Although Shiraishi did not look much older than him, Nagase Bizen hesitated only briefly before drawing his blade.
The sword left its sheath at astonishing speed—sharp, clean, and fierce.
Yet Shiraishi merely took a single step back.
The blade passed harmlessly through empty air.
Shiraishi shook his head.
"Pure physical speed alone won't deal real damage. Taijutsu has never existed independently of ninjutsu. Chakra circulation is still essential."
Nagase's problem lay in his excessive reliance on the sword in his hands, while completely neglecting fundamental chakra training. His understanding of ninjutsu application was flawed, causing this descendant of a fallen samurai family to focus solely on drawing and striking.
"But I—"
"It's fine," Shiraishi interrupted calmly. "During training, you'll learn properly."
After giving Nagase his evaluation, Shiraishi moved on to the next student.
Among the Three Basic Techniques, Nagase performed the Substitution Technique adequately—proof that he focused only on what he personally considered useful.
With over five hundred students, a single day was far from sufficient. Shiraishi allocated three full days for screening.
In truth, these students were not inherently untalented or mediocre.
They simply lacked an environment capable of drawing out their potential.
Sunagakure practiced elite-oriented education. Shinobi without clan inheritance learned only the bare minimum at the academy, never enough to truly blossom.
Had this been Konoha's educational system, many outstanding civilian-born ninja might have been discovered.
Sunagakure, however, operated more like panning for gold in a sandstorm—shake the sieve once, discard the rest, and call it selection.
With the establishment of the elite ninja academy, Sunagakure's future focus would shift entirely there. No one knew what fate awaited this public academy.
Shiraishi cared deeply about this place.
If this academy had not existed, he would never have risen from among countless civilians to become a shinobi.
After Nagase, Shiraishi identified several other students with noteworthy potential.
Some had weak chakra extraction.
Others struggled with the Three Basic Techniques.
Yet their theoretical foundations, battle instincts, and situational judgment were exceptional.
With proper guidance and tactical refinement, their battlefield survival rates could rise dramatically.
"Morimoto Ryōji."
At the sound of the name, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Under fearful and cautious gazes, a dark-skinned boy stepped forward coldly.
The moment he stood before Shiraishi, something felt… different.
His eyes were utterly indifferent, as though the world around him held no meaning. Bandages and old scars covered his body, silently testifying to years of brutal training.
"Begin with the Three Basic Techniques," Shiraishi said. "Then proceed to ninja tool throwing."
Morimoto Ryōji performed exceptionally in the Three Techniques. His ninja tool throws were on par with most students—accurate and steady.
Clearly, this group of civilian ninja was trained with sincerity.
Then came taijutsu.
Morimoto gripped a black greatsword, swinging it in violent arcs. Each movement stirred the surrounding airflow, explosive force radiating from his body.
The more Shiraishi watched, the more puzzled he became.
By all logic, this boy should not have been here…
"His father disappeared during a mission several years ago," one of the academy instructors whispered as he approached Shiraishi. "Possibly defective."
Because of his family background, Morimoto Ryōji had long been marked as someone unlikely to ever graduate as a Sunagakure ninja.
"Has his defection been confirmed?" Shiraishi asked.
"No. That mission was… strange. Higher-ups ordered complete silence regarding personnel involved."
The instructor clearly avoided specifics. His eyes betrayed unease.
Shiraishi understood immediately—this matter was far from simple.
"Very well. Next."
Shiraishi recorded an exceptionally high score for Morimoto Ryōji and continued the assessments.
Because Shiraishi said nothing throughout, Morimoto's gaze dimmed slightly as he departed.
The brief exchange between the examiner and instructors had unfolded exactly as he expected.
For years, he had lived under suspicious looks.
The son of a traitor.
That label had followed him since childhood.
Yet Morimoto Ryōji never wallowed in resentment. He trained harder than anyone else, determined to carve out a path that would change his fate.
This time, the examiner was Shiraishi, the academy's legendary prodigy. Morimoto had held genuine hope.
That hope dimmed.
That evening, after completing the first day's evaluations, Shiraishi sought out Ebizō in the Oasis Ring District to ask about Morimoto Ryōji.
Ebizō remembered clearly.
"His father, Morimoto, accidentally discovered that the Yamaji Clan was illegally occupying a mineral site within the Land of Wind. They warned him repeatedly to stay out of it. He refused."
Ebizō's voice was calm and direct.
"Shortly afterward, a 'mission accident' occurred. He vanished without a trace."
Ebizō paused, then continued.
"I know the boy's talent is outstanding. But if he graduates as a Genin, the Yamaji Clan will certainly react."
The influence of the Three Sand-Release Lineages was so great that even the Council of Elders had to tread carefully.
Shiraishi, however, showed no concern.
"Then we report it to the Yamaji Clan," he said flatly.
A formal report was already a courtesy.
The Yamaji Clan had no authority to interfere with the joint Chūnin Exam selection, a matter of overall strategic importance. Yamaji Jushin, as clan head, would understand that much.
Ebizō chuckled.
"You little fox. Planning to borrow our names again?"
"I will," Shiraishi replied without hesitation. "For Sunagakure's greater good, Yamaji Jushin can afford to make concessions. That child has carried the stigma of 'traitor's son' for years. Isn't that enough?"
With Morimoto Ryōji's situation settled, Shiraishi continued evaluations over the next two days.
As the assessments neared completion, a soft, gentle voice suddenly rang out.
"Teacher… it should be my turn now, right?"
The moment the young girl stepped forward, it was as though the world's light converged upon her.
"Her… the literary prodigy has appeared."
More striking still—
She carried a two-meter-long weapon.
A massive double-headed ox-horn moon halberd, both ends bristling with spikes.
When the weapon struck the ground—
Boom.
The earth trembled.
Compared to the girl's slender frame, the sight was so surreal it bordered on disbelief.
And yet, she stood there calmly.
Waiting.
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