Within the quiet storm of papers, sealed scrolls, and mission reports, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, sat in solemn vigil beneath the golden light streaming into his office. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and burning tobacco—his pipe swirling a thin ribbon of smoke that danced in lazy spirals toward the ceiling.
He sifted through each application carefully—team by team, genin by genin. Every name, every mission was more than ink and paper. It was a life, a future, a gamble.
And then... his fingers paused.
Team 7.
He placed the current file aside, unfinished.
"Let's see how far they've come..." he murmured, eyes narrowing with a glint of curiosity. A small ember of interest burned in his chest.
Opening the file, he browsed through their record:
D-Rank missions — dozens. The kind of missions designed to build humility, teamwork, and calloused hands.Cat retrieval, fence painting, weed pulling... nothing flashy. Everything necessary.
C-Rank missions — a few, but cleanly done.Bandit exterminations. Merchant escorts. One involving a missing ninja from a minor clan. All handled with precision.
Then he reached the final entries.
He squinted slightly.
A-Rank. Two of them.
His brow arched.
"The first one... it started as a C-Rank. But it escalated—an elite-level jonin from a rogue village involved.The second... a full-blown Jonin-level ambush. Multiple high-level threats. And they survived it."
He leaned back in his chair, pipe between his fingers, the smoke curling like fate itself.
"If they had the years behind them… this would've been grounds for direct promotion to Tokubetsu Jonin," he muttered, voice gravelly with pride and concern alike.
He glanced at the names again.
Naruto Uzumaki. Wild, unpredictable, but undeniably resilient. A storm that refuses to be silenced.
Karin Uzumaki. Strategist, sensor, and quietly fierce—a red thread of fire in human form.
Sasuke Uchiha. The prodigy with a weight on his back and lightning in his veins.
He let out a long, deliberate puff.
"They're not kids anymore…"
And then, with steady hands, he reached for his personal stamp—the Hokage's mark of approval. The one that only came down when something was truly earned.
THUMP.
A crimson seal bloomed across the page.
Approved.
"They're ready."
The streets of Konoha bustled with the quiet hum of anticipation—merchants prepping stalls, shinobi passing by with purpose, and children chasing after the lingering scent of grilled dango.
But for Naruto, the world felt calm, distant.
He strolled through the village with Karin at his side, the twin glint of Uzumaki red flickering in their hair beneath the amber sunlight.
Sasuke had already vanished hours ago, muttering something about sharpening his edge. Sakura, likely buried in scrolls or with Lady Tsunade. That left just them.
And honestly?
He didn't mind.
"So... Karin, what do we do now?" Naruto asked, hands tucked behind his head like he had no care in the world.
She gave a soft huff, "I don't know. What do you want to do?"
He stopped mid-step, turned with that ever-famous grin. "Let's train."
Karin raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Nii-san, aren't we already strong? You literally kicked a jonin through a wall last month."
"That was one time!" he said, waving her off with a laugh. "Besides—"
He leaned in close, sudden and playful. Flick.
"Ack—!" She winced, rubbing her forehead. "Naruto!"
"You can never be sure what's coming," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, more grounded. "We've trained, yeah. But what if someone else has too? What if they're better, faster, or worse… more desperate?"
Karin blinked. He wasn't joking anymore.
It was one of those rare glimpses—when the boy who joked and laughed peeled back the mask, revealing the storm beneath.
"Okay," she said softly, still rubbing her forehead.
He grinned again, that sunshine smile returning like it never left.
Then, leaning in gently, he pressed his lips to the spot where he'd flicked her.
"Better?" he whispered.
The spot still tingled. But not from pain.
Karin blushed lightly. "No pain. Not anymore."
The days slipped by like leaves in the wind.
Training grounds were scarred with fresh craters. Sweat drenched the soil. Nerves bristled in every corner of Konoha.
The Chunin Exams were tomorrow.
Like a festival wrapped in tension, the village was lit with lanterns, bustling with travelers, yet simmering with a silence that came before storms.
Teams had arrived from neighboring lands—Suna, Takigakure, Oto, and more. Each genin team brought with them ambition, secrets, and a hunger to rise.
But not all was tradition and welcome banners.
In a quiet alley near the southern market, trouble brewed.
A trio of Konoha academy students had wandered off, boasting and playing. Among them, Konohamaru Sarutobi, grandson of the Third Hokage, tried to show off with his usual clumsy confidence.
Only to run into sand.
Literally.
A hand grabbed his collar and slammed him against the alley wall.
"Let me go, you idiot!" Konohamaru yelled, squirming. "My grandpa is the Hokage!"
The grip tightened.
"And my father's the Kazekage," came the dry, venom-laced reply.
The boy had war paint in deep purple slashes over his face, a mockery of a kabuki mask. His expression was as cold as the desert nights.
He wore a black skin-tight jumpsuit, over which a hood with pointed cat-like ears hung low. His headband gleamed with the symbol of Sunagakure, and on his back—a large box, ominously silent, bound in linen and mystery.
Kankuro.
Behind him, a girl exhaled in irritation. Her arms crossed, one brow arched like she was already tired of the chaos.
"Kankuro, seriously? We're not even inside the exam hall yet," she said.
Her name was Temari—sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed. Her light purple kimono-style dress flared gently in the evening breeze. The red sash around her waist contrasted the bold war fan strapped to her back.
She looked ready to wipe the street clean if she had to.
"He started it," Kankuro muttered, but his grip loosened.
"Whatever. Baki's waiting. You wanna tick off him too?" Temari turned, already walking off.
Kankuro scowled but dropped Konohamaru without another word. The small boy hit the ground with a grunt, scrambling up with a mix of rage and fear.
Before the alley's tension could die down, another presence stepped into view.
A pair of sandals crunched on gravel.
"Hey, what are you doing?" a voice rang out—clear, young, and unapologetically bold. "Picking on brats now, huh?"
From the mouth of the alley emerged Naruto Uzumaki, red haired, eyes sharp with disapproval.
Behind him stood Karin, arms crossed, posture casual but alert.
"I'm not a brat!" Konohamaru huffed, glaring sideways. But no one was listening to him.
Kankuro, halfway turned to leave, paused. His narrowed eyes locked onto Naruto.
"Tch. I already let the kid go. What do you want now?"
Naruto smirked faintly. "Nothing really. Just thought Suna nin were supposed to have some pride. Guess I was wrong. Picking on kids who haven't even hit double digits? That's… what was the word?" He scratched his cheek sarcastically. "Ah, yeah—shameless."
Karin tugged his sleeve lightly. "Nii-san, do you have to go that far?"
Naruto shrugged, but his gaze stayed fixed on Kankuro like a hawk ready to swoop.
"You—!" Kankuro's fist clenched, rage boiling over.
And then, silence.
A voice cut through the alley like the whisper of a blade drawn in moonlight.
"Kankuro."
The tone was cold. Unfeeling. Like the wind before a desert storm.
From above, on a thick tree branch stretching over the alley, stood another figure—quiet, poised, and terrifyingly still.
"Stop it," the boy said. "You're an embarrassment to our village."
He dropped to the ground without a sound.
His presence shifted the very air.
He wore a long-sleeved, dark maroon tunic that ended mid-thigh, hugging his form like a second skin. A leather strap ran diagonally across his chest, anchoring the massive tan gourd on his back, etched with black markings that whispered of death.
Around his waist—a pale blue sash.
His pants were a deep brown, tucked into standard shinobi sandals.
But it wasn't the clothes that made the genin tense up.
It was the symbol etched into his forehead. The kanji for "Love"—a twisted irony etched in crimson ink on pale skin.
His seafoam eyes scanned the scene with an eerie calm.
No emotion.
No anger.
Just... silence.
Kankuro gritted his teeth and looked away.
Temari sighed and folded her arms. "Told you, baka..."
The red-haired boy finally turned to Naruto.
"You should be careful with your words," he said simply. "They might be the last things people remember."
Naruto didn't flinch. His eyes narrowed slightly as the red-haired Suna shinobi dropped from the branch.
"Oh? Finally, a Suna guy with guts and pride? I was starting to lose hope," Naruto said, flashing a half-smile. "Nice to see someone with a spine."
That was the final straw.
Gaara moved—fast.
A blur. A whisper of death.
His hand lashed out, aiming straight for Naruto's throat.
But before the impact—smack!
Naruto caught his wrist.
Effortlessly.
There was a second of silence.
Even the wind dared not move.
Gaara's eyes widened—just a fraction. Shock. No one had ever stopped him that easily. Not without sand. Not like this.
"Don't even try that," Naruto said, his voice calm but heavy with unspoken power. "I know exactly who you three are."
He turned his head slightly, looking toward the blonde girl standing a few steps away.
"Temari. Futon-user. The elder one," he said, voice smooth. Then, with a wink: "Also, seriously beautiful."
Temari blinked. Was that a compliment? From a Leaf genin?
Naruto turned again. "Kankuro. A Kugutsushi. Puppet-user. Uses that giant box on his back to do his dirty work. You're reckless but smart."
Finally, his gaze returned to the red-haired boy still locked in his grip.
"And the youngest. Gaara of the Sand. The… Suna-tsukai. The infamous one."
He released Gaara's wrist, slowly, deliberately.
Even though Gaara's sand could've reacted—should've reacted—it didn't.
Because Gaara hadn't used it.
He'd gone in raw.
No tricks.
No armor.
And still got stopped cold.
The unspoken realization passed through the siblings like a chill.
Gaara stared at Naruto for a long second. Then he turned.
"…Let's go," he said quietly, voice like shifting desert winds.
Without another word, the Suna siblings walked off.
Temari threw one last glance back—at the boy who just read them like an open scroll.
Kankuro muttered, "Cocky little brat…"
Naruto stood silently, watching them leave.
Karin exhaled. "That… was intense. You didn't have to flirt with her in the middle of a fight, though."
"What can I say?" Naruto grinned. "It's called multitasking."