The morning sun broke gently over the faces carved into Hokage Rock, light spilling across the village like a silent promise. The air shimmered faintly, carrying the scent of fresh leaves and dew. Birds fluttered across the rooftops of the newly rebuilt Hidden Leaf — a Konoha born from both destruction and rebirth.
On the statue of the Second Hokage, a boy sat cross-legged. His hair was dark and wind-tossed, his eyes — a piercing blue, calm yet restless. Saruto Uzumaki gazed over the village like someone who knew it too well and not at all.
He wasn't thinking of homework or the academy. He was thinking of the man whose face wasn't carved on the stone — the man he had never met, yet whose shadow seemed to fall over every street of Konoha.
Boruto Uzumaki.
The Seventh Hokage's son. His father. The ghost of a legend.
Saruto's fingers brushed the cool stone beneath him. "Tobirama Senju," he muttered softly, reading the carved name. "The man who created jutsu that still scare people today… you must've been something."
He smiled faintly, an edge of mischief glinting in his eyes. "One day, I'll make a jutsu even you'd envy."
Below, the streets were waking. Vendors pulled up wooden shutters; academy students hurried by, voices buzzing with excitement. Today wasn't just another school day — it was exam day.
Saruto leapt down from the stone head, chakra pulsing faintly at his feet as he landed soundlessly on the ground. His sandals clicked lightly against the dirt path — tap tap tap. The wind brushed past him, carrying faint laughter and tension in equal measure.
The Academy building stood ahead, its flags fluttering in the wind. The new generation of shinobi were gathering, each with something to prove.
---
Inside the classroom, the noise was deafening. Desks scraped, pens tapped, and the air buzzed with whispered bravado. On the far side, Jet Lee was showing off his arm stretches, boasting about his father's training methods.
"Three hundred push-ups before breakfast," he grinned, "or I don't eat."
Saruto smirked, sliding into his seat. "Guess you skip a lot of meals then."
A ripple of laughter went through the students. Jet grinned, unfazed. "Talk big now, Uzumaki. Let's see you beat me when the running starts."
Across the room, Saki, a calm-eyed boy with white hair and a chain coiled loosely around his wrist, leaned back, watching silently. His presence drew glances — quiet, confident, hard to read.
Beside him, Akima yawned noisily, scribbling something into his notebook. "Written test first, right? Ugh. Why can't they start with punching things?"
The classroom door slid open. A hush fell over the students as a tall man with a serious face stepped in. His flak jacket bore the Konoha symbol, worn and cracked at the edges. His hair was pulled back loosely, a scar trailing down one cheek.
"Sit straight," he said calmly, voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter. "I'm Tension Umino, your examiner for today."
He let the silence hang for a moment, his dark eyes sweeping the room. "You're here to prove that you have what it takes to become shinobi. That means more than shouting about strength. It means discipline, focus, and precision."
He dropped a stack of papers onto the desk with a thud. "The written test comes first. Your score will determine your placement — and whether you qualify for the second part. Begin."
The sound of pens filled the room — scratch scratch scratch.
Saruto glanced at the first question:
> Define the basic difference between chakra control and chakra molding.
His pen moved quickly. Answers flowed easily. His handwriting was sharp and clear, the product of quiet confidence rather than haste. Around him, students frowned, chewed their pencils, erased furiously. Saki wrote with casual ease, Jet scratched his head, and Akima sighed every thirty seconds.
Time passed. When the bell finally rang, Tension collected the papers without a word.
"Outside," he said. "The second test begins now."
---
The training grounds stretched wide beneath the open sky — a forested path leading up to a mountain ridge. The students gathered at the starting line, eyes bright with anticipation and fear.
Tension stood before them, arms crossed. "The next phase is a test of your control, endurance, and adaptability."
He gestured toward the course. "You will run a three-kilometer stretch filled with traps, obstacles, and water paths. Your chakra control will decide how fast you pass through. At the end of the path lies a mountain climb — scale it, reach the top, and there you'll find a black stone. Break it. The first to shatter their rock wins."
Murmurs rippled through the group, quickly silenced by a sharp look from Tension.
"Your results will reflect both written and physical performance. Ready yourselves."
The students took position. Saruto crouched low, eyes narrowing. His pulse steadied. The world around him faded until all he could hear was the faint rustle of the trees.
"Begin!"
They exploded forward — thump thump thump! Feet pounding the earth, dust kicking into the air. Jet darted ahead first, leaping over a pit trap with a shout. Akima cursed as he tripped, rolling back up with a grin.
Saruto darted through the trees, chakra pulsing to his feet. The forest blurred around him. Ahead, a flash of water — the stream crossing.
Students splashed clumsily through it, arms flailing. But Saruto focused, molding chakra beneath his soles — fwssh — and ran lightly across the surface, leaving ripples in his wake.
When he reached the mountain, his breath was steady, sweat trailing his cheek. His hands met stone — thud — and he climbed, chakra sticking his palms firmly to the rock. Around him, grunts echoed, stones fell, curses filled the air.
He reached the top. The black rock loomed before him, sunlight gleaming on its surface.
"Finally…" he whispered.
He pressed his palm to the ground, drawing in a deep breath. Wind gathered around him, swirling faintly. His eyes focused on the rock, and his lips moved quietly.
"Wind Style: Wind Cutter."
A thin line of air shimmered before him — then exploded forward. Whrrrrr—SHHHH! The pressure wave sliced cleanly through the rock's surface. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then, CRACK! The stone split open, fragments scattering across the ground.
The watching instructors blinked in disbelief.
Tension's eyes narrowed slightly — not in anger, but in silent acknowledgment. "That jutsu… that wasn't in the academy records."
Below, the others were still climbing. Saki reached the top next, slamming his fist into his stone with a burst of raw force that shattered it in one blow. Jet came third, panting, grinning wildly as his own stone cracked under a barrage of strikes.
When the dust settled, Tension raised his hand.
"Results!" he called out. "First place — Saki! Second — Saruto Uzumaki! Third — Jet Lee! The rest of you can check your placements later."
Saruto exhaled, lowering his gaze. Second place. Not bad. But not enough. His fingers brushed the scarred ground where the rock had shattered. He smiled faintly. "Next time," he muttered, "I'll be first."
---
Night fell over Konoha. In a tall circular chamber at the Hokage building, five figures stood around a glowing table — the Kage Council.
At the head, Sarada Uchiha, the Ninth Hokage — the Crimson Flame of the Leaf. Her eyes, calm yet sharp, scanned the reports before her.
Beside her sat Shinki of the Sand, called the Iron Mirage. The Raikage, Ryu — known as the Storm Lion. Azura, the Mizukage — the Frost Serpent. And Zuma, the Tsuchikage — the Stone Monk.
Their voices were low, deliberate.
"The next generation is… promising," Shinki said. "But the chakra levels of our youth are declining. Decades of peace have softened the edge."
Ryu folded his arms. "Peace always does. But it's better than losing children to war."
Azura's tone was cool. "Until peace blinds them. You've seen the reports — strange chakra readings near the borders. Something is shifting."
Sarada lifted her gaze. "I've seen it too. But we won't drag the world into fear again. We'll prepare quietly… and watch."
A long silence filled the room — the kind that hums just before a storm.
Somewhere, far beyond the walls of Konoha, the wind howled faintly — carrying with it a whisper none of them could hear.
A new beginning… or the quiet before something greater.