Four years flew by in a blink.
It was already Mamoru's final year at the Ninja Academy.
Their homeroom teacher had long since been replaced by the good-natured Iruka he knew so well—the very "godfather" who would one day mean the world to Naruto.
At some point, the classroom layout had quietly changed—the paired desks had given way to three-seat rows.
Mamoru was now stuck in the middle—Shikamaru on the aisle side, Ino on the other.
As for the seating plan, Shikamaru's reasoning was airtight: "That woman's too much trouble, you handle her."
The opening-day ritual of self-introductions was under way.
"I'm Inuzuka Kiba. I like dogs and beef jerky."
The fervent stare from the girl beside him made Mamoru uneasy.
If he remembered right, Ino was supposed to like Sasuke?
But for some, it seemed that whether it was Mamoru or Sasuke didn't matter, one identical face was enough.
"Next."
It was Mamoru's turn.
He stood up, casual as ever. "I'm Uchiha Mamoru. My dream is… hmm, what was it again?"
He pondered for two seconds, then snapped his fingers. "Alright, decided. I'm gonna be a sword master."
Shikamaru couldn't help snarking, "Didn't you want to be a tycoon last year?"
"Did I?"
"Hahahaha..."
Laughter rippled through the room.
Mamoru shrugged, "Maybe I've got too many dreams. A new one pops up every day and my memory's all jumbled."
Iruka sighed in resignation, tapping the register with his pen. "Fine, got it. Next."
At that moment, several classmates regarded Mamoru who'd just finished introducing himself with complicated eyes, the corners of their lips twitching, phantom pain flickering in certain body parts.
All kinds of emotions sprouted in their hearts.
Why on earth were they unlucky enough to be held back and thrown into the same class as this monster? Would they have any peaceful days from now on?
Should they take a year off just to avoid graduating with him?
Which was better: the double-parent spanking at home or a solo beating from Mamoru?
Some even secretly weighed whether to suck up to Mamoru but worried that being too obvious might backfire.
Mamoru himself was oblivious, unaware of the deep psychological scar he'd left on a chunk of the class, to the point that lately he'd become the demon in their nightmares.
Still, there were always cocky ones who forgot the pain once the wound healed—the so-called "Suicide Trio." They'd been held back too, and landed in the same class as Mamoru.
The three sat in a row at the very back, staring at Mamoru's back, eyes brimming with resentment, cold snorts slipping from their lips.
As if sensing that laser glare, Mamoru suddenly turned and locked eyes with them. Without missing a beat, he gave them the international friendly gesture, full of provocation, then swiveled back.
The effect was instant. The trio in the back went off like cats with their tails stepped on, faces flushed crimson, fists clenched so hard their knuckles cracked, bodies trembling with rage. Had Iruka not still been at the podium, they'd have vaulted up already.
Shikamaru glanced at the three twisted faces, then at the unruffled Mamoru beside him, and muttered, "What dumb stunt did you pull now?"
Mamoru snickered. "Nothing much. Just wondering how three over-energetic baboons got into the classroom."
For some reason, he was enjoying the sight of these brats hopping mad yet powerless.
Objectively speaking, the three were "talented" in their own way. Over the years, they'd taken countless lessons from Mamoru, each time they'd been beaten into begging for mercy. Yet once they recovered, they'd forget the pain and come provoke him again—the worse they got thrashed, the harder they tried.
"Eh? Baboons? There are baboons in the classroom?" Ino, who'd been following Mamoru's every word, leaned over in curiosity.
Mamoru kept a straight face and said, "Sorry, my mistake. Must've confused a few overly lively classmates for baboons."
"Mamoru-kun, you're terrible." Ino pouted, giving him a coy eye-roll.
"Heh."
The corner of Mamoru's lips twitched mechanically, but no smile reached his eyes.
After the introductions came the customary opening test.
As expected, Naruto made a spectacular fool of himself.
Mamoru never saw the point of such tests.
Top marks didn't earn you any special treatment, so why bother?
Better to coast at barely-passing levels. Maybe you'd get placed with powerhouse teammates later and ride their coattails to victory.
When his turn came, he casually breezed through it. All his usual performances were deliberately kept within the normal range. If he weren't worried about unwanted attention, he'd have graduated early.
—
The bell rang and Mamoru hurriedly said goodbye to Shikamaru and the others, heading alone to the grove he used as a training ground.
The setting sun stretched his shadow long and houses gradually gave way to dense woods. He quickened his pace, even slipping in a bit of Body Flicker Jutsu. The wind in his ears replaced the city's clamor, the air turning crisp.
In moments, the familiar little grove, his private training ground, was in sight. Dappled light filtered through the trees and silence reigned.
Mamoru tossed his backpack aside, warmed up briefly, and stepped up to a thick tree.
He raised a hand, fingers splayed, focusing. Chakra pooled in his palm, a tiny, high-speed sphere forming. As he kept feeding it Chakra the sphere grew—a standard Rasengan completed.
The next instant, he slammed the Rasengan into the trunk. A miniature hurricane woven from countless Chakra threads pierced through, wood chips flying.
Exhaling, Mamoru straightened, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his black irises had turned sky-blue.
A moment later, a far more stable, deeper Rasengan condensed in his palm. He stretched out his other hand and an identical orb appeared.
Such was the gift the Six Eyes granted—perfect Chakra control, making Rasengan trivial. By contrast, in his normal state, he had to burn through huge reserves of Chakra and focus just to shape one, the difference was night and day.
And after years of relentless tinkering, he'd finally developed a new variant.
As he channeled Fire Chakra into one of the spheres, the pale-blue orb slowly flushed crimson, radiating heat.
"Mini Red."
He softly spoke the makeshift jutsu name and hurled the reddish Rasengan at the ground.
A thunderous blast sent sand and stones flying, leaving a shallow crater two meters across. The debris froze mid-air before him, only clattering down after he deactivated Infinity.
Mini Red's true power was far greater than the normal Rasengan, even he didn't know its limits. Given that testing its maximum power inside Konoha would draw unwanted trouble, he'd never dared push it to the brink.
Before Mini Red, he'd tried fusing nature transformation into Blue, but instead of the imagined one-plus-one, the added element ruined the singularity's purity and collapsed the structure. That failure taught him that Chakra nature and Limitless simply wouldn't mix, fusion had to occur outside.
Thus his combat style took shape—use Limitless for mid-to-long range control and dashes, and nature-changed Rasengan for close-quarters kills.
He'd marveled at how Minato had used Flying Thunder God—Second Step plus Rasengan to devastate Obito. Though he couldn't use Flying Thunder God, he had the near-teleport Limitless.
For now, it was only short-range. Until he learned Cursed Technique Reversal, if he could, for healing, long jumps were too risky. If he accidentally erased himself, that would be one lousy deal.
—
"Everyone, today's lesson is a practical exam." Iruka announced from the podium.
"Ugh… another combat test?" A student groaned.
"Anything but sparring."
"Yeah, my butt still hurts from the last throw."
"Iruka-sensei, aren't we having a few too many combat classes lately?"
Complaints rippled through the classroom.
"Quiet!" Iruka clapped, ignoring the groans.
"You're graduating this year. Slack off and some of you won't even make Genin."
He paused and said, "Get ready. Assemble on the field. I'll take roll. Anyone absent…"
His gaze slid over Mamoru, Shikamaru and Naruto as he continued, "…will run a lot of laps."
With that, he closed his lesson plan and left. The moment the door clicked shut, the room erupted.
"Tch." Mamoru stretched until his joints cracked and stood lazily.
"Let's go. From Iruka's face, he's serious this time."
Shikamaru sighed, trailing behind. "I only skipped once with you, why am I targeted too?"
Choji stuffed snack bags into his bag and said, "Because Mamoru's been skipping a lot."
Naruto pointed theatrically. "Exactly! We're all in trouble because of you!"
"Shut up."
Mamoru clicked his tongue and led the way out.
On the field, sunlight hid behind clouds and a cool breeze blew.
Under Iruka's orders, the students formed neat lines.
"First match: Uchiha Mamoru." Iruka called, scanning the rows.
"First again?" Mamoru muttered, stepping forward.
Iruka's eyes swept the crowd for an opponent.
Every boy who'd ever sparred with Mamoru inched back, silently praying: Not me, please not me.
Iruka sighed at the cowards, passed over the bouncing Naruto, and settled on the calm Sasuke.
"Sasuke—step forward!"
The girls shrieked and the field buzzed.
"Hold it, Iruka! Making brothers fight? Swap me out!" Mamoru protested.
He didn't want to lose or bruise Sasuke's pride.
"Fair enough. Switch."
Iruka rubbed his chin. "Inuzuka Kiba."
"And call me sensei, not Iruka."
"Sure, Iruka. Got it, Iruka."
"…Uchiha Mamoru, Inuzuka Kiba—into the ring."
Mamoru strolled to the chalk circle.
Kiba followed, facing him.
Kiba grinned, confidence radiating. "Didn't expect to fight you."
He dropped into stance, eyes sharp. "I'm not scared of you."
"Enthusiasm's fine, but you're overdoing it." Mamoru stood hands-in-pockets, no guard up.
Girls squealed, "So cool, Mamoru-kun!"
"Tch. Shut it!" Kiba barked.
"Watch me deck him!"
"Dreaming already? I can help you nap—physically."
"We'll see who's laughing."
"Heh."
"Begin!" Iruka shouted.
Kiba charged, wind whistling under his feet.
Mamoru stayed relaxed.
"You'll pay for looking down on me!" Kiba threw a straight punch.
Mamoru sidestepped and tripped him. "Watch your feet, genius."
Kiba face-planted, dust flying.
Mamoru glanced at Iruka for the call.
"Winner—"
"Wait!" Kiba scrambled up, wiping dirt away. "I can still fight!"
"Continue." Iruka nodded.
"Staying down was an option." Mamoru sighed.
"That was luck. Now I get serious." Kiba's trembling arm betrayed him.
"Sure you don't want to fetch your pup?" Mamoru asked.
"I don't need Akamaru to beat you!" Kiba flushed.
"Bring it." Mamoru beckoned, smirking.
"Grr!"
Kiba lunged faster, fists whistling.
"You're full of openings, practice more."
Mamoru caught his wrist and hurled him overhead. Kiba crashed, rose, and charged a third time.
"Persistent. Night-night." Mamoru blocked, then slammed a clean right into Kiba's face.
Thud!
A spinning kick to the temple finished Kiba.
"Winner: Uchiha Mamoru!"
Iruka knelt, checking Kiba. Thankfully, he was only unconscious.
"Take him to the nurse."
Mamoru felt no triumph, academy training was just wasting his time.