Thunk!
Once again, a shuriken glowing red-hot on one half embedded itself deep into the wooden target. A wisp of smoke curled up from the bullseye at the center.
"That was a B-rank Fire Release—Phoenix Flower Claw Red?! How did you manage to use it without hand seals?!"
Uchiha Fugaku stared in disbelief. This was the first time he had ever seen such a genius—someone who could unleash even a half-powered B-rank Fire Release without forming seals.
But then why had such a prodigy failed to pass the village's chūnin exams for six whole years?!
"I don't know what you're talking about," Baixing replied calmly. He continued guiding his chakra, stabilizing it along the other half of the shuriken so it wouldn't burn his hand while also increasing the rotational force—using sheer power to win.
"Another bullseye… H-he… is he cheating?"
The Uchiha clansman holding the score sheet couldn't possibly falsify something like this. As long as the shuriken landed within the red center, it counted as ten rings—even if that center was practically filled already.
"With talent like yours, how could the village let you remain a genin for six years? I truly don't understand."
At this point, Fugaku no longer cared about winning or losing. He only wanted to understand this peer who could independently develop a seal-less Fire Release technique.
After the fourth hit, Baixing picked up another shuriken. Sweat beaded faintly on his forehead—this required absolute focus.
"I never learned a single C-rank technique," he said quietly.
"A chūnin who can't even use one C-rank ninjutsu… wouldn't that be ridiculous?"
"What?!"
Fugaku was stunned. Someone with this level of talent didn't know any C-rank techniques? Mikoto, at her age, had already mastered two C-rank Fire Release jutsu, several D-rank genjutsu, and even the basic E-rank Three Body Techniques…
As time passed, Baixing pushed his pace as much as he could, but minor errors inevitably appeared. Two shuriken landed in the eight-ring zone—but the other eight clustered tightly around the bullseye.
The Uchiha recorder swallowed hard, unsure whether he should even announce the result.
"That's enough. I've lost."
Fugaku deactivated his Sharingan, his expression solemn. "The Uchiha clan can afford to lose."
With his fully matured three-tomoe Sharingan, Fugaku had perfectly copied the method Baixing had painstakingly developed over six years—combining Fire Release chakra with throwing weapons. With some additional practice, Fugaku himself could achieve the same effect.
"This nin–tai hybrid technique with shuriken—what do you call it?"
The mental strain of such precise chakra control far exceeded that of casting a single B-rank jutsu. After just ten throws, Baixing was already sweating.
"Powered Shuriken."
"A good name," Fugaku laughed.
"Using Fire Release chakra as an engine—turning shuriken into a powered weapon."
Even if Baixing was merely clever, that cleverness alone wouldn't make him a chūnin.
But it was the kind of cleverness many people would never achieve in a lifetime.
"I've come to acknowledge you," Fugaku said. "Though you graduated a year below me… if I remember correctly, you were the dead last in your class back then, weren't you?"
In an A-class, someone who could only perform one of the Three Body Techniques and had to pass on a second remedial exam just to manage two was practically unheard of.
"That was me," Baixing admitted without denial.
He'd transmigrated right before the exam, been hit with a test immediately, and panicked. One missing evaluation led him to fail his first attempt. Thus, despite being capable of using all three techniques later, he had accidentally become the dead last of Class A.
Fugaku dismissed the surrounding spectators and formally acknowledged Baixing—but that didn't mean the other Uchiha shared his composure.
"A mere genin—develops some cheap trick and thinks he's something special."
"Yeah, takes that long just to throw a shuriken in a straight line. I'd dodge that with a simple substitution."
"Forget it—just watch his chakra flow with the Sharingan and we can copy it easily. Commoners will always be commoners."
Even without hearing these words as he followed Fugaku away, Baixing knew them well.
He'd always had strange ideas. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, he'd clash with his team leaders. After a few months in a squad, he would inevitably leave and train alone.
Those days were brutal.
After graduating from the Academy, orphan subsidies and housing ended. Rent was outrageously expensive—less than thirty square meters for a one-bedroom cost ten thousand ryō a month, and that was in the outskirts, far from commercial streets.
Without real ability, D-rank missions were impossible.
For a time, Baixing trained during the day and worked part-time at a restaurant—serving food, washing dishes. Thirty days a month, ten hours a day. Because he worked harder than anyone else, he earned ten thousand ryō monthly, while others made only four or five thousand.
At least the restaurant provided meals—that saved him some money. Even then, he didn't dare eat too much, afraid of getting fired.
Later, he rented a corner storage room for two thousand ryō a month and lived there for a full year.
In his second year, after confirming he could independently complete D-rank missions, he resigned and officially became a mission maniac.
Thankfully, the chūnin exams didn't require an entry fee. Otherwise, he would've had to carefully adjust his "acting"—failing every two years to save money.
That was the reality of a genin's life: no strength, no team, struggling even with D-rank missions. Even with a team, during wartime, taking C-rank missions without protagonist luck usually meant death.
Someone like Might Duy—training to the limit every day, with no spare energy for missions or side jobs, and married—was almost certainly broke and drowning in debt.
Baixing even wondered whether, after childbirth, Duy hadn't had enough money for proper nutrition. If his wife's body weakened from malnourishment while nursing for years, then…
"Here we are."
Fugaku stopped before the gates of a grand estate and gestured.
"I can only bring you this far. From here on, it's between you and Elder Kenshi."
The gates stood wide open. In the ninja world, walls and doors meant little to anyone with intent.
Pulled from his thoughts, Baixing nodded slightly.
"Understood. Thank you, Jōnin Fugaku."
"No need to be so formal," Fugaku said, patting Baixing's shoulder.
"We're not on duty. Just call me Fugaku."
Fugaku valued talent deeply. Baixing's failure to become a chūnin—or to learn C-rank techniques—had to have a reason.
Or perhaps… this kid was hiding something.
A young ninja capable of developing a seal-less nin–tai technique—how could someone with that level of chakra control fail to master C-rank jutsu?
And Fugaku knew exactly what was happening lately: the Second Shinobi World War was in full swing. The village—and the Police Force—were issuing increasingly dangerous missions outside the village.
Perhaps cowardice isn't always a bad thing for a ninja.
As Fugaku turned to leave, memories surfaced—classmates from graduation day, now scattered across the world. Some were fighting in blood-soaked battlefields. Some had already returned to the Pure Land. Some had lost their status as ninja altogether.
As for him, sheltered by his clan, he had avoided border conflicts. After years of cultivation, he'd become a jōnin only two years ago.
Then a voice rang out from inside Elder Kenshi's courtyard:
"If you dare follow that brat, don't ever come back!"
"Hmph! Grandpa, I'm grown now! I have my own ideas!"
Fugaku turned—and saw a black-haired, straight-haired girl in a high-collared clan outfit leaping over the wall, chakra under her feet, followed by three ninja.
"Uchiha… Mikoto?"
Something stirred faintly in Fugaku's heart.
Baixing noticed Fugaku hadn't gone far and nodded in acknowledgment. Then he turned to the furious Elder Kenshi.
"Elder Kenshi, I understand your position. But this is the Hokage's order. If you have objections, you're free to discuss it with the Hokage and notify me afterward. Blocking Mikoto from leaving outright isn't a solution."
The elderly Kenshi—white-haired, heavy eye bags, sunken cheeks—immediately had a throbbing vein pop on his forehead.
"I fought who knows how many battles alongside the First! That's how we fought the Senju to a standstill and founded Konoha! What kind of attitude do you expect from me?!"
"Whose team leader is a genin? You tell me!"
"Was your team leader a genin back then?!"
Baixing's expression turned cold.
"A genin may better understand the hardships of genin."
"That's all I have to say. I'm merely carrying out orders."
"Withdraw! Hokage Building—assemble!"
"Yes!" ×3