The Hokage's office was a tomb of old paper and the smell of expensive tobacco.
It was a place designed to make people feel small. The ceilings were high, the scrolls were numerous, and the man sitting behind the desk was a legend. Lord Third, the 'Professor,' the 'God of Shinobi.' He sat there, coiling smoke from his pipe, looking at me like I was a scroll written in a language he had never seen.
"Kenji," he spoke. The voice was heavy, carrying the weight of three world wars.
I stood in the center of the rug. I wasn't standing like a soldier. I was standing like someone who was waiting for his laundry to finish. My hands were in my pockets. My shoulders were slumped. If I were any more relaxed, I'd be a liquid.
"You defeated the Uchiha brat," the Hokage said. It wasn't a compliment. It was an investigation.
"He was in the way," I replied. My voice was as flat as a tabletop. "The path to the cafeteria is narrow. He chose to stand in the center of it. It was a logistical nightmare."
The Hokage's eyes narrowed. He was used to Genin trembling in his presence. He was used to 'Will of Fire' speeches. He wasn't used to being told that the Uchiha prodigy was a "logistical nightmare."
Suddenly, the air changed.
A mountain-toppling pressure filled the room. This was the famous 'Hokage Pressure.' It was purely psychological, a crushing weight of killing intent and chakra that made the floorboards groan and the windows rattle. It was meant to break a ninja's spirit.
I didn't blink. I didn't even feel the need to adjust my sunglasses.
[System Notification: Maintain Your Composure.]
[Reward: Heavenly Silk Sleeping Mask.]
A silk mask? I thought. Now we're talking. If it blocks out the morning sun, this meeting will be worth the stairs.
The Hokage stood up. He walked toward me..