Muzan stood beneath the shadow of a tree. From beneath his black cloak, a pair of pale, slender hands extended outward—so white they seemed to glow in contrast against the darkness of the kunai he held.
The sight drew everyone's attention.
Nobibei, their instructor, frowned deeply. Muzan's posture was strange—there was no visible throwing stance, no refined form.
He doesn't even know the basics, the teacher thought. How could he possibly hit the target with just raw strength?
Then—
Whsssh!
A flash of black cut through the air.
The kunai struck the bull's-eye dead center.
"What—?!"
Gasps rippled through the training field.
Muzan lowered his arm without expression. His bloodline had awakened, strengthening his body far beyond normal limits. Combined with his sharpened sensory perception, hitting a motionless target was hardly a challenge.
"He… he actually hit it?!"
Obito Uchiha froze on the spot. His own failed throws from earlier flashed in his mind, and the humiliation hit harder now that another child—one who hadn't even trained—had succeeded effortlessly.
No comparison, no pain. But with comparison—his pride burned.
—
"No technique at all," Nobibei muttered, astonished. "Just raw chakra control and muscle precision… And he's still a child. As expected of Lord Sakumo's bloodline."
If nothing went wrong, this one could reach the level of jōnin someday.
Talent—that was what truly defined a shinobi. Hard work alone could never bridge certain gaps.
---
A few other clan-born students managed to hit their marks too, but they were the heirs of established families—children who had been training since they could walk.
Muzan noticed the looks of disappointment among the civilian-born students and sighed quietly.
This world is cruel by design. For those born without lineage, effort alone will never be enough.
Clans had resources, training, and—above all—bloodlines.
Uchiha. Hyūga. Uzumaki…
Only those who defied the natural order entirely could surpass clan shinobi.
...
Because of that single perfect throw—and the air of mystery surrounding him—Muzan quickly became the center of attention, especially among the girls.
It was well-known that children their age had only two interests:
1. Working hard to become genin, and
2. Finding a "boyfriend" or "girlfriend."
"Hey, Kakashi," Rin Nohara whispered shyly, tugging at his sleeve. Her gaze lingered on the shadowed figure at the edge of the field.
"Have you ever seen what he looks like under that cloak? I… I'm kind of curious to know."
Kakashi blinked, not sure how to respond.
Off to the side, Obito's face turned red. He had been about to talk to Rin himself—but seeing her blush over Muzan lit a fire in his chest.
"He's probably super ugly!" Obito blurted, voice cracking. "That's why he hides under that thing!"
"I don't talk to idiots," Kakashi said coldly without even looking his way.
"You—!"
Kakashi said nothing. He knew the truth. Muzan wasn't ugly—far from it. But there was something unnatural about his appearance, a haunting beauty that no normal person could forget once they saw it.
---
From beneath the tree, Muzan tilted his head, gazing through the sunlight that filtered down in narrow beams. He was lost in thought.
How can I get access to the hospital?
It would be difficult for a child to enter Konoha Hospital without a reason.
Then he heard someone shouting his name.
"Hatake Muzan! I challenge you!"
It was Obito, face flushed with anger and jealousy.
For the sake of his pride—and Rin—he charged forward.
Muzan's crimson eyes flicked toward him. To him, Obito's movements were painfully slow.
As the boy lunged, Muzan simply sidestepped, stretching his leg outward.
Thud!
Obito crashed face-first into the ground.
"Too slow, Obito," Muzan said flatly. "And stop bothering me."
Obito wiped the blood from his nose, trembling with rage. He wasn't yet the man who would one day lose everything—no trauma, no Mangekyō, no mask.
Just a hot-headed kid with something to prove.
"Damn you…!" he shouted, pride trampled under Rin's disappointed gaze.
"You made me look stupid in front of her! Let's fight again!"
Before anyone could react, he grabbed the hem of Muzan's cloak and yanked downward with all his strength.
The black cloak fell.
Everyone froze.
Beneath it was a face so pale that faint veins could be seen beneath the skin, framed by the Hatake clan's signature white hair. But it was his eyes that held them all captive—crimson irises glowing faintly like awakened Sharingan, yet colder, deeper, utterly inhuman.
Muzan looked like a figure out of an ancient painting—a noble from a forgotten age, elegant and refined, yet carrying an aura of terrible wrongness.
Is this… even human?
Seeing their expressions, Muzan sighed inwardly. As someone fused with the blood of the Demon King Muzan Kibutsuji, he carried an aura that instinctively provoked fear and fascination. Those with weak willpower were inevitably drawn to—or broken by it.
Obito, still on the ground, stared up at him. The moment Muzan's crimson eyes met his, a chill ran through him so deep it froze his breath. That gaze—distant, godlike, and contemptuous of all life—made his body tremble.
"You kids…" Muzan murmured, adjusting his cloak and pulling the hood back over his face. "Can't you just play normally?"
He turned away, once again becoming the quiet, shadowed mystery in the corner of the field.
---
"Brother, are you alright?" Kakashi hurried over, glancing nervously at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. He knew why Muzan always stayed covered.
"I'm fine," Muzan replied softly. "The sunlight didn't reach me."
In truth, he had felt the sear of light on his skin—but his monstrous regeneration had healed it instantly before anyone could notice. Between that and the quick reflex of covering himself, the damage had been minimal.
—
Meanwhile, the culprit himself—Obito—was dangling by his collar in Kakashi's grip.
"Do you realize what could've happened?" Kakashi shouted angrily. "If he hadn't reacted in time, he could've been burned alive!"
"I… I didn't mean to…" Obito stammered, avoiding his furious gaze.
If Nobibei hadn't intervened right then, the confrontation might have turned violent.
Muzan, however, ignored the commotion.
Kunai throwing was simple enough. With his precise muscular control, he could master the technique in half an hour.
But if he wanted to become a medical-nin, he would need something far more difficult—precise chakra control.
---
After calming the students, Nobibei noticed something unusual. From where Muzan stood under the eaves, faint wisps of chakra radiated around his body.
"You've already started chakra control, haven't you?" he remarked, surprised.
"But your method… won't be very effective."
Muzan looked up with interest. This wasn't just a classroom teacher—Nobibei had once fought on the battlefield.
"I fought against the Sand once," Nobibei said, recalling the past. "Their puppet masters have the most refined chakra control I've ever seen. You should study that."
He explained how puppeteers used near-microscopic chakra threads to manipulate their creations. Their combat style emphasized precision over power—just like a medical-nin's.
"One uses chakra strings to control weapons," he said, "the other uses chakra scalpels to save lives. The foundation is the same—perfect control."
Intrigued, Muzan knelt and picked up a fallen leaf. He tied a thin thread around it and began to move it through the air, channeling minute bursts of chakra to guide its motion against the wind.
Within minutes, he adapted to the rhythm, synchronizing chakra flow with the leaf's sway.
Nobibei watched with growing astonishment, then smiled in relief.
"Looks like the rumors were wrong after all," he said quietly.
"Konoha's White Fang's eldest son isn't a weakling… but a prodigy."