Kurenai poked Ren's waist again, leaning in to whisper, "Ren, you seem to have a bit of a problem with him? Did he do something to offend you?"
In her experience, Ren rarely interacted with outsiders, but when he did, he was usually polite. This subtle hostility toward the Hokage's son was… unusual.
Ren captured her probing hand—why was his waist her favorite target?—and whispered back, "No problem at all. I'm just concerned for his health. Poor eyesight is a medical condition. Swapping seats is a bandage, not a cure. If he's sick, he needs a proper medic-nin."
Kurenai nodded thoughtfully, her youthful logic accepting this at face value. "You're right. He's the Hokage's son. If he's sick, why hasn't he gotten treatment?"
She had completely missed the subtext of Asuma's request; her emotional antennae for such things were still underdeveloped. "Who knows?" Ren shrugged, deflecting. "People's thoughts are often inexplicable." He gestured with his chin toward the front of the class. "Look at Kakashi Hatake, the genius Uncle Shinku mentioned. It's sweltering outside, yet he wears that mask all day. Isn't that strange?"
Kurenai followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. After a moment's consideration, she arrived at a profound conclusion. "Oh! Just like how you sometimes do things no one understands, other people do inexplicable things too! I get it now!"
Applying Ren's own eccentricities as a framework, she felt she had unlocked a universal truth. So, Ren wasn't uniquely bizarre; he was merely part of a broader spectrum of human oddity. From now on, she wouldn't question his mental state, but rather consider herself insufficiently worldly.
Ren: "…"
You understand nothing.
Since when did he do incomprehensible things? This was slander. Pure, unadulterated slander! He was the picture of normalcy.
Since it was only the first day, there was no pressure to socialize. Ren and Kurenai chatted idly at their desks until the bell rang again, summoning Instructor Oda back to the podium.
The teacher walked in, a hefty textbook under his arm. He cleared his throat. "I trust you've all received your course materials? Please turn to the first page. Today, we begin with Konoha's foundational philosophy: the 'Will of Fire.'"
"This is a creed, a spirit, pioneered by our First Hokage, Senju Hashirama-sama. It is the most precious treasure of our village…"
What followed was a lengthy, reverent lecture on selfless devotion, collective effort, and sacrifice for the greater good of the village. The other students listened with rapt, almost zealous attention. Ren, however, felt an overwhelming wave of drowsiness.
'It's all just empty promotion of altruism and sacrifice… They don't even offer tangible benefits first. Even the sketchiest multi-level marketing schemes in my old world understood the basic principle of 'show them the money.' This is just emotional leveraging with extra steps.'
He shook his head internally. If you tried this sales pitch back on Earth, even elementary schoolers would see through it. The propaganda was too blunt, too transparent.
They demanded contribution, sacrifice, and marching off to war without mentioning pensions, healthcare, family support, or honorariums—just the hollow, ringing phrase "For Konoha" to justify shedding blood and sweat?
Yet, paradoxically, while this approach would have failed miserably in his previous life, it held genuine power here. The societal context was different. The concept of critical, individualistic philosophy was largely absent. For Konoha shinobi, "For the sake of Konoha" was a sufficient reason, especially because the Hokage and the village system did, in fact, back up their rhetoric with action when it counted… usually.
Still, Ren found it absurd. They're starting this indoctrination on six-year-olds? Even if you 'catch them young,' this is the wrong hook.
The following weeks passed in a rhythm of quiet routine.
The ominous drums of the Third Great Shinobi War were still a distant rumble. Skirmishes between the great villages occurred, but the full-scale, nation-mobilizing conflict had not yet erupted. These were concerns far above a first-year academy student's pay grade.
Academy life settled into a steady pace, cycling through theory, physical conditioning, chakra insight exercises, and ninja history. The workload was, in some ways, more intense than the elementary school of his memories. Take shurikenjutsu, for instance—it required practical application of parabolic trajectory mathematics. Fortunately, Ren's innate talent, combined with the mental faculties of someone who had survived over a decade of formal education, made these challenges trivial.
His written exam scores were consistently first in the class. Kakashi Hatake held a firm second place, and Kurenai Yūhi a respectable third. Kakashi lived up to his legendary status as the boy who would graduate at five and become a chūnin at six; his intellect and focus clearly set him apart from the other children. But Ren was something else entirely. Aside from losing a few points on the "Will of Fire Reading Comprehension" section—where his answers lacked the required depth of unquestioning fervor—he aced every other written test, his scores a perfect wall of marks that left his peers in the dust.
Coupled with his appearance—the red-haired shōta was objectively more aesthetically pleasing to most than the aloof, perpetually masked Kakashi—Ren's popularity within the class soared, solidly eclipsing even the Hatake prodigy. There were subtle signs, a certain sharpening of the gaze during tests, that Kakashi had begun to view him as a true academic rival.
Nearly a month flowed by in this manner. The Academy curriculum remained foundational, with no advanced practical combat introduced yet. The students in Class 1-B grew familiar with one another. As if guided by some invisible hand of plot, the bonds of future comradeship—and rivalry—were being silently etched into the fabric of their daily interactions. The only wild card in this pre-ordained social tapestry was Ren, the transmigrator.
During a break period, Uchiha Obito, adjusting his goggles, sidled up to Ren's desk. He spoke in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "Hey, Ren. Got a sec? What's your secret? We take the same classes, listen to the same lectures. How are your grades so much better? You've even got that stuck-up Kakashi beat!"
The source of Obito's academic anxiety was twofold. First, Kakashi Hatake and Nohara Rin were desk mates, sitting directly in front of him. Watching the girl he admired share whispered conversations and ask for help from his rival was a special kind of agony. Second, Kakashi's grades were excellent, which only made the situation more gallating. Thus, he had come to seek wisdom from the top scorer.
"Oh, Obito." Ren's relationship with the future big boss was cordial but not close—standard classmates. Seeing the boy's earnest, frustrated expression, however, he didn't brush him off. Part of his high popularity was due to his generally approachable and helpful demeanor. He shrugged. "My method? You can't learn it."
Uchiha Obito's face fell into confusion. "Why not?"
Ren shook his head slowly, adopting an air of profound, almost tragic wisdom. "Because it's talent. Innate, inborn talent. It's not something you can acquire through study; it's decided at birth."
Obito scowled, not buying it. "Hmph! If you don't want to tell me, just say so. You're stingy!"
A faint smile played on Ren's lips. "But… that's not to say there's no way to improve your written scores."
Obito's eyes instantly lit up. "Really? What is it? Tell me!"
"Drills. Practice problems." Ren's voice dropped, becoming oracular. "Mastery through sheer volume. Why do you think Kurenai consistently ranks third?"
Without waiting for an answer, he delivered the conclusion with absolute certainty. "It's because she has done a mountain of practice problems. Only by accumulating effort drop by drop can one form a vast ocean of success!"
Nearby, Kurenai Yūhi, who had overheard the phrase "practice problems," gave an involuntary, full-body shudder. A look of pure, unadulterated horror flashed in her beautiful crimson eyes, as if recalling memories from a personal hell.