellowed in triumph, pounding his chest.
"Reina."
Gasps rippled. A civilian girl had made it into the Elite. Reina's expression burned with pride, her eyes flicking briefly toward Raizen.
"And finally… Raizen Tsukihana."
The courtyard exploded with whispers. Despite his loss, despite the humiliation, his name still carried weight. His performance — his chakra, his strength, his written brilliance — had secured him a place.
Kanzō's gaze swept across the chosen six. "You have been marked as Kumogakure's future weapons. You will train harder, bleed more, and be pushed further than the rest. Do not mistake this honor for mercy. You will either rise to greatness… or break beneath it."
The remaining students cheered and clapped nervously, relieved at simply being admitted. But Aika, Mizue, and Daichi's names were not called. They would join the general class.
Raizen's chest tightened. He was glad his friends had made it in at all — but standing on opposite sides of that courtyard, he felt the divide already beginning to form.
Above them, thunder rolled across the peaks, the storm crowning the chosen.