Ninja Academy, second-floor conference room.
The school was on break, leaving the entire floor desolate and silent.
Kitahara Kaede pushed open the door to find seven others already seated inside.
Unlike the Chunin Exams during peaceti—where hundreds of students crowded into a single classroom to scribble on test papers—this special warti assessnt was different. Anyone who had secured a recomndation letter from a frontline commander had already passed an initial round of screening.
Eight desks were scattered across the conference room, spaced far apart from one another.
Kitahara Kaede found the seat labeled with his na and sat down. A sealed exam paper and a pen rested on the desk. He didn't touch the paper imdiately, instead scanning the room.
At the head of the room sat two Chunin examiners and one Jonin proctor. He didn't recognize the Jonin, but he could feel the man's calculating gaze as it swept over the candidates.
At exactly nine o'clock, the main doors were pushed open.
Hiruzen Sarutobi walked in.
The Hokage himself was present.
Several candidates instinctively straightened their backs.
Clad in his Hokage robes, Hiruzen stood at the front, his gaze moving from left to right, observing each of the eight candidates. When his eyes reached Kitahara Kaede, he paused for a fraction of a second.
It was brief, but Kaede caught it.
"The special warti Chunin assessnt... begins."
Hiruzen's voice wasn't loud, but no one dared to make a sound.
"The written exam will last sixty minutes and covers three subjects. Flip your papers."
Kitahara Kaede tore open the seal.
The first subject: Tactical Analysis.
The question provided a complete battlefield situation map: surrounded on three sides, supply lines severed, and outmatched in manpower. The task was to determine the optimal retreat route and provide the reasoning behind the decision.
He studied the markers on the map—the flow of the rivers, the density of the contour lines, the extent of the forest cover...
Kaede put pen to paper, writing three concise points of reasoning: terrain advantage, enemy blind spots, and the timing window.
There were six questions in total; he finished them all in less than twenty minutes.
He flipped to the second subject: The Hidden Leaf Chronicles.
Kaede knew this was the most critical part of the exam.
The first major question: *What was the core objective of the First Hokage's decision to distribute the Tailed Beasts among the various nations?*
The standard answer would likely be sothing along the lines of "maintaining peace in the shinobi world and balancing the power between nations."
Kaede's pen hovered over the paper for two seconds.
Then, he wrote:
"Balance was the ans, not the objective."
"The First Hokage distributed the Tailed Beasts not because he couldn't defeat everyone himself, but because he knew that a peace maintained by the suppression of a single individual would collapse once that person died."
"Therefore, he chose to give every nation enough power to check and balance one another—replacing trust with fear, and ruling with equilibrium."
"It was not the ideal thod, but for the shinobi world of that era, it was the only viable one."
After writing the final line, Kaede paused. He read over his words in his mind.
To be honest, he didn't truly believe in the Will of Fire. His own belief was simple: survival.
But what was the essence of the Will of Fire?
Protection. Protecting the things that keep you alive, and protecting the things that make life feel aningful.
Could he do that?
During those twenty years in the simulator, he had indeed done it. He had protected people. Even if those people only existed within a fabricated script.
Pulling his thoughts back, Kaede continued writing.
The remaining questions were straightforward. He intentionally left a few mistakes on two detail-oriented questions, keeping his score within the range of "excellent but not absurd."
Sotis, understanding the Will of Fire too deeply wasn't a good thing.
The third subject was General Knowledge, which posed no difficulty.
Forty-five minutes in, all three subjects were complete. He set down his pen and crossed his hands on the desk, waiting for the papers to be collected.
***
To the side of the examiners' table, Hiruzen stood by the window. While he appeared to be looking outside, his peripheral vision remained fixed on the candidates.
He had noted the pace of everyone's work.
Kitahara Kaede was the second to stop writing. The first was a young man who had returned from the Stone Village battlefield, but that candidate had spent several minutes scrubbing out and correcting his answers. Kaede, however, hadn't touched his paper again once he finished.
After the papers were collected, Hiruzen entered the side hall.
The examiners were currently grading. When one of them reached the third question of the Tactical Analysis section, his pen paused. He looked up at Hiruzen.
Hiruzen reached out and took the paper.
The reasoning provided was incredibly concise. There were no filler words, no textbook templates; every answer cut straight to the heart of the matter.
He flipped to the second subject.
When he saw the answer regarding the First Hokage's distribution of the Tailed Beasts, his gaze froze.
*"Balance was the ans, not the objective."*
Hiruzen read the sentence twice.
If this answer had appeared in a Jonin's official report, he wouldn't have found it particularly remarkable. But the person who wrote this was fifteen years old.
Hiruzen closed the paper and sat in a chair for a mont.
For a fifteen-year-old to possess this level of understanding regarding war and politics... it ant that what this boy had experienced was far more than any peer should ever have to endure.
He placed the paper back on the table and stood up, exiting the side hall.
***
In the corridor, a figure leaned against the wall.
Danzo.
Hiruzen didn't stop, walking right past him.
Danzo spoke, "Is the written exam over?"
"You shouldn't be here."
"The selection of warti talent concerns the very foundation of the Hidden Leaf," Danzo replied in a asured tone. "I was simply passing by and decided to check in. Is that a problem?"
Hiruzen stopped and turned his head. "Passing by?"
He looked at Danzo. Danzo's expression remained unchanged.
"Go back once you've seen enough," Hiruzen said, turning back to continue walking.
"Hiruzen," Danzo's voice called out from behind him. "There are a few promising seeds in this batch of candidates..."
"We will discuss that after the war."
"You always say that." Danzo took a step forward, his tone remaining strictly professional. "I am rely planning ahead. I would like to review the files of a few individuals—"
"Impossible."
Hiruzen turned around and looked Danzo in the eye.
"The assessnt is not yet over. No one's files will be leaked prematurely. Those are the rules."
Danzo was the first to look away.
"Very well."
He turned and departed.
Hiruzen stood in place, glancing back at the door of the side hall. Then, he walked back and closed the door.
***
In the afternoon, the testing site moved to a closed training ground.
The practical assessnt: Wilderness Survival and Trap Deploynt.
The eight candidates were assigned to their own designated areas. They were given thirty minutes to utilize the existing terrain and basic materials to set up a complete early-warning and defense system.
Kitahara Kaede glanced at his material kit: steel wire, Explosive Tags, smoke bombs, and standard Kunai.
He spent five minutes observing the terrain, then got to work.
He strung the steel wire at ankle height, calculating the angles so that the resulting chain reaction would cover three directions.
He hid the Explosive Tags in the blind spots of the second layer of traps. Once the first warning layer was triggered, the target's instinctive evasion would lead them to land exactly within the second layer's kill zone.
Twenty-two minutes. Completed.
The examiner entered to inspect the area and triggered the first warning line within three steps.
A smoke bomb detonated.
The examiner instinctively lunged to the left—his right ankle caught on a steel wire, and a Kunai whistled past, barely thirty centiters above his head.
In a real fight, the target would already be dead.
The examiner's expression was grim as he stepped back out.
The design logic—predicting the direction of evasion, calculating reaction ti, and exploiting psychological blind spots—was not the work of a Genin.
On the grading sheet, the examiner wrote two words: "Excellent."
After a mont of hesitation, he added a note in parentheses: "(Far exceeding expectations)."
***
On the periter of the training ground, hidden in the shadows.
Danzo watched Kitahara Kaede's retreating figure.
He had just reviewed the performances of all eight candidates.
Seven of them were varying in skill, but all fell within a normal range. Only one was an anomaly.
It wasn't simply that his traps were well-placed—though they were indeed exceptional. It was his rhythm.
Five minutes of observation, seventeen minutes of execution, with no pauses, no trial- error, and no corrections in between. Every step seed as if it had been rehearsed in his mind beforehand.
Soone trained by Root could achieve this level of precision, but Root operatives were polished through relentless drilling; their movents bore the unmistakable marks of discipline. This youth's movents lacked those traces.
Danzo withdrew his gaze.
Earlier that morning, he had reviewed Kitahara Kaede's test papers. The speed of his tactical analysis, his answers in the chronicles, and the trap layout he had just witnessed—these three elents pointed to a single conclusion: the youth's true ability far exceeded what he was projecting.
But what truly intrigued Danzo wasn't the strength; it was the two deliberate mistakes Kaede had left in the second subject of the written exam.
Those questions weren't difficult. Given the quality of his other answers, such mistakes were impossible. He was controlling his score.
A fifteen-year-old civilian Genin intentionally suppressing his results in a Chunin exam. This proved he knew exactly what "being too excellent" would attract.
A faint smile touched the corner of Danzo's mouth. 'Interesting.'
...
The combat phase was scheduled for the following day. It was a one-on-one format with pairs decided by lottery.
Kitahara Kaede's opponent was a nineteen-year-old youth who had recently returned from a rotation on the Land of Lightning front.
As soon as the signal was given, the opponent charged forward. He was fast, opening with a sharp side kick.
Kaede stepped aside to evade, but he didn't retreat. Instead, he took a half-step forward. This single step placed him perfectly within the opponent's attack rhythm.
Before the opponent could launch a second strike, Kaede's elbow slamd into his ribs. The man's body instinctively buckled. In that split second, Kaede's knee drove straight into his abdon. As the opponent doubled over, Kaede's right hand gripped the back of his neck and slamd him downward.
The man was pinned to the ground.
From start to finish: four seconds.
The opponent lay on the ground, gasping for breath, and slapped the earth. "...I surrender."
The proctor announced the result. Kaede released his grip and stepped back, his breathing steady.
From the head examiner's seat, Hiruzen removed his pipe from his mouth.
Both were candidates for the Chunin exam, and both had seen the battlefield. Four seconds, and he had used nothing but taijutsu. That nineteen-year-old wasn't weak; the fact that he had a recomndation letter proved his competence. Yet, against Kitahara Kaede, he hadn't lasted a single exchange.
Hiruzen put the pipe back in his mouth. He needed to talk with this boy. As the Hokage, he wanted to speak this child face-to-face.
...
Elsewhere, Danzo had already walked away.
He didn't need to watch any longer. Subduing a peer in four seconds proved that the boy's combat capability was, at the very least, above the level of a Chunin. Combined with his deliberate score suppression during the written exam, the conclusion was clear.
This boy was hiding his true self.
He didn't know how much was being concealed, but it was done with great precision, avoiding any suspicion from the examiners. Had Danzo not been intentionally paying attention, he wouldn't have noticed.
Orphaned, clanless, with no benefactor. He had no ties to the Hidden Leaf.
Danzo walked through the shadows, his pace leisurely. There was no rush. Hiruzen would eventually seek a conversation with the boy; he would simply wait to see how it was handled.
If Hiruzen hesitated—that would be his opportunity.
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