By Year 41, the Hidden Sand didn't just feel defeated; it felt haunted. The wind that whipped through the narrow stone streets carried a permanent grit that seemed to settle deep in everyone's lungs. The village had lost so many ninjas that the government issued a mandatory draft: every kid of age was going to the Academy. No exceptions. They needed new warm bodies to fill the ranks, and they needed them yesterday.
So, at five years old, I found myself standing in front of the Academy's stone gates. I was wearing an old, resized ninja uniform that used to be my dad's. It was stiff, gray, and smelled like the heavy-duty detergent we used to clean grease off shop floors. On me, it looked less like a uniform and more like a tent.
I stood out, and not in a cool "main character" way. I was the scrawniest kid in the crowd pale, thin, and looking like a stiff breeze could snap me in half. Most of the other kids had been raised in the desert sun and looked like they'd been carved out of sandstone. I looked like I belonged in a hospital bed.
My dad, Sharyu, had his hand on my shoulder. His grip was tight, and he looked at the other kids with a mix of worry and pity. The Academy was a mess underfunded, short-staffed, and desperate.
"Listen to me, Sayo," he whispered, leaning down. His voice was low and serious. "The school is a disaster right now. Don't try to be a hero. Keep your head down, don't pick fights, and for the love of god, try not to get sick. Your health is the only thing that matters, okay?"
I nodded. I wasn't really worried about the other kids. I was too busy scanning the crowd. I saw crying toddlers, anxious parents, and a few kids who already had that "tough guy" look in their eyes. It was a pressure cooker.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Instead of a bell, some guy was slamming a piece of metal against the gate. A tall, skinny Chunin walked out, looking like he'd gone three days without sleep. His face was sallow, and his eyes were full of "I don't get paid enough for this."
"Button it!" he barked, his voice echoing off the canyon walls. "Line up by height! Two rows! Move it or lose it!"
The kids scrambled like a herd of panicked sheep. I silently shuffled to the very back of the line. Being the shortest had its perks nobody could see me back there.
We were led into a massive stone cavern that served as a classroom. It was dim, dusty, and smelled like old ink and wet wood. The desks were chipped, and I could see scorch marks on the walls from where someone had clearly messed up a fire-style jutsu.
"Take a seat and shut up!" the teacher shouted, slamming his hand on the podium. A cloud of dust billowed up around him. "My name is Arai. I'm a Chunin, and I am not here to be your best friend."
He looked at us like we were a bunch of disappointing leftovers. "The war just ended. We lost a lot of good people. You aren't here to play games or make friends. You're here to become useful soldiers as fast as humanly possible. Got it?"
The room went dead silent. Most of the kids looked terrified. I just sat there, my thirty-year-old brain processing the fact that I was officially in a child-soldier factory.
"Roll call!" Arai yelled, grabbing a ragged piece of paper. "When I call your name, shout 'Here!' If you miss your name, you're doing laps."
"Kuro!" A kid with arms the size of my legs stood up. "HERE!"
"Kira!" A girl with messy pigtails and freckles whispered, "...here..."
"Taro!" A kid with thick glasses that were sliding down his nose stood up a second too late. "Uh, here!"
"Kaito!" A kid with a smirk that practically screamed "troublemaker" jumped up. "Right here, boss!"
"Sayo!" I stood up. "Here." My voice was quiet but steady. I didn't want to stand out, but I didn't want to look like a pushover either. Arai gave me a long, skeptical look probably wondering if I'd survive the week before moving on.
I memorized the names. Kuro was the jock. Kira was the shy one. Taro was the nerd. Kaito was the class clown. It was the same cast of characters you'd find in any high school back home, just with more kunai and less hope.
"Alright, that's everyone," Arai said, tossing the list aside. "Now, get outside. We're doing a physical baseline test. If you're in the bottom ten, you don't get lunch. Move!"
The threat of losing lunch sent the kids into a frenzy.
The "test" was a classic: running laps around the dusty training field until someone told us to stop. The wind was howling, whipping sand into our eyes and mouths. When the whistle blew, the kids took off like a pack of wild dogs, shoving and tripping over each other.
I was swallowed by the crowd instantly. My lungs felt like I was breathing in sandpaper. Every step was a struggle. My legs felt like lead, and my vision started to get fuzzy after the first lap. I was dead last, trailing behind even the kids who had tripped.
Kuro was at the front, looking like he wasn't even trying. Kira was in the middle, her face bright red. Taro had already lost his glasses and was stumbling around. Kaito had sprinted the first half-lap and was now walking, laughing at the people behind him.
I gritted my teeth. I ignored the kids who lapped me and the "come on, kid!" shouts from Arai. I didn't focus on the distance. I focused on my bio-stats.
Inhale for three steps. Exhale for three steps. Keep the heart rate steady. Don't redline.
I used everything I knew about endurance pacing from my old life. I didn't sprint. I didn't stop. I just kept a rhythmic, robotic pace. One foot in front of the other.
My lungs were burning. My chest felt tight. But I didn't stop.
I was the last one to finish. My time was pathetic. But when I crossed that imaginary finish line, I was still standing.
Survival in this world wasn't about being the fastest. It was about being the one who didn't quit when things got ugly.
Suna was a brutal place, and the Academy was going to be a nightmare. But as I stood there, gasping for air in the middle of a sandstorm, I realized I'd just passed my first real test. I was still here.