Seiran had tossed and turned through the entire night, too wired from awakening his Electromagnetic Manipulation to sleep. When he finally dragged himself to the Ninja Academy the next morning, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. His Byakugan was ringed with dark circles so pronounced they made his white pupils look almost sunken.
"Hey! Seiran! Why are you moving like a zombie today?"
Anko Mitarashi appeared beside him, a glutinous rice ball already halfway to her mouth. She chewed with obvious delight, studying him with curiosity.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
Anko tilted her head, then suddenly leaned in close, her voice dropping. "Seiran, what did you mean yesterday about 'living to the finale'?"
He hesitated. "It's... a very powerful thing."
When he offered nothing more, Anko pouted and dropped the subject—though not before taking another generous bite of her rice ball.
Watching her, Seiran's mind inexplicably jumped forward decades. He envisioned a middle-aged Anko, hardened and worn, running a sweet potato stand. The image made him physically uncomfortable. Even now, she was cute enough. How could the timeline be so cruel?
"By the way," he said suddenly, "try eating fewer rice balls."
"Why?" She glanced at him mid-chew. "Won't they help me reach the finale?"
Seiran thought carefully. "It's better not to reach that finale."
Anko's expression twisted in confusion, but before she could press him, someone shouted that the instructor was coming. The classroom erupted into silence, students snapping to attention.
Instructor Fujino Daikichi walked to the podium, textbook in hand, and announced with a thin smile, "Today, we'll begin with theory. This afternoon, practical shuriken throwing training."
Seiran's eyebrows twitched. Perfect. He'd spent all last night testing his Electromagnetic Manipulation on kitchen utensils—now he could finally see what he could really do.
"Open your textbooks to chapter one, section three. We'll continue yesterday's lesson on the Will of Fire."
The moment Seiran saw the dense theoretical analysis, his eyelids grew heavy. He pulled the textbook over his head like a blanket and drifted off.
Instructor Fujino Daikichi's eye twitched at the sight, but something seemed to remind him of something. He shook his head slightly and glanced across the classroom to where Hyuga Iroha sat rigidly, a forehead protector bound across his forehead, completely absorbed in his studies.
"Compared to some," the instructor said quietly to himself, "at least Iroha shows proper dedication."
---
Seiran jerked awake to the sound of the bell signaling the afternoon session. After stretching, he felt something unexpected—not the usual weakness that came with napping, but a surge of restful energy flowing through him.
The Electromagnetic Manipulation, he realized. It must have adjusted my biomagnetic field during sleep. Accelerated recovery.
He couldn't actively control it yet, but once he leveled up this ability, he might be able to regulate his own biological magnetism. Enhanced vitality like the Hokage himself? That was worth keeping to himself.
---
The training grounds sprawled across an open field dotted with wooden targets. Instructor Fujino Daikichi stood before two dozen students, a basket of shuriken at his feet.
"Wrist strength, throwing technique, accuracy," he instructed. "These fundamentals separate the living from the dead in real combat."
Seiran scanned the crowd. Most clan children looked bored—their families had already drilled them before the Academy. The civilian students, by contrast, hung on every word. From birth, the clan kids had advantages the commoners could only dream of.
No matter the era, civilians always get left behind.
A few students possessed impressive chakra reserves and intense biomagnetic fields. But one stood out—a white-haired boy at the front, his energy crackling like contained lightning.
"Kakashi Hatake," Seiran murmured, his brows furrowing. "That biomagnetic field... he's already at shinobi-level chakra. At twelve. No wonder they call him a genius."
"Alright, that's enough lecture," Instructor Fujino Daikichi clapped his hands. "Time to throw. I'll be scoring. Kojunmiko, you're first."
"Y-yes."
A timid black-haired girl approached the target line. About ten meters ahead sat a wooden target, with a basket of shuriken beside it. She picked one up, recalled the instructor's guidance, and threw.
Thwack!
The shuriken pierced the outer ring.
"Six points. Not bad."
She threw again. Five. Six. Seven. Instructor Fujino Daikichi nodded approvingly and moved to the next student.
Seiran watched intently, his fingers twitching slightly. The shuriken in the basket trembled in response. Light mass. According to basic physics, acceleration is inversely proportional to mass. This should be far easier than those kitchen knives.
"Whoa! How'd he do that?"
A commotion broke out across the field. Kakashi held multiple shuriken in each hand, throwing with fluid precision. Every single one embedded itself dead center in the bullseye.
"That's incredible!"
"He's a total genius!"
Instructor Fujino Daikichi smiled, nodding with satisfaction. The boy's fundamentals were flawless—his shuriken work rivaled a professional shinobi. Truly worthy of being Hatake Sakumo's son.
"Kakashi Hatake, full score. Next!"
"I'll go!"
Before the instructor finished speaking, Rin Uchiha pushed forward, her long black hair catching the afternoon light. She threw with both hands in rapid succession, every shuriken finding its mark with mathematical precision.
"An Uchiha through and through. Rin Uchiha, full score!"
Seriously? Seiran's eye twitched. In his past life, he'd encountered enough overachievers to last a lifetime. Running into another one here felt like cruel irony.
Rin shot Kakashi a cold glance before returning to her spot. Beside her, Obito Uchiha bounced excitedly.
"Hey, Kakashi! Did you see that? That's Uchiha power! Just wait—I'll definitely beat you!"
Kakashi didn't even glance at him.
Seiran looked at Obito with pure pity. Who knew this clown would become one of the greatest threats the world would ever face?
"Obito Uchiha, you're up."
"Finally!" Obito practically sprinted to the line, grinning wide. "I've been secretly training shuriken for months! Just watch!"
Rin's accomplishment had clearly inflated his confidence to dangerous levels.
He grabbed a shuriken and hurled it with all his strength.
It sailed past the target entirely.
"Missed. Zero points," Instructor Fujino Daikichi said flatly.
"That was a fluke!" Obito snatched another shuriken, threw it harder.
Another miss.
"Zero points."
Kakashi glanced at Obito, then looked away.
Rin's face flushed so deeply red she looked ready to disown him. Her eyes screamed, I have never seen this person before in my life.
"That wasn't real! I was just warming up!" Obito threw again.
"Zero points."
"Zero points."
The field erupted in laughter.
Obito's face turned an angry crimson. His teeth ground audibly. "I don't believe this curse!"
He yanked his last shuriken and threw it with desperation.
Thwack!
The shuriken embedded perfectly in the bullseye.
Silence.
Obito's eyes widened. For a moment, he stood frozen. Then his face split into a triumphant grin.
"I told you! That was just warm-ups! This is my real power!"
He spun around, expecting praise. Instead, he found every student staring at him like he'd lost his mind. Rin had literally covered her face with both palms.
"What? I hit the bullseye! You all saw it!"
Instructor Fujino Daikichi's voice was ice. "Obito. Look again."
Obito's head snapped back toward the targets. His eye twitched violently. His jaw dropped so far he could've caught flies.
He hadn't hit his own target. He'd hit a target several meters away—one belonging to an entirely different group of students. The confused student standing in front of that target was still holding his own shuriken, staring at Obito in utter bewilderment.
In the corner of the field, the faintest smile curved across Seiran's lips, noticed by absolutely no one.