It had been several weeks since I asked Kenta-sensei to recommend me for the Chunin Exams. Weeks spent observing, training, and quietly refining my skills while the village moved on around me. Each day added a layer of anticipation and preparation, sharpening my focus. I had honed my chakra control, refined my jutsu combinations, and cataloged every lesson learned from past missions. Every detail mattered. Every observation counted.
This morning, I entered the designated building within the heart of the Leaf Village. The structure was unassuming, with weathered wooden walls and an interior lined with neat rows of desks, each equipped with a small scroll, ink, and brushes. The scent of aged paper and faint traces of ink filled the room. Here, the first stage of the Chunin Exams would begin: the written test.
I moved carefully between the desks, taking note of the other Leaf Genin already seated. None of the familiar faces from the future Naruto-era students were here — everyone present was from my current timeline. Their expressions were a mixture of nervousness, overconfidence, and quiet calculation.
• A boy with spiky black hair tapped his pen against the desk, eyes darting nervously around the room.
• A tall, lanky girl in green crossed her arms, smirking faintly as if daring anyone to challenge her.
• A short boy with round glasses scribbled furiously, hunched over his scroll as if knowledge alone could carry him.
Each revealed something about themselves: confidence, caution, anxiety, or arrogance. These subtleties were data — patterns to note and exploit later, whether in this exam or beyond.
I settled into a seat near the center of the room. The scroll before me bore the Leaf insignia, its emblem a quiet reminder of what I was working toward. I traced the outline with my fingers briefly, centering myself. This was more than a test of knowledge — it was a trial of strategy, composure, and foresight.
The proctor, a tall man in dark shinobi attire, entered the room silently. His eyes swept over the candidates, briefly meeting mine. A flicker of acknowledgment passed between us, though subtle and restrained. He continued down the rows, ensuring every student had their materials in order.
"Genin of Konoha," he began, his voice calm yet commanding, carrying clearly across the room. "This written exam will assess your knowledge, analytical thinking, and tactical understanding. You will have two hours to complete the scroll. Accuracy alone is insufficient — reasoning and insight are equally important."
I inclined my head slightly, focusing. Around me, other students shifted nervously, some whispering to one another, others tapping pens in restless anticipation. Observation, calculation, and preparation — these were my allies, and I smiled inwardly.
The horn sounded, marking the start of the exam.
⸻
The Written Test Begins
I unfurled my scroll and examined the questions. Each was crafted not only to test knowledge but also to gauge how candidates approached complex problems.
• "Describe three methods of breaking a genjutsu without using direct chakra disruption."
• "Determine optimal chakra distribution for a stealth mission across varied terrain with multiple targets."
• "Analyze a Forest Guard Formation and identify weaknesses exploitable by a single observer."
A small grin tugged at my lips. Logic, strategy, and careful observation — this was my domain. I allowed my hand to move smoothly across the scroll, forming diagrams and notes where necessary, writing succinct but thorough explanations.
I glanced at the other candidates as I worked. The nervous boy with spiky hair had already made mistakes in his calculations, his pencil scratching frantically as panic set in. The tall girl in green occasionally glanced at me with curiosity, her smirk shifting as she attempted to gauge my approach. The bespectacled boy furiously copied diagrams from memory but faltered when intuition was required.
Every subtle error, every hesitation, every confident flourish was being cataloged. Observation was critical, even here. Knowing how others think, even during a written test, could provide leverage in the tactical stages to come.
Half an hour passed. I paused briefly, letting my gaze wander over the room. The proctor's eyes lingered on me for a heartbeat before moving on. Recognition, even subtle, was satisfying, though secondary to mastery.
By the time the exam concluded, my answers were complete, detailed, and precise. Margins contained diagrams, notations, and strategies for unforeseen scenarios — a habit formed from years of practice and anticipation. Around me, some students stared at their blank or incomplete scrolls with dread, while others cast uncertain glances my way.
I allowed myself a small, inward nod. Stage one — complete.
⸻
Interaction and Observation
During the short break before the next stage, I walked along the perimeter of the room. The soft echo of footsteps on the wooden floor filled the space.
A young boy approached cautiously, his eyes wide. "Um… you finished already? How did you… know all that?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Observation, practice, and understanding. How you arrive at an answer matters as much as the answer itself."
He blinked, absorbing the words. "I… I never thought of it like that."
I offered a quiet smile. "Remember it. Speed isn't skill. Planning and adaptation are."
The boy nodded, retreating to his desk. I allowed myself a brief reflection — Daichi's calm counsel, Rina's fiery encouragement — both had shaped the way I approached challenges, even when alone.
⸻
Proctor's Instructions
The proctor raised a hand, drawing silence. "You have passed the written stage. The next portion will assess tactical awareness, combat strategy, and chakra control. This will occur in a controlled forest scenario outside this building. Work alone. The goal is not to eliminate other candidates but to survive, adapt, and act effectively. Performance here is as important as knowledge; hesitation can be costly."
The words sent murmurs across the room. Some glanced nervously at peers, others gripped kunai and shuriken as if preparing for a real battle.
I felt none of that.
The forest would be my chessboard, and every candidate, a variable to account for. Preparation, observation, patience — these were my tools.
⸻
Final Thoughts Before Departure
I returned my scroll, seating myself calmly as others scribbled last-minute notes. My mind replayed the last year of training: refining chakra control, perfecting jutsu, and completing missions that forced me to think beyond instinct. Every lesson was a step toward mastery.
Itachi's shadow lingered — not as fear, but as a reminder. I would not fail those who depended on me, even indirectly. Sasuke's image flickered briefly in my thoughts, small and quiet. I would not falter.
When the horn sounded to signal the conclusion of the written test, I rose slowly. I would step into the forest next, alone. The next stage would test not just skill, but judgment, patience, and the ability to control chaos.
And I was ready.
⸻
From the window, I glimpsed the streets of Konoha below. Children ran, merchants sold wares, and the village pulsed with quiet life. Among them, a small blond boy laughed, charging past the market stalls. Naruto — only six years old now, just beginning his own journey. His path was not mine, yet somehow, I acknowledged it.
I exhaled slowly, letting focus settle over me like armor. The written test was behind me, the forest awaited, and every step forward was a calculated choice. My time to act, observe, and excel had begun.