The sound was no longer a snap. It was a distortion.
In the pre-dawn gloom of Training Ground 4, Nanami Kento stood rooted to the earth. He was twelve years old now. The last remnants of childhood softness had been burned away by six years of relentless discipline.
Standing at five-foot-three, he possessed a deceptive build; relaxed, he looked lean, almost scholarly. But in motion, under the skin, his muscles coiled with the density of steel cables.
He assumed the stance.
Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees bent slightly. Spine acting as the pillar of the world.
He brought his hands together. A prayer.
"Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine."
The motion was a blur. It wasn't just fast; it was economical. There was zero air resistance, zero wasted kinetic energy. His fist extended, displacing the air with such precision that it created a localized vacuum.
Thwump.
The sound of the atmosphere collapsing back into the void left by his fist echoed through the trees.
"Ten thousand."
Nanami exhaled, lowering his hands. He checked the pocket watch he had left on the stump.
"One hour, thirty-two minutes," he noted, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel that was already soaked. "Still too slow."
His goal was one hour. To perform ten thousand perfect punches in sixty minutes required a rhythm of nearly three punches per second, sustained without pause, without fatigue, and without a degradation in form. He was close, but 'close' was a metric for failure in a profession where milliseconds determined survival.
He sat down on the grass, crossing his legs into a lotus position.
He didn't rest. He shifted gears.
"Ren."
The white flame of his aura erupted. It roared around him, a silent inferno of spiritual pressure. The grass flattened. The insects in the soil burrowed deeper, terrified by the sheer weight of his presence.
Nanami held it. He didn't shape it. He didn't try to form it into a sword or a shield. He just held the raw, explosive output.
Six years of practicing Nen. He had mastered Ten to the point where it was a permanent state; he slept with his aura shroud active, his durability constantly enhanced. He had mastered Zetsu to the point where he could walk through the Hokage Tower without triggering a sensory ninja.
But he still hadn't created his Hatsu—his special ability.
It was a deliberate choice. A test of patience.
The memories of Isaac Netero offered the blueprint for the 100-Type Guanyin Bodhisattva. He knew how to construct it. He knew the feeling of the golden avatar. But if he built it now, with his current spiritual volume, it would be fragile. A statue made of clay rather than gold.
Enhancement first, he reminded himself, feeling the power surge through his meridians. Reinforce the vessel. Expand the capacity. When the cup is overflowing, only then do I shape the spill.
He also had his own concepts brewing. But ideas required a foundation.
He let the aura settle back into Ten.
"Time for the academy," he muttered.
He stood up, dressed in his standard gear—black trousers, a high-collared blue shirt, and sandals. He picked up his bag.
Today was graduation.
The village of Konoha had changed in the years since the First War. It was larger, louder, and more prosperous. The peace Tobirama had secured with the Kinkaku Incident had held, mostly due to the terrifying reputation of the "Immortal Hokage Squad."
Nanami walked through the streets. He didn't send a clone today. Graduation was a ceremonial procedure, and protocols demanded personal attendance.
He walked with a measured stride. He scanned the perimeter out of habit.
Twelve years until the Second Great War, he calculated mentally. Starts with the destruction of Uzushiogakure. The timeline is shifting, but the geopolitical friction remains constant. Tobirama is alive, which acts as a deterrent, but deterrents eventually expire.
He reached the Academy.
The classroom was buzzing with a nervous energy that tasted like ozone. Thirty pre-teens, all wearing forehead protectors, sat in clusters, speculating on their futures.
Nanami walked to his usual spot near the window.
"You're late," a voice said.
Tsunade Senju sat with her arms crossed, glaring at the clock. She had grown. At twelve, she was already showing signs of the formidable woman she would become. Her blonde hair was tied back in a single, high ponytail that swished when she moved. Her forehead was smooth—she had not yet mastered the Strength of a Hundred Seal.
"I am precisely on time," Nanami corrected, sliding into his seat. "The bell rings in ten seconds."
"You and your seconds," she huffed, but her eyes softened. She scooted her chair slightly closer to his. "Nervous?"
"No."
"Liar. Everyone is nervous. We find out our teams today."
Nanami looked at her. He saw the way she fidgeted with her sleeve. He saw the slight flush on her cheeks when she looked at him.
He wasn't blind. He knew Tsunade had developed feelings for him. It was inevitable, really. They had spent six years training together, bleeding together, and keeping each other's secrets. To her, he was the reliable, strong, brilliant peer who understood her burden as a Senju.
To him...
Danger, Nanami thought, a mental alarm blaring in his skull. Siren sounds.
She was twelve. He was... chronologically twelve, but mentally an adult with a lifetime of memories.
She is a child, he told himself firmly. A dangerous, super-strength child, but a child nonetheless. In ten years, she will be the legendary Sannin. Right now, she is a teammate. Keep it professional. Keep it platonic.
"I am not nervous because the outcome is largely irrelevant," Nanami said, deflecting the intimacy. "Team assignments are administrative shuffles. The mission remains the same: complete the objective, minimize casualties, file the report."
Tsunade rolled her eyes. "You are the least romantic person I have ever met."
"Romance is inefficient," Nanami deadpanned. "It complicates the chain of command."
"You're impossible."
"I am consistent."
Across the room, chaos erupted.
"I AM THE FUTURE HOKAGE!" Jiraiya stood on his desk, striking a pose that was meant to be heroic but looked mostly like a seizure. "And I demand to be on a team with cute girls! No gloomy guys!"
He pointed an accusing finger at Orochimaru, who was sitting silently in the corner, reading a scroll on venomous snakes.
"I'm talking to you, snake-eyes!"
Orochimaru didn't look up. "Your volume is inversely proportional to your intelligence, Jiraiya."
"What did you say?!"
The door slid open. Daikoku-sensei walked in, looking older and more tired than he had six years ago. He slapped a clipboard onto the podium.
"Sit down!" he barked. "If you are not in your seats in three seconds, I am failing you."
Jiraiya scrambled into his chair.
"Today, you stop being students," Daikoku announced. "You become Genin. That means you are soldiers of Konoha. You will follow orders. You will protect the village."
He let the silence hang in the air for a moment.
"I will now announce the squads. These are three-man cells designed to balance your skills. You will stay with this team until you make Chunin."
He cleared his throat.
"First, the rankings. As you know, the Squad formations are often based on balancing the top students with the... less academically inclined."
He glanced at Jiraiya.
"The top student of this graduating class," Daikoku announced, "is Orochimaru."
Orochimaru smirked slightly.
"Second place goes to Tsunade Senju."
Tsunade pumped her fist. "Yes!"
"Nanami Kento," Daikoku continued, looking at Nanami. "You did not participate in the final written or practical exams due to... special assignment duties approved by the Hokage. Therefore, you are unranked in this graduating class."
Whispers broke out.
"He didn't take the exam?"
"Special assignment? Is he that good?"
"Or maybe he failed and they're covering it up?"
Nanami ignored them. He stared out the window. A bird was building a nest.
"Moving on to the teams," Daikoku called out.
"Team 1..."
Nanami tuned out. He already knew the major players. The Ino-Shika-Cho trio was a lock. The Hyuga would be paired with tracking specialists.
"Team 7," Daikoku called out.
The room went silent. Team 7 was always a heavy hitter.
"Tsunade Senju."
Tsunade sat up straighter.
"Orochimaru."
Orochimaru closed his scroll.
"And... Jiraiya."
Jiraiya slammed his head onto the desk. "NO! Why am I stuck with the creepy snake and the flat board?!"
The air in the classroom froze.
Nanami shifted his chair slightly to the left, out of the blast radius.
Tsunade stood up slowly. Her hair shadowed her eyes. Her chakra flared, visible and terrifying.
"Who..." she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "Who are you calling a flat board?"
She didn't use a jutsu. She didn't use a seal. She just channeled chakra into her fist—a technique she had begun to master after realizing she couldn't match Nanami's Rasengan with normal strength.
She swung.
BOOM.
Jiraiya didn't just fly; he was launched. He sailed across the classroom, smashed through the plaster wall, and embedded himself in the hallway on the other side. Dust and debris rained down.
"Hmph," Tsunade sat back down, smoothing her skirt.
Daikoku stared at the hole in the wall. He stared at Jiraiya's twitching legs.
He looked down at his clipboard.
"Moving on," Daikoku said, deciding that he wasn't paid enough to intervene in domestic disputes. "Since Jiraiya is incapacitated, he accepts the position by default."
He continued reading the list. Team 8 was called (a Hyuga, an Aburame, and an Inuzuka).
Then, he paused.
"Team 9," Daikoku said.
He looked at the list, then at the class.
"Nanami Kento."
Nanami stood up.
"Might Duy."
"YES! YOUTH!" Duy leaped up, tears streaming down his face. "WE ARE TOGETHER, KENTO!"
"And..." Daikoku hesitated. "Sakumo Hatake."
The class went silent.
"Hatake?" someone whispered. "Wait, Sakumo Hatake? The guy who graduated two years ago?"
"Why is he on a Genin team?"
"I heard he's already Chunin level..."
Nanami adjusted his collar.
Interesting, he thought. A mixed-age cell. Sakumo Hatake... the future White Fang. He is older, experienced, and wields a chakra blade. Tobirama is creating a strike team.
"Team 10..."
The list finished.
"That concludes the assignments," Daikoku said. "Your Jonin Sensei will pick you up shortly. Wait here. And someone pull Jiraiya out of the wall before the structural integrity fails."
The class dissolved into chatter.
Tsunade turned to Nanami. "You got Sakumo? He's strong. I've seen him train with his father's sword. He cuts through training dummies like they're butter."
"Kenjutsu specialist," Nanami noted. "Good. Duy is an unarmed combatant. I am... flexible. It is a balanced composition."
"Well, whoever your Sensei is, don't die," Tsunade said, poking his forehead. "We still have to spar next Sunday."
"I will attempt to remain among the living."
The door slid open.
A Jonin walked in. He was young, perhaps early twenties. He had a kind face, dark eyes, and short, spiky black hair. He wore the standard flak jacket, but there was a certain lightness to his step.
"Team 7?" he called out.
Hiruzen Sarutobi smiled, leaning against the doorframe.
"That's us!" Jiraiya yelled, crawling back into the room covered in plaster. "I'm ready, Sensei! Teach me something cool!"
"Hiruzen-sensei," Tsunade nodded respectfully. Orochimaru simply stared.
"Meet me on the roof," Hiruzen instructed. "We have introductions to make."
He vanished. Team 7 followed.
Minutes passed. Other Jonin arrived picked up Team 10. A Hyuga Jonin picked up Team 8.
Soon, the room was mostly empty.
Only Nanami and Duy remained.
Duy was doing push-ups in the aisle. "98... 99... 100!"
Nanami sat by the window, watching the leaves fall.
"He is late," Nanami noted, checking his watch. "Lateness is a sign of poor logistical planning."
"Maybe he got lost on the road of life!" Duy suggested switching to one-handed push-ups.
"If a Jonin gets lost in his own village, we are doomed."
The door slid open again.
Nanami looked up.
Standing in the doorway was a figure he knew well. A man with curly black hair, a kind face, and eyes that held the depth of the Sharingan, though they were currently dark obsidian. He wore the standard Konoha flak jacket.
Kagami Uchiha.
But he wasn't alone.
Standing next to him was a boy slightly taller than Nanami. He had silver-white hair that defied gravity, tied back in a short ponytail. He wore a dark mask over the lower half of his face and carried a short tantō sword strapped to his back. His eyes were sharp, dark, and focused.
Sakumo Hatake.
"Team 9?" Kagami called out, his voice warm but authoritative.
"Present," Nanami stood up.
Duy jumped to his feet, vibrating with energy. "YOUTH IS HERE!"
Kagami smiled. He placed a hand on Sakumo's shoulder.
"This is your third member," Kagami introduced. "Sakumo graduated, he has been reassigned to this cell. I expect you to welcome him."
Sakumo stepped forward. He bowed slightly. "Sakumo Hatake. I specialize in Kenjutsu. Let's work well together."
"Nanami Kento," Nanami replied with a nod. "Efficiency specialist."
"Might Duy!" Duy shouted, giving a thumbs up. "Taijutsu and Passion specialist!"
Sakumo blinked at Duy, then looked at Nanami. A small glint of amusement appeared in his eyes. "Interesting group."
Kagami clapped his hands.
"Alright. I'm Kagami Uchiha. I'll be your Jonin commander starting today."
"Meet me at Training Ground 18 in ten minutes."
He turned and vanished in a flicker of movement.
Sakumo looked at the other two. "Training Ground 18 is four kilometers away. We should move."
"A RACE!" Duy screamed. "THE LAST ONE THERE HAS TO DO 500 LAPS!"
Duy bolted out the window. Not through the door. Through the window. He shattered the glass—again—and plummeted to the street below, landing in a roll and sprinting away.
Nanami sighed, looking at the broken window.
"I am going to be billed for that," he muttered.
He walked to the window ledge. He looked at Sakumo.
"Shall we?"
Sakumo nodded. He leaped out the window, moving with silent, wolf-like grace.
Nanami pulled out a marked kunai. He threw it toward a rooftop in the distance.
Zip.
He was gone.