After waiting around for some time, a masked man finally arrived—an ANBU operative.
"Attention, brats," he began in a commanding tone. "I am Cat, and I've been given the tedious task of overseeing your training."
Everyone knew better than to speak without permission. Those who didn't were simply too afraid to voice their thoughts.
"Good," Cat said before barking out an order. "Follow me."
We fell into a walk behind him, led deeper into the dungeons. The air grew colder and darker with every step—Zabuza found it hard to believe that was even possible until he saw it for himself.
Under Cat's guidance, the children were divided into groups of six. He looked at us with a condescending sneer.
"Hah. Brats, by the end of this first round of selection, half of you will be dead, and only half will move on."
Over the next few days, we were thrown into the most savage training one could imagine. To make it even worse, we were given the bare minimum of food and water.
We were starved intentionally, forced to bring out the worst in ourselves. Soon, the children began showing savage behavior.
They became snarky, mocking and humiliating each other. Fights broke out. The weak were abused. And then, finally, the first deaths came.
The survivors learned one lesson quickly: even someone who seemed weak could turn into a ruthless killer once pushed far enough.
Some slit the throats of their abusers while they slept. Others ganged up on the strong and killed them. The smart ones made themselves indispensable by proving their loyalty, usefulness, or cunning.
The torture was meant to continue until the number of children was halved. Only then would the first part of the selection end.
But there was one teeny tiny problem.
Zabuza's group wasn't following the fricking script. Thanks to whatever Bailed did to him, he did not need to eat, nor drink. And just to spite the others, he gave his portions to the children in his group.
This eventually led to an escalation, more children in other groups began to die, unable to endure the starvation. Eventually, the proctors decided enough was enough.
The children were led into an underground chamber that was wet and smelled metallic, like a cellar where stale water mixed with blood. Zabuza stood barefoot on the cold stone floor, surrounded by other children about his size. He did not know their ages, but by the looks of it, none of them was older than eight years old.
'What a twisted world.' Zabuza thought, disgusted, completely forgetting that he himself was not even eight years old yet.
He observed the other children and saw how their eyes darted nervously, while their breathing was shallow. All of them looked malnourished and savage.
By this point, only around a dozen and a half, or so of them remained as most of them had either been killed or succumbed to starvation. Those standing here were the tenacious ones, the ones who could go through hell and still manage to go a bit further.
The sound of the heavy iron door being slammed open reverberated through the chamber. A man in a gray flak vest and Kirigakure's hitai-ate, also known as a forehead protector, stepped forward, his face hidden behind a bone-white mask with a slash down the middle. His voice carried across the chamber, sharp and final.
"This will be your last test for the first round of selection, brats," he barked out. "Kill, or be killed."
The silence afterward was suffocating; it was the kind of silence that you don't want to break because no matter what you say, it is the wrong answer. No one laughed, no one questioned, no one attempted to argue. These children had already lived in the Mist and in this particular hell hole long enough to know the man wasn't joking.
The masked shinobi stepped aside. Behind him, another pair of ANBU dragged in a dozen or so malnourished chained adults and threw them into the ring. The iron door clanged again as it sealed.
The instructor's tone was flat. "The only way to leave this room alive is to pick a partner and take on one of these prisoners. Two of you against one of them. If the prisoner survives, he survives another week and gets to eat his fill. If he dies, well, then the two challengers pass, or the one who manages to walk through that door. Work together or don't, I don't give a fuck. The survivors can leave for the next level, but the failures will die here, their blood soaking this very ground."
'Now, I know why this place smells the way it does.' he thought as he unconsciously looked at the ground, just like the many other children did.
He could hear the sound of murmurs, gasps, some children broke mentally down and began crying. One small boy, freckles across his cheeks, shook his head violently, as if that would wake him up.
"You can't mean—"
The shinobi's kunai flashed before the boy could finish. A line of red bloomed across his face, spraying hot blood onto the stone. He fell back on his arse, clutching his cheek in fear.
No one else dared to speak.
"Follow commands or perish." the operative said in a cold tone.
Zabuza's stomach churned, but not from fear; he was excited to fight and spill blood. The Ogre's nature stirred inside him, and he wanted to jump straight into the ring and bath it in blood.
The instructor's eyes scanned the remaining children. "First pair, make your choice. Now."
Reluctantly, the first pairs started forming. The children started making their choices, on whom to partner with, and whom to pick as their prey, whom they thought was the weakest amongst the adults.
Meanwhile, Zabuza stood alone, unbothered, yet no one moved toward him, not even those whom he fed over the past few days. He didn't blame them; he did feed them, but he also beat them into obedience, otherwise, they'd have killed one another like savage beasts.
The instructor pointed at someone and shouted. "You."
Zabuza heard a wave of murmur and turned towards the proctor to see what the man was doing. And then he saw that the man's finger was aimed at him.
"And you."
The proctor chose a partner for Zabuza, fully aware that the boy was an oddity. The chosen partner was a girl about his size, thin, hair matted, eyes wide with terror. She shuffled forward, trembling, and stood next to Zabuza.
The ANBU asked. "Whom do you pick?"
For a heartbeat, everyone was on edge; each choice mattered, each choice would result in a chain reaction for the next participants.
The girl stammered. "W-we don't have—"
"Proctor-san, I would like to ask you who the strongest is amongst those pieces of trash." Zabuza asked, and surprised even the proctor, but he simply pointed at one adult who was hiding in the back.
"He is the strongest one amongst these prisoners."
"Good then we pick him." Zabuza said and marched towards the ring that was prepared in the center of the room for this very occasion.
"Are you ready to die, old man?" Zabuza asked the man with a violent smirk on his face.
The man did not reply, but simply observed Zabuza, and his unwilling partner.
"Begin." the proctor commanded.
Zabuza's body moved before the man's words finished. He closed the distance in a blink, fist cracking against the older man's nose. Cartilage broke with a wet snap, blood spurting across his face. The man fell back, crying out, clutching his face.
The children watching gasped, some trembled, and some turned away instinctively.
The man writhed on the floor, choking on his own blood, trying to crawl away. Zabuza stood over him, chest heaving. His hands were calm, like someone who wasn't about to take another human's life; he was at peace with himself despite the brutal situation.
Over the past few days, he had enough time to review many of the Ogre's acts of violence, reliving them every night when he fell asleep, and over time, he understood that he could control what it was he was forced to watch.
He could watch and dream about a certain martial artist's life, observing and reliving his training, or he could watch and observe their fights, and see how they defeated their enemies. Not all of them were peaceful sages; some were bloodthirsty monsters, and so Zabuza lost his inhibition towards violence.
The instructor's voice cut like steel. "Do it."
The man coughed, reaching up weakly. "P-please… don't…"
Zabuza didn't hesitate. His fingers snapped forward like a hungry snake and closed around the man's throat. He squeezed, and saw the man's eyes bulging, his mouth opening and closing like a fish dragged from the sea. His nails scratched at Zabuza's wrists, but were unable to deal any real damage.
But Zabuza kept squeezing for one moment longer before he decided to finish it; he broke the man's windpipe. The struggling grew weaker. The man's eyes rolled white.
Then, finally, stillness. The chamber was silent again as all the children were too afraid to make a sound. This fight ended too fast.
Zabuza let go, and allowed the body to slump like discarded meat.
He stared down at what used to be a human being, his chest rising and falling, heart pounding not from guilt, but from agitation. This was his first real kill, and it was a weakling.
The instructor nodded once. "Efficient."
Around him, the other pairs hesitated to make a choice, frozen in indecision. The ANBU barked. "Do you think this is a game? Pick a target, or die now!"
That broke the dam. Children screamed, started picking their targets, and rushed at them with flailing fists, some picking up rocks and dirt from the floor, a smart one even had picked up the kunai that was earlier thrown by the proctor, others used their hands, clawing like animals at the adults' eyes. The chamber filled with shrieks, wet smacks, and the sound of breaking bones.
Zabuza watched, silent, as the frenzy unfolded.
He didn't feel pity because these children had all signed up for this very shit; sure, they probably did not know what it is they would be facing, but if they make it through, they'll be shinobi, and that beats dying a dog's death.
Every child who lived through this test will be a future enemy, and every child who died meant one obstacle less. It was all about survival, pure and simple. This very situation is a microcosmic scenario of how the world works. Failures feed the ground while survivors climb over dead bodies.
Half an hour later, the instructors' cold gaze swept across the survivors. "Remember this lesson. In Kirigakure, hesitation is death, mercy is death, indecision is death. This is the will of Water to act decisively without hesitation or mercy. Your first lesson is complete. The next lesson will follow the same pattern, but against increasingly stronger opponents."
He gestured to the iron door. "Clean yourselves. Tomorrow, you continue."
The surviving children shuffled out; they were all silent, something had broken within them, and now they had to accept that they will never be the same innocent child they were before they entered this chamber.
Zabuza lingered a moment, staring at the corpse of the man he had strangled. His very first kill, and he was filled with disgust.
He turned and left the chamber, his shadow stretching long under the flickering torchlight.
That night, in the filthy cot that passed for his bed, Zabuza lay awake. He stared at the ceiling beams, listening to the rats scratch overhead.
His hands still remembered the feel of the man's neck, the fragile resistance of flesh giving way to pressure. The sound of life leaving a body.
The human part of him thought he should feel something, maybe regret, guilt, or something at all, anything.
But all he felt was disgust. He felt disgust for being made to hunt a weakling as his prey, and he was looking forward to being able to hunt and fight a worthy opponent, one that would make his blood boil just like in his dreams.
"I'll find you," he whispered into the darkness. His voice was steady, cold. "No matter what I have to do."
Zabuza closed his eyes, for the first time, he began to understand the name he would one day earn.
The Demon of the Mist, the Ogre was truly born that night.
The next day, Zabuza found himself once again paired with the same girl, but this time, the two of them were alone; no group was allowed to spectate. The girl managed to introduce herself this time, unlike the last time. Her name was Keiko. She was quieter today, yet her eyes held a mix of fear and determination unlike the day before. Today, the instructor handed them each a kunai, the cold metal heavy in their small hands.
"You two will be a team from now on," the instructor barked. "Take on that prisoner from Kumogakure and make him bleed. Survive, and you move on. Fail, and you die."
The dark-skinned prisoner, a man with a scar across his face, sneered at them, his eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. He was bigger than them, and he assumed he was stronger too, and this gave him his confidence.
Keiko looked at Zabuza, her grip on the kunai tight but she was trembling slightly. Zabuza met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but nonetheless, he nodded at her once, a silent encouragement.
The instructor stepped back. "Begin."
The man lunged at them, his fist swinging wide, aimed towards Keiko. Keiko jumped to the side, and managed to dodge. The man, noticing that Keiko was out of range, turned around and threw a punch at Zabuza, but Zabuza stood his ground; he wanted to experience the man's fist. The man's punch connected with his jaw, but it did not even manage to move his head back a little.
"You are weak, too." Zabuza said, his voice laced with disgust.
And then Zabuza made his move. He spun, his kunai flashing, and slashed at the man's arm. The blade pierced the man's arm, entering from the back of his elbow and coming out the other side, and then Zabuza pulled back.
As he bisected the man's right arm, the man roared in agony, but thanks to the adrenaline pumping through his body, the man managed to ignore the pain. He was now more angry, his mind clouded by a mixture of pain and anger, and so he charged again. This time, Keiko joined the fight, her kunai stabbing at the man's side. He grunted, his pace slowing ever so slightly, but he didn't stop. He simply used the situation and Keiko's bad placement to grab her by the throat with his left hand, lifting her off the ground.
Her eyes started to bulge in panic and because she was unable to breathe, her face turning red, as she punched at his arm because her kunai was stuck in the man's dense muscles.
Zabuza, seeing the situation develop in a direction that was boring, decided to act. He leaped towards the man, driving his kunai into the man's back. The blade sank deep, and the man screamed in pain, releasing Keiko. She fell hard to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.
The man spun, throwing Zabuza off his back, using this small window to grab onto Zabuza's wrist. Despite Zabuza being able to tank everything this weakling could possibly throw at him, his physique was still only that of a child, and so he was light weight.
Zabuza, dangling in the man's grip, decided to play a bit, and so he pulled himself up while kicking, driving his big toe into the man's eye. The man howled, blood gushing from the wound, blinding him.
Next, Zabuza twisted his body and kicked at the blade that was still stuck in the man's side. He felt it scrape against bone, probably the man's ribcage. The man staggered, his grip loosening. Zabuza finally wrenched his wrist free and stepped back, his chest heaving with excitement because the prey was still willing to fight.
The man swayed, his hands clutching at his bloodied face, while blood was pouring down between his fingers. He took a step forward, then another, before collapsing to his knees. With a final gurgle, he fell face-first onto the stone floor, twitching once before going still.
Zabuza stood over the body, and just to make sure the man was dead, he stomped down on the kunai stuck in the man's back, pushing it into the man's heart, before he pulled out the kunai while it was still dripping blood. He looked at Keiko, who was watching him with a mix of awe and terror. He offered her his hand, helping her to her feet.
The instructor nodded, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "Well done. You two have passed today's test."
Zabuza and Keiko were led out of the chamber, leaving the body behind. As they walked, Zabuza couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement; today's prey wasn't strong, but at least he had the decency to put up a fight before he went down.