Some time had passed since that mission ended. Just enough that, according to the schedule, it was time for my "lessons" with the old hag again.
And that particular epithet was picked for a reason. After the mission the old crone started going even harder on me and, accordingly, loading me up even more.
It started with Koharu telling me she'd immediately wrung all the details of my mission out of Hiruzen, even though he kept trying to steer the conversation away from it, and had then strong‑armed him into doing a debriefing of the mission itself with her sitting in. Weird relationship, those two, I noted, and then we moved on to the detail that had really grabbed her attention: my shadow clones.
Before, we'd rarely used that jutsu in direct clashes. At first it hadn't been all that effective anyway, since the clones would pop from a simple poke. Koharu wanted to see what my clones could do now, if I was so confident in them.
I had good reason to be that sure. My control had gone up a lot over this time, and if the original—me—wasn't in a heavy fight and, on the contrary, was giving a big chunk of his attention to a clone, then that clone would pick up some actual durability.
Because they needed help and focus, the clones weren't all that great in straight‑up, one‑front combat. But in other situations they were really damn useful. Sure, if a ninja's got enough chakra and control, you can wreak havoc even with one or two clones. It's just that people usually don't use them like that.
So I made a shadow clone and stood off to the side, watching with mixed feelings as the old woman immediately drove a senbon under its ribs. The clone didn't pop—it started bleeding like a normal person.
After a bit, once I'd gotten the feedback from the clone that he really hadn't liked that, that it had sucked in general, Koharu sent a fan of kunai into him.
That echoed through my link with the clone, but with me straining and focusing, he stayed not only in one piece, but combat‑capable. The elder checked that combat‑readiness right away, lunging into a short sparring match and, in the process, putting a few more wounds on the clone. It all ended pretty fast for the old hag, though, with a shot to the head, when the shadow, in a suicidal burst, grabbed Koharu by the arms, taking a solid kick straight to his own groin at the same time, and then smashed his hard forehead into her skull.
End result: old hag knocked out, and me gritting my teeth and clenching my legs from the sensations of the clone finally dispersing.
The fight itself was whatever, it didn't really show off either my or the elder's abilities. But the question of how reliable my clones were was settled.
After a few more days, our lessons even ramped up in difficulty.
Off my conversation with Hiruzen—which she then went over with the old man again—Koharu figured out I was lacking narrower experience, the kind you need for specific missions. On Hiruzen's suggestion we started going over all kinds of different missions using their reports.
Usually I'd be sitting at a low table across from Koharu, with scrolls spread out in front of me: layouts, terrain maps, short—or sometimes very long—descriptions of objectives and outcomes.
What I had to do in that kind of lesson boiled down to running my finger over the map, pointing out mistakes in a hypothetical mission, frowning, puffing, straining my brain, and scribbling with my little pencil on the paper. Koharu would watch, sometimes nodding or shaking her head, forcing me to rethink something, and then giving her own take.
Or, as also happened a lot, Koharu would set up shogi pieces on the table, laying out a battle formation or enemy positions. My job was to solve the tactical puzzle—how to get around a patrol, how to set up an ambush with minimum forces, how to retreat while covering a wounded comrade. So I'd move the pieces around and explain my plan.
We'd done that kind of thing before too, but way less than after that talk with the old man, since before we'd focused on other aspects of being a shinobi. Now we were focusing on tactics that could really twist your brain. Useful, though, for developing the ability to see a situation from different angles, analyze it and play out the risks.
Sometimes it occurred to me that Hiruzen had been kind of shortsighted, putting my training in things like this in Koharu's hands. Their views disagreed on a lot. But… knowing the old man's character, I could only assume the most basic and likely reason: Hiruzen just trusted his former teammate and believed in her better qualities. Maybe a bit too much, in my opinion. Still, that was just guessing; I didn't know all the dirt under the surface.
At the usual pace—aside from these new lessons with the elder—a month went by, and it was time to enter the Ninja Academy.
In that time I only got two missions, this time with more experienced backup from a jonin, where we just had to find some guy who'd gotten lost in the woods. Not the Forest of Death, just a regular forest…
Boring as hell, obviously. Same with the next mission, looking for leaks in the pipes… Have I mentioned I don't like the people who installed those pipes? Anyway, that dislike hardened after I had to spend several hours wandering through a maze of pipes that sometimes looked like they'd been installed with zero system whatsoever.
That's how the month went. It really would've been boring if not for Koharu's promise hanging over me that after I enrolled in the academy, there'd be some kind of update to what we did, something I wouldn't like but that'd be useful…
Before enrollment, I was just bored, and the itch in my ass started acting up again. An idea popped into my head. It had to do directly with the academy and my first day there. On that day everyone introduces themselves, and first impressions are insanely important.
Like they say, how you walk into the joint is how you're gonna live there. Or do they not say that? Whatever, the point was, I wanted to walk in at least a little bit epic.
Anyone who's studied psychology, even at the most basic level, knows about character and temperament. Oversimplifying: character is the stuff that forms over your whole life, temperament is supposedly the inborn part. Going off that, it's totally possible I'm being influenced by a temperament coming from this body's genetics, so my already‑formed personality has, to some extent, adapted to the body and picked up some of its traits… It felt like I definitely had something of that anime Naruto in me. For example, this very urge to make the introduction day at the academy anything but normal.
I could make a bunch of clones and do something with that… Although no, clones are a no‑go, secrecy and all. Then again, the main thing is not to reveal my abilities to enemies, and the size of my reserves is obvious already. And it's exactly those reserves the clones would show if I used them. So I can use a certain number.
But I still need more people… I've got a bit of savings from missions. And I can always borrow some. Guess I should drop by the orphanage and grab some of the older kids. Don't think they'll say no to getting paid. Plus, on their background the "sovereign" won't look comically short, heh‑heh. Oh, and I can hire a student or two from the academy, so we don't end up with my hired help barging into the wrong classroom.
Interlude: Sarutobi Hiruzen
A light snow was falling. In the inner courtyard of the big Ninja Academy complex, a crowd of incoming kids had gathered, along with a lot of their parents.
On a small dais, under the soft gusts of wind, the Third Hokage was giving his speech.
He spoke about unity, love, faith, care, and the readiness to move forward to protect their huge family called Konoha. No matter the hardships, just like the generations before them had. He was lighting the Will of Fire in his listeners.
His speech was genuinely fiery, but he wasn't completely lost in it. His sharp eyes scanned the people below and betrayed a faint worry.
Yesterday Hiruzen had talked with Kumao Gendai, the homeroom teacher of the class Naruto was supposed to be in. Sarutobi was a kind old man, but attentive enough to at least try to predict the brat's actions. So before the school year he'd asked the teacher to treat his ward with understanding, because the blond kid was… special. It'd be good if the teacher didn't take everything too close to heart, didn't get offended, scared, or driven to tears by his jokes, since it was pretty unlikely Naruto would be doing it out of malice. And also, that he shouldn't take bribes from him. In response Gendai had just assured him he'd do everything perfectly—he was an experienced teacher, and all that. And of course he wouldn't be taking bribes.
Today, though, Naruto hadn't shown up to the opening assembly, which was what bothered Sarutobi. Of course, you couldn't rule out that the blond had just overslept or even blown off this "questionably important" event. Questionable by his standards—Hiruzen did note Naruto's sense of responsibility, but he didn't apply it to everything.
Finishing his speech and watching the students follow their teachers away, Hiruzen decided he'd send an ANBU to check on Naruto and figure everything out.
About two minutes later, when the old man had already gone up into the building attached to the academy—the Hokage's residence—he got a report that barely made sense. As it wrapped up, some kind of booming sounds started coming from the street.
Deciding to see for himself—since this clearly concerned Naruto directly—the Hokage left his office and went to a window of the residence that faced the academy. Right away he spotted a procession moving down the street.
Coming down the street, parting the few passersby just with its appearance—the onlookers pressed themselves to the walls in stunned, wary amazement—was something huge and completely absurd. At the head of the procession were about fifty people—older kids from the orphanage, as it would later turn out, hired by Naruto—carrying a massive, richly decorated palanquin on their shoulders. The thing was truly cyclopean in size, with a massive carved roof crowned by a gilded phoenix, and a wide, ten‑step staircase leading up to a platform hidden in the shadow of heavy purple‑and‑gold curtains. There was so much gold it was honestly unclear how the bearers' backs hadn't snapped under the weight.
On both sides of the palanquin, and in front of it, marched at least a dozen drummers. Their instruments pounded out a deafening but perfectly in‑sync rhythm. The drummers themselves, in loose, bright outfits, weren't just hitting the drums—they were throwing their whole bodies into it, shaking their heads, twisting around like members of some metal band from another world. Their hair flew everywhere, and their faces radiated total devotion to their craft.
It… looked, again, absurd. Sarutobi had heard that long ago the rulers of the Land of Wind used to travel in something like this. Across the desert. Whereas right now, it was snowing.
After watching a little, Hiruzen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled, and then calmly went back to his office. Today, the Hokage's workplace was once again going to smell of fruit.
Meanwhile, in the classroom where Naruto was supposed to be, there was the usual first‑day commotion. Kumao Gendai, a middle‑aged chunin with a tired but kind face, a pretty solid build, and a big nose, was trying to shout over the kids' chatter and explain the rules of behavior at the Academy. Suddenly his words drowned in the growing thunder of drums from outside.
On cue, the kids rushed to the windows. Gendai‑sensei sighed and followed them.
What they saw made the man's jaw drop. A huge, ridiculously luxurious palanquin was slowly drifting up to their first‑floor windows. The drummers below were beating out some kind of primal rhythm that made the glass vibrate.
"What… what is that?" someone whispered.
"Maybe… the Daimyo came?" another suggested.
At that moment the palanquin stopped right in front of their window. Two tall guys (older Academy students he'd hired) burst into the classroom, yelling, "Make way for the Sovereign! Clear the path!" They shoved the kids aside, threw the window wide open and, to the total shock of teacher and students, bent over to form a living staircase out of their backs, going from the floor under the window straight to the edge of the palanquin.
Gendai‑sensei finally snapped out of it. His face ran through a whole range of emotions before finally flushing red with strain.
"What… What is going on here?! A genjutsu?! Release!" he yelled, forming a hand sign.
"Silence!" came a voice from the "staircase." "Disrupting the Sovereign's advent is punishable by seven thousand curses!"
The attempt to dispel the genjutsu did nothing, so the teacher could only stare helplessly ahead at the scene playing out.
The drums fell silent in an instant, like on cue.
The curtains on the palanquin parted, theatrically slow. In the opening, deep in the shadows, there was a silhouette sitting on a high throne. The tension in the classroom peaked.
Then the figure on the throne lazily rose and stepped forward into the light. Metal clinked.
Dead silence fell in the room, broken only by the quickened breathing of everyone there. Standing before them was… a kid. A boy of about six or seven, blond, dressed—or rather, almost not dressed. He had on something like golden briefs, and his surprisingly ripped little body was covered in massive gold chains, bracelets and rings. A necklace of huge precious stones hung around his neck, and on his head sat a circlet with leaf motifs, like a laurel wreath, of course also gold. There was so much gold on him it looked like he should collapse any second. Hell, Xerxes himself, marching on Thermopylae, would've gone green with envy at that kind of wealth.
The blond stopped and spread his arms wide, showing the world his magnificence.
Right then, another "servant" burst into the classroom—a kid in a herald's outfit with a long scroll in his hands. He cleared his throat and boomed:
"Heed me, O mortals! Before you stands He! King of Kings, Lord of the Seven Seas and Three Deserts! God of Gods, Crusher of Rocks and Tamer of Winds! Sovereign of Heaven and Earth, Master of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars! He whose name is whispered with reverence and fear! Heir to the Ancient Emperors, Keeper of Forgotten Secrets, Master of All Arts! Victor of a Thousand Battles, Unforgettable Love of Goddesses, Scourge of Demons! And these are but a fraction of his titles, for a full list would take three days and three nights of continuous reading! Behold—His Unsurpassed Majesty, the Emperor…"
The kid from the throne, whose face up till that moment had stayed so solemnly serene it was like every word spoken was pure truth, now moved forward gracefully. Each step down the "staircase" rang in their ears with the jingle of chains.
Finally, stepping off the backs of his servants and into the classroom, he slowly swept his gaze over everyone, and the kids instinctively edged back. Then he raised a ring‑covered hand and… snapped his fingers.
Right then there was a bang, and everything was swallowed in white smoke. When it started to clear, the purple curtains, golden phoenix, carved throne—turned out all of that had been just an illusion that vanished along with the white veil. The "servants" in the classroom stayed, but the crowd outside seemed to have shrunk somehow. The gold chains and all the other precious metal on the boy himself vanished. In front of the stunned class now stood an ordinary fair‑haired kid in black pants, hurriedly pulling on the jacket of a jumpsuit that one of the hired helpers had just handed him.
Naruto Uzumaki, grinning from ear to ear, swept his eyes over the speechless class and his teacher, whose mouth was hanging open in pure what‑the‑hell shock.
"So? Pretty flashy entrance, wouldn't you say? I hope I'm not too late for the first lesson?"
Sliding the door shut behind me and cheerfully flicking the corners of the rectangular sheet of paper, I headed a bit farther down the hallway.
And seriously, what was the point of dragging me straight to a shrink? See, it even says right here: "sane."
Soon enough I spotted my sensei sitting on a bench—the very one who'd insisted I come here.
"Here you go," I said, handing him the certificate. "Nothing wrong with my head." Then I handed him two more slips. "Statement that I wasn't under genjutsu. And that I wasn't on drugs either."
"Strange…" he muttered after a few seconds of reading.
"Depends who you ask. So, your name? I already introduced myself."
"Kumao Gendai, your sensei as of today…"
After he said that, the man just kind of wilted. Then he lifted his eyes to the ceiling and, I think, started sniffling.
Guess he pictured that if I pulled something like this on day one, what the hell was going to happen next.
"Why me?.."
"Don't get upset." I patted him on the shoulder. "It's not that bad. I've actually got a pretty pleasant personality. I don't think you'll be able to teach me much, but we'll manage to work together somehow. Here, have a candy."
I held out the sweet that'd been rattling around in my pocket. Seemed like it had been there a while already, but whatever, the guy looks sturdy—he'll survive.
"Thanks."
That was all I got out of him once he accepted my treat. Man of few words.
"And, I suppose…" Gendai stood up. "I should probably go in there too."
And he went into the psychiatrist's office.
Well, he'd know best.
Class, by the way, got canceled a bit later, and all my, I guess, classmates were sent home. Well, after they'd dropped me off at the hospital, they went back and finally explained the academy rules to them in full. I'll have to read that code of conduct myself. Not that I was that late anyway—they hadn't made it to self‑introductions yet. So I'll get acquainted with the brats tomorrow.
All the procedures didn't take that long, twenty minutes maybe. So after drilling the door to the office where Kumao had vanished with one last look, I headed outside.
A snowy Konoha was actually a pretty rare sight. The climate here's pretty warm. Which just makes every snowfall especially beautiful. Especially in the park. That's where I went, deciding to do my run there today and check out the scenery. It was on the way.
Only, running into a certain someone ended up changing my plans.
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