Ren trudged towards the Ninja Academy, his steps heavy with a profound sense of grievance. He was complaining—again—about the institution's profoundly inhumane policies.
It was Saturday. Saturday. And there were still classes.
Was this not a blatant abuse of student rights? Elementary schoolers… well, brats in training gear… clearly had no say in the matter.
If this world had anything resembling a child welfare agency, Ren would have marched straight there to report the Ninja Academy for systematic exploitation. Yet, all his internal protests were futile. Here he was, walking to school on a weekend morning, a schedule more relentless than that of a pre-graduation high school senior.
A dark, whimsical thought crossed his mind. If I ever become the Hokage… no, even better, the principal of this academy… I'll definitely… cancel Sunday holidays too. One day off a month should suffice.
The philosophy was simple yet timeless: those who have been drenched by the rain often derive a peculiar satisfaction from tearing up the umbrellas of others. It wasn't narrow-mindedness; it was just human nature.
Walking beside him, Kurenai Yuhi adjusted the strap of her small backpack, her lips pursed in a pout so pronounced one could practically hang an oil jar from it. Her voice was thick with a cocktail of frustration and envy.
"Ren," she sighed, the sound laden with a despair far too weighty for a six-year-old, "how is your brain just… like that? How can you watch something once and immediately understand it all?"
She was revisiting yesterday's frustration. That infuriating pervert, Ren, had watched her father demonstrate a basic taijutsu sequence a single time and had proceeded to replicate it with near-perfect form. She, on the other hand, had studied the movements multiple times and could still only recall them in disjointed fragments.
They both possessed brains, skulls housing grey matter, so why did the chasm between their capacities feel so vast?
Ren found the question tricky. He was, fundamentally, cheating. A cheater's advantage wasn't meant to be measured on a normal scale. He offered a half-shrug, his tone deliberately light. "Is there a possibility, just a small one, that you're simply a bit slow on the uptake?"
To his surprise, Kurenai didn't fire back with her usual indignation. Instead, she released another small, world-weary sigh.
"Sigh…"
It was a sound of resignation, carrying the subtle melancholy of one who has glimpsed the harsh hierarchies of life. Compared to Ren, she did feel sluggish.
"Kurenai, this attitude of yours is no good," Ren declared, suddenly feeling a spark of responsibility. Such dejection was unbecoming of a child their age. He conveniently overlooked the fact that he was the primary source of her discouragement.
Decisively, he launched into a pep talk, his voice taking on a motivational cadence. "No matter what difficulties you face, you must never be afraid! Smile and confront them head-on! The best way to eliminate fear is to face it boldly! Persistence is victory! Go, Oli— I mean, go, Kurenai!"
"..."
The ensuing silence was palpable. Ren's cheerful expression faltered. "If you don't respond, this gets very awkward, you know? I even did a cheer for you."
Kurenai looked at him, her dark eyes brimming with a concern that edged into diagnosis.
"Ren," she said slowly, with great seriousness, "should we find some time to visit a clinic? Maybe they can help with this… this habit of yours."
Ren shot her a sidelong glance, his own lips now puckered in mock offense. "What nonsense are you spouting? I'm perfectly healthy. Why would I need a doctor?"
"You absolutely do."
"I absolutely do not!"
Their bickering carried them swiftly to the gates of the Ninja Academy. They weren't late—a point of personal pride for Ren. However, the title of "King of Tardiness" was already being fiercely defended elsewhere.
Uchiha Obito, sprinting into the courtyard with his goggles askew, was breathlessly repeating his now-legendary excuse to a patiently frowning teacher: he'd been helping an old lady cross the road.
Again.
It's confirmed at this point, isn't it?
Ren mused inwardly, watching the scene. That 'old lady' is definitely a White Zetsu. Uchiha Madara's plans run disturbingly deep.
The morning's lesson was theory, focusing on the mathematical principles governing shuriken trajectory—calculating parabolic arcs, accounting for wind resistance and initial velocity.
The classroom was a study in contrasts.
Some students scratched their heads, their faces pale as they grappled with the formulas. Others, like a composed Hyuga or a meticulously note-taking Aburame, followed along with calm assurance. The line between struggling student and academic elite was being drawn in real-time.
The class eventually ended, the 'ding-a-ling' of the dismissal bell sounding like a hymn of liberation. Before the echo had faded, Uchiha Obito scrambled from his seat like a man possessed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach Ren's desk. His face was a canvas of relief and desperate hope.
With the practiced ease of a seasoned shopkeeper, Ren greeted him with a beaming, utterly trustworthy smile. "Welcome! Cash on delivery, please rest assured my products contain no hidden defects or moles."
"Here! Take it!" Obito practically yanked his small wallet open, pulling out a handful of crumpled coins and slapping them onto Ren's desk. His voice trembled with excitement. "Hurry, hurry! Let me see these 'practice problems' you talked about! The ones that'll grind my skills sharp!"
The transaction drew frequent, deeply strange sideways glances from Kurenai Yuhi. She looked at Obito as one might regard a brave, yet tragically misguided, warrior marching off to a known doom.
Ren was in no rush. His expression sobered into one of grave business. "Let's be perfectly clear. My policy is strict: no returns, no refunds. Exchanges are also out of the question. Once money and goods have changed hands, the deal is final. Do you agree to these terms?"
Obito blinked, the enthusiasm in his eyes wavering slightly for a moment. He leaned in and asked in a hushed tone, "But these problems… they'll really help my written exam scores?"
Ren nodded, his gaze unwavering and sincere. "Absolutely. I would never deceive a fellow classmate. That's bad for repeat business."
"Alright then! It's a deal!"
"Boss is generous!" Ren chirped, smoothly sweeping the coins into his pocket. From his backpack, he produced a carefully handwritten notebook, its pages dense with script, and handed it over. "A pleasure doing business. I look forward to our next collaboration!"
"If they're useful, there will definitely be a next time…" Obito muttered, already flipping open the notebook with curiosity.
What he saw inside struck him dumb.
The characters were familiar. The numbers were ordinary. But combined, they formed labyrinths of logic that left his mind reeling.
*'Given a southeast wind speed of 4.5 meters per second, a senbon weighing 12 grams, a target distance of 15 meters, and a shinobi throwing strength coefficient averaging 0.3… Calculate the required launch angle and initial force vector to achieve a direct hit on a 3-centimeter bullseye, accounting for a 0.5-second delayed reaction time from the thrower's visual confirmation…'*
He could sort of grasp the concept of that first one, though it was leagues more complex than anything Teacher Oda assigned. But as his eyes scanned down the page, the problems mutated. Strange, arcane symbols (∫, ∂, √) peppered the text like ninjutsu seals from a forbidden scroll. His head began to throb.
Uchiha Obito lifted a face full of profound suspicion toward Ren. "This is what you call 'practice problems'? What… what is all this? It kinda looks like Teacher Oda's lessons, but it's also… totally different? Are you sure this is useful?"
"Of course it looks similar. They're from the same core curriculum," Ren said airily, bringing his thumb and forefinger together, leaving a tiny gap. "These are just a wee bit more advanced. And they progress in difficulty."
He then pointed to the back of the notebook. "As for those symbols, they're all explained on the last page. Self-study is part of the grind. There are about a hundred questions in total—more content for your money, superior value."
"Oh, and I operate with integrity," Ren added, thumping his chest. "If you hit a wall, you get two complimentary after-sales consultation sessions! Believe me, if you can work through these—no, even if you just fully grasp the first twenty—the underlying principles will become clear, and your grades will improve!"
Internally, Ren reflected on the absurdity. In his past life, children this age were still mastering basic literacy. Here, they were parsing advanced parabolic equations. They hadn't even formally covered multi-digit arithmetic, yet they were expected to solve physics-adjacent word problems. The children of this world are truly pitiable.
Then he amended the thought. Well, it's not me who's pitiable, so it's fine.
Teacher Oda's questions were elementary, solvable at a glance. These, however, were refined. A personal creation.
Kurenai, who had been peeking at the notebook from beside Ren, chimed in with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Actually, once you know the approach, it's not that hard, Obito. I have high hopes for you!" Her sentiment was genuine in one aspect: she was glad not to suffer the unique agony of "grinding problems" alone. Misery loved company, especially academic misery.
"Then… then alright! I'll give it my all!" Obito declared, puffing out his chest. The vision of improving his scores, of impressing Rin Nohara with a stellar report card, overpowered his initial dread. He would grind! He would conquer!
And so, Uchiha Obito experienced, for the first time, the soul-crushing, mind-numbing pain of intensive problem drilling.
The early questions were manageable, slight variations on the teacher's themes. He struggled but made progress. Then, the incline steepened drastically.
The problems grew fangs and claws. He would stare at the page, his brain churning until it felt like smoke should be pouring from his ears, yet the solution remained elusive, dancing mockingly just beyond his grasp.
The familiar mask of pain settled back onto his features. A deep regret bloomed in his chest. Had he just paid good money to purchase his own torture?
But he had agreed to the terms—no refunds. He couldn't go back on his word, could he? Rin had been nearby; she'd heard him agree eagerly. To quit now would be to admit defeat. He had to grit his teeth and endure.
Finally, after an hour of frantic scribbling, erasing, and head-in-hands despair, his resolve shattered. He slammed the notebook shut, shoved his fingers into his spiky hair, and let out a guttural, tormented cry that echoed through the mostly empty classroom.
"AHHHH, WHAT KIND OF CRAPPY QUESTIONS ARE THESE!!"
The plea was raw, a perfect symphony of frustration, betrayal, and intellectual anguish. Ren simply smiled, a picture of innocent helpfulness, while Kurenai nodded in solemn, shared understanding. The grind, as they were learning, spared no one.