The afternoon sun baked the hard-packed earth of the Academy courtyard. The air smelled of dry dust and nervous sweat. It was the smell of evaluation.
Daikoku-sensei stood in the center of the ring, a silver whistle hanging around his neck and a clipboard in hand. He looked less like a teacher and more like a pit boss at a particularly violent casino.
"Alright, Students!" Daikoku barked, his voice carrying easily over the chatter. "Put the pencils away. In the real world, you can't calculate your way out of an ambush. No jutsu. No weapons. Just hands and feet. I want to see instinct. I want to see grit."
Nanami stood on the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his orange shorts, leaning comfortably against a wooden post. He watched the first few matches with mild interest.
It was mostly flailing.
An Akimichi boy tried to wrestle an Inuzuka, only to get bitten on the arm. A Hyuga girl methodically dismantled a civilian boy who didn't know how to guard his center mass. It was sloppy. It was energetic. It was exactly what you would expect from six-year-olds.
"Next pair!" Daikoku shouted, scanning his list. "Might Duy versus... Taka."
"YOUTH!" Duy roared, backflipping into the circle. He didn't stick the landing perfectly, stumbling a bit, but his recovery was instant.
His opponent, a skinny kid who looked like he'd rather be doing literally anything else, flinched.
The fight was over in ten seconds. Duy didn't have style. He didn't have grace. What he had was a forward momentum that defied physics. He charged, tanked a weak punch to the face without blinking, and delivered a shoulder check that sent poor Taka sprawling into the dirt.
"Winner, Might Duy!"
"Thank you for the match!" Duy bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched the ground, then sprinted back to Nanami, vibrating with adrenaline. "Did you see, Kento? My dynamic entry was a bit off, but the spirit was there!"
"Solid impact," Nanami nodded approvingly. "You committed to the attack. Most people hesitate. You didn't."
"Hesitation is the enemy of Youth!"
"Next pair," Daikoku called out, and the tone of his voice shifted slightly. A bit more expectant. "Nanami Kento versus... Jiraiya."
A hush fell over the courtyard.
Jiraiya, who had been loudly bragging to a group of girls near the water fountain, froze. Then, a grin split his face—wide, confident, and dangerously arrogant. He pumped his fist in the air.
"Finally!" Jiraiya shouted, vaulting over a bench and landing in the center of the ring with a flourish that kicked up a cloud of dust. He pointed a dramatic finger at Nanami. "Time to knock that bored look off your face, 'Genius'! I'm going to show everyone why the Great Jiraiya is the real top dog!"
Nanami sighed, pushing himself off the post. He cracked his neck, a sharp pop echoing in the quiet air.
"Man," Nanami muttered, strolling into the circle with his hands still in his pockets. "I just finished digestion. I was really hoping for a nap, not a workout. Can't we reschedule? Say... never?"
"Scared?" Jiraiya taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on the face. The girls like it too much."
Nanami stopped five feet away. He stood completely relaxed. Knees slightly bent, shoulders loose, center of gravity low. To the untrained eye, he looked lazy. To Daikoku, he looked rooted.
"Terrified," Nanami deadpanned. "Let's make this quick, yeah? I have errands to run."
"Begin!" Daikoku blew the whistle.
Jiraiya didn't wait. He roared, charging forward with all the subtlety of a runaway cart.
It was fast for a kid. Jiraiya had natural athleticism, coiled power in his legs that launched him forward. The wind-up was massive, telegraphing the blow from a mile away, but the speed was respectable.
Nanami watched him come.
Time didn't slow down—Nanami just processed it faster. The Netero template wasn't fully unlocked, but the passive perception was always running. He saw the shift in Jiraiya's weight to his front foot. He saw the overextension of the right shoulder. He saw the complete lack of defensive guard on the left side.
Too much emotion, Nanami analyzed instantly. He's throwing his ego, not his fist.
Nanami didn't block. He didn't retreat.
He simply took a single, lazy step to the left.
It was a movement of minimal effort. Just enough to vacate the space he had occupied a millisecond ago.
Jiraiya's fist sailed through empty air, the momentum carrying him forward. His eyes went wide as his target vanished.
As Jiraiya stumbled past, carried by his own force, Nanami extended his leg. It wasn't a violent kick. It wasn't a malicious sweep. It was just... an obstacle. A perfectly placed tripwire.
"Whoops," Nanami murmured.
Jiraiya's shin connected with Nanami's foot. Physics took the wheel.
The future Legendary Sannin, the future Toad Sage, face-planted into the dirt with a spectacular, bone-jarring thud. He slid a few feet, kicking up a cloud of dust, before coming to a halt at Daikoku's feet.
Silence. Absolute silence.
Even Orochimaru, watching from the shade of the building, raised an eyebrow. Tsunade burst into laughter, clapping her hands.
Jiraiya groaned, spitting out dirt and grass. He pushed himself up, his face red with humiliation and dust. "What the... you cheated!"
"I stepped to the left," Nanami said, offering a hand to help him up. His voice was devoid of mockery, just calm fact. "You beat yourself, buddy. Too much wind-up, not enough balance. You attacked where I was, not where I was going to be."
Daikoku stared at Nanami. He had seen the step. It was efficient. Brutally efficient. No wasted movement.
"Winner, Nanami," Daikoku announced, scribbling on his clipboard.
Jiraiya slapped Nanami's hand away, jumping up on his own. He wiped his nose, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and begrudging respect. "I slipped! That was a fluke! Rematch!"
"Maybe next time," Nanami waved him off, turning his back and walking away. "I think you need to wash the dirt out of your teeth first."
He returned to the sidelines, where Duy greeted him with a high-five. "Youthful dodge, Kento! You moved like water!"
"Just conservation of energy, Duy," Nanami said, leaning back against his post. "Why run when you can walk? Why block when you can trip?"
The final bell rang, echoing across the campus. The day was officially over.
The flood of students surged toward the gates, eager for freedom. Nanami, however, swam upstream. He wove through the crowd until he reached the teacher's podium where Daikoku was packing up his gear.
"Sensei?"
Daikoku looked up, sliding his clipboard into his bag. "Nanami. Good work today. If you're here to ask about your grade, you got full marks. Though try not to humiliate the other students too badly. Jiraiya has an ego, but he's got potential."
"His potential is loud, but noted," Nanami agreed. "Grades are fine. I actually had a request."
"Shoot."
Nanami leaned against the desk, looking casually serious. "I want to study Fuinjutsu."
Daikoku paused. He blinked, looking at the six-year-old as if he had just asked for a cup of poison. "Sealing jutsu? Kid, that's third-year material. And even then, it's an elective. It's mostly advanced mathematics, calligraphy, and chakra theory. It gives Jonin headaches."
"I like math and calligraphy," Nanami replied easily. "And I have a high tolerance for headaches. I know it's early, and I'm not asking for training. I just want access to the library's restricted section for the introductory scrolls. The basics."
Daikoku studied the boy. Top scores on the entrance exam. Perfect chakra control demonstration. Effortless Taijutsu victory. And now, asking for the most boring, difficult, and cerebral branch of ninja arts on day one.
"You're a weird kid, Nanami," Daikoku muttered, shaking his head. He pulled out a small notepad and scribbled a note. "Most kids ask for fireballs or shadow clones. You want to learn how to draw circles."
"Circles that dictate the laws of physics," Nanami corrected with a small smirk.
Daikoku tore the page off and handed it to him. "Don't blame me if your brain melts. Show this to the librarian. And don't blow anything up."
"No promises on the brain melting. Thanks, Sensei."
Nanami took the slip and walked out to the main gate. Tsunade and Duy were waiting for him.
"Hey guys," Nanami said, waving the slip. "I got some errands to run. Library stuff."
"Boring!" Tsunade stuck out her tongue, making a face. "I'm going to get dango. You coming? My treat."
"Tempting, but raincheck. I gotta maximize my evening."
"YOUTH waits for no one!" Duy shouted, jogging in place. "I am going to run 500 laps around the Academy to celebrate our first day! Join me, Kento! We shall sweat the sweat of champions!"
"I'll pass on the cardio today, Duy. Good luck though. Don't pass out." Nanami waved. "See you both tomorrow."
He watched them leave—Tsunade marching toward the dango shop with the confidence of a queen, and Duy sprinting into the sunset screaming about youth.
Nanami turned and headed for the village library.
It was a quiet, dusty building tucked away behind the administration offices. It smelled of old paper, ink, and silence. Nanami loved it immediately.
The librarian was a stern older woman with glasses on a chain and hair pulled back in a bun so tight it looked painful. She looked down at him skeptically as he approached the counter.
"Children's section is to the left," she said without looking up from her ledger. "Picture books are on the bottom shelf."
"I need to see the Fuinjutsu primer," Nanami said, sliding the permission slip across the counter.
She paused. She picked up the slip, adjusted her glasses, and read it. Then she looked at Nanami. Then back at the slip.
"You're a first-year," she stated, as if accusing him of a crime.
"I'm an ambitious first-year," Nanami replied smoothly.
She sighed, a long, weary sound. "Aisle 4. Row C. The scrolls with the blue tags. Do not touch the red tags—those are barrier seals and will shock you. Do not touch the black tags—those are explosive theory and will kill you. Do not drool on the parchment."
"Understood."
Nanami found the scroll. Introduction to Sealing Arrays: Volume 1.
He didn't check it out. He sat down at a nearby table, unrolled a blank scroll from his bag, dipped his brush into his inkwell, and began to copy.
For an hour, the only sound was the scratching of the brush against paper.
Nanami didn't just copy the shapes; he analyzed them. His mind, sharpened by his own adult intellect, deconstructed the symbols.
This spiral represents kinetic energy flow, he noted, his hand moving with fluid precision. This radical anchors the chakra. This stroke determines the release trigger.
It was like reading code. The ink wasn't just art; it was a programming language for reality. And Nanami was learning the syntax.
When he finished, his fingers were stained black, but he had a complete copy of the primer. He bowed to the librarian on his way out.
"Thank you for your assistance."
"You have good brushwork," she muttered, not looking up. "Come back quietly."
The sun had set by the time Nanami reached the bakery. The warm glow of the windows welcomed him home.
"I'm home," he called out, kicking off his sandals in the genkan.
"Welcome back! How was the first day?" his mother asked, popping her head out of the kitchen. "Did you make friends? Did you learn jutsu?"
"It was productive," Nanami summarized, dropping his bag by the stairs. "Passed everything. Got some homework. I'm heading out to the training grounds for a bit. Need to stretch my legs."
"Be back for dinner! We're having tonkatsu!"
"Will do. Love tonkatsu."
Nanami grabbed a water bottle and a towel, then jogged out into the cool evening air. He headed for Training Ground 4—a secluded spot near the forest edge that nobody used because it was mostly just stumps and rocks.
Perfect.
He stood in the center of the clearing, the moonlight casting long shadows. The crickets chirped in rhythm.
He wasn't here for flashy jutsu. He wasn't here to throw fireballs.
He closed his eyes and assumed the stance. Feet shoulder-width. Knees bent. Spine straight.
"One."
He punched.
"Two."
He punched.
The Netero Prayer was no longer a chore. It was a meditation. As his fist cut through the air, he felt the familiar burn in his muscles, the flow of his massive chakra reserves cycling through his body.
He visualized the Golden Bodhisattva. He visualized the movement.
Faster, he told himself. Smoother. Less drag. More gratitude.
He did one thousand punches. His sweat soaked his black shirt, turning it slick against his skin. His breath came in measured, white puffs in the cool air.
When he finished, he didn't collapse. He stood still, bowing to the empty clearing.
"Thank you," he whispered to the silence.
He jogged home, his body tired but his mind razor-sharp.
After a dinner of tonkatsu—which he ate with the appreciation of a man who knew the value of a good meal—he retreated to his room.
He didn't sleep immediately. He sat at his desk, the lamp casting a yellow circle of light on the wooden surface. He opened the scroll he had copied at the library.
The symbols for 'Store', 'Release', 'Barrier', and 'Explode' stared back at him.
Nanami dipped his brush.
Let's debug this code, he thought.
He began to draw the 'Barrier' seal. But he didn't just copy it. He played with it.
The standard array uses a four-point anchor, he mused, tapping the brush against his chin. But if I use a three-point anchor with a heavier chakra load on the northern axis... I lose stability but gain deployment speed.
He drew the modification. He channeled a tiny, controlled thread of chakra into the paper.
Fizz.
The paper smoked slightly, the ink glowing a faint blue before fading.
Failure, Nanami noted, unbothered. The load was too heavy for the paper grade. Or the geometry was off by a degree.
He turned the page. Tried again.
He spent hours in the quiet of his room, analyzing the geometry of the seals. He felt like a hacker trying to break into a secure server, testing boundaries, finding exploits. The 'hard work' Jack Sparrow had promised was real—his brain felt like it was doing bench presses—but the potential was intoxicating.
There was no ceiling. If he could imagine the logic, he could write the seal.
Finally, his eyes grew heavy. The clock on his desk read 1:00 AM.
Overtime, Nanami thought with a sigh. Unpaid, voluntary overtime. I'm becoming a workaholic.
He cleaned his brush, rolled up the scroll, and turned off the lamp.
He crawled into bed, the smell of ink lingering on his fingers. He closed his eyes, his mind already categorizing the tasks for tomorrow.
Nanami Kento drifted off to sleep, dreaming of perfectly balanced equations and a world where paperwork filed itself.