On a typical day, I was sitting through yet another lesson at the Academy. Gendai, in his usual, measured manner, was lecturing us on chakra theory—very superficially and in broad strokes, so the kids could get it. The actual lesson wasn't much use to me.
More than a year had passed since I'd enrolled in the Ninja Academy. I was almost eight, and it was early October.
Not much had happened at the Academy during that time, though the personalities of certain characters had definitely revealed themselves.
In the back of the classroom, at the last desks, sat two girls, one with pink hair and the other blonde. Sakura and Ino, obviously.
Exchanging looks that could practically throw off lightning, they kept shooting what they considered loving gazes at the black‑haired kid sitting in front of them—Sasuke.
At the very beginning of our studies, Sakura had been very modest, followed etiquette, and hid her emotions. Ino, on the other hand, was pretty loud‑mouthed, bold, and sometimes a bit too expressive with her feelings. Somehow these two opposites attracted and became friends.
I found out from Hinata that, sometime when I wasn't around, a bunch of little shits, copying each other, started teasing the pink‑haired girl. The blonde stood up for her, and that's what they bonded over. Ino even gave Sakura a red ribbon, which she now ties into a bow on her head. It turned into a very cute little story of friendship and Sakura slowly growing more confident.
That lasted until the recent incident with the Uchiha clan. After the failed coup and the wiping out of almost all the red‑eyes, it just so happened that both girls, as they saw it, fell in love with Sasuke. Now they were rivals and, of course, Great Enemies.
The black‑haired kid himself didn't return their feelings and persevered in his indifference. It wasn't just those two clinging to him, either—almost every girl in the class did. But the Uchiha, again, held the line, doing his best to pretend he saw nothing, that their little fits of passion didn't annoy him or stir anything else up, and kept a stone‑cold face. With very mixed success, but it was enough for my female classmates to buy it… and get even more fired up.
Besides pretending to be a chunk of rock, Sasuke was also killing it in class and was the top student. I don't know how that's supposed to help him get revenge on his big bro, the one who butchered their whole family. But I guess he's got some kind of plan and he's sticking to it.
Another one of my classmates was a kid with a permanently bored expression—Shikamaru. It seemed to me he'd already figured life out. How else do you explain why, instead of listening to hour‑long lectures that you could understand in ten minutes of reading, if not less, he just slept through class? And he went further: outside of class time he also didn't bother loading his limitless brain with useless knowledge, so he couldn't answer the questions Gendai sometimes threw at him. Because of that, despite being from the Nara clan—supposedly tacticians and big‑time brainiacs—Shikamaru trailed somewhere near the bottom of the class rankings.
The next student whose character showed itself pretty clearly was Choji. You know, the one with underwear on his head—though he calls it a headband. A kind‑looking, friendly boy; we'd talked about good food a few times. He's friends with Shikamaru. There was this one incident, though, when some not‑very‑tactful kid called Choji a fatass. I was already in the classroom then and was about to say something. But there was no point. The young Akimichi, like he'd just stuffed himself full of berserker pills, immediately lunged at the offender, yelling that he wasn't fat, just big‑boned.
Kids usually don't really get morality or the consequences of their actions. Choji didn't hold back at all—he flattened the kid like a torpedo and started choking him. I had to break them up, since the teacher was off screwing around somewhere.
The next pair was a little duo made up of Kiba Inuzuka and Shino Aburame. Two opposites again. The first is pretty hot‑headed and doesn't watch his mouth. He doesn't drag his dog around with him yet, unlike in the story I know. Guess Akamaru hasn't been born yet. The second is quiet and almost never talks. His clan techniques are based on interacting with insects that the Aburame carry inside their bodies. The kid seems to enjoy watching them at break, when the little critters amusingly crawl out of the holes in his skin and skitter across his desk. Oh, and yeah, those two aren't friends at all; they more like low‑key dislike each other. But Shino argues with Kiba more than with anyone else and, accordingly, talks to him the most. So there's some kind of connection between them.
Hinata, for her part, showed her shy nature pretty clearly when we met. We kind of talked, but not much. And that was over the whole time I'd been at the Academy. Though, based on my memories, this girl wasn't supposed to be able to string even a few words into a sentence. Turned out that wasn't quite true—her shyness wasn't that all‑consuming. Around me, that trait dulls a bit more. When we sit together, she actually seems more comfortable. And that's… pretty cute and at the same time kind of sad. I get these half‑paternal, half‑big‑brother feelings toward this girl.
I tried a few times to pull her into conversations with our other classmates, to help her build connections and develop some social skills. It only sort of worked with Ino. But Ino's a chatterbox anyway, so I doubted that was mostly my achievement.
There were other kids in the class, but I interacted with them even less than with the ones mentioned above. Unlike the clan kids, those ones tried to keep their distance from me. To be fair, you could see some caution toward me even in people like Ino or Kiba, just to a lesser degree. Choji and Shikamaru, though, didn't give a shit about the general mood. And neither did Hinata.
Anyway, back to the clanless kids. There was another thing about them—a revolving door. They changed pretty often. After a year, half of them had either transferred to another class for whatever reason or dropped out entirely. And, as I found out, this would repeat every year. That's the usual trend at the Academy: there's a core of clan kids who stick it out till the end of the course, while the rest get tossed around.
For different reasons—lots of them get expelled for failing grades. The Academy, if you don't judge it by my standards, is actually pretty prestigious and keeps the bar high, especially compared to some random school. In my opinion it's not on some other level, they don't teach anything particularly hard here, but yeah, the standard's decent. So if you don't keep up and don't have relatives who can slip some cash to cover for their dumbass kid, you can definitely get kicked out.
Another reason for dropping out, usually voluntary, is the high tuition and a lack of talent. With enough effort, you can get a solid education here. But some parents, when they see their kid isn't a genius—in fact, more like the opposite—sensibly decide to send their offspring to some other place where they'll pick up practical skills in a different, more realistic field. Training as a ninja eats a pretty hefty sum of money and a ton of time. If you're not an orphan, the Village isn't going to fund you.
There are other ways to get expelled, but talking about them is boring. And besides those, there are probably a few I don't even know about.
Back to why the clanless kids kept their distance from me. From what I overheard a couple of times, their parents told them to. A couple of times they even said it right in front of me, so, not missing the chance, I'd point at those parents, then spin that same finger at my temple, clearly showing what I thought of them.
Though, to be fair, thanks to the way I introduced myself on the first day, a lot of kids already had plenty of reasons of their own to avoid me. I mean, I'm obviously a psycho. Who else would show up like that? And for some reason my note from the psychiatrist didn't convince them otherwise.
The lesson was drawing to a close, and I shifted my attention to our homeroom teacher. He taught us most of our subjects.
Gendai was a calm and slightly slow guy. Only our first meeting didn't go well—he'd been nervous about something back then. But over time he calmed down.
Our relationship was basically at the level of him thinking, "Ah, fuck it, whatever," about me, and me thinking, "No, dude, you're gonna take my bribe and pass me for the year," about him. Because of my schedule—and the simple fact that, for the most part, the Academy wasn't really necessary for me—I skipped a lot. At first that pissed Gendai off. Some students, like Kiba, Choji, and Shikamaru, even started taking cues from me and skipping classes too, which pissed sensei off even more. But while he could do something about those three, with me—he couldn't.
He tried to find me outside of class, but it didn't work out very often. They wouldn't let him into the hospital's research labs, telling him he was screwing around with bullshit and should stop distracting the esteemed Uzumaki‑san from his important work. They really didn't let him onto the training grounds either, where I did my sparring. Once he managed to corner me when I was with Koharu, but he got chewed out by the elder, who told him that if he kept distracting me from important work, he'd get a stick across the spine. The man decided not to test how sturdy his back was and didn't go near the elder again.
There were also times when Gendai caught me at home or somewhere else when I was alone. That's when he'd start digging into why I was apparently pissing on attendance and all that. In response he got an honest answer: I didn't need the Academy because I already knew a lot. So the teacher ran a little test with questions from the last year's curriculum, which, to his surprise, my humble self answered. But he didn't calm down and started asking questions that weren't from the Academy's program, and got the answer that those weren't in the syllabus. That answer just blew his mind, because apparently not all the teachers even know the curriculum, and here a student does.
Next he decided to check my combat ability, so we went to a training ground. A shinobi's supposed to know how to fight, after all. But it was over in less than a second. One "Sha‑a‑a‑a!" from me, and Gendai was down. That ended our conversation for the day, and the man left me alone for a while.
But soon he started showing up again and pestering me about attendance. This time he remembered my obligations as a student, that I really was required to attend classes. I had nothing to say to that, since my guardian must've signed a contract with clauses like that for me. From that moment I started actively offering Gendai a bribe so that he would:
a) finally leave me the hell alone, because he was distracting,b) pass me for the year with good grades, since I like pretty numbers, even if not that much,c) just pass me for the year in general, because I needed it for my further education.
But this "Bear"—going by the meaning of his name—dug his heels in like a rhinoceros. He didn't want to take my money. Normally I deal with bears quickly and harshly, but with this particular specimen I couldn't do that—it doesn't really fit the village philosophy. Anyway, Gendai resisted and resisted, but by the end of the year, and after a whole lot of persuading on my part—he took it. He got in trouble for it later and said he would definitely never take a bribe again. But that was a problem for future me.
In class, the guy doesn't bother me. Every time he asked me a question, I'd start to drone on, answering for several minutes when a ten‑second answer would have been enough. And he knew that I knew the material, so there was no real point in asking.
Aside from that first day at the Academy, I didn't really put on shows, which suited Gendai just fine.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice how the lesson ended. Finishing his lecture, Kumao habitually bolted from the classroom.
The break was short, so some people didn't even get up from their seats, just started chatting.
Most of the girls, of course, immediately swarmed Sasuke, while he, naturally, pretended to be a rock.
I almost felt bad for him. They've been like that pretty much nonstop for over two months now.
At that moment, at the desk next to me and Hinata, Shikamaru woke up and, stretching happily, noticed the crowd.
"No, I still don't get it. Why are they all over him like that?" he asked the air.
"That's a philosophical question," I replied casually. "But psychology can explain it too. I know my way around that field. I showed you my certificate, right?"
"Yeah. I think you were bragging about it in front of everyone," Choji, sitting next to Shikamaru and already rustling open a bag of chips, replied neutrally.
"Well then, I'm glad you asked." I turned to Sasuke. "Sasuke, you mind if I make a few assumptions about you?"
In response, the Uchiha just shot me a cold look.
"I'll take that as a yes. Ladies…?"
Sounds of girls hitting on "Sasuke‑kun"
"They don't give a damn," Shikamaru noted.
"Apparently… Hinata, wanna move closer? If you wanna listen to my brilliant thoughts too, I mean."
We moved over to Choji and Shika's desk.
"So," I began my long speech, "I have conducted a study. You do know that people who've got a paper from a psychiatrist are almost as professional as psychiatrists themselves, right?" A snort came from Shikamaru.
"And, to get closer to the point: Sasuke's popularity is built on a whole range of reasons. For better understanding, I'll be comparing him with another individual. Undoubtedly important, respected, and probably the best person in this world."
"You?" Choji asked calmly. After a bit of time talking to me, he'd started to get how my brain works.
"Exactly." I put on a serious face. "My research has identified four main pillars that hold up, so to speak, our classmate's attractiveness. First and most important: the effect of mystery and emotional tension. Our Sasuke creates, in those around him—especially the girls—what's called affective uncertainty. Simply put, you can't figure him the hell out. He's silent, stares into nowhere, zero emotion. And that, weirdly enough, creates cognitive tension. The brain tries to 'solve' him like a hard puzzle, and for every such effort it gets a microdose of dopamine—the pleasure hormone. Get it? It's like gambling: the less clear the outcome, the more you want to keep playing. Unpredictability is a drug for the brain."
I glanced over my audience. Hinata was paying attention, Choji kept a neutral look, focused on his food, and Shikamaru decided my words would go down better while lying on the desk with his eyes closed.
"My humble self, on the other hand, is understandable and accessible. I don't mind talking to anyone and saying what I think. My behavior is predictable. With me, there's no titillating tension, which means no dopamine roller coaster. That causes way less of that dopaminergic buzz. Especially in young people, who naturally go looking for sharper sensations."
"Your predictability is debatable," Choji remarked.
"Yeah, fair. But if you look at my overall behavior, you get roughly that picture."
"Hmph," Shikamaru grunted, unclear whether in agreement or not. He wasn't asleep yet.
"Second point." I tapped two fingers on the desk. "Might sound like the same thing, but not quite. A deficit of attention. Pure economics. What's scarce is expensive. Sasuke almost never hands out his attention. It's a rare resource. Every crumb of it is valued like a gold bar. My nature tends more toward openness. My attention isn't in short supply, so its value trends toward zero."
"That's not true… Naruto‑kun," Hinata objected quietly. "I value your attention."
"And I value that you value it," I said, smiling at her. She immediately turned away, blushing. "But I'm talking in general terms here. For each individual it applies to a different degree."
I paused for a bit and, making sure no one had any questions, continued:
"Point three: narrative drama. Sasuke has a story. Tragedy, revenge, a dark fate, a lost clan. It's a ready‑made plot for an illustrated scroll. The teenage psyche, which is already full of inner conflict, loves stories like that. It's easy to empathize with a suffering hero, to project your own crap onto him. I, in my current version, am stable and straightforward. I don't have that gripping drama going on. I'm not as interesting to 'dive into' emotionally. Technically speaking, that's narrative transportation—the more tragic the story, the easier it hooks you. And finally, the fourth and last point: gender archetypes. Sasuke fits the 'suffering antihero' archetype perfectly. Strong, silent, broken on the inside. Classic template for romantic fantasies—the kind you want to 'save' and 'warm up.' I, on the other hand, even if I were the most successful in the class, fall into the 'reliable friend' archetype. I can be respected, you can laugh with me, cry into my shoulder, but that rarely sparks romantic passion."
Finishing, I once again looked over my listeners. Hinata was just quietly glancing my way, Choji was staring at an empty bag of chips, deep in thought, and from Shikamaru's direction I could already hear soft snoring.
…
At some point Nara told me that my words sometimes make him sleepier than Gendai's lectures. He also guessed it was because my thoughts are complicated and I throw around too many "fancy" terms. I took that as a compliment. Though yeah, it's a reminder I should probably drone on less.
"Ahem. Put more simply, and outside of the 'research,' there are more reasons. Sasuke's just plain rich, from an ancient clan—that alone adds a bunch of points. I've got a good bloodline too, and probably even more money, but no one believes the second part. And he's also pretty good‑looking."
At that last word, not only Hinata and Choji gave me weird looks, but a few girls behind us as well, who, it turned out, had been half‑listening. And also… out of the corner of my eye I saw the Uchiha's eyes widen a little, and he edged his chair back, a bit farther away from me.
"What? No!" I bellowed immediately. "Looks are an objective metric! Nothing personal."
I whipped around sharply.
"You," I said, pointing at a girl who'd started throwing quick glances between me and Sasuke. "Forget whatever you just came up with. If I see yaoi of me and him anywhere"—I jabbed a thumb at the Uchiha—"you'll be so fucking sick of running around courts your head'll spin. Am I being clear?"
She nodded carefully.
"Excellent," I said—right as the bell rang.
That was the end of my little crash course in psychology for their still‑soft brains. Nodding to Choji and getting a nod in return, Hinata and I headed back to our usual seats.
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