Ninja Academy Training Ground
The afternoon sun beat down on the academy's compact training ground. A dozen weathered wooden targets stood in a neat row. Instructor Oda stood before the assembled first-year class, a small crate of standard-issue practice senbon at his feet.
"Alright, settle down," he began, clapping his hands together. "We've covered the fundamentals of shurikenjutsu—stance, grip, release, and accounting for distance and wind. Today, we put theory into practice. This is our first real application test."
He scanned the young faces, some eager, some anxious. "Remember, this is just a baseline assessment. Don't be discouraged by a poor showing. Improvement is the goal. So, who would like to volunteer to go first?"
The academy curriculum was methodical and paced. The first month had been dedicated entirely to foundational work: chakra refinement, basic ninja knowledge, and physical conditioning. Practical application lessons were introduced only after some theoretical groundwork had been laid. Tool proficiency was a core, non-negotiable skill for any shinobi.
"Sensei, I will." Kakashi Hatake's hand was the first to rise, his voice flat but decisive. The boy who ranked second in written exams was clearly motivated, his competitive spirit a tangible force. Losing the top spot to Ren in academics had nettled him. He intended to reclaim dominance here.
Kakashi's performance was a masterclass in precision for his age. Ten senbon flew from his hand in a rapid, fluid sequence. Thwip-thwip-thwip…
The results were displayed on the target: six dead-center bullseyes, one kissing the outer ring of the center, and the remaining three solidly within the inner rings. Not a single miss.
For a five-year-old, it was an astonishing display.
Instructor Oda couldn't hide his surprise. He led the class in a round of applause. "Excellent! Truly excellent, Kakashi-kun! That's a level of control some of our upperclassmen struggle to achieve!"
Clap, clap, clap!
The students murmured in awe. Not only were his test scores top-tier, but his practical skills were formidable too. He truly lived up to his reputation as the class genius. All eyes then subtly shifted to Ren, the only one who had bested Kakashi on paper. How would he measure up?
"Mm." Kakashi's response was a non-committal hum, his expression—what little of it was visible—unchanged behind the mask. He did, however, cast a brief, assessing glance toward Ren, who was clapping with genuine appreciation, before melting back into the group.
'Kakashi is the real deal,' Ren thought, genuinely impressed. He wasn't infallible himself; he'd fumble a throw now and then during practice. This level of consistency was strong. He couldn't afford to get complacent.
From the crowd, Might Guy, resplendent in his green jumpsuit, thrust a thumbs-up toward Kakashi, his grin a blinding white slash. "Yosh! As expected of one of my chosen rivals, Kakashi! Your youthful prowess shines! But this flame of mine will not be extinguished!"
"Yeah, yeah…" Kakashi took a subtle half-step away, putting more distance between himself and the human vortex of enthusiasm. For reasons beyond his comprehension, this peculiar individual had fixated on him. The title of "rival" was… burdensome. 'One of my chosen rivals'? Guy's wording implied there were others. Ren, perhaps?
"Sensei! I'll go next! My blood is boiling with passion!" Might Guy volunteered, practically vibrating with energy. The combination of the jumpsuit and his fervent expression was… memorable.
Instructor Oda, now inured to the unique characters of Class 1-B, simply nodded. "Proceed."
The passion was undeniable, but the results were middling, as Guy's slightly deflated posture revealed. Fortunately, he was a disciple of the "Power of Youth" philosophy—a self-proclaimed genius of hard work. Hard work could overcome talent! Discouragement was useless! Optimism was key!
His outlook stood in stark contrast to Uchiha Obito's performance. Stricken by nerves, Obito sent seven of his ten senbon completely wide of the target. His score was worse than his practice sessions at home. He looked near tears, utterly crestfallen. He'd lost to Kakashi again, failed to impress Rin… he felt like a complete failure.
He wondered if the "drill until you drop" method Ren mentioned could improve practical skills. Probably not. Ren himself had claimed to be "not practically inclined" and to often miss. Obito clung to that shred of hope.
Kurenai Yūhi took her turn next. Her score was respectable: only one miss, with four landing in the bullseye. She was visibly pleased with herself. She had learned a valuable lesson: never compare herself to the monster that was Ren. She was the younger sister; it was natural for the older brother to be better. She was perfectly content with her solid B+ performance.
Ren didn't hold back his praise. He reached over and ruffled her hair—it was soft and satisfying to touch. "Well done. That's an improvement over your home practice."
Kurenai, now somewhat accustomed to the head-patting, preened. "Hehe, of course! So… does this mean we can reduce the practice problem quota today?"
Ren pretended to consider, then nodded sagely. "Balance is important. No extra drills tonight. Consider it a reward."
"Yes!" Kurenai cheered, grabbing his hand and giving it an excited shake.
"That… that despicable Ren!" A certain someone watching from the sidelines ground his teeth. He wished Kurenai would look at him like that. Unfortunately, she mostly treated him with polite indifference. 'At least I'm not her brother,' Asuma Sarutobi consoled himself grimly. 'That leaves the field open…'
Determined to make an impression, Asuma stepped forward. "Sensei, may I go next?"
As the Hokage's son, his turn naturally drew attention. His final score was commendable—second only to Kakashi, and slightly better than Kurenai's. Five bullseyes, no misses. A wave of impressed murmurs rippled through the class.
'Phew… almost botched that last one. Still… a standout performance. Even if I didn't beat Kakashi…' Asuma felt a surge of satisfaction. He then shot a glance toward Ren, a curl of contempt touching his lip. 'But I'm definitely better than him. Hah! What good are book smarts if you can't apply them? All talk, no action!'
He had, of course, "coincidentally" overheard Ren's earlier conversation with Obito. The conclusion was obvious.
"Next, Ren-kun!" Instructor Oda called.
All eyes locked onto the red-haired boy. Several top written-exam performers had already posted solid practical scores. What would the class's academic leader deliver?
Ren stepped up to the line. His movement was economical, devoid of flash. A flick of his wrist, a blur of motion.
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip-thwip-thwip…
Ten soft impacts sounded in rapid succession. When the students' eyes focused on the target, a collective, sharp intake of breath swept across the training ground.
Nine senbon were embedded in a perfect, tight circle around the very center of the bullseye. The tenth was a mere centimeter off, still well within the highest-scoring ring.
Instructor Oda's jaw went slack. Uchiha Obito's eyes bulged. Asuma Sarutobi's smug expression shattered, replaced by one of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
This was the person who claimed to be "not practically inclined"? Who "often missed"?
Both boys felt the distinct, sinking sensation of having been utterly, comprehensively deceived. They wore identical masks of profound psychic pain.
"Done." Though he'd "missed" a perfect ten, Ren was satisfied. Showing off a little, he discovered, was unexpectedly fun. He feigned nonchalance and walked calmly back to his spot.
As he passed, Uchiha Obito found his voice, hollow with betrayal. "You… you said you miss a lot."
Ren nodded earnestly. "I did. One missed the absolute center."
Uchiha Obito took a deep, shuddering breath, forcibly suppressing a violent urge. So Ren's definition of "hitting the target" was synonymous with "scoring a bullseye"? This wasn't just showing off; this was psychological warfare!
Ren's display sent the girls in the class into a fresh wave of fervor. Handsome, academically brilliant, and practically skilled? He was a checklist of ideal traits. A small cluster of them couldn't help but swarm around him, chattering with excited admiration.
"Ugh…" Kurenai found herself gently but firmly elbowed aside by the enthusiastic crowd. She felt a strange, prickling pressure. Why did Ren have to be so… comprehensively excellent? The burden of being his sister was immense. Worse, some of these girls looked like they were eyeing the position of sister-in-law. That was absolutely not allowed! She had to defend her territory! She wouldn't permit it!!
This adulation, however, stoked the fires of jealousy in several young male hearts. Eyes burned with envy, fists clenched at their sides.
Why was he so popular? Good grades and a pretty face? Hmph!
One boy in particular, Uchiha Ryota, seethed with a special intensity. He despised obvious show-offs. Unable to contain himself, he sneered loudly enough for those nearby to hear. "A shinobi's worth is measured in battle. Written tests and target practice are child's play. Real combat is the only true standard. And in that, the Uchiha clan stands supreme."
A few of the more disgruntled boys nearby nodded in silent, vehement agreement. Exactly. Scores meant nothing. Real fighting was what counted. They were definitely, absolutely, not jealous. Not at all.