Time blurred, and the Chūnin Exams arrived.
Genin from Sunagakure and Hidden Stone filed up to Konoha's main gate under the watch of elite jonin from their villages. The Kazekage and Tsuchikage stayed home—understandable. A Kage strolling into a rival village during tense times was an invitation to catastrophe.
Because so many outsiders were coming, Nara Shikaku handled the Iwa party. The Suna delegation fell to Uchiha Sogetsu.
Dressed in black with his arms folded, Sogetsu waited by the gate.
Eight Suna shinobi approached, cloaked against an imagined desert wind.
Two stepped forward and pushed back their hoods.
"I'm one of Sunagakure's lead jonin for this exam—Karura," said the first, her voice clear. She had a soft, elegant face; sand-brown bob; gem-bright indigo eyes; and a Suna forehead protector snug at a pale throat. She studied him with quiet caution.
"And I am Pakura of Sunagakure," said the second. Hair bound in a high bun, dark green shading into orange; amber eyes cool and proud—and a spark of challenge for the Uchiha boy who dared to stare.
"I'm your liaison. Uchiha Sogetsu." He nudged his glasses and read the weather of their hearts.
Gaara's mother and the future Scorch Release hero, Pakura… now that is interesting.
"What are you looking at?" Pakura's tone was flint; the stare rubbed her wrong.
"Nothing." He smiled. "This way. Your quarters are ready."
He turned and walked inside without another glance.
"Uchiha…" Pakura's gaze heated, battle-lust pricking. Reputation said the clan was fearsome. She'd wanted a test for a long time.
"Pakura," Karura tugged her sleeve, gentle but firm. "This is Konoha. Don't be flashy."
Pakura swallowed the urge. "I know my limits."
For sand-born shinobi, Konoha hit like a dream.
Clean, watered streets—no choking dust, no gnawing grit wind. No face-wraps. Food smells drifting from tidy shops. Water—water—splashed on roads, poured into garden beds, sprayed at laughing kids. Envy crawled out of their chests.
Why?
Why must they wrestle the desert for a sip, while these Leaf people lived easy and fat?
Suna eyes soured. Leaf eyes were no kinder. Border wars left fresh scars. Too many survivors remembered.
"Look at the beggars—come to our village to panhandle?"
"Smell that? Stink of sand-fleas. Do they bathe?"
"Reeks. Suna filth."
They didn't even whisper. Faces tilted with theatrical disgust.
"You damned peasants," a young Suna genin—Sentaro—snarled, killing intent snapping the air. "Say that again if you've got a spine."
The villager flinched, stumbled, sat down hard—eyes wide with fear.
"Tch. So that's Leaf grit?" Sentaro's lip curled. "On a real field I'd kill you without trying."
"Get out! Sand-lice!" a child shouted, and pitched a stone.
Crack.
The pebble clipped Sentaro's brow. The sting—and the smirks of his own teammates—set shame ablaze.
"You little brat—die!"
"Sentaro, no!" Karura reached for him, too late.
The shuriken sang—
—and a black sleeve flowed into its path.
Clink.
Two fingers caught steel.
On the intervening back, a red-white fan spread bold: Uchiha.
"I'm sorry—this is my failure to supervise." Karura exhaled, then pressed her lips white. "He lost control. Please forgive him."
Small, it was a street spat. Large, it was an attempted murder—of a Konoha child, on Konoha soil.
Suna closed ranks around Sentaro. His face had gone chalky; he looked like he'd finally understood the noose he'd tied.
Sogetsu let the shuriken fall with a soft clatter, then turned with a mild smile. "No need to apologize. Young men are rash. Understandable."
Karura's shoulders eased. "Thank you for your leniency."
Sentaro's shoulders eased too—and his eyes flicked with renewed contempt. So that's all Konoha amounts to.
Sogetsu's smile didn't change. "But when you do something wrong… you pay for it."
"What are you doing?!" Pakura's pupils tightened.
Sogetsu vanished.
No flare, no warning. Just gone—then there, behind Sentaro, like a ghost drawn in ink.
Cold raced up Sentaro's spine. The world narrowed to a hand at his neck.
"Wait—don't!"
"Stop!"
Karura and Pakura lunged—but three meters is a lifetime to a jonin.
Crack.
Sentaro's head turned one hundred eighty degrees. His body folded down like a dropped doll.
Before all of Sunagakure's eyes, Uchiha Sogetsu calmly wiped his hand on a crisp white square, face still pleasant.
"Forgive me," he said, laying the handkerchief over the boy's open eyes. "You were too slow."
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios