Kakashi shivered. He whipped his head around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary among the laughing students and passing strangers.
"Huh? Was it just my imagination?" Kakashi discreetly glanced into the distance out of the corner of his eye, a seed of suspicion taking root in his mind.
---
Meanwhile, Shinichi Higashino walked steadily toward the Academy's training grounds, a wooden sword in hand.
Just as he had planned, moving out of the orphanage and entering the Academy officially shifted his stage. He was upgrading his PR campaign from the relatively isolated neighborhood of the orphanage to a massive platform that gathered Konoha's new generation—a platform that could radiate his influence directly into the homes of the entire village.
It was nearing noon, and the sun was scorching.
Even though morning classes were over, the campus was far from empty. Like many schools, most Academy students didn't go home for lunch. They brought bentos from home or grabbed a quick bite at the cafeteria, then lingered in the classrooms, training grounds, or library to enjoy their free time.
Because of this, the campus was still teeming with people during the lunch break, echoing with the energetic chatter of youths.
This was exactly the kind of audience Shinichi needed.
He stopped at the edge of the training grounds. The area was wide open, equipped with simple wooden dummies, targets, and flat clearings for Taijutsu and Ninjutsu practice.
Students were already scattered about in small groups. Some were eating bentos under the shade of trees, some were practicing shuriken throwing, and others were lightly sparring in the open.
Shinichi chose his spot deliberately. He stopped in a clearing that was relatively isolated but highly visible from the main pathways and the rest of the grounds.
He didn't start immediately. Instead, he stood quietly for a moment, his gaze slowly sweeping the area, taking in all the intentional and unintentional eyes landing on him.
Perfect.
He took a deep breath and gripped the hilt of his sword.
The next second, he moved.
There were no flashy or dazzling techniques. It was just the most basic, fundamental kendo suburi (practice swings). Step, twist the waist, swing the arm. The wooden blade sliced through the air, producing a short, sharp whoosh.
His form was almost mechanically perfect. Every exertion of force was distinctly visible, transferring smoothly and rigorously from the soles of his feet to his waist, up through his shoulders, arms, wrists, and finally his fingers.
Then came the second swing, the third...
He wasn't moving fast. In fact, he deliberately maintained a steady, precise rhythm. It looked as though he wasn't aiming for lethal power, but rather chiseling away at the microscopic details of his form. His grip was rock-solid, his eyes focused intently on an imaginary point in the empty air ahead of him, entirely undistracted.
Gradually, the students nearby stopped what they were doing, their attention drawn to the repetitive sound.
"Look over there... is that guy practicing sword techniques?"
"He's so focused. Every swing is exactly the same. How does he keep his form so perfect after that many reps?"
"Is he a freshman? I don't recognize him."
"Tch, giving up his lunch break to train? Talk about a try-hard..."
Low murmurs drifted over. There was curiosity, praise, and dismissive muttering. Shinichi felt the weight of their gazes and heard their whispers. This was exactly what he wanted.
Starting today, he would practice his sword swings here every single lunch break, rain or shine, right under everyone's noses.
And starting tomorrow, and every day after that, he would haul massive boulders around the campus and nearby streets during the morning rush hour.
Day after day.
He didn't care if it brought mockery, sarcasm, or if people called him a weirdo.
All that mattered was that the impressions of his diligence, insane perseverance, rock-solid fundamentals, and natural talent for swordsmanship would be recognized and internalized by at least some of the onlookers.
Through the eyes of his classmates, these impressions would be continuously validated and deepened. Then, through casual after-school chatter, they would quietly seep into their respective households.
A passing mention by parents at the dinner table, or a casual exchange between neighbors, would gradually bind the name "Shinichi Higashino" to these specific traits.
Even years down the line, when these students graduated and became Genin, Chunin, or took up other professions, they might casually bring it up while chatting with their sensei or teammates: "You know, there was this guy back in the Academy. Every morning, you'd see him running with a giant boulder on his back, and every noon he'd be out there swinging a sword like his life depended on it. The guy was working incredibly hard..."
These impressions were like drops of water pooling into a river, eventually carving out the "truth" of who he was in the minds of others.
---
By July, the weather had plunged Konoha into a thick, suffocating heat.
Time flew by, and the first semester was drawing to a close. The Academy was about to hold its three-day final exams.
"Man, you're a lifesaver, Shinichi!"
The morning written exam had just ended. The moment the proctor stepped out of the classroom with the test papers, Takashi let out a long, heavy sigh of relief. He looked at Shinichi, his dark, sturdy face beaming with gratitude. "If it wasn't for you, I would have bombed that written test just like the earlier ones."
He was telling the truth. During the exam, Shinichi hadn't made any obvious moves; he had simply angled his completed test paper just enough for Takashi to see.
"The practical combat assessment is this afternoon." Takashi quickly recovered from the near-death experience of the written exam. He leaned forward, that familiar, eager fire for combat igniting in his eyes. "I heard from the upperclassmen that to get a more comprehensive evaluation, they sometimes shuffle the classes and randomly match opponents. I really hope I get matched with some tough guy from another class. I want a real fight."
"Don't get too excited, big guy," Shizune chimed in, throwing a bucket of cold water on his parade without looking up from organizing her stationery. "You'll be crying if you get matched against Kakashi."
"Kakashi..." The excitement on Takashi's face visibly froze for a second. He scratched his head and admitted frankly, "That guy... yeah, he's incredibly strong. He's a genius among geniuses."
"A genius among geniuses." In the Academy right now, that was the universal consensus regarding Kakashi Hatake.
Since his enrollment, through every monthly test and mid-term exam, across theory, ninjutsu, taijutsu, genjutsu, and shuriken throwing... Kakashi had scored perfect marks across the board.
And perfect scores were merely the baseline of his terrifying talent.
While the vast majority of first-years were still struggling with the absolute basics, and anyone who could flawlessly execute the standard Clone, Transformation, and Substitution jutsu was hailed as a prodigy...
Kakashi was already fluidly casting elemental nature transformations.
And not just one. Wind, Fire, Lightning, Earth, Water—he possessed all five basic nature transformations.
Being born with all five chakra natures was a one-in-a-million, borderline mythical aptitude.
Looking back through the entire history of Konoha's founding, there were only three individuals explicitly recorded as having such talent: the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, who founded the era; the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, who laid the village's foundations; and the current Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, often hailed as the "Strongest Hokage."
And now, Kakashi was the fourth.
Therefore, once the tip of the iceberg regarding Kakashi's five-nature ninjutsu talent was exposed at the Academy...
No one knew which gossiping student started it, but the phrase "Potential of a Hokage" began to spread.
It caught like wildfire, blazing through the student body and faculty, and rapidly spreading to engulf the entire village.
By now, even the most ordinary civilians in Konoha had heard the rumors over dinner or tea: the five-year-old son of the White Fang was an unprecedented genius, the hope of the village, and destined to inherit the mantle of Hokage.
---