I woke to sunlight stabbing through the gap in my curtains like a poorly aimed kunai. Perfect aim, actually—right in my eyes. Groaning, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.
'Five more minutes. Just five. Is that too much to ask from the universe?'
The universe, as it turns out, had other plans. A rapid knock at my door jolted me fully awake.
"Shinji! Are you up yet? We're going to be late!" Minato's voice, already chipper at this ungodly hour.
I sat up, running a hand through my disheveled black hair. My modest apartment—a significant upgrade from the orphanage—came into focus. Not exactly luxury living, but the freedom was worth every ryo. Amazing what a few "family recipes" could do when introduced to the right clan restaurants. Pizza had been my golden ticket; the Akimichi clan had practically thrown money at me.
"Coming!" I called back, voice still thick with sleep. "Door's open."
The door slid open, and there stood Minato Namikaze in all his glory. I cracked one eye open to see Minato already dressed, his blonde hair practically glowing in the morning light. Disgusting. Nobody should look that put-together before noon.
"You're still in bed?" He shook his head, exasperation mixed with amusement. "Sensei's going to make you do extra laps again."
I stretched, bones cracking pleasantly. "Worth it. Quality sleep is essential for shinobi training, you know."
"Is that what they call a hangover now?" Minato's eyes drifted to the empty sake bottle on my nightstand.
I flashed him my most winning smile. "Purely medicinal. For... chakra circulation."
"Right." He wasn't buying it. Smart kid. "Hurry up. I'll wait outside."
After he left, I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The mirror reflected a pretty face with tired eyes. Not my past life's face, obviously, but I'd lucked out in this reincarnation lottery.
'Another day pretending I don't know how this all ends. Another day playing student when I could probably outfight our teacher.'
I pulled on my clothes with ease, a skill from my previous life that transferred surprisingly well. My fingers automatically adjusted the kunai holster on my thigh—muscle memory was a beautiful thing. With my taijutsu knowledge from before and this body's natural talent, I was leagues ahead of my classmates. Had to deliberately hold back to avoid too many questions.
I grabbed an onigiri from my fridge—breakfast of champions—and joined Minato outside. The kid was brilliant, easily the top of our class, though he never flaunted it.
"Ready to dazzle them with your effortless genius?" I asked, taking a bite of my rice ball.
Minato smiled sheepishly. "I just try my best."
"And your best happens to be better than everyone else's. Very humble. I approve." I clapped him on the shoulder, starting our walk to the academy.
The morning air was crisp, filled with the scents of Konoha—street food, foliage, and that indefinable something that made this place feel alive. Civilians nodded respectfully as we passed. Academy students weren't quite shinobi yet, but we were on our way.
"Did you finish the chakra control exercise?" Minato asked.
I snorted. "Please. I could do that in my sleep."
"You probably did. I saw you napping in class yesterday."
"I was meditating." I winked. "Advanced technique."
As we approached the academy, I spotted our sensei waiting at the entrance, arms crossed, looking pointedly at his watch. Minato quickened his pace. I deliberately slowed mine.
"Shinji," Minato hissed, "don't push it."
I ran a hand through my hair. "Relax. Watch and learn how to handle authority."
"Last time you 'handled authority,' you ended up cleaning the training grounds for a week."
"Worth it for the look on his face." I grinned at the memory. "Besides, those grounds never looked better."
Our sensei's expression darkened as we approached. Minato, ever the perfect student, bowed respectfully. I gave a lazy two-finger salute.
"Namikaze, punctual as always," he nodded approvingly. Then his eyes narrowed at me. "Shinji. Cutting it close. Again."
I smiled brightly. "Good morning to you too, Sensei. Lovely day for training, isn't it?"
His eye twitched. Victory.
The Academy classroom was already buzzing when we slipped through the door. Chalk dust hung in the morning sunlight, giving the mundane room an almost ethereal quality. Or maybe I was still half-asleep.
I slid into my seat near the back, positioning myself perfectly—close enough to hear, far enough to get away with the occasional nap.
"Good morning, class," Sensei announced, silencing the chatter. "Today we'll continue with basic chakra theory and practice leaf concentration."
A collective groan rolled through the room. I suppressed a smile. Leaf concentration was mind-numbingly tedious for most of the kids, but for me? Child's play. My chakra control was practically instinctive.
The kid in front of me—some Uchiha I'd dubbed "Grumpy-chan" since I couldn't be bothered to remember his actual name—turned around with that typical Uchiha smirk. Dark eyes, dark hair, superiority complex fully operational.
"Bet you fall asleep again, Shinji," Grumpy-chan whispered. "Some of us are actually trying to become shinobi."
I yawned dramatically. "Wake me when they teach something useful."
His eyes narrowed. The Uchiha clan kids always took everything so *seriously*. Must be exhausting.
Sensei began his lecture on chakra pathways, drawing diagrams on the board that were simplified to the point of being almost wrong. I doodled in my notebook, occasionally correcting his diagrams when they strayed too far from accuracy. My previous life might not have included ninja knowledge, but my weeks in the Academy had taught me enough to spot basic errors.
'Most of these kids won't even make it to genin,' I thought, watching a few struggle to even take proper notes. 'Then again, maybe I shouldn't judge. Not everyone had the advantage of a past life's worth of memory.'
We moved outside to the practice yard, a simple open space with training dummies and targets scattered about. Each student was given a leaf.
"Remember," Sensei instructed, "focus your chakra to make the leaf stick to your forehead. Concentration is key."
Most kids struggled, their leaves fluttering to the ground within seconds. Minato, predictably, got it on his first try, his leaf firmly attached as if glued. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed in perfect meditation form.
I twirled my leaf between my fingers, deliberately postponing the exercise. The real challenge wasn't making the leaf stick—it was making it look like I was struggling just enough to be believable.
"Shinji," Sensei called out, "perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your progress?"
A trap. He was expecting me to fail, giving him an excuse to lecture me about my attitude.
With a calculated sigh, I placed the leaf against my forehead and channeled the smallest whisper of chakra—just enough to make it stick for three seconds before I deliberately disrupted the flow, letting the leaf float down.
"Still working on it, Sensei," I said, my tone perfectly balanced between frustration and determination. The art of calculated mediocrity—a skill more valuable than any jutsu they taught here.
Sensei nodded, seemingly satisfied with my apparent struggle. "Keep practicing. Focus your mind."
I caught Minato watching me with an amused smirk. He knew exactly what I was doing.
"Very convincing," he mouthed sarcastically when Sensei turned away.
I winked back at him. For the next hour, I performed a masterful ballet of almost-but-not-quite-getting-it, gradually improving just enough to show progress without raising eyebrows from anyone except Minato, who occasionally shook his head at my performance.
By the end of the exercise, I'd positioned myself solidly in the middle of the class—not remarkable enough to draw attention, not poor enough to require extra help. Perfectly, deliberately average.
When we broke for lunch, I stretched dramatically, feeling the satisfying pop of my spine. "That was torture," I announced to no one in particular.
Grumpy-chan scoffed as he passed. "Maybe if you spent less time drinking and more time practicing..."
"Drinking? Me?" I pressed a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded, Grumpy-chan. I would never tarnish the prestigious reputation of the Academy with such behavior."
He rolled his eyes and walked away, but not before I caught the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Even Uchihas weren't immune to charm.
Minato appeared at my side, lunch box in hand. "That was quite the performance," he said, opening his bento. "You're getting better at looking terrible."
I unwrapped my onigiri with a flourish. "Thank you. I've been practicing my mediocrity."
"I still don't understand why someone with your chakra control pretends to struggle," he said, popping a rice ball into his mouth.
I grinned. Minato had caught me practicing late one night during our first week at the Academy. The cat was long out of the bag with him.
"Maybe I'm just not very good at chakra control," I offered with a lazy smile.
Minato gave me a flat look. "Right. And I'm secretly terrible at taijutsu."
I stretched out on the grass, chewing thoughtfully. "Being the best just means they expect more from you. Why set myself up for that kind of pressure?"
Minato shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're impossible."
"That's my charm," I replied, closing my eyes against the sun. "Wake me when lunch is over?"
But as Minato launched into a detailed explanation of what I'd missed in yesterday's lesson, my mind was drifting. The key to surviving in a village full of people who could kill you with a finger twitch was basically the same as surviving a family reunion—be interesting enough that no one wants to kill you, but boring enough that no one asks about your love life.
'Be mediocre,' I reminded myself. 'The middle child of ninja academy. Not the prodigy, not the dropout—just the guy who might remember your birthday but definitely won't get you a present
"I'll catch you tomorrow," I told Minato as we reached the fork in the road where our paths home diverged. "Early, I promise."
Minato gave me a look that said he didn't believe me for a second. "You said that yesterday."
"And I meant it yesterday too." I flashed him my most innocent smile. "It's the thought that counts."
He shook his head, but I caught the smile he tried to hide. "Just don't be late for the taijutsu test. Sensei said he'd fail anyone who misses it."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I called back, already heading in the opposite direction—not toward my apartment, but toward the bustling center of Konoha.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows between the buildings as I navigated the increasingly crowded streets. Academy was over, but my day was just beginning. Academic learning was all well and good, but the real education happened out here, among the living, breathing heart of the village.
'This is where the real skills are honed,' I thought, watching merchants haggle and shinobi mingle with civilians.
I turned down a side street and entered the Akimichi-owned restaurant that had become my primary source of income. The rich aroma of grilled meats and spices hit me immediately.
"Shinji!" A slightly chubby boy around my age called from a table where he was helping arrange plates. Akimichi Choza waved me over. "Right on time!"
I slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the spread of food. "Business good today?"
"Packed since noon," he confirmed, sliding a plate my way. "Got another recipe for me? That pizza thing is still bringing people in from three villages away."
I grinned. "Working on something new. Give me another week."
The arrangement was simple—I shared "family recipes" from my previous life, Choza's family paid me for each successful addition to their menu. Pizza had been just the beginning. Garlic bread, tiramisu, and my own spin on ramen had followed. The beauty of reincarnation—I couldn't bring jutsu knowledge, but I could bring culinary secrets.
For the next hour, I sat with Choza, sampling dishes and keeping my eyes and ears open. Restaurant work was perfect for information gathering. People talked freely when eating, especially shinobi unwinding after missions.
"—heard the Senju and Uchiha elders arguing again—" "—mission to the Land of Rivers went sideways—" "—new jonin selection happening next month—"
I filed each snippet away, building my mental map of village politics. Knowledge was currency, and I was saving up.
As the dinner crowd started coming in, Choza's father called him to help with the customers. Before leaving, Choza slipped me an envelope. "This week's cut. The dessert you suggested is especially popular."
I pocketed it with a nod of thanks. "I'll bring the recipe for cheesecake next time. Trust me, it'll blow your mind."
Outside again, the streets were dimming as evening approached. I wove through the crowd toward my next destination—a small apothecary tucked away in a quieter district.
The alley between two closed stores provided perfect cover—narrow, shadowed, and overlooked by most passersby. I slipped into the familiar space, glancing both ways to ensure I was alone.
Old habits die hard. Even after months of this routine, I still checked.
I formed the hand seals slowly, deliberately. Ram, boar, ox, dog, snake. Not something they'd taught my class at the Academy yet—this particular jutsu was reserved for the final year students. But I'd spent weeks lurking near the senior classes, memorizing the seals and theory from a distance. Spying on your own school had to be the most legitimate form of academic dishonesty.
"Henge no Jutsu," I whispered, feeling chakra ripple across my skin like a cool breeze.
The transformation wasn't dramatic—that would defeat the purpose. I grew a few inches taller, my features shifted slightly older, maybe fifteen instead of six or seven. My black hair lightened to brown, pulled back in a simple ponytail. My eyes changed from black to a nondescript hazel. A small scar appeared near my right eyebrow—details sold the illusion.
I rolled my shoulders, settling into the transformed body. Perfect. Anonymous enough to be forgettable, consistent enough that Yukiko wouldn't suspect anything unusual.
"Hiroki" was the name I used with her. A chunin apprentice medic with an interest in traditional remedies—or so she believed. The perfect cover for a business relationship that would raise too many questions otherwise.
I adjusted my clothes and stepped out of the alley with a different posture—straighter, more confident, the walk of someone with official business rather than an Academy student where he shouldn't be.
The bell jingled as I entered the small apothecary. Shelves lined with jars of dried herbs, powders, and tinctures created a familiar labyrinth of scents—earthy, floral, and medicinal all at once.
"Right on schedule," Yukiko-san said without looking up from her mortar and pestle. The elderly woman continued grinding what looked like dried flower petals as I approached the counter. "Tuesday delivery, as always."
"Business before pleasure," I agreed, leaning casually against the counter.
We'd been partners for nearly three months now. What had started with me selling her a single salve recipe had evolved into a proper arrangement—I supplied formulations from my previous life's knowledge, she manufactured and sold them as her own creations, and we split the profits.
She set aside her work and reached under the counter, producing a small envelope. "Your cut from last week. The bruise paste is still the most popular, but that cough syrup is gaining traction. Three shinobi from the Inuzuka clan bought jars yesterday."
I thumbed through the money with a satisfied nod. "They probably recognized the wintergreen. Good for dogs with joint pain, too."
"I didn't tell you that," she said with a knowing smile. Our arrangement worked because she never questioned where my knowledge came from, and I never explained. Plausible deniability benefited us both.
"I'll need my usual supply," I said, pocketing the envelope. "And maybe something extra."
She nodded, already gathering items from behind the counter. She quickly wrapped comfrey salve, arnica tincture, and willow-bark tablets—my standard personal kit for training injuries.
"Something else you're working on?" she asked, noting my continued presence.
"Thinking of branching out. Energy tonics, perhaps." I lowered my voice, though no other customers were present. "Academy students would pay well for something to help them stay alert during long lectures."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Just herbs, Hiroki. Nothing that would get either of us in trouble with the authorities."
"Of course, just naturally occurring stimulants. Ginseng, perhaps some guarana..."
"Here," she interrupted, pushing a small book across the counter. "From my private collection. Medicinal plants of the Land of Earth. Return it when you're finished."
I took the book carefully. "I'll have it back next week. With notes."
"I expect nothing less." She gathered jars of what I recognized as the base ingredients for my next experimental formula. "These should get you started. Might need to visit the Yamanaka flower shop for the fresher components, though."
"Already arranged," I said with a wink. Another business relationship carefully cultivated through strategic trades and never asking too many questions.
She packed everything into a discreet cloth bag. "Same time next week?"
"Unless something interesting comes up." I dropped a few extra coins on the counter. "For the book loan."
As I stepped outside, the sun had nearly set. Perfect timing. Instead of heading home, I turned toward the abandoned training grounds at the edge of the village. No one used them this late—exactly why I'd chosen them for my private practice.
The clearing was perfect—far enough from prying eyes but still within village bounds. I set down my bag and stretched, feeling the pleasant burn in my muscles after a day of deliberately holding back.
Here, I didn't have to pretend. I didn't have to be the lazy, barely-passing Academy student. Here, I could actually train.
I started with the basics—taijutsu forms at full speed rather than the slowed-down, "still learning" pace I used at the Academy. My body moved smoothly, each strike and block executed with the muscle memory from hours of secret practice.
Next came kunai and shuriken practice. I reached into my pouch and pulled out a handful of shuriken. The metal stars caught the moonlight as I weighed them between my fingers, feeling their balance. The Academy taught a standard grip—thumb and forefinger on the flat sides. I shifted to a pinch grip instead, holding the star by its points between my middle finger and thumb.
I spotted a knot in a tree thirty feet away and narrowed my eyes. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the first shuriken spinning. Thunk. Dead center.
"Too easy," I whispered.
I backed up another fifteen feet and adjusted my grip slightly. This distance required more rotation. I released three shuriken in rapid succession, each with a different angle of release. They hit the tree in a perfect vertical line, separated by inches.
My heartbeat quickened. Now for the challenging part.
I pulled out three more stars, holding them between splayed fingers. I'd spent weeks practicing this after seeing a jonin do it once. I flung all three flying in a horizontal spread. They struck three separate trees at the same height, fanning out like deadly metal wings.
"Thirty-five... thirty-six..." I counted as I continued, moving and throwing from different positions.
The weight of two kunai felt familiar in my hands as I measured them thoughtfully. I launched the first toward a tree on my left, then the second a heartbeat later at a calculated angle. The metallic clink of their mid-air collision was deeply satisfying as the second blade deflected perfectly, changing direction to strike a target hidden behind a large boulder—a shot impossible to make directly.
"Now that's more like it," I whispered, retrieving the weapons. The nick marks where they had connected showed the precision of the hit.
The final throw missed by a hair. "Damn."
I gathered my weapons, wiping each clean before returning them to my pouch.
After two hours of intense training, sweat poured down my face and my chakra reserves felt appropriately depleted. I gathered my supplies, carefully erased evidence of my practice, and headed back.
The stars twinkled overhead as I finally made my way home.
The stairs to my apartment creaked under my weight—a useful warning system for anyone trying to sneak up or down. I'd memorized exactly which ones made noise and which didn't. Useful knowledge for late-night excursions.
"Ah, Shinji-kun! Perfect timing."
I turned to see old man Tanaka shuffling out of his apartment, third door down from mine. His wispy gray hair stood up in all directions, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose as usual.
"Tanaka-san," I greeted with a respectful nod. "How's the shoulder?"
"Much better thanks to that salve you brought last week." He rotated his arm with considerably more ease than before. "Haven't had this much mobility in years."
I smiled. "Glad it helped." Tanaka had been a chunin in his youth before a shoulder injury forced early retirement. Now he spent his days playing shogi in the park and occasionally sharing stories of old Konoha with anyone who'd listen.
"Almost forgot," he said, disappearing back into his apartment briefly. He emerged with a small brown package. "As promised."
I accepted it with both hands, detecting the distinctive smell of quality tea leaves. "This is too generous."
"Nonsense. My niece brings it from the Land of Tea. Better than what they sell in the village." He waved dismissively. "Small price for getting these old joints moving again."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries before he retreated back inside. I continued up to my floor, package tucked safely away. Tanaka's "payment" was always something practical—tea, home-cooked meals, occasionally bits of shinobi wisdom far more valuable than money.
As I reached my door, the one across the hall opened. Minato emerged, scrolls tucked under one arm.
"There you are," he said, sounding relieved. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned the apartment entirely."
"And miss your daily lectures on punctuality? Never." I fished out my key, nodding at his scrolls. "More light reading?"
He held them up with a sheepish smile. "Advanced chakra theory. Thought you might want to look them over too."
"Already?" I raised an eyebrow. We'd just covered basic chakra pathways in class that morning. "Getting ahead of yourself, don't you think?"
"Says the guy who can practically dance on water at midnight." His voice dropped to a whisper on the last part.
I froze, key halfway to the lock. "You followed me?"
"Once," he admitted without a trace of shame. "After you disappeared three nights in a row. I was worried."
I leaned against my door frame, sake bottle dangling loosely from my fingers. "Spying on your neighbor? And here I thought you were the respectable one between us."
He shrugged. "I figured it out too, actually. Just wanted to see if we had the same approach."
"Of course you did." I uncorked the bottle and took a casual swig. "The great Minato Namikaze, walking on water like it's solid ground while the rest of us peasants are still stuck on trees."
His expression brightened with a hint of competitive spirit. "I can hold it longer than you."
"Is that a challenge?" I raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Namikaze. I'm not as mediocre as our sensei thinks." I took another lazy swig from my sake bottle. "Get your feet wet tomorrow? The usual spot. I'll show you things they don't teach at the Academy."
His expression brightened. "Really?"
I pushed off the door frame. "Tomorrow after school. Bring those scrolls if you want." I gestured to his materials with my sake bottle. "I'll bring something stronger than water to walk on."
Minato rolled his eyes. "I'll make dinner," he offered immediately. "Got some fresh vegetables from the market. You hungry now?"
"Deal." My stomach growled on cue.
As Minato headed back to his apartment, I leaned against my doorframe, watching him go. It was risky letting anyone see what I could really do, but if I had to pick someone to trust, it would be him. There was something about Minato Namikaze that made you believe in him.
'Besides,' I thought as I entered his apartment, 'a training partner might be exactly what I need.'
The evening suddenly looked promising. Good tea, good food, and maybe a breakthrough on my finisher. Not a bad way to end the day.
...
The Academy training yard buzzed with activity. Today was the monthly taijutsu evaluation—fancy words for "beat each other up while the adults take notes." Students gathered in small clusters, stretching or practicing last-minute moves. I leaned against a tree, affecting my usual bored expression while secretly cataloging everyone's pre-fight habits.
Minato stood nearby, going through a precise warm-up routine. All fluid movement and perfect form. Textbook, really. No wasted motion.
"Nervous?" I asked, stifling a yawn.
He shook his head. "Just focused. You should warm up too, you know."
"This is my warm-up," I replied, taking a sip from my water bottle. "Mental preparation. Very advanced stuff."
Before he could respond, a flash of bright red hair caught my attention. Uzumaki Kushina stomped into the training area, radiating irritation like a small sun. Most students gave her a wide berth—her reputation for a explosive temper was well-earned.
"Looks like Kushina is in a mood," I murmured.
Minato's eyes followed mine, lingering perhaps a second too long. Interesting. I filed that observation away for later teasing.
"She's just... intense," he said diplomatically.
"That's one word for it." I watched as she aggressively tied her hair back, nearly ripping out a chunk in the process. "I'm guessing you're hoping not to get paired with her?"
The slight widening of his eyes told me I'd hit the mark. "I don't mind who I'm paired with," he said unconvincingly.
"Liar," I smirked. "Nobody wants their face rearranged before lunch."
Sensei's sharp whistle cut through the chatter, and we all gathered in a loose semicircle around him. He held a clipboard with our names—our fates for the next hour.
"Listen up! Today's evaluation will test your progress in basic Academy taijutsu forms. No ninjutsu, no weapons, no dirty tricks." His eyes seemed to linger on me for that last part. Rude. "I'll call pairs. Standard rules—bout ends with a clean takedown or when I call it."
I tuned out as he explained the scoring system. Something about technique, power, and strategy being rated separately. Instead, I focused on the other students, mentally ranking who I'd prefer to fight. Grumpy-chan would be satisfying but predictable. The Aburame kid would be strategic but physically weaker. Minato might pose a challenge if I held back—he's skilled enough to make me work for it a little, but if I went all out, he wouldn't stand a chance. None of them would.
"First match," Sensei announced, "Uzumaki Kushina versus Takeo."
A collective "ooooh" rippled through the group. Takeo, a civilian-born student with a chip on his shoulder, looked simultaneously nervous and determined as he stepped into the ring. Kushina cracked her knuckles with a grin that could only be described as predatory.
This would be entertaining.
The match began with Takeo taking a cautious stance. Kushina, by contrast, bounced on her toes with barely contained excitement, looking ready to launch herself like a missile.
Which is exactly what she did. The second Sensei signaled start, she exploded forward with a flying kick that Takeo barely sidestepped. What followed was less a display of technical taijutsu and more Kushina attempting to bulldoze the boy through sheer aggression while he desperately tried to maintain proper form.
"She's... intense," I commented, finding myself oddly captivated by her wild fighting style.
"Very," Minato replied, his eyes never leaving her. There was admiration in his voice that went beyond mere respect for a fellow shinobi.
The match ended predictably—Takeo overcommitted to a counter, Kushina bulldozed through his guard, and he found himself flat on his back wondering where his dignity had gone. Two minutes of valiant struggle, ended with a decisive thud.
Kushina helped him up with surprising sportsmanship, though the victorious grin never left her face. As she walked back to the sidelines, her violet eyes briefly met mine. She flashed a quick smile before turning away, her red hair swinging behind her like a victory banner.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Matches continued in quick succession. The Hyuga kid demolished his opponent quickly. The Inuzuka girl relied too much on wild attacks that would have been more effective with her ninken partner. The Aburame boy won through careful wearing down of his opponent.
"Namikaze Minato versus Yamanaka Inoichi," Sensei called.
Minato nodded to me before stepping forward. The Yamanaka boy looked resigned to his fate—Minato's reputation preceded him.
Their match was brief but impressive. Inoichi was technically sound and intelligent, but Minato moved like water—flowing around attacks, finding openings, and capitalizing with precise strikes. It ended with a beautiful sweep that left Inoichi on the ground with a bewildered expression.
"Textbook," I murmured appreciatively. Minato might be the genuine article—a true prodigy, not someone like me with an unfair advantage of previous life experience.
"Shinji versus Akimichi Chōza," Sensei called next.
I pushed off from the tree with exaggerated lethargy. "Wish me luck," I told Minato. "I missed breakfast."
He gave me a look that clearly said 'take this seriously' as I strolled into the sparring circle.
Chōza was already in position, his stance wide and solid. We'd developed a friendly relationship over my culinary contributions to his family's restaurant, but friendship had no place in the sparring ring. His expression was all business.
"Don't hold back," he said quietly.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied with a lazy smile that suggested the exact opposite.
The real challenge wasn't winning—it was winning in exactly the right way. Too dominant a victory would raise questions about my abilities. Too narrow a win wouldn't satisfy Sensei's evaluation criteria. The sweet spot was winning convincingly while using only Academy-taught techniques with perhaps one small flash of "natural talent."
Sensei's hand dropped, signaling the start.
I adopted a deliberately loose stance—nothing like the forms from my late-night training sessions. Chōza, recognizing an opening, pressed forward with a powerful straight punch.
I sidestepped just barely in time, making it look more difficult than it was. His momentum carried him slightly past me, and I tapped a counter to his ribs—light enough to score points without actually hurting him.
"Good speed," he acknowledged, reestablishing his stance.
For the next few minutes, we exchanged standard Academy combinations. Block, counter, feint, strike. I allowed him to land a solid hit on my shoulder, wincing authentically—no need to fake that pain. The Akimichi clan weren't known for pulling punches.
As the match progressed, I noticed Sensei's expression shifting from mild disinterest to slight confusion. Time to give him something to write down.
When Chōza committed to a powerful forward combination, I slipped to his outside at the last moment—a movement slightly too quick and smooth for my established skill level—and executed a perfect hip throw that sent him tumbling. I deliberately stumbled in the follow-through, as if surprised by my own success.
Chōza hit the ground with a solid thud, and Sensei's whistle blew.
"Point and match, Shinji," he announced, making notes on his clipboard.
I helped Chōza up with an apologetic smile. "Lucky throw."
"That wasn't luck," he replied quietly, brushing dirt from his clothes. "But nice try."
I returned to Minato's side as the next pair was called.
"That throw wasn't Academy standard," he observed under his breath.
I shrugged. "Saw a chunin use it once. Thought I'd try."
"Right," he said, clearly not believing me. "And the footwork that set it up?"
"Improvised."
"Shinji..."
"What can I say? I'm a natural." I grinned at his exasperated expression. "Don't worry, I'm still nowhere near your level."
That was only half true, if not for the reasons he might think. Minato's talent was genuine. Mine was... complicated.
We watched as the remaining matches played out. Kushina stayed to observe despite having finished her bout, her eyes occasionally drifting in my direction. Every time I caught her looking, she'd quickly glance away, a faint color rising to her cheeks. Minato noticed too, his expression carefully neutral except for the slight tightness around his eyes.
Complicated. This was getting complicated.
When all the matches concluded, Sensei gathered us for final remarks. He reviewed the top performers—Minato first, naturally, with the Hyuga close behind. I placed respectably in the middle-upper tier, exactly where I wanted to be.
"Overall improvement from last month," Sensei concluded. "Some of you still need work on basics." His eyes briefly found mine. "Raw talent only gets you so far without proper technique and practice."
I adopted my best chastised expression while internally rolling my eyes.
As we dispersed, Kushina bounded over, her earlier match apparently forgotten. To Minato's visible surprise—and poorly concealed disappointment—she stopped in front of me.
"Nice throw," she said, hands on her hips. "Better than I expected from someone who's always napping in class."
"High praise from the class ace," I replied with an easy smile. "Your match was impressive. Poor Takeo probably won't sleep tonight."
She laughed, a bright sound that seemed to light up her whole face. "He'll recover." She crossed her arms, studying me with obvious interest. "You know, Shinji, for someone who acts like he doesn't care, you're actually pretty good."
"My deepest secret revealed." I placed a hand over my heart. "Whatever shall I do now?"
"You could start by actually trying," she said, a challenging gleam in her eyes. "Instead of slacking and sleeping in class."
"My reputation precedes me." I gave an exaggerated bow. "Though I prefer 'strategically efficient' to 'slacker.'"
Minato stood slightly to the side, watching our exchange with an unreadable expression.
"Kushina," he finally said, "your form was really good today. Your timing on that final takedown was perfect."
Her attention flickered to him. "Thanks, Minato. Your match was good too. As always." She turned back to me. "Some of us are practicing at the east training ground after classes tomorrow. You should come."
An invitation? That was unexpected.
"I'll consider it," I replied. "If I don't have more important napping scheduled."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Whatever. Just show up, yeah?" With that, she spun around and left, her red hair trailing behind her like a flag.
Minato and I walked in silence for a moment before he spoke.
"You should go," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "To the training session."
I glanced at him sidelong. "Planning to, are you?"
"Of course." He hesitated. "Kushina has some interesting techniques. It would be valuable to learn from her approach."
"Her approach, huh?" I didn't bother hiding my smirk. "Nothing to do with those violet eyes or that fiery red hair?"
The faintest blush touched his cheeks. "It's not like that."
"Sure it isn't." I patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm probably too busy to go anyway."
The lie came easily, but I wasn't entirely sure why I'd said it. Something in Minato's expression made me feel like I was crossing a line I hadn't seen.
Chōza joined us as we headed back toward the Academy building. "Your throw was good, Shinji."
"Thanks. Your punch to my shoulder is going to leave a lovely bruise."
He grinned. "Consider it payment for next week's recipe."
"Harsh but fair," I conceded.
As we walked, I felt Sensei's eyes on my back. The taijutsu evaluation had gone according to plan—I'd shown just enough skill to pass comfortably without raising red flags. But I hadn't planned for Kushina's interest, or the complicated look on Minato's face.
'How long can I keep this up?' I wondered, watching Minato walk slightly ahead, his shoulders tenser than usual. He embraced his talent openly, while I carefully concealed mine. He was building his legend; I was building my survival plan. And now there was Kushina, threatening both with her curious violet eyes.
...