The ardent sun bore down on Asami as she meditated in the grass, her posture rigid, her expression placid. She was waiting for her sensei and her remaining teammates to arrive, but neither had deemed punctuality a virtue worth respecting.
Asami grumbled inwardly, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. Few dared to make her wait—few would even dream of doing so. But Masasane, Aritame, and Yukihiro had the audacity, the outright gall to arrive late. Their impudence was unfathomable.
Clenching her teeth, she maintained her composure, forcing her emotions into stillness. Meditation helped, though only so much. She focused instead on her chakra—its flow, its rhythm, its deep resonance within her being. Understanding chakra, mastering it, was of supreme importance. More than any academy instructor could ever imagine. Control was everything.
Her academy instructors had emphasized flashy jutsu—ninjutsu, genjutsu, taijutsu—but had failed to understand the core foundation that governed all of them: chakra. Not just as a means to an end, but as the end itself. It was through chakra that one's soul took form.
Iruka-sensei, for example, believed chakra to be natural energy, dormant until summoned by hand seals and a shout. But he was mistaken. Painfully so.
Without precise control, jutsu were inefficient—sloppy. Even the most seasoned shinobi wasted absurd amounts of chakra. Their techniques lacked bite. They lacked clarity, potency, and intent.
Chakra was not merely energy. It was will. It was soul. It was the purest expression of one's identity—a current of unimaginable power that lay dormant within every shinobi. And to draw upon it required not force, but discipline. It demanded total ownership, total mastery, unwavering control.
Her violet chakra pulsed softly around her, the air thick with its pressure. It electrified the ground, saturating her surroundings with its presence. It wasn't just power—it was her. This was what it meant to be alive, to be strong. This was what it meant to be Asami.
She opened her eyes, suppressing her chakra. They had finally arrived. Two freshly minted genin and their newly promoted jonin instructor stepped onto the training field. Late.
Her expression darkened. She was not pleased. Not even remotely. She had been waiting for two hours. Two hours! She expected answers.
Asami glared at the trio, voice laced with disdain. "Tell me. How is it possible that all three of you are late?"
Masasane scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, didn't we explain—"
Asami's eyes flared. "Yes, Masasane-sensei, you did explain. But that doesn't mean I find your little stories remotely believable. Aritame overslept because he was nervous. Yukihiro got lost on the way. And you, Masasane-sensei, got so excited about your first genin team that you went to the wrong training field."
She exhaled, a sharp sigh. "None of that sounds like a valid excuse to me."
"But it's true!" Aritame protested, fists clenched in frustration.
"True? So you three are really just that incompetent?" Her voice dripped with scorn.
Masasane stepped forward, attempting to calm the storm. "Asami-chan, take it easy. Don't take things so personally. Sometimes, life just throws things off course."
"..." Asami frowned but chose silence over conflict—for now.
Masasane offered a sheepish smile. "Anyway, time for introductions. I want each of you to give your name, your hobbies, your dreams—anything you'd like to share. I'll go first. I'm Karahashi Masasane, your jonin sensei from this point forward. I'm not the most experienced shinobi in the village—in fact, I just made jonin recently. But I'll work hard for you guys. That's a promise."
He scratched his head, chuckling. "So be gentle with me, okay?"
"I'm Kira Aritame!" the boy blurted out, full of energy. "And I'm going to be the greatest Hokage ever!" He shouted with enough volume to startle birds from the trees—and to make Asami wince. She sat beside him, after all.
Not only was he loud, but he was also one of those. Another star-eyed dreamer who wanted to be Hokage. Asami groaned inwardly and facepalmed.
Timid and soft-spoken, Yukihiro stepped forward. "I'm Kodama Yukihiro," he said, barely above a whisper.
"I... I... I..."
The stammering continued until the silence became awkward. Everyone waited. And waited. And waited. But Yukihiro never managed to finish a complete sentence.
Asami fought the urge to groan aloud. Another one unfit for the job. How in the world did he even pass the graduation exam? Are Konoha's standards really this low?
Apparently so. As long as you could die on command, you were qualified.
Then, as expected, they all turned to her.
Asami cleared her throat. "As you already know, my name is Minami Asami. My hobbies are—redacted—and my dream is—redacted. That should be sufficient."
Masasane blinked. "Well, that was... enlightening, Asami-chan. Could you maybe share a bit more?"
"No," she replied without hesitation.
"Just a little?" he tried again.
"I said no, Masasane-sensei. And no means no."
Masasane sighed in defeat. "Understood." This team was going to be a challenge.
"Alright then," he said, shifting tones. "Do you know why I called you all here today?"
Aritame raised his hand eagerly. "Because we're a genin team and ready to go on awesome missions?"
Masasane nodded. "Partially, yes."
"You've all been given forehead protectors, but you're not official genin yet. There's one last hurdle before we make it official."
Asami immediately understood. So this is it—the final test. The bell test.
"Let's do it!" Aritame exclaimed, pumping his fist into the sky. No one else followed his enthusiasm. Neither Asami nor Yukihiro were built for that kind of flair.
Asami chuckled to herself, a touch of sadism in her smile. Poor fool doesn't even know what he's in for.
Masasane pulled two small bells from his pouch, holding them up for all to see. "Here's the challenge. All you have to do is take one of these bells from me within the next hour. There are two bells, and three of you. Fail to get one, and it's back to the academy for another year."
The change in his expression was immediate. Gone was the friendly demeanor. In its place was a cold, serious resolve. He was trying to act tough—to intimidate them. But Asami wasn't buying it. His acting needed work.
She rolled her eyes. So this is the test Kakashi-senpai used on his team... How quaint.
"Any questions?" Masasane asked.
"..."
Silence. No one responded.
"Then we begin!" He stepped back and took a battle stance.
As expected, he remained stationary—open, seemingly vulnerable. An obvious trap. No one with sense would fall for it. But exceptions always existed.
Aritame, full of misplaced valor, charged straight in. He was swiftly and effortlessly knocked to the ground.
Yukihiro hesitated, fear paralyzing him. But after a long moment, he summoned enough courage to move. He charged.
It did not end well.
Asami sighed, arms crossed, thoroughly unimpressed. This is going to take a while.