Three more days passed.
That afternoon, the dismissal bell had already rung, yet the campus was unusually crowded with more students than usual.
Low murmurs spread through the crowd, and their gazes, almost in unison, turned toward the classroom designated as a special examination room.
Today was the day Kakashi was taking his early graduation exam.
Living up to the title of genius, Kakashi—only five years old—passed every assessnt with flawless performance, officially graduating from the Ninja Academy and setting a new record as the youngest graduate since Konohagakure was founded.
After the exam ended, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, who had personally co to observe, placed the Konohagakure forehead protector—symbolizing the rank of genin—onto Kakashi's forehead with his own hands.
Many people gathered at the entrance of the examination room. Shinichi went as well.
The door opened.
Kakashi stepped out, a brand-new forehead protector on his head. There was not the slightest joy at passing the exam and breaking a record, nor any excitent at wearing the protector and becoming a ninja.
On the face mostly hidden by his mask, his eyes were hollow and lifeless, like a puppet.
He ignored all the classmates who gathered around, trying to talk to him or offer congratulations, as if they did not exist.
He rely lowered his head slightly, passed through the crowd as it instinctively parted, and walked away step by step in silence. His figure, stretched long by the light of the setting sun, appeared exceptionally lonely and heavy.
Shinichi watched the small, backlit figure gradually recede into the distance. There was no expression on his face, and he himself did not know what he was thinking.
After Kakashi left, the gathered students gradually dispersed as well. Shinichi turned around, rged into the flow of students heading ho, and set off on his own way back.
The sky over Konohagakure was still a deep blue, and village life seed calm and ordinary as ever. But Shinichi knew that this calm would not last long.
Four years.
At most, only four years.
Although the tiline of the original story in his mory was vague and chaotic, he could still make a rough estimate through certain fixed "nodes."
For example, most people in their cohort—Sarutobi Asuma, Yūhi Kurenai, Shizune, and even dead-last students like Uchiha Obito—all graduated at the age of nine.
As for himself, because he had enrolled a year later, he would be ten by then.
This ant that, at most four years from now, Konohagakure's graduation policy would inevitably change.
By that ti, so major upheaval would certainly have occurred. Even if the Third Great Ninja War had not yet fully broken out, the situation would have beco abruptly tense, giving the village leadership a strong sense of crisis and leading them to approve the early graduation of a batch of students to supplent manpower.
That is to say, the relatively stable years of school life he could have were, at most, only four years left.
Four years from now, whether or not he stepped directly onto the most brutal battlefield, he would inevitably begin a true ninja life woven of blood and fire.
A sense of urgency, like a soundless second hand, began to knock clearly in the depths of his heart.
Walking in the afterglow of the setting sun, Shinichi's mind raced, constantly plotting the road ahead.
Building a persona, generating and upgrading Entries, was still the most core and most fundantal path to increasing strength—this had never wavered.
The efficiency of Entry generation and upgrades fundantally depended on the breadth, depth, and authority of external perception. Between studying at the Ninja Academy and having just graduated to beco a genin, there was actually little difference in efficiency—one could even say it was worse.
The real watershed lay in becoming a ninja with a na.
Only when he could possess a distinct title that resounded across the shinobi world—like Konoha's White Fang, the Sannin, or the Yellow Flash—would it an that his existence was known, discussed, feared, or admired by countless shinobi and forces across the entire shinobi world.
That would be a qualitative change in the scope of perception. Only then could the speed of Entry generation and upgrades possibly see a truly explosive surge.
So, within these four years, Shinichi needed to grind out more of his Entries, and raise them higher.
It was not only to ensure that when he beca a ninja, his strength would already stand at a very high starting point—so he would not die young in the early stage—but also to shorten the ti it would take him to beco a ninja with a na.
At the sa ti, aside from Entries, how to effectively use existing resources to make contact with—and obtain—more advanced inheritances and guidance was also put on the agenda.
His gaze fell on two special desk mates— I Ryū and Shizune.
These past few months, relying on his gentle temperant toward others, his consistently top-tier grades, and the invisible help of the [Affinity] Entry, his relationship with these two desk mates had gotten along quite well.
His interactions with Ryū were the most direct and straightforward. This dark-skinned, sturdy, cheerful boy had a simple mind and admired effort and perseverance. Shinichi's solid performance in taijutsu and his hardworking posture suited his taste.
The two often sparred, exchanging insights on taijutsu. Their relationship had long since gone beyond that of ordinary classmates, carrying a bit of the feeling of kindred companions who appreciated each other.
Through Ryū, making contact with that taijutsu expert teacher Old Master Chen—praised as the "Konoha Dragon God"—seed to be a feasible path.
As for his relationship with Shizune, it was a slow, steady familiarity and tacit understanding. Shizune's personality was sowhat lazy and introverted, but her observation was keen and her heart kind.
As her desk mate, Shinichi's diligence, steadiness, and the reliability he occasionally revealed gradually won her trust and a faint, understated goodwill.
Now he could already occasionally hear her ntion that "unreliable Tsunade-sama."
Relationships were bridges—but how to cross them, how to gain trust and then obtain guidance or inheritance, required more delicate design and precise timing.
Four years was neither short nor long. He had to formulate a more ticulous and more efficient plan, bringing the accumulation of Entries, leaps in strength, and the building of key connections all into it, advancing them in parallel without conflict.
Shinichi slowed his pace and withdrew his gaze from the gloomy sky.
Lead-gray clouds hung low, and the air was filled with the earthy, oppressive scent unique to the monts before rain.
'It's going to rain,' he thought, and quickened his steps toward ho.
However, just as he turned a street corner, his heart gave a slight, unprovoked twitch.
Like a vague pull—an indescribable sense of perception—sothing made him stop involuntarily, his gaze shifting toward the western side of the village, in the direction of the quiet cetery.
After a mont's thought, he turned his steps and changed direction, heading toward the graveyard, now increasingly shrouded beneath the darkening sky.
At the sa ti, the Konoha Cetery.
The leaden clouds pressed down almost to the treetops, and the wind began to wail, sweeping fallen leaves and dust across the ground.
Before a relatively new gravestone, a small figure had already been standing there for who knew how long.
Kakashi.
He stood there in silence, unmoving. The pre-rain wind stirred the hair at his forehead and his brand-new ninja forehead protector, but he seed utterly unaware of it.
Above the mask, those eyes stared emptily ahead, without any strong emotion—only a near-dead stillness, as if all feelings had been buried together with the person beneath the gravestone.
He was completely imrsed in his own world—or rather, imrsed in a soundless void.
Boom!
A ghastly white bolt of lightning tore across the sky, and the thunder that followed shook the ground as if it, too, were trembling.
The long-gathering downpour finally ca crashing down in an instant!
Bean-sized raindrops hamred down, instantly shrouding the world in a pale curtain of rain and deafening noise.
Gale-force winds lashed the rain into sheets, whipping gravestones, trees, and everything upon the land.
Kakashi still stood where he was, seemingly intending to let the icy rain soak him through, as if the numbness of the body could confirm—or drive away—sothing within.
But the expected sensation of rain striking his body did not co.
A relatively quiet shadow enveloped him. A dark-colored umbrella had opened above his head at so unknown mont, blocking out the howling wind and rain from the outside world.
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