Graduation week felt like waiting for an execution date.
Everyone pretended it was a celebration.
---
They lined us up in the Academy hall, banners on the walls, parents in the back, instructors wearing expressions carefully calibrated between pride and inevitability.
Someone brought flowers.
That felt optimistic.
---
The written exam was easy.
Too easy.
It wasn't testing intelligence. It was testing obedience. The questions were about protocol, chain of command, acceptable losses.
I answered correctly.
Correctness was safer than brilliance.
---
The practical exam was where people disappeared.
Clone Technique.
The great equalizer.
Make one usable clone, you pass.
Fail, and you repeat the year.
Repeating the year sounded like mercy.
---
I stepped forward when my name was called.
My chakra responded like an old engine in winter.
Slow. Reluctant.
Perfect.
I formed the seals.
Focused just enough.
The clone appeared.
Pale. Slightly translucent. Knees shaking.
A medical marvel.
Iruka-sensei nodded.
Pass.
---
Naruto Uzumaki went next.
He failed.
Loudly.
Spectacularly.
The instructors sighed like this was a scheduling inconvenience.
I watched him storm out, furious and alone, and felt a strange flicker of gratitude.
If the universe needed a spotlight, it had picked someone else.
---
Team assignments came in the afternoon.
That was when the real damage happened.
Names were read. Futures were allocated.
Strong students paired with weaker ones. Talents balanced. Personalities managed.
Lives budgeted.
---
"Team Seven…"
Not mine.
Good.
---
"Team Twelve…"
Also not mine.
Excellent.
---
When my name finally came, it was buried.
"Team Nineteen," Iruka-sensei read.
No murmurs.
No expectations.
I exhaled for the first time all day.
---
My teammates were exactly what I'd hoped for.
Hana — quiet, competent, no clan symbols. Riku — anxious, book-smart, terrible at taijutsu.
No prodigies.
No legacies.
No doomed romances.
---
Our jōnin instructor arrived late.
That was promising.
He introduced himself as Morita-sensei.
Average height. Scar on the jaw. Eyes that measured distance constantly.
A survivor.
---
"Rule one," he said. "If you die, it's your fault."
I liked him immediately.
---
Our first mission was a D-rank.
Escort a merchant.
No combat expected.
Those words were cursed.
---
Bandits attacked on the second day.
Not ninja.
Just men with blades and desperation.
Morita-sensei handled most of it.
I stabbed one man in the thigh when he got too close.
He screamed and ran.
That counted.
---
No one congratulated me.
Perfect.
---
On the way back, Hana threw up.
Riku cried quietly.
Morita-sensei filled out the report.
I stared at my hands and noted that they were very steady.
That worried me.
---
Back in Konoha, I learned Mika had been assigned to a medic-heavy team.
Fast-track.
She hugged me.
"We made it," she said.
I hugged her back and said nothing.
---
That night, I added another rule.
Rule Four: Surviving your first mission does not mean you are safe. It means you are useful.
I slept.
That was worse than not sleeping at all.