(POV – YUJI)
"Hey, loser, where are you going?"
"I… I was just going home," I murmured, barely meeting their eyes.
"Who said you could leave?"
"I just wanted to go home…"
"Aww, does the crybaby wanna run to mommy?"
Laughter—cold and cruel—echoed louder than it should've. It filled the air, thick and suffocating.
I lowered my head, trying to shrink myself into nothing. Tears blurred my vision, warm trails running down my cheeks.
Then—thud.
Something slammed into the back of my head. The world tilted. My knees buckled. The ground rushed up to meet me.
My head rang. Everything spun.
"Ha ha! Look at him—he can't even stand straight!"
More laughter. It wrapped around me like razor wire, each note slicing deeper, dragging me further into the dark.
I wanted to scream, to run, to fight back—but I couldn't. I was frozen. Helpless.
Then—
Silence.
My eyes snapped open. The ceiling above me was familiar. Dim, bathed in the soft gray of early morning. My chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.
Just a dream. A nightmare.
I sat up and wiped the sweat from my face. My heart still pounded like I'd just escaped a battlefield.
After calming myself, I went out to perform my daily exercises. The movements, the repetition—they grounded me.
Once I was done, I took a bath and started preparing breakfast for the two of us. Since moving here, my cooking had actually improved. Funny how that worked.
I placed the food on the table and sat down to eat.
"Good morning," came a voice from behind me.
"Good morning, Uncle," I replied, not even turning around. I don't know why he always liked to sneak up on me—maybe it was a test.
He sat across from me. "It's your first day at the Academy. How are you feeling?"
I hesitated, staring down at my bowl. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I feel… nervous. Excited. Afraid. All of it at once. I'm looking forward to it, but… I also don't want to go."
He nodded. "That's normal. Don't worry. You'll do fine at the Academy."
We finished our breakfast in quiet.
As I stepped outside, the morning wind brushed against my skin like a silent greeting. It felt… familiar. Comforting, in a way. I still talked to myself sometimes. That part of me hadn't gone away. Maybe it never would.
With a breath, I leapt onto the rooftop of the house next door, then used it to launch myself to the next. Unlike the anime, the village wasn't small. It was massive. For a civilian, it might take weeks to cross from one end to the other. But for a shinobi like me, it was a ten-minute sprint.
The rooftops across the village were reinforced with a special material provided by the village—without it, houses would've collapsed under the daily impact of thousands of shinobi leaping across them.
The Academy sat in the western district, covering over 10,000 square kilometers. Yeah—it was huge. Thousands of children walked its halls every day, all training to become killers.
Not everyone came from our village, either. Some traveled from distant parts of the Land of Fire. There were smaller academies throughout the country, but this one—this was the Academy.
I landed softly in front of the main gates.
Laughter, chatter, and goodbyes echoed around me—children bubbling with excitement, parents seeing them off.
I ignored it all and stepped inside.
"New students, proceed to Senju Hall!" an instructor called out.
After glancing at the Academy map, I began weaving my way through the crowds. Along the way, I saw students practicing—throwing shuriken, sparring in pairs, arguing over who was stronger.
Eventually, I reached Senju Hall.
Inside, it was chaos. At least 300 children, all talking over each other. Some nervous. Some already acting like they owned the place.
To even get into the Academy, you had to submit your paperwork six months before enrollment opened. Registration only lasted seven days. So, each day, 300 new students joined. In total, over 2,000 new shinobi were trained every year.
"Everyone, silence! Line up, now!" another instructor barked.
Students scrambled, pushing, bumping into one another. Eventually, the room quieted. The lines formed.
Then the instructor stepped forward—tall, broad-shouldered, his flak jacket clean and pressed. A veteran. His voice carried through the massive hall like a blade cutting air.
⸻
"Listen well.
Today, you take your first step on a path few can walk. You've come here to become shinobi—not just warriors, but weapons of the Hidden Leaf. Your training will push you past your limits. Your spirit will be tested. Some of you will thrive. Others will break.
But know this: you were chosen to be here because someone saw potential in you.
This Academy is not a school. It's a forge.
And we are the fire that will shape you.
From this day forward, you are no longer just children. You are future shinobi of Konoha.
Make your village proud."
⸻
The hall went quiet. Every heartbeat, every breath—it all seemed to still for a moment.
And just like that, our lives as shinobi had begun.
——-
After the speech ended, the instructors began calling us forward one by one.
Each of us received a small metal badge with a number etched into it. Mine read Aqr117—cold to the touch, slightly heavier than I expected. We pinned them to our shirts or jackets, depending on what we were wearing.
They didn't explain the purpose, but I understood quickly enough.
It was for identification. So they didn't have to remember names—just numbers. Easier for them to keep track of who was excelling… and who wasn't.
What followed was a long and grueling initiation.
First, a written test. One hour.
We were led into a large hall where rows of desks had already been set up. Sheets of paper, ink pens, and strict silence. An instructor walked up and down the aisles, their eyes sharp as hawks.
The questions weren't easy—not just arithmetic or village history, but things like:
• "How would you assess the threat level of an unknown enemy?"
• "If a teammate is injured during a mission, how do you decide between saving them or completing the objective?"
• "List three signs that you're being tracked by another shinobi."
It wasn't just knowledge. They were testing how we thought, how we reacted under pressure. Logic, ethics, observation.
I kept my head down and focused. Some kids fidgeted or chewed their nails. Others finished early and sat back like they had all the answers. I wasn't sure how I did—but I didn't blank out. That was enough.
Then came the physical test. Three hours.
They took us to the Academy training grounds—massive open areas, obstacle courses, sprinting tracks, training dummies, and forested sections surrounded by wooden walls.
The tests were brutal, meant to push us hard and fast. We were split into groups by badge number and rotated through events:
• Endurance sprint: 200 kilometers at full speed.
• Target accuracy: Throwing kunai and shuriken at moving targets.
• Hand-to-hand sparring: Matched randomly. No chakra enhancements allowed.
• Reflex test: Dodging blunt projectiles launched from hidden mechanisms.
I gave solid performances across the board—even held back a little in some. No need to draw attention. But even with that, there were a few students who caught my eye.
One was boy and other was girl both were uchiha.Both had that sharp-eyed calmness—confident but not cocky. Their movements were clean, practiced. They didn't say much, but their presence was loud enough.
And then there were two girls—probably civilians by the looks of their gear. But they were good. One was lean and wiry, fast as a whip. The other had solid technique in the sparring match, didn't flinch once even when a blow grazed her cheek. Impressive.
Most of the others lagged behind. Some collapsed halfway through the endurance run. Others couldn't even stick to the wall for more than a few seconds. There were tears, bruises, and a lot of scraped pride by the time we were done.
I could see the instructors walking around, jotting things down on their boards. Watching us like predators. The badges made it easier for them to keep track of performance without asking names.
I wondered what they thought of me. Or if I even stood out.
When the tests ended, the sun was dipping low in the sky. Our clothes were soaked in sweat. Muscles sore. Some kids lay in the grass, too tired to stand.
Finally, one of the instructors called out:
"Testing is complete. You'll be assigned classes soon. Go home, rest up. Be ready for what's coming."
That was it.
We weren't told how we did. No rankings. No praise. Just dismissed like soldiers after drill.
I left without a word, retracing my steps across the rooftops. The village looked different in the evening light—long shadows, golden clouds, the sounds of life drifting up from the streets below.
The badge still sat in my pocket, a small reminder of the day.
Aqr117.
Not a name. Just a number.
But I was used to being a number. A shadow. An afterthought.
Still, something inside me burned a little brighter tonight. A spark.
I wasn't the best. Not yet.
But I belonged here.
And tomorrow, I'd prove it.