Chapter 15: Morning of the First-Term Test
Normal POV
The sun had barely risen, casting a golden glow over the city as a group of children stepped out of the orphanage gates.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth from the light rain the night before. Birds chirped from the rooftops, their melodies blending with the distant chatter of early risers.
Murakami adjusted the strap of his school bag, glancing at his friends as they walked alongside him. Today was the first-term test, and the atmosphere among them was a mix of excitement and nervousness.
"I still don't get why we have to wake up so early for a test," Renji groaned, rubbing his eyes. His once perpetually runny nose was gone, replaced with an air of newfound confidence…or at least, that's what he liked to think.
"Maybe if you actually studied, you wouldn't feel like time is against you," Aiko teased, giving him a playful nudge.
Renji shot her a glare. "I did study! You think I want to end up like Kazu, scribbling nonsense when he doesn't know the answer?"
Kazu gasped in offense, placing a hand over his chest. "Excuse you! I don't just scribble nonsense, I make educated guesses."
"More like ridiculous guesses," Kana interjected with a giggle. "Remember last time? You wrote 'because I felt like it' for a history question!"
"That was a valid answer!" Kazu protested. "The question was about why the first Hokage made a certain decision, and I figured, well, maybe he just felt like it."
The group burst into laughter. Even Tsubaki, usually the calmest of them, let out a soft chuckle.
"You're hopeless," Murakami said, shaking his head.
Tora, who was walking slightly ahead of them, smirked. "Well, at least Kazu has an excuse. I don't have to take the test at all."
"That's because you didn't join the academy," Daichi pointed out. "Not exactly something to brag about."
Tora shrugged. "Maybe, but at least I don't have to stress over memorizing a bunch of dates and techniques."
Murakami narrowed his eyes at him. "And yet, somehow, you always end up asking us what we learned in class."
Tora grinned, unbothered by the accusation. "Hey, information is free. Might as well take advantage."
The conversation continued as they weaved through the streets, passing vendors setting up their stalls and shinobi on early patrols. As much as they enjoyed teasing each other, there was no denying that the test was on everyone's minds.
"So," Aiko said after a brief pause, "how confident is everyone?"
"I'll pass," Murakami answered without hesitation.
"Tch. Of course you will," Renji muttered. "You're in third year now. I bet this is nothing to you."
"Don't assume," Murakami said. "It's different every year. The teachers always find ways to make things harder."
"That's not helping!" Kazu whined. "Now I'm even more nervous."
"Maybe you should've studied more," Kana teased.
"I did! I just... might have fallen asleep halfway through."
Aiko sighed dramatically. "We should have a rule: no complaining if you didn't put in the effort."
Renji smirked. "Then we'd never hear from Kazu again."
"Hey!" Kazu shot him a betrayed look.
As they turned a corner, the academy came into view, students of different years were gathering at the entrance, some chatting excitedly, others looking as if they were marching to their doom.
Murakami slowed his steps, taking in the sight. He wasn't worried about the test itself, he had prepared well enough, but there was an invisible air of tension that covered the entire area.
"Alright," Tsubaki said, adjusting her bag strap, "this is where we part ways."
The third-years and second-years had different testing locations. While Murakami had his own concerns, he glanced at his younger friends, noting the mix of determination and anxiety on their faces.
"Don't overthink it," he told them. "Go in, do your best, and don't let the pressure get to you."
Aiko gave a confident nod. "We got this."
Kana and Kazu exchanged a look before nodding as well.
"You better pass, Kazu," Daichi said with a smirk.
Kazu rolled his eyes. "I will, I will. Geez."
With that, the group split, each heading toward their respective testing halls.
…
Murakami's POV
I stepped through the academy gates, hands tucked into my sleeves like a wandering monk, though the only enlightenment I sought was how to survive today's test without falling asleep.
The morning air was crisp, the sky clear, and yet, nothing could lighten the heavy sigh that left my lips.
Test day. Again.
Students scurried around like headless chickens, some mumbling formulas under their breath, others desperately flipping through their notes like they could absorb information through sheer willpower.
I spotted one poor soul staring at his book with the dead eyes of a man who had seen the void and found it staring back.
Ah, yes. The beautiful chaos of academic suffering.
I strolled through the courtyard at my own pace, dodging the occasional panicked kids who almost barreled into me. Why rush? No amount of running was going to save them from the inevitable.
As I walked into the academy building, I marveled at how, even after a year, I still found this place unnecessarily big.
The halls stretched endlessly, students huddled in corners, whispering conspiracies about trick questions and impossible problems their sensei might throw at them.
Poor kids.
I reached my classroom and slid the door open, stepping inside just in time to witness someone whispering to their desk like it would grant them divine wisdom.
Another kid had his head down, probably accepting his fate. A girl in the back rapidly tapped her foot, a nervous tic that made me wonder if she was about to sprint out the window.
I took my seat near the window, resting my chin on my hand as I gazed outside.
My thoughts drifted to the academy requirement for promotion Matsuda-sensei had mentioned earlier in the term.
A perfect score meant skipping a year.
Not a reward. Not an honor. Just a cold, hard rule.
And it was the last thing I wanted.
Why? Because I wasn't an idiot.
Other than the obvious result being graduating earlier and being pulled into some war, I knew that If I moved up, I'd be surrounded by older kids who'd either expect me to be some genius or try to make my life miserable for daring to exist in their space.
I liked my current setup just fine, thank you. Besides, what was the rush? Wasn't childhood supposed to be long and painful?
Lost in thought, I barely noticed the door sliding open again.
Matsuda-sensei entered, his sharp gaze sweeping over the class like a hawk looking for prey.
"Take your seats and prepare," he said, his voice calm but carrying that underlying tone of "I will not tolerate nonsense."
I straightened up, stretching my arms with an exaggerated yawn.
The moment Matsuda-sensei uttered those words, a collective hush fell over the class.
The shuffling of papers, the whispered last-minute revision spells, and even the frantic scribbling of desperate students came to an abrupt halt.
Test time.
I exhaled slowly, stretching my arms behind my head before lowering them onto my desk.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a few students glancing at me—not with admiration, but with that peculiar mix of awe and wariness. I was used to it by now. Some probably expected me to breeze through this like I always did. Others just wanted to see if I'd finally trip up.
Matsuda-sensei began handing out the test papers. When the paper landed on my desk, I glanced at it, then tilted my head.
Question One: Explain the fundamental differences between Genjutsu and Ninjutsu, using examples.
Ah, an easy warm-up.
I twirled my pencil between my fingers before scribbling down the answer.
[Genjutsu messes with your mind, Ninjutsu messes with your body. One makes you think you're on fire, the other actually sets you on fire. Simple.]
…Okay, maybe not the most elegant phrasing. I sighed and rewrote it in proper academy language before moving on.
The next few questions were just as straightforward, chakra control theories, battle strategy breakdowns, even a section on historical events that I barely skimmed over last night.
I knew this stuff well enough, though the wording of some questions was clearly meant to trip us up. Classic Matsuda-sensei.
Halfway through, I spared a glance around the room. A few students looked like they were thriving, confident in their answers. Others, however…
A boy in the front row had his head in his hands, eyes hollow with despair. Another student tapped his pencil against the desk so fast I thought he was performing a drum solo.
Then there was my personal favorite, the kid who'd turned his test upside down, as if looking at it from a different angle would suddenly make the answers appear.
A soft chuckle almost escaped me, but I swallowed it down and refocused.
Question Ten: If a shinobi is ambushed by a superior enemy force, list three possible escape strategies and explain their effectiveness.
Hmm.
[Option one: Smoke bombs and run like hell.]
[Option two: Substitute with a log, then run like hell.]
[Option three: Cry loudly, distract them, then run like hell.]
…I should not be trusted with an open-ended question.
I erased the nonsense and wrote proper answers. Not that my original strategies weren't technically valid.
The test dragged on, but I never felt rushed. I worked through the questions at my own pace, occasionally stretching my arms or rolling my shoulders.
Other students, though, looked like they were physically battling their papers. One girl chewed on her eraser so intensely I was starting to worry for her dental health.
By the time I reached the final question, I could feel the tension in the air thickening.
Final Question: In your own words, explain what it means to be a shinobi.
Ah. That one again.
They always threw this question in somewhere, and it always made people pause. It wasn't something that had a single correct answer.
I tapped my pencil against my chin, considering.
Being a shinobi… was it about strength? Loyalty? Sacrifice?
I wrote down my thoughts, keeping them brief but honest.
[A shinobi is someone who walks the path of shadows, but never lets the darkness consume them.]
Deep? Maybe. But it was the best I had.
Just as I finished, Matsuda-sensei clapped his hands once.
"Time's up. Pens down."
A collective groan swept through the class as students slumped over their desks, either relieved or utterly defeated. I simply leaned back, exhaling.
Another exam down. Another step forward.
Now, all that was left was to see the results.