" Yes, even with training, a natural talent won't be enough to surpass it in a month," I thought, breathing heavily, standing at the finish line.
Around me, other students were either still navigating the obstacle course or already standing nearby, discussing their results. The Chuunins were checking their watches, recording the time of each participant.
I lifted my head and looked at the results being read aloud by one of the examiners:
"Maito Guy – best result!" came a loud announcement.
Guy stood nearby, beaming with happiness, his fists clenched, and his eyes practically sparkling with enthusiasm.
"YES! THE STRENGTH OF YOUTH KNOWS NO BARRIERS!" he shouted, and most of the people stopped laughing, replaced by annoyed sighs.
My time was among the good results, but I lost to Inuzuka and Sarutobi in the trial. However, it was still a respectable result. I shifted my gaze to him – he stood nearby, frowning, but still looking satisfied with his victory.
"Last time, you got lucky," he said, crossing his arms arrogantly. His dog, sitting beside him, barked in agreement.
"What are you talking about? Let's see how you perform in the weapon stage, I smirked." Honestly, last time I really did get lucky.
Takeshi drew our attention again with a clap of his hands.
"You've completed the first two stages. Now you have a break to recover. In five minutes, we'll begin the final test."
I sighed with relief. The rest was much needed.
Some students sat right on the grass, others headed to the water buckets to quench their thirst. I found a more secluded spot, sat cross-legged, and began to meditate, restoring my chakra.
Five minutes later, Takeshi called us again. He stood in the center of the field, surveying the gathered students.
"The third stage will be on the use of weapons."
"This stage isn't as important as the previous ones," he continued. "However, proficiency with throwing weapons is an important skill for a ninja. Even if you have no experience, any attempts will count and can earn you additional points."
I glanced at the table where kunai, shuriken, and senbon were laid out. Most of the students had already made their choices.
"Each of you will be given five attempts. Your task is to demonstrate accuracy and throwing strength."
First, a few students from the clans were called up, apparently those who already had experience or were simply overconfident.
They approached the table with the throwing weapons, not hesitating in their choices, confidently picking kunai or shuriken.
The first one, a tall guy with dark hair, picked up a pair of kunai, slightly bent down, and threw them at the target. His movement was quick, but the kunai flew past the target, one grazing the edge and leaving a small mark, and the second one missed completely, hitting the ground. He paused, clearly flustered, but didn't admit his mistake out loud. Shaking his head quietly, he grabbed a second set of weapons and tried again, but the result was the same. He stepped away with a dissatisfied expression.
Next was a girl with sharp eyes. She chose several shuriken and took a throwing stance. With concentration, she threw them, but all of them missed the target. One shuriken brushed the edge of the target, while another barely touched the tree and ricocheted to the side.
The next participant, a young man from another clan, approached clearly nervous. He picked kunai, but his throw was hesitant. The kunai nearly fell at his feet. He tried again — and again, it was a failure. His kunai missed, and the second one veered off target, almost hitting the students standing nearby.
After several attempts by other students, no one else wanted to try. There was an attempt from Guy, but it was unsuccessful. I decided that it was now my turn to step up, as they would end the test if no one else did. When I approached the table to pick up my weapons, almost every student turned their attention toward me.
A small chill ran down my spine, and I could feel my heart pounding faster.
But I tried to gather myself and dismissed these thoughts. Quickly selecting a pair of kunai, I straightened up and took a step toward the target. I knew I needed to focus on every movement, not on how many people were watching me. This test was important, and I had to show that I was ready for any situation.
I threw the first kunai with confidence, but it was unsuccessful. It grazed the edge of the target, leaving a small mark. I took a deep breath, didn't dwell on it, and immediately grabbed the second one. It flew with precision and lodged in the top part of the target. I exhaled, but I knew this was not the end.
I continued throwing, and the third kunai was accurate – it pierced the center of the target. The remaining two kunai weren't as successful; they grazed the target but didn't penetrate deeply enough. Returning to my spot, I felt relief. While the results weren't perfect, I still demonstrated a few precise hits. At that moment, I realized how difficult it is when so many people are watching you. It adds extra pressure, makes you doubt yourself, but in the end, I managed.
A couple of minutes passed, and Takeshi said,
"Since no one else wants to try, we'll end this part of the exam."
Silently, he turned and walked over to the students standing with him to record the results. A silence fell in the room, with only a few students exchanging glances, discussing what had just happened.
"Now," he continued, "everyone needs to head to the second floor to speak with the teachers. Don't linger. The distribution results will be announced tomorrow."
All the students began heading toward the stairs leading to the second floor. I felt a bit of the tension release, but thoughts of the exam still lingered in my mind. My head was filled with questions: What will the teachers say? How will we be divided into groups? This decision would mean a lot, not just for the next stage of our training.
When I entered the room, the air felt slightly heavy with tension. Some students who had arrived earlier were already there, and the teachers, standing along the walls, quietly conversed. In the center was a large table with the senior instructor sitting behind it. I joined the others and began waiting for my turn.
With each passing minute, the nervousness grew. Students went in for a couple of minutes and came out. The waiting seemed endless. Finally, when I was called, I took a few steps forward and stopped before the table. All eyes were on me.
There were five Chuunins sitting there, staring at me. I couldn't make out their faces; they looked calm and collected, as if they were completely unfazed by my results. The room was silent, except for the soft creak of the chair as I sat down before them.
"You seem to have shown decent results," said one of them, the oldest.
"But we still need to ask you a few questions," continued the woman, preparing a pen.
She looked at me and asked,
"Why do you want to become a ninja?"
I sighed, thinking for a moment. This question wasn't new to me, but it was always important to find the right words to make it sound truthful.
"I want to become a ninja to protect my village and the people I care about. For me, a ninja..."
The Chuunins exchanged glances, and the same senior instructor spoke again,
"What qualities do you think are most important for a true ninja?"
I was silent for a moment, trying to recall the key details.
"First and foremost, it's dedication to your mission and your village."
The room fell silent. One of the Chuunins nodded, then continued,
"Alright, you can go. Expect the results tomorrow."
I nodded, holding back the wave of relief that was washing over me. All the questions had been difficult, but I tried to be honest and not be afraid to show my determination. I stood up, bowed, and left the room without saying a word.
When the door closed behind me, I felt the tension begin to ease. My step became lighter, and I could finally take a deep breath. The whole trial had been exhausting, but now I could only wait for the results. I had passed this part of the exam, and now it was time to return home.