— Yes, you understood everything correctly, — the teacher said calmly but firmly, scanning the class.
— Tomorrow will be your final test.
— But it hasn't even been three months yet! — came an indignant voice from the front row.
— The village critically needs new ninjas, — the teacher nodded, showing no emotion. — Therefore, the Academy has switched to an accelerated training schedule. This is not our decision, but we are required to follow it.
He paused briefly and then added with a light sigh:
— Believe me, I'm not thrilled either. But there are orders from above, and I cannot ignore them.
— Are we going straight to war?.. — someone asked, and the anxiety hanging in the air only grew stronger.
The teacher paused before responding:
— Such information is unavailable to me, — he said, pausing slightly, — but I can tell you one thing: the kind of mentor you receive will depend on how you perform on the exam.
He looked around the class to make sure everyone was listening.
— The Academy has the right to assign either a chunin or a jonin as your mentor. It will depend on the skills you demonstrate. You need to show everything you've learned not just during your training, but also in your independent practice. Your mastery of basic techniques, chakra control, analytical thinking, and your reaction to unusual situations — all of this will be assessed.
He approached the desk, leaned forward with his hands resting on it:
— And if you have any special skills, even if they're not part of the standard curriculum, — show them. Don't hide them. This could play a crucial role. Then, the distribution center will pick a mentor for you who has similar abilities or at least some understanding of the relevant field. And that already means...
He paused for a second, giving weight to his words.
He stepped closer to the board and turned to the class with a more serious tone:
— Since we've touched on this topic, I'll say it straight: mentors will guide you only in the first stage. They are also needed by the village. No one will hold your hand for long. Learn from them, listen, observe, remember everything. Every gesture, every word, every move.
He paused. The classroom fell silent.
— Because this might be the very thing that one day saves your life.
The students were silent. Some averted their gaze, others stared intently at one point. The air in the classroom became thick, almost viscous — each person was processing what they had heard in their own way.
The teacher glanced at us once more, as if checking something — not understanding, no, more likely an internal readiness. Then he slowly exhaled and said:
— There will be no more lessons today. Use the remaining time wisely. Tomorrow morning the practical stage will begin — it will be the main one. The theory will come later. You need to demonstrate not only knowledge, but also how you apply it under pressure.
He turned to the board and began writing something with chalk — a list of points:
Gather — 7:00 AM. Field D. Uniform, equipment, basic set. No delays.
Then he looked over his shoulder:
— Leave now. And think not only about techniques, but also about what you plan to protect when you leave the Academy's walls.
He left first, leaving us in a semi-silent hum. A few people immediately stood up, began gathering their things, exchanging glances. Some were scared, some determined, others were already leaving with their heads lowered, as if preparing for sleep before a battle.
I slowly stood up, threw my pen and notebook into my pouch, and carefully zipped it up. The usual bustle had already begun in the class: some were hurriedly packing their things, others discussing what they had just heard. But I wasn't in a hurry. Everything important had already been said.
— There's no point in rushing today, — I said, walking over to Gai, who was still sitting at his desk, frowning.
— No point in training either. It's better to rest, so you'll be in the best shape tomorrow and pass the exam with maximum effort.
Let's go grab a bite to eat...
GENIN EXAM
Today I had to wake up earlier than usual, so right at six in the morning, my alarm sharply cut through the silence. The harsh, piercing sound filled the room, pulling me from my brief sleep back into reality. I held my breath for a second before turning it off and sitting on the bed.
As usual — morning routine. A quick shower to fully wake up, brushing my teeth, a light breakfast. I did everything almost automatically — the familiar ritual that set me in the right mood.
After changing into my uniform and checking my gear, I strapped on my pouch, made sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and left the house. The cool morning air was refreshing, and the tension in my chest grew. There was only one direction — the Academy's training ground.
I arrived fifteen minutes before the start — not too early, but also not right on time. The training ground was already quite crowded: classmates were gathered in groups, some nervously rubbing their hands, others just standing in silence, staring at the ground.
Since there were almost no leaders around yet, I climbed onto a branch of one of the trees at the edge of the training ground. It was comfortable to sit there, and from there I had an excellent view — the perfect spot to observe calmly.
I lazily swung my leg, studying the faces of those arriving. Most of them were my classmates, familiar silhouettes, nervous movements.
Fifteen minutes passed — and four figures appeared on a small platform. Chunin vests, sheets of paper in their hands, and focused expressions. They stood straight, scanning the crowd of students as if they were already beginning to draw conclusions.
Their appearance immediately plunged the area into silence. Conversations stopped abruptly. One of them — tall, with dark hair slicked back — took a step forward, unfolded the list, and began speaking:
— All present students of the Academy, welcome. Today your graduation exam will be conducted. We are your examiners. Each of us will observe your exam over the next several hours.
Another man in a chunin vest stepped forward, lifted his gaze to the assembled students, and spoke confidently, without unnecessary emotion, but with clear diction so that everyone could hear:
— Listen carefully. The structure of this year's graduation exam is as follows. It consists exclusively of a practical part, divided into three sections: taijutsu, ninjutsu, and an optional additional technique. The theory will be later.
He paused, giving us time to digest what had been said, then continued:
— The first stage — taijutsu. You will take turns stepping onto the field and sparring with one of the examiners. The goal is to demonstrate fighting technique, endurance, and reaction. Winning is not necessary. The main thing is to show how you apply basic knowledge in practice.
— The second stage — ninjutsu. Basic techniques are mandatory for demonstration: henge, bunshin, and substitution. Those with elemental chakra nature can show one simple technique of their choice. What will be assessed is chakra control, accuracy, and confidence.
He glanced over the rows, checking if they were listening.
— The third stage — additional. Optional, but recommended. This could be a technique you've developed on your own: illusions, sensory abilities, or, for example, clan techniques — if they are appropriate to demonstrate. This part will affect your final score and may change your placement.
He folded the sheet in his hands and added:
— How you perform today will determine not only your result but also who will be your mentor after graduation. So give it your all.
Any questions?