Konoha Year 43—also Sunagakure Year 42.
Within the heart of the Land of Wind, the Hidden Sand Village was steeped in an unusually tense atmosphere.
Golden sandstorms swept across every corner of the village. As one of the Five Great Villages that still clung tightly to tradition, Sunagakure carried an ancient, weathered scent—wind, sand, and time itself etched into its streets and walls.
Yet today, that familiar flavor of dust carried something else.
Blood.
And unease.
The disappearance of the Third Kazekage weighed heavily on every villager's heart. From the uppermost round-table chambers, arguments and curses spilled outward, spreading like wildfire. The entire village felt as though it had been thrown into boiling chaos.
Once-bustling streets fell eerily quiet, amplifying the tension even further.
Inside the Ninja Academy, a brown-haired girl named Maki leaned back in her seat, sticking out her tongue helplessly as she stared up at the ceiling.
"With the Kazekage-sama missing… who knows what'll happen to the village next? The graduation ceremony that was supposed to be tomorrow got pushed back three whole days."
Compared to Konoha's academy, Sunagakure's ninja school was crude and barebones. The training period lasted only one to two years. Though Sunagakure also claimed to value elite shinobi, education at the genin stage focused almost entirely on basic training.
The reason was simple.
Most students from ninja clans had already undergone systematic instruction long before enrolling. As a result, the academy's teaching style was harsh and unfriendly—many lessons were skipped outright.
Fortunately, Maki had a certain top student sitting beside her.
A boy who, from time to time, helped her make up for missed lessons—just enough to keep her from sinking to the very bottom of the rankings. And truthfully, Maki herself worked hard. Among civilian-born ninja, she was considered outstanding.
The meteoric rise of civilian ninja like Jiraiya and Orochimaru over the past decade had forced even Sunagakure to acknowledge the value of cultivating commoners. But power within the village still rested firmly in the hands of the major clans. The academy existed, yes—but it could not truly offer civilians enough room to grow.
As for graduation pairings and instructor assignments, those were largely determined by clan arrangements and upper-level decisions.
Which meant that civilians like Maki…
Would inevitably be teamed up with the boy sitting next to her.
To be precise, this year's graduating class in Sunagakure was already small. With clan allocations finalized long ago, someone without background or lineage like Maki was naturally destined to partner with him.
Rumor had it that the village planned to assign an exceptionally powerful jōnin as their instructor.
"Probably because of the war," the boy said calmly.
Seated beside Maki, the black-haired youth finished all his written work before speaking. Even as he offered his conclusion, his pen never stopped moving, meticulously jotting down notes.
He wore a plain white training outfit. His features were clean and refined—not breathtakingly handsome, but bright and approachable, the look of a healthy young man. Still, long hours of study left faint shadows of exhaustion on his face.
His practical ninjutsu grades were average—not impressive, but not terrible either. What truly set him apart was his theoretical mastery. On paper, his scores ranked among the very best.
Unfortunately, Sunagakure didn't care much for written results.
As long as their ninja weren't illiterate—able to read mission codes and perform hand seals—that was enough.
Compared to his calm demeanor, Maki grew visibly anxious.
"War? Shiraishi… do you really think that's true?"
After finishing his own work, the boy—Shiraishi—naturally took Maki's materials from her hands. He marked errors, highlighted key points, and explained them one by one.
"Hasn't there already been talk?" he replied evenly. "That Konoha ninja ambushed the Kazekage-sama."
"Eh?"
Whether war broke out or not, many things lay far beyond their control.
Shiraishi handed the corrected papers back to her.
"Memorize these mistakes first. No matter what happens, don't let it affect your studies."
War was cruel—but when it arrived, one had no choice but to face it. This era was like that.
Even the so-called strongest Third Kazekage had been assassinated.
"So hard… these questions are awful," Maki groaned.
"They're from Konoha, after all."
The test materials Shiraishi used were purchased from the black market. Compared to active ninjutsu, these outdated textbooks from over a decade ago weren't tightly guarded. With enough money, they were easy to find.
The content itself wasn't much different from Sunagakure's curriculum—but it was far more detailed. More importantly, it contained margin notes and instructional tricks left by Konoha instructors—things Sunagakure's academy never taught.
That was the real reason Shiraishi sought them out.
Clan-born children already had strong foundations. They didn't need textbooks to hold their hands.
But he and Maki did.
Without family guidance or background, entire areas of knowledge were blank to them. And someday, on a battlefield, those seemingly trivial tricks might be the difference between life and death.
"Three days left until graduation," Shiraishi said quietly. "The time for peaceful study will only shrink. That's why we have to learn more—see more. Only by mastering enough knowledge can we get closer to understanding what this world truly is."
Maki stared at him blankly.
She hadn't understood a word.
After the sensation of being completely intellectually crushed, her face flushed slightly.
"I… I get it."
Shiraishi ignored her reaction and extended his hand expectantly.
Maki froze again. "What?"
"My payment," he said flatly. "Today's bento."
Shiraishi's parents had died several years ago in a natural disaster, leaving him to survive alone. Since becoming classmates with Maki, he tutored her in exchange for her daily lunch—his dinner.
Sunagakure's monthly stipends were meager. Most days, he relied on the academy's simple midday meal and whatever savings he could scrape together.
To him, it was nothing more than a fair trade.
What Maki thought about it… he understood well enough.
He simply had no interest in pursuing it.
As he exited the classroom, Shiraishi put on a pair of glasses.
The sharp, calculating edge about him vanished, replaced by an almost rustic plainness. This was how he usually appeared within the village.
Those glasses were… special.
They softened his gaze, made him seem more harmless—more "likable." Enough that shop aunties were sometimes willing to give him extra food.
As for where the glasses came from, even Shiraishi no longer remembered. He'd found them at home as a child.
But ever since then, each time he wore them, fragmented memories—foreign, disjointed—would surface in his mind.
And each time, a portion of his chakra would be silently drained by the glasses.
"Hey, Shiraishi!"
Before he could leave the academy grounds, a few classmates called out to him.
Though of humble origin, Shiraishi never flaunted himself. His diligence and academic excellence earned him a neutral—often friendly—reputation.
The ones calling him were the Aida brothers, members of a small ninja family specializing in ninja tools. At their current level, their combat ability was roughly equal to Shiraishi's.
They had clearly been waiting for him.
"What trouble is it this time?" Shiraishi asked.
"The graduation exam in three days," they complained. "We heard they're assigning a terrifying jōnin as our instructor…"
Shiraishi listened carefully.
Clearly, they already knew who their instructor would be—an arrangement made by their family, likely beneficial for their future.
"So you want to change instructors?" he asked.
"…Yeah."
"Then do exactly as I say."
As they spoke, Shiraishi suddenly felt chakra within his body being drawn toward the glasses again.
This happened almost every day.
But today was different.
The drain didn't stop.
Instead, over his right eye, a massive AR-style map unfolded.
Nearly a thousand card slots spread across the entire ninja world, each marked with a question mark. The chakra absorbed earlier transformed into a visible progress bar.
At its end—
A glowing skill icon formed.
The symbols shifted.
Finally, above Shiraishi's current location, a skill name appeared:
High-Speed Movement.
This was no ordinary ninja tool.
Perhaps it had already transcended that category entirely.
As Shiraishi sensed the change within himself, his thoughts churned.
Was this a gift?
Or a trap?
After all… as one of those fragmented memories once put it—
There was no such thing as a free "old grandpa in the sky."
As his thoughts raced, a short demonstration of the skill played within his vision.
Just a few seconds.
Then the image vanished.
And could not be replayed.