"I said I don't know the content... but remember, a Chunin isn't just a rule-following ninja. They must also have the strength and composure for actual battle," Hizashi reminded them gravely, hinting that the exams would push far beyond a classroom test.
"Any questions?" he asked one final time. No one spoke. He nodded. "Then it's decided. In seven days, you'll report to Konoha's waiting hall at 8 a.m. sharp. At 9—the written test begins. Results will be announced on the spot. If you pass, the examiner will immediately lead you to the second test—the preliminaries."
His eyes moved across them one by one:
"Kusuo—you will train swordsmanship with Master Saku. Push yourself. Hongdie—you'll remain with me, refining Hyuga-ryu Taijutsu. And Shigure..." Hizashi's tone faltered for the first time, carrying a mix of awe and uncertainty. "...do as you see fit. Neither I nor my brother can approach your level anymore. Not even our swordsmanship can help you in just a week."
Each of them took the message in silently before parting ways to train.
For Shigure, the week blurred into ceaseless preparation. He regarded the Meteor Sword with fondness but left it aside—it couldn't yet adapt to his evolving combat style. Instead, he forged dozens of custom kunai, each etched with the spatial seals of Flying Thunder God, perfect replacements for outclassed shuriken.
Shuriken are too light, too short-ranged. A teleport anchor must travel distance for real use. Kunai will serve me better.
Touching their hilts, he refined his seal. His mind traced back to Tobirama's intricate patterns and Minato's written marks, then asked—why not smaller? Faster? Undetectable?
Through hundreds of experiments, sweat pouring each night, he perfected them. No longer large symbols or glaring characters. A seal as small as a single pale tomoe—just a centimeter wide, faint as a whisper, invisible unless sought carefully.
The perfect stealth anchor.
Now, he could plant marks on opponents even mid-combat, unseen. Only two removals were possible: his will—or the impossible power of Six Paths Yin-Yang Release. As of this era, none could erase them.
Finally, he smiled grimly. I've designed a chakra mark none can escape. With this... Flying Thunder God becomes inevitability.
Between exercises with Shadow Clones multiplying his repetition speed, and thousands of hand-seal drills honed each day, his frame seared with refinement. In the shinobi world, even a fraction of a second mattered. And Lucien was shaving fractions away with every breath.
The week passed swiftly. He found time to meet Narcissus and Xiaoxing.
"Brother! Good luck! When you reach the finals, I'll be cheering loudly!" Xiaoxing promised, her small face lit with excitement.
"Of course!" Narcissus added softly, her calm voice tinged with warmth. "Shigure... you'll win."
Lucien only nodded faintly, but the corners of his lips arced. "Thank you. I'll see it through."
He vanished in a shimmer of Flying Thunder God, leaping seal to seal until he stood before Konoha's Chunin Exam hall.
The first familiar face—Hatake Kusuo. He was sharper now, tightened by Gray Fang's merciless training. Kusuo stood stiffly beside Kakashi, who towered slightly above him, silver hair glinting cold, both masked and aloof. They didn't speak, but the distance between brothers—blood or not—was palpable.
"Shigure! You're here!"
Bounding toward him came Uchiha Obito, goggles askew, wearing his familiar earnest grin. But fate's hand tripped him—literally. He sprawled flat on his face, crying out dramatically.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. He needed no words to piece it together.
"Tch. Clumsy as ever," Kakashi muttered dryly, scratching his head as if tired of the routine.
Obito covered his bruised forehead, moaning. Rin hurried forward in worry.
And then came the mocking laughter.
"Hahaha!"
A cluster of older boys leaned nearby, each wearing the Uchiha clan's crest bold across their backs. Dark eyes, dark hair, sneers like blades.
"One's the last-in-class loser, the other the so-called Uchiha outcast. Hah! Of course they'd make good friends." One, taller and older—perhaps fifteen—pointed squarely at Obito and Lucien.
"Bastard!" Obito shot up, face red with fury as Rin watched. His fists clenched, trembling. "Dare laugh at me, in front of Rin...? I'll smash your face in!"
Lucien's eyes burned quietly in reply, three tomoe sharpening. So... even here, my clan watches—like hungry dogs with knives. If they seek to provoke, they will pay.
And the exam hadn't even begun.
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