Asuma Sarutobi's temper, already frayed by the sight of his tormentor, snapped entirely upon seeing Ren's placid, smiling face.
"You insufferable jerk!" he hissed, his youthful features contorted in a scowl. "If it weren't for you, none of us would be stuck grinding through these awful problems!"
His finger jabbed accusatorily toward Ren. "Just you wait for the practical class! I'm going to beat you so thoroughly, you'll forget how to smile!"
The resentment was palpable, a sentiment echoed in the grim nods of several classmates. It was true—the practice problems did improve comprehension. But the initial advantage for early buyers like Obito and Rin had vanished once the entire academy was issued the same cursed textbook.
Now, everyone was mired in the same academic quagmire, back on a level playing field of shared suffering. With the unique edge gone, only the shared misery remained, and Ren was the obvious architect.
Many were nursing a grudge, secretly hoping the sparring session would provide a righteous outlet for their collective frustration.
Ren merely spread his hands in a gesture of exaggerated innocence. "Can you really blame me? I never expected my humble collection of exercises would catch the Hokage's eye and be canonized into official curriculum. I'm as surprised as anyone—truly, a victim of circumstance."
Internally, however, he was far from displeased. The outcome had been unexpectedly profitable. The Third Hokage, in acquiring the full copyright, had been notably generous. The payment had swollen Ren's savings considerably, eclipsing even Shinku Yuhi's reserves. He was now, by any reasonable standard, a small fortune holder. The dream of opening a BBQ restaurant right next to Ichiraku Ramen felt tangibly closer. A most joyous occasion, indeed.
"…" Asuma took a deep, shuddering breath, physically restraining himself from launching an attack a few hours early. He ground his teeth. "Fine. Just you wait. I've been training in combat since before the academy. I won't lose to you this time!"
This wasn't an empty boast. As the Hokage's son, his preparatory education was comprehensive. He was confident in his practical skills, fully expecting to claim the top combat spot.
[Ding! As the future Spirit King who will wield sovereignty over the Three Realms, the Host should remain formidable in the face of provocation. The Host can face the Five Great Noble Clans without flinching; how much less should a member of a middling noble clan like the Sarutobi give you pause? Display your power fully in the upcoming practical exercise!]
[Mission Issued: Defeat the provocateur, Asuma Sarutobi!]
[Mission Reward: Shunpo!]
'Just as I thought…' Ren's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The system's pattern was becoming clear: it responded to conflict, to challenges to his standing. It required him—or rather, for it—to be aware of the confrontation. This was valuable intelligence. He could theoretically engineer situations to trigger more missions… though discretion was paramount.
Drawing too much attention from certain troublesome figures lurking in the village would be counterproductive. A careful balance of stirring the pot and maintaining a low profile was needed.
He let out a theatrical sigh, his expression morphing into one of feigned concern. "I've told you, I'm not much of a fighter. Practical application is my weakness; I have so little experience. Asuma-kun, I beg you, please go easy on me later. Don't embarrass me too badly…"
There was a kernel of truth there. He hadn't engaged in many formal spars. But aside from a prodigy like Kakashi, how formidable could these six-year-olds really be?
Ren felt quietly confident. He wouldn't even need to resort to the Chakra-enhanced Fist.
"…" A wave of silent exasperation rolled through the nearby students. There he goes again with the 'I'm not a practical person' routine! Does this guy ever tell the truth?
Though, this time, the claim held a bit more water. For most of them, real combat was still a foreign concept, something their parents cautioned them about.
Nearby, Kakashi Hatake, who had been observing the exchange from behind his ever-present book, glanced at Ren with a contemplative silver eye.
'Father says I already possess Genin-level combat proficiency. I wonder what Ren's actual capabilities are…' He had been bested by Ren in written exams and shurikenjutsu evaluations. Ren's fame, fueled by the "problem book" that even baffled jōnin, had grown pervasive. A competitive spark, faint but persistent, had been lit within Kakashi. He wanted to test himself against Ren. For a fleeting moment, he felt he could almost understand Might Guy's incessant drive for rivalry.
Might Guy, as if summoned by the thought, suddenly surged with excitement, turning to Kakashi with a blazing grin and a thumbs-up. "Kakashi! Let us have a passionate duel of youth in the practical class! I have not been idle these past days! My flames burn hotter than ever!"
Kakashi's visible eye curved into a weary half-moon.
"…"
He promptly retracted his earlier empathy. No, he did not understand Guy's feelings. They were fundamentally different creatures.
"Practical class isn't about picking your opponent," Kakashi droned, his voice flat. "It's done by random draw."
"Eh? Is that so?" Might Guy was stunned for a second, then erupted into booming laughter, his white teeth gleaming. "HAHAHA! Then I believe fate will bring us together! Youth would not allow otherwise!"
Kakashi offered a lifeless reply. "Yeah. Sure."
The class was delayed a few minutes, as per tradition, by the late arrival of Uchiha Obito (helping another spectral old lady, no doubt). Once assembled, Teacher Oda led them to one of the academy's designated training grounds.
Clearing his throat, Teacher Oda addressed the group of eager and anxious children. "Students, today is an opportunity to demonstrate the fruits of your basic taijutsu training. Practical combat is an inevitable experience for all shinobi. I expect you to approach it with seriousness and respect."
"Without further ado, we will begin the lottery. When your seat numbers are called, please step forward promptly."
The format was straightforward: an initial round of randomly drawn matches, with winners advancing to further lotteries until a champion emerged. Rankings were integral to the ninja academy—written tests, practical exams, combat exercises—everything was graded and compared. The path of a shinobi was inherently competitive and often cruel. Those who couldn't handle the pressure early on were gently steered toward… less demanding futures.
"Seats Twelve and Twenty, please step forward," Teacher Oda announced.
Two boys Ren didn't recognize well moved to the center of the marked ring. He paid cursory attention as, at Teacher Oda's signal, they performed the Hand Seal of Confrontation and then launched into a clumsy, earnest exchange of blows.
They were first-years. Their taijutsu repertoire, studied for barely over two weeks, was rudimentary. True ninjutsu was still a distant dream. Yet, their bodies, nourished by cultivated chakra, possessed a strength and resilience far beyond ordinary children Ren had known. The fight, while technically basic, was spirited and physical.
After about a minute of enthusiastic grappling and wild swings, a winner was decided—Seat Twelve. The two performed the Hand Seal of Reconciliation, and the process repeated.
After several more matches, Teacher Oda drew two new numbers. A flicker of interest crossed his face as he read them, and a small smile played on his lips. "Seats Thirty-Six and Forty-One. Please step forward, both of you."
Beside Ren, Kurenai Yuhi jabbed an excited elbow into his side, her earlier anxiety forgotten in the thrill of the moment.
"Ren! It's your turn!" she whispered, her eyes wide.