Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage—hailed as the "Professor" for his encyclopedic knowledge of jutsu and the shinobi world—sat hunched over his desk, drowning in paperwork. The burden of leading the most powerful hidden village had never been light, but lately, it weighed heavier than ever.
Since the day he accepted the mantle, he had known no peace. Intelligence briefings, mission debriefs, policy revisions—his days blurred into an endless procession of ink and obligation.
No ordinary man could survive this life. It demanded not only unwavering resolve, but tactical brilliance and the authority to lead a village of elite assassins. And today, it demanded even more.
"Haa… it was only a matter of time," Hiruzen muttered, eyes narrowing at the report in front of him.
Fresh intelligence from his spy network confirmed his growing unease: Amegakure—the Hidden Rain—was stirring. Increased troop movement, fortified positions near the border, and rampant supply hoarding. All signs pointed to a single, sobering conclusion: they were preparing for war.
And their target? The Land of Fire.
Skirmishes near borders weren't uncommon—Konoha's strength often invited challenges—but this was different. Calculated. Coordinated. Intentional.
What truly unsettled him wasn't the mobilization itself, but the man behind it.
Hanzo the Salamander.
A legend in his own right. Ruthless in combat, a master of the sword and poison, and commander of a monstrous summoning beast that spewed corrosive venom capable of melting steel and soil alike. Entire squads had vanished under his hand—killed before they even realized they were under attack.
Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Within five years, Amegakure will strike. War is inevitable.
"We're not ready…" he murmured, fingers steepled in thought. His former students were formidable, and Sakumo Hatake was a one-man army—but the village as a whole lacked the numbers. If the tides of war came crashing, Konoha would need more than strength.
It would need a savior.
If war is coming… then may this generation give rise to a prodigy strong enough to protect the Will of Fire.
He glanced at the clock.
"Hmm. Nearly time for the entrance ceremony."
Rising from his chair, he cast one last look at the report on his desk. Dark tidings, indeed. But the Academy—his greatest legacy—awaited. It was more than just a school; it was a crucible where the next generation was forged in loyalty, discipline, and the undying flame of purpose.
By the time he arrived, the courtyard was already brimming with children and their anxious parents. But the moment they saw him, a ripple of awe passed through the crowd.
"It's Hokage-sama!"
"The strongest Hokage!"
"He's a genius! The Professor!"
"I want to be like him!"
"No! I will!"
"Hokage-sama!"
Their admiration hit him like sunlight after a storm. A small smile curved his lips as he stepped onto the stage. The murmuring ceased. All eyes locked on him—wide, innocent, and full of hope.
His voice, when it came, was steady and powerful.
This was more than a welcome speech.
This was the beginning of their indoctrination—the moment the Will of Fire would take root in their hearts.
Konoha would endure. Through them, it always would.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
The desk felt cold—comfortingly cold—especially after standing in the courtyard sun for two hours straight.
"I thought they were exaggerating in the novels," I muttered, forehead resting on the surface. "Two full hours. He went on for that long…"
I had always assumed anime and games dramatized things for flair. Hiruzen Sarutobi's famed speech about the Will of Fire? I figured it would be a quick monologue—five minutes, maybe ten—and done.
But no.
I was wrong. I was naïve.
The man spoke for two hours straight. Non-stop, unwavering, passionately preaching the gospel of Konoha and its eternal flame.
"My brain is melting," I groaned. "If I hear the words 'Will of Fire' one more time, I swear—I'll show him my Will of Fists of Love. Garp-approved."
"I know, right? That old man wouldn't stop talking!" said the boy beside me. Brown, spiky hair to his ears, a bright grin that didn't quite match his suffering. "Big sis said she got a headache after just an hour!"
"She got off lucky. We had to endure twice that." I sighed. Never again. I'll never doubt the over-the-top writing in novels again.
"Yeah, I think I get why she never liked him much," the boy added casually.
That caught my attention. Someone who doesn't like the Hokage? That's rare.
"Careful talking like that," I said, voice low. "He's the Hokage for a reason. People will remember who was in the room when someone spoke against him."
The boy just winked and gave me a thumbs-up. "Don't worry. Big sis and I are important! That old man wouldn't dare mess with us."
Sure, kid. Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Bang!
The classroom door slammed open, cutting through the noise like a kunai. A tall man in a green flak jacket strode in, black undershirt visible beneath the open vest. His hitai-ate gleamed with the Leaf's emblem.
"Good morning," he said, voice firm. "I'll be your instructor for the next five years. My name is Harima. You will refer to me as Harima-sensei or simply 'Sensei.' Understood?"
"Yes, Sensei!"
Harima-sensei nodded. "During your time at the Academy, you'll be taught everything necessary to become a shinobi. As first-years, however, we'll begin with general education and geography."
"Huh?"
"Sensei! I wanna learn ninjutsu!"
"Can we throw shuriken yet?"
"I want to be like the Hokage!"
The entire class erupted with eager protests and declarations. Even the boy beside me was bouncing in his seat. I stayed quiet.
So predictable.
"That's enough!" Harima barked, silencing the room. "This curriculum was designed by the Hokage himself when he founded the Academy. It will not change. If you want to be excellent shinobi, you will complete all five years of instruction. That's final."
He cleared his throat.
"Today's just the opening ceremony. We'll begin real lessons next week. For now—introductions. Start from the top left."
One by one, the students introduced themselves. I barely paid attention. Most of these kids would wash out, spend their lives as eternal Genin, or die on some nameless mission as cannon fodder.
Still, one name snapped me to attention.
"My name is Minato Namikaze! I like a lot of things, but studying is my favorite! My dream is to become someone respected… like Hokage-sama!"
The classroom quieted, visibly moved. His voice was calm, sincere—his smile radiant.
Minato Namikaze… The Yellow Flash. The Fourth Hokage. The father of the Child of Destiny.
He already had that aura. That presence. "Little Sun," they'd call him one day.
A few more kids spoke, none of them notable. Then it was the boy beside me's turn.
"Hi, everyone! I'm Nawaki! I like being strong, and I don't like my big sister, Tsunade! I want to be as strong as my grandfather and become Hokage!"
I blinked. Tsunade's younger brother?
Nawaki grinned at me as if sensing my surprise.
Well… looks like this class just got a lot more interesting.