After the match concluded, the remaining sparring sessions felt hollow by comparison. The air in the academy yard remained noisy, thick with the excited chatter of students who had just witnessed a spectacle, but the raw intensity of the morning had drained away. Most students were replaying Evan Kamiyo's match in their heads, trying—and failing—to understand how the outcome had been decided so cleanly.
Iruka announced the end of the session shortly after Shikamaru's bout, his voice lacking its usual pedagogical spark. He looked tired, as if the weight of witnessing such a gap in talent had physically exhausted him. Evan returned to his team formation quietly, his expression as unreadable as a blank scroll.
On the walk back toward the academy building, whispers followed him like physical shadows. Some students spoke in hushed tones of awe, their eyes wide; others spoke in disbelief, trying to rationalize what they had seen as a fluke. A few avoided looking at him entirely, sensing a predator in their midst that they were not equipped to understand.
It was unavoidable. Evan had crossed a line that morning—not a line of arrogance or rule-breaking, but a line of visibility. In a village of shadows, to shine too brightly was to invite the gaze of those who managed the light.
The Third Hokage's Gaze
From a distance, hidden within the reinforced walls of the administrative tower, the Third Hokage observed the training ground through the shifting surface of a crystal projection. His pipe burned low, a cherry-red ember in the dim room, as he exhaled a long, contemplative cloud of smoke.
"So the academy is no longer hiding him," Hiruzen Sarutobi murmured to the empty air. "Or perhaps… it simply lacks the capacity to contain him any longer."
Beside him, two of his high-ranking advisors exchanged uneasy glances. They were men of numbers and logistics, and Evan Kamiyo was a variable that refused to fit into their standard equations for "Genius."
"This battle has made something clear," Hiruzen continued, his voice heavy with the responsibility of leadership. "The ninja school is becoming insufficient for certain individuals. When the water in the pot begins to boil, the lid must be lifted, or the pot will shatter."
His gaze sharpened on the image of Evan walking away from the training ground. "Especially for Kamiyo. He is no longer a student; he is a practitioner."
The Balance of the Village
Later that evening, after the orange glow of the sunset had faded into a deep, bruised purple, Hiruzen stood alone in his office. He looked out over the rooftops of Konoha, where the first lights of the evening were flickering to life.
"The village runs on balance," he said aloud. He spoke to the portraits of his predecessors, the men who had built and maintained this fragile peace. "Too much brilliance draws unwanted attention from our enemies. Too much suppression breeds resentment and defection from within."
A cold ripple in the air signaled a presence. Danzo Shimura's shadow loomed at the edge of the room, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floorboards.
"You worry too much about feelings, Hiruzen," Danzo replied. his voice was like dry parchment. "Talent is a resource. It must be controlled, refined, and directed. If it cannot be molded into a tool for the village… then it is a liability that must be redirected."
Hiruzen did not turn around. He knew the look in Danzo's eye without seeing it—the cold calculation of Root. "Kamiyo is not dangerous, Danzo. Not yet. He lacks the malice that usually accompanies such power."
Danzo smiled faintly, a gesture that did not reach his cold, singular eye. "Neither was Shisui Uchiha dangerous, Hiruzen—until he was. Until his eyes became a prize that others would kill for. Do not let sentimentality blind you again."
A Test Disguised as Guidance
The following morning, the routine of the Academy was broken. Evan was summoned unexpectedly to the Hokage's office before the first bell had even rung. He arrived to find a man standing beside Hiruzen—a man who radiated the sharp, metallic scent of a battlefield.
This was Hatake Kashin. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar cutting across his face that spoke of a mission gone wrong. His eyes were dark and missed nothing, scanning Evan as if he were looking for hidden weapons.
"Kashin will be overseeing a temporary evaluation of your skills today," Hiruzen said, his voice kind but firm. "Think of it as… specialized guidance. An extension of your Academy training."
Kashin folded his arms across his chest, his flak jacket creaking. "I'll be blunt, kid. I don't like politics. Your growth isn't normal. It doesn't follow the curve of a six-year-old. The village needs to understand exactly how abnormal you are before we decide where you fit."
Evan met the Jonin's gaze calmly. He didn't flinch, nor did he show the typical bravado of a child trying to act tough. "Understood," he replied.
"No tricks," Kashin continued, his voice dropping an octave. "No sparring theatrics. I want to see the bedrock. Fundamentals. Control. Judgment under pressure."
Hiruzen nodded, his eyes softening slightly. "This is not a punishment, Evan. It is protection. To protect a gem, one must first know its hardness."
The Jonin's Measure
They moved to a secluded training ground, far from the prying eyes of the Academy students. This was a place of high grass and weathered stone posts, designed for the high-impact training of elite ninja.
Kashin threw the first strike without a word of warning. It was fast—far faster than anything Sasuke had produced—and perfectly direct. It was a professional's blow, designed to test a target's reaction time.
Evan didn't panic. He deflected the strike with the heel of his hand, stepped aside with a millimeter of clearance, and redirected Kashin's momentum into the empty air. There was no wasted movement. No counterattack. No ego.
Kashin stopped mid-motion, his eyebrows lifting. He looked at his own hand, then at Evan, who had already returned to a neutral stance.
"…You don't fight like a child," Kashin said slowly. "You don't fight to win a point or to prove you're better. You fight to end things. Your efficiency is… disturbing."
Evan said nothing. He remained centered, his breathing shallow and controlled.
They continued for several exchanges. There was no flashy ninjutsu, no booming chakra flares, and no theatrical jumps. It was a dance of pure movement, timing, and restraint. Kashin pushed harder, increasing his speed until he was a blur, yet Evan remained like a leaf in the wind—always close, never caught.
Finally, Kashin stepped back and exhaled a long breath, rubbing his scarred chin. "That's enough. My pride can't take much more of this."
He looked at the boy with a mixture of respect and genuine concern. "At your age, this level of anatomical and kinetic control shouldn't exist. If you had wanted to kill me just then, I'd already be on the ground. You were aiming for my nerve clusters even in a defensive posture."
"I don't want to kill," Evan replied simply.
Kashin studied him for a long, quiet moment. He looked for a lie in Evan's eyes but found only the cold, clear truth. "…Good. See that you keep it that way."
A Quiet Warning
After the evaluation, Kashin spoke privately with Hiruzen in the shadows of the trees while Evan waited by the entrance.
"He's not unstable, Lord Hokage," Kashin said, his voice hushed. "There's no madness in him, no bloodlust like the Uchiha or the Inuzuka. But he's not ordinary either. He's a finished product in a child's body."
Hiruzen nodded slowly. "I suspected as much from the reports."
"There's something else," Kashin added, his expression darkening. "His chakra structure… it's layered. It's too refined for his age. It's almost as if it's been rebuilt or reinforced from the inside out. His spirit and his body are in perfect, unnatural resonance."
Hiruzen's grip tightened on the stem of his pipe. The "Sage Body" theories he had been entertaining were no longer just theories. "That confirms it. He is a descendant of the core lineage. The blood has awakened."
Returning to Normalcy
That evening, Evan walked home alone through the familiar streets of Konoha. The village felt unchanged to the naked eye. The shops were still open, selling dango and groceries. The sound of laughter still echoed from the parks. Children were still playing at being heroes.
And yet, Evan knew that something fundamental had shifted. The veil of the Academy had been lifted. The village—the real village, the one made of spies, elders, and killers—had noticed him.
He was no longer just a child. He was no longer just a medical prodigy. He was a variable in the village's long-term survival.
At home, Evan sat quietly in the dim light of his room and reviewed his path forward. He looked at his hands—hands that had parried a Jonin and intimidated an Uchiha.
The Academy was ending its usefulness. The lessons there were now beneath him. The village was watching his every move, calculating his value and his threat. And the world beyond the stone walls of Konoha was already moving, shifting toward a future of war and chaos.
"This was inevitable," Evan thought calmly.
Strength demanded clarity of purpose. Clarity demanded preparation for the storm. And as the moon rose over the village, Evan Kamiyo began to plan for a life that was no longer lived in the shadows of a classroom.
End of Chapter