Suddenly, the air split with a sharp clap, so loud many ears rang from the shock. A thick cloud of white smoke burst up in front of the blackboard, and from within it thundered a commanding voice, cracking like a whip:
"EVERYONE, SILENCE!"
With the smoke, the twins' heavy bloodlust also dispersed. The crushing pressure lifted as if wiped away by hand, and the shinobi writhing on the floor began to rise, breathing hard and darting uneasy looks around. All eyes turned to the twenty figures who had appeared in the room. Dressed in identical gray military-style uniforms, they radiated a disciplined coldness, more like an execution squad than proctors.
Menma immediately recognized several sensors and analysts—faces he had already seen near the deprivation chamber. Their presence here said more than words: the examiners had prepared in advance to scrutinize the candidates closely.
At the front stood a man who stood out from the rest. His face, scored by deep scars, was as hard as stone. A leather coat and a Konoha forehead protector tied like a bandana made him look like a military judge.
"Good day," he said in a low, confident voice. "I am Morino Ibiki, the examiner of the first selection round."
His smirk promised nothing good. A gloved hand shot up and pointed at three Grass shinobi still lying unconscious. Yet Ibiki's gaze wasn't fixed on them. He was watching the Uzumaki twins, as if testing their reaction.
"Don't forget yourselves, twins. Fighting without an examiner's permission is forbidden."
"But the exam's only starting now," Menma replied calmly, a smirk on his lips.
Ibiki raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "True enough," he grunted, adjusting his bandana. "Then let's begin the first test."
He lifted a small white card with a large number "1" printed on it. "First, everyone hands in their registration form. In exchange, you'll receive your number tag. Sit at the desk with that number. Then you'll get your tests."
Chaos broke out. The hall rustled like a hive as candidates rushed toward the proctors, handing over forms and snatching numbers. Some got front-row seats, others were pushed into corners.
Menma drew number 53, placing him in the middle of the classroom. To his right sat Karin, her hands trembling as she fidgeted with the edge of her dress, as if the fabric could shield her from the pressure filling the air. To his left, an empty seat remained—the three Grass shinobi wouldn't be waking up. They were automatically disqualified.
Menma glanced at the question sheet. Nothing unexpected. Everything matched what he remembered from canon. "Leave it blank," he whispered to Karin, leaning toward her. "Or just write: 'I'll call Yamato-sensei' on every line."
Karin blinked, frowned, but nodded, choosing to trust him.
Within minutes, everyone was seated. Order returned, but it was taut as a drawn bowstring.
"Do not look at the test yet!" Ibiki barked, his voice snapping every head his way. "I'll explain the rules. Listen carefully. Questions are not allowed."
He turned to the board and began writing in large letters, speaking as he wrote:
"First rule. You begin the test with ten points. There are ten questions, each worth one point. It's a subtraction system. For example: ten correct answers, you keep ten points. Three wrong, minus three, you're left with seven."
A few murmurs rippled through the room, but died quickly under the heavy stares of the proctors.
"Second rule. This test is team-based. Your score will be the total of your squad's points. You have thirty points as a team. However many you manage to keep—that's your result."
Nervous tension spiked. A wave of glances swept the hall—some looked at strong teammates with hope, others at weak ones with despair.
"Third rule." Ibiki drew out every word, the silence becoming sharper than a library's. "If you are caught cheating or attempting to cheat—minus two points for each violation. Lose all your points, and you're out. Let that be your lesson: a ninja caught cheating is unworthy of the title chūnin."
The snap of chalk against the board echoed coldly.
"And the final rule." Ibiki turned to the hall, pausing as if savoring the moment. "Those who lose all points, or fail to answer even a single question, will be disqualified along with their entire team. One's failure means failure for all three."
Some groaned aloud under the crushing psychological weight. Others buried their faces in their hands. The room reeked of sweat and fear.
"The exam will last exactly one hour. Begin."
Papers rustled through the hall, pens scratched against desks. The clock ticked off the first seconds of the trial.
[Smart move. The proctors are deliberately driving everyone into stress. Even those who know the answers might slip up on something obvious. And if you consider that the examiners have their own game… well, things get really entertaining.]
Menma struggled not to grin as he skimmed through the questions. Almost all of them dealt with unconventional shinobi tactics. "How would you disable an opponent stronger than you but blind?" "How would you steal intel from a headquarters guarded by ten men?"
[Konoha is creative, I'll give them that. A free way to harvest unique tricks from a bunch of dumb kids. Some poor soul will spill his entire jutsu arsenal just for a shot at passing the exam. Then daddy ANBU will file it away in the archives. Beautiful.]
Menma left his paper blank. A quick glance at Karin's notebook showed she was faithfully writing "I'll call Yamato-sensei" everywhere. Clever girl. Naruko was nowhere in sight, but he wasn't worried about her—his sister was more likely to pull a prank than give up even a single secret.
The classroom gradually buzzed with noise. Ibiki didn't just hint, he practically said it outright: you can't cheat, but if you really want to… you can.
Spotting the planted shinobi, who cheerfully scribbled down correct answers, was no challenge. What shocked Menma wasn't the number of techniques the others used to gather intel, but the effort the proctors put into pretending not to notice. The fact that anyone actually got caught cheating almost screamed that those genin were also plants.
Even the blind would have noticed the two kunai on the ceiling, strung with wire and holding a mirror. No one could miss the insects flying along unnatural paths, or Kiba's puppy perched on his head, barking in clearly modulated signals.
Some competitors were subtler. Gaara silently manipulated sand into a crude eye, a Rain kunoichi employed chakra-laced water mist, and a Grass genin used a weak earth technique that copied the answer sheet onto his desk.
Menma glanced at the examiners furiously scribbling in their notebooks.
[All of this will end up in the database. The exam is just a cover for collecting techniques.]
At last, it was time for the tenth question. Morino Ibiki warned everyone that whoever failed to answer would remain a genin forever. The funniest part was that this threat was the only real one.
Villages often took proctors' assessments into account. If a genin's file gained a note like "do not promote," people listened. No, it wasn't a guaranteed death sentence for a shinobi's career—especially in wartime—but such a recorded failure to judge one's own strength became an unavoidable obstacle.
Many began to crack under the pressure. When a few of the fake genin stood up and walked out, real candidates followed. Menma watched with indifference—he and Naruko had already cut down much of the roster that was "supposed" to stay, according to canon.
Suddenly Naruko and Karin gasped: Rock Lee rose from his desk. One of the most determined in their generation.
"Rock Lee, huh?" Ibiki drawled. "Want to quit?"
"No!" Lee slammed his palm onto the desk. "I became a shinobi without ninjutsu or genjutsu. Even without a chunin vest, I will remain a shinobi!"
The noise in the classroom died instantly. Those ready to leave froze and returned to their seats. To everyone's surprise, Lee's words worked—they inspired others to stay and fight on.
"Whoa," Naruko murmured, "that guy just fired up more hearts than our whole demonic bloodlust combined."
Ibiki scanned the silent hall with a smirk and announced:
"Congratulations. You all pass."
The written part of the chunin exam had finally ended. Ibiki, who had kept the room in an iron grip with his grim aura the whole time, allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile, as if admitting: "Well, survivors, not bad." A wave of relieved sighs swept through the classroom, as if a ton of stones had suddenly been lifted from everyone's shoulders. Some were already dreaming of ramen, some of a bed, and some simply of the moment they'd no longer feel the drilling stare of the bald interrogator.
But they weren't allowed to savor that sacred instant of peace.
The glass of the nearest window suddenly shattered into a thousand shards, and a spinning black whirlwind burst into the room. The air vibrated, papers flew off desks with a rustle. The proctors along the walls jumped as if shocked by lightning. The genin weren't far behind: some shielded their heads with their arms, some cursed using words usually reserved for construction workers and desperate shinobi.
One particularly sharp shard shot straight at Karin's face. Menma's reflexes worked flawlessly: with a flick of his pen, he swatted it away as if it were a mosquito.
"Thanks," Karin whispered, clutching her glasses.
Meanwhile, the whirlwind reached the teacher's desk and, glinting with metal, hurled two kunai into the ceiling. A sheet was tied to them. In an instant, a banner with kanji unfurled in front of the desk, and the whirlwind folded into the shape of a young woman.
Purple hair tied in a high ponytail, a cheeky grin, mesh bodysuit under a beige cloak and orange skirt. She had the kind of look that would make any Konoha mother say: "Don't you dare be friends with her!"
"Hey, kids!" the girl raised her hand, pretending sternness. "This is no time to relax!" She held a dramatic pause, letting the audience feel the moment. "I'm the second examiner! Mitarashi Anko!"
[Oh, Shinigami. And this is Orochimaru's student?! No wonder he ran away. If she stormed into his lab the same way, the poor guy fled just to protect his research.]
"Anko, your timing is off," Ibiki muttered from behind the banner. "The second stage isn't until tomorrow."
"Ibiki!" Anko made a face and swept her gaze across the hall. "You let twenty teams pass?! That test was way too easy!"
"There are a lot of strong kids this year," he replied almost kindly.
"After my test, half of them won't even be standing," Anko smirked predatorily, eyes flashing.
Naruko raised her hand like a diligent student.
"Anko-san, what's your zodiac sign?"
The room froze. Even Menma, usually calm, nearly burst out laughing.
"What's it to you, brat?" Anko narrowed her eyes.
"I'm running a compatibility test," Naruko said with a straight face. "I think you'd be perfect for Maito Gai. You're both idiots."
"What?!" Anko's face turned the shade of a boiled crab.
The proctors, Ibiki included, were barely holding back laughter.
"Don't you dare insult my sensei!" Rock Lee jumped up, slamming his palm on the desk so hard the wood cracked.
"Lee, I'm not insulting him, I'm improving his destiny," Naruko replied calmly. "Think about it: both love orange, both are fans of flashy entrances, both…"
"They're even the same age," Ibiki added, clearly taking revenge on Anko for the broken window.
"Exactly!" Naruko picked it up instantly. "Lee, don't you want your sensei to marry such a beauty?"
"If it's for Gai-sensei's happiness…" Lee clenched his fist and nodded solemnly. "I'll help organize the wedding!"
Anko, now crimson, clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"I'll strangle her," she hissed.
"No fighting in my office," Ibiki said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "For the second stage, be at Training Ground Forty-Four tomorrow at noon sharp."
Anko continued to glare daggers into Naruko's back, the kind of glare that could wilt a tree.
/////
Author notes:
I do have a Patreon, where the story is already 10 chapters ahead.
If you'd like to support me personally as an author, I'd be truly grateful.
patreon.com/Vetrax