"Now that everyone's finished introducing themselves, remember this—"
Iruka pressed both hands on the podium, his expression stern as his eyes swept across the class.
"For the next six years, you'll be classmates. After graduation, you may become comrades. Never forget—an excellent shinobi must value teamwork. Any mission, especially the difficult ones, cannot be completed without cooperation. That is something I hope you'll remember. Do you understand?"
"Yes!"
The children responded loudly.
Though Iruka's expression was grave,
most of them couldn't possibly grasp the weight of his words.
Peace had lasted too long.
Especially in Konoha.
The Academy's students matured quickly in some ways,
but when it came to the instincts of a true shinobi,
they lagged far behind the children of the war years.
Back then, a six- or seven-year-old could already be thrown onto the battlefield.
In this world, one could never underestimate a child—
for even a child might carry the power to kill you.
Iruka understood this clearly.
He knew that what he said now was too early for them,
but as a teacher, he had to sow the seeds.
Repetition would hammer in the lessons.
The next six years were critical, not only for their bodies,
but for their minds.
That was the duty of a true instructor.
"Good. Then let's begin the first lesson. If you want to be shinobi, you must understand the essence of a shinobi. What qualities must one possess…?"
To become an Academy teacher was no easy thing.
Whether Iruka or the other chunin,
all of them carried a wealth of theory.
In some details, their instruction even surpassed most jonin.
That was why the Third Hokage assigned them here—
that, and the fact that some of them, whether due to injury or lack of strength,
could no longer serve on the front lines.
And Naruto's class was the most special of all.
Forget the clan heirs.
Just his presence—the Jinchuriki of the Nine-Tails—
was enough to make this class exceptional.
Iruka had been chosen by the Hokage personally.
For two reasons.
One: he had the ability.
Two—and most importantly—the Hokage trusted his loyalty.
A child of Konoha,
his parents having perished six years ago during the Nine-Tails' attack.
Iruka was the purest heir of the so-called Will of Fire.
Naruto knew this well.
But it didn't change how he viewed Iruka.
In fact—
It didn't just apply to Iruka.
Ever since coming to this world,
and realizing how much reality diverged from the story he once read,
Naruto had sworn one thing:
He would never blindly trust the "original plot."
At best, it was a reference.
The truth of this world—
he would have to uncover it himself.
That was the only way to survive.
The first day of the Academy marked step two of his plan.
Unlike the Naruto of the story—
the one who slept through lessons, slacked off, even skipped class—
this Naruto would not waste a single chance.
Every piece of theory,
every scrap of knowledge—
he would master it.
Because in any craft,
the foundation was everything.
"This is where it truly begins…"
Staring at Iruka, who lectured with earnest seriousness,
Naruto's eyes sharpened.
From that day forward,
his life became measured and disciplined.
Three points in rotation:
Academy → Home → Forest.
Outside of necessary rest,
every moment was training or study.
Maybe it was the "benefit" of being a transmigrator?
But Naruto discovered his memory and comprehension
were far sharper than in his past life.
Academy lessons stuck instantly.
He absorbed and digested them with ease.
And beyond the Academy,
he imposed his own rigorous training regimen.
Day after day.
Never once breaking rhythm.
And so, in that steady, almost monotonous routine,
a year slipped by in a flash.
Konoha Year 55.
In the northwest corner of the village,
deep in the nearest forest to his home.
One morning—an Academy holiday.
In a wide clearing,
a shirtless boy with golden hair stood atop the lake's surface,
his expression focused, eyes locked on the water below.
It was Naruto,
who often came here to train.
Suddenly, his gaze sharpened.
Both hands flicked out.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Cold gleams cut through the air,
slashing into the water.
A moment later—
Squelch!
The sound of metal piercing flesh.
The water darkened with spreading crimson.
Naruto smiled faintly.
With a tug of his right hand,
the kunai lines snapped taut,
returning to his grip.
Each blade carried a struggling fish,
still twitching,
the thin threads glinting faintly in the sunlight.
"Mm. Extra for dinner today."
Weighing the catch in his hand,
he gave a satisfied nod.
Life in Konoha was harsh for him.
The "stipend" for his upkeep?
Useless.
Even if he had money,
shops found ways to cheat him,
to serve him spoiled food under the guise of "generosity."
The Third Hokage would never allow him to starve.
But the food he received…
was never enough.
Especially not for a boy training as a shinobi.
Especially not for a boy still growing.
Those rations?
Far from sufficient.