The Ninja Academy's academic calendar, Ren had learned, was divided into three distinct semesters. The rhythm followed a predictable, almost civilized pattern: early April to late June, early August to late October, early December to late February.
Three months of intensive instruction, followed by one month of respite.
In this regard, the system showed a glimmer of humanity, a tacit acknowledgment that its students were, in fact, children and not merely tiny chakra-processing machines.
Two months had now passed since Ren formally enrolled as a student. The period was neither notably long nor particularly short, but it had been ample time for a foundation to be laid.
He had not squandered a single day.
Leveraging what everyone perceived as his monstrous innate talent, Ren had secured top marks in every theoretical and practical evaluation. His reputation as a first-year prodigy was no longer confined to whispers within his own classroom; it had permeated the entire academy. Even senior students, usually preoccupied with their own graduation pressures, knew of the new kid who aced everything with unsettling ease.
Of course, his academic supremacy wasn't the only reason for his notoriety. There was another, more recent, and far more widespread cause for his name to be on everyone's lips… but that is a story for later.
Early Morning. Yūhi Family Compound.
The crisp dawn air carried the sound of controlled exertion. In the backyard, Ren and Kurenai moved in synchronized, yet distinct, patterns—practicing the foundational taijutsu sequences that were the bedrock of Konoha's physical combat style.
After a month of dedicated drilling under Shinku Yuhi's watchful eye, Ren had not just learned the forms; he had internalized them. His movements were no longer mere imitation but expressions of understood principle.
Each punch snapped out with crisp authority, each block was positioned with economical precision, and his footwork flowed between stances seamlessly. In terms of pure, textbook-perfect execution, his basic taijutsu might now rival that of his Jonin foster father.
Kurenai Yuhi, practicing beside him, was no slouch. Her movements, while lacking Ren's unnaturally polished fluidity, were precise, effective, and executed with a growing confidence. She was a talented student in her own right, a fact often overshadowed by the comet blazing next to her.
"Haaah…" With a final, practiced form, Kurenai let her posture dissolve, plopping down unceremoniously on the dew-kissed grass. She wiped her brow with the back of her small hand, exhaling a sigh that seemed too weary for her years. "I'm wiped out!"
She turned her head, watching Ren continue his repetitions without a hint of slowing. A familiar pout formed on her lips. "Ren, aren't you going to stop? We're going to be late again."
The past month had been an exercise in humbling persistence for Kurenai. She had initially tried to match Ren's training intensity, a decision she now regarded with profound regret. Not only was his natural aptitude superior, but his capacity for sustained, focused effort was frankly inhuman.
How does such a person exist? she often wondered. The competition, she had decided, was over. She surrendered unconditionally.
After all, Ren was her older brother now. Wasn't it natural for an older brother to be stronger? As long as the gap didn't become a chasm, she could live with it.
"Just finishing this set," Ren replied, his breathing remarkably even despite the exertion. "You go shower first. You're getting a bit… pungent."
Kurenai's nose wrinkled. She lifted an arm and gave a tentative sniff, then scowled. "I do not! I smell… like hard work!"
Despite her protest, she didn't press the argument. Scrambling to her feet, she trotted off toward the house, muttering about unreasonable siblings.
Ren, alone now, completed the final movements of the Konoha Standard Taijutsu Sequence. He drew his fists back to his sides, settling into a firm ready stance, and slowly exhaled a long, controlled stream of air. Picking up a towel, he dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and neck, a profound sense of satisfaction washing over him.
"Now that is refreshing," he murmured to himself. The euphoric fatigue after a proper workout was a feeling he'd come to genuinely relish.
His unique physiology was the cornerstone of this relentless drive. His recovery rate was exceptional; no matter how grueling the day's training, a full night's sleep erased all traces of muscular fatigue, leaving him ready to push again. It was the perfect engine for his efforts.
And effort had indeed yielded spectacular returns. The Chakra-enhanced Fist technique was no longer a theoretical puzzle. As he had hypothesized, its mastery hinged on a trifecta: a body strong enough to handle the recoil, impeccable taijutsu form to channel the force, and the precise, explosive application of chakra at the exact microsecond of impact.
He could now perform it. The caveat was its prohibitive cost. His young, still-developing frame could only bear the strain a few times before risking damage. It was a limitation only time and growth could mend.
"Today's the practical combat class," he mused, rolling his shoulders. "Should wrap up that side mission. Still… that Kidō business involving elemental nature transformation is itching at me. Need to look into it."
With his morning training complete, he headed inside for a quick, revitalizing shower.
The Breakfast Table.
Over a simple meal of rice, miso soup, and grilled fish, Shinku Yuhi regarded Ren with a solemn expression.
"The academy schedule today lists a practical sparring session for first-years," he began, his tone that of a commander briefing a potentially volatile asset. "Ren, when you engage with your classmates… please exercise restraint. Try not to… injure anyone."
In his decades as a shinobi, Shinku had never witnessed a growth curve so vertical. In two short months, Ren had gone from a boy with no measurable chakra to a nascent powerhouse who had, through self-directed experimentation, replicated a signature technique of the Legendary Sannin. He'd essentially saved himself a fortune in tutelage under Tsunade herself. (Not that money seemed to be an issue for the boy lately, given his various… ventures.)
In Shinku's professional estimation, a fresh Genin might very well fold under one of Ren's full-power blows. Just what have we taken in? he sometimes wondered, before remembering the potent Uzumaki lineage. Ah, right. That.
Ren, focused on his breakfast, nodded without looking up. "I know my own strength. Don't worry, I won't give any angry parents a reason to show up at our gate complaining I bullied their precious child."
"That… is not precisely the nuance I was aiming for," Shinku said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He sighed, letting it go. "Just… be mindful."
When he wasn't actively causing low-grade academic revolutions, Ren was surprisingly reliable.
Seated across from Ren, Kurenai eyed him with wary caution.
"Ren, Ren," she started, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If my name gets drawn to spar with you… you have to go easy, okay? I don't want to cry in front of everyone!"
Ren waved a dismissive hand. "Relax. The odds of drawing you specifically out of dozens of students are tiny. Don't borrow trouble."
"But what if I am?" Kurenai insisted, her expression turning pleading. "You can't make me cry! I'm your cute, adorable little sister!"
Ren offered a perfunctory, brotherly smile. "Yes, yes. You're the cutest. My one and only sister."
"Hmph!" Kurenai pouted, letting out a tiny, dissatisfied sound. She resolved then and there that if fate were indeed that cruel, she would follow the precedent set by their earlier bet: she would surrender immediately and decisively. She would not give him the opportunity to make her cry!
The Ninja Academy.
Arriving just as the morning bell tolled, Ren and Kurenai stepped into their classroom. The moment they crossed the threshold, a synchronized swish of dozens of heads turned in their direction.
The weight of their collective gaze was palpable. It was not the look reserved for a top student, but a storm of more visceral emotions: resentment, simmering indignation, profound displeasure, and the hollow gaze of shared trauma.
Ren was utterly impervious to this silent barrage by now. Kurenai, however, still struggled with the spotlight, managing only a tight, uncomfortable smile in response.
"Yo!" Ren called out cheerfully, waving as if greeting dear friends. His tone was infuriatingly amiable. "Everyone hitting the grindstone already? That's the spirit! Keep pushing, I believe in you!"
The reason for this unified front of silent suffering could be traced back to a written examination a fortnight prior.
Uchiha Obito, the perennial anchor of the class rankings, was no longer last. Rin Nohara's solidly mid-tier scores had noticeably jumped. The catalyst? Ren's practice problems.
It was a living, breathing advertisement. Soon, a wave of curiosity (and desperation) swept through the class. Dozens of students purchased their own copies of the infamous notebook, hoping for a similar magical grade inflation.
Then… they understood. They wore the same mask of pained revelation Obito had pioneered. The early problems were challenging but manageable. The later ones, however, were sadistic labyrinths of logic. The true sting? Their parents, many of them seasoned chūnin or even jōnin, stared at the pages in baffled silence, unable to provide answers.
Ren held the keys, but his two "complimentary after-sales sessions" were swiftly exhausted. When students returned for more help, he had smiled his benevolent merchant's smile and introduced a consultation fee. They felt trapped, ensnared in a web of their own academic ambition.
Asuma Sarutobi, pride stung, refused to be outsmarted. He took the unsolvable problems to his private tutor, a scholarly chūnin. The tutor left with a headache and a defeated expression. In a move of escalating desperation, Asuma finally brought the notebook to the most knowledgeable man he knew: his father, the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Professor who was said to have mastered a thousand jutsu.
The result, which spread through the academy like wildfire, was catastrophic to student morale: Even the Hokage couldn't solve them.
Asuma was reportedly dumbstruck. The legend of the "unsolvable problems" magnified tenfold. Driven by a mix of defiance and morbid curiosity, students from higher grades began seeking out Ren, purchasing notebooks to test their mettle.
They, too, joined the ranks of the haunted.
The situation grew so pervasive that the Academy's administration was forced to intervene. After deliberations, they approached Ren and negotiated for the full copyright to his problem sets and their solution methodologies. The academy would now print and distribute them as official supplementary textbooks. Ren, of course, received a very handsome, one-time licensing fee.
Thus, the torment was institutionalized. From first-year fledglings to sixth-year graduates, every student in the Konoha Ninja Academy was now subjected to the exquisite agony of "grinding problems."
And the architect of this universal academic purgatory stood before them, smiling brightly, asking if they were working hard.
No wonder they looked at him with eyes that wished to tear him apart. He wasn't just a genius; he was a genius who had somehow managed to homework the entire village.