Nara Shikaku stood in front of the silent room, his shadow long under the lantern light. His half-lidded eyes seemed lazy, but his words were sharp.
"This written test will be conducted in groups. Each of you has a paper with eight questions—ten points each. These cover ninja discipline and basic shinobi knowledge. Nothing too difficult."
Pens scratched nervously across desks. Then his voice dropped, heavy.
"In the last ten minutes, a ninth question will appear. Worth 20 points. Optional. Answer only if you dare. If you get it wrong... even with 80 already secured... your entire team fails." His eyes scanned coldly over the Genin. "Choose carefully."
A murmur swept the room, instantly silenced when Shikaku continued.
"Passing score—60 points. Below this, you're eliminated. Answer the ninth wrong? Eliminated. Quit? Your entire team is disqualified for three years. Cheat?" His calm grew chilling. "If caught, you'll stay Genin for life."
The tense silence deepened. The invisible weight pressed down on every chest.
Lucien exhaled through his nose, steady. So. It's the same nature as the exams I knew. Pressure. Fear. But this time, harsher—no mercy for retreat. Not just intellect. Resolve.
He glanced sidelong at Kusuo and Hongdie. They looked nervous, but—they didn't quit. Just as he told them.
One trembling Genin raised a hand. "I... I quit! Better now than waste three years!"
His teammates slumped, eyes dim, leaving with him in defeat.
"Wise choice," Shikaku intoned. And like that, more began to crack under the oppressive air. Hand after hand rose. Whole teams quit before even touching pen to paper.
Shills, Lucien realized instantly. Planted to stir panic... to thin the herd before the real exam even begins. He smirked faintly, then lowered his eyes to the test before him.
The papers were sealed, released, handed out. The room filled with the quiet scrape of pens.
Lucien filled the basics—name, unit, registration number. The sight instantly reminded him of exams from his past life. His lips twitched. Back then... I was just another boy. Today, even my handwriting bears a different weight.
He skimmed the first questions:
"Who are the three Sannin?"
Lucien almost laughed. Orochimaru, Jiraiya, Tsunade... Everyone in the world knows this.
"What are the duties of a Chunin leader?" Easy.
One by one, the questions fell before his pen.
But when his eyes landed on the eighth, he hummed softly.
"Who founded Konohagakure?"
Most would instinctively scrawl Senju Hashirama. But Lucien's mind sharpened.
The truth... Konoha was forged in the union of Senju and Uchiha. Hashirama, yes. But also Tobirama, in structure and law. And—Madara Uchiha. A name erased, hated, forgotten. But still true.
His hand moved decisively, writing all three names: Senju Hashirama, Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara.
Eighty points secure. Now only the ninth remains.
Lucien spared a glance with Byakuran clarity at Hongdie's paper. Good—correct answers. She'd pass. Kusuo, however...
Lucien's heart nearly stopped. WHAT is this guy doing?!
He resisted the urge to hold his head in his hands. Kusuo's answers were a chaotic mess—half blank, half absurd.
"This guy..." Lucien muttered internally, his Sharingan spinning. Is he trying to doom us all before we even see the real question?
But it was too late to interfere. The ninth question approached.
And Lucien had to prepare his team for the real trial... not of knowledge, but of will.
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