Chapter 12
Despite being called a practical class, the Ninja School's "practical" session resembled physical education more than actual combat training—at least by Asakawa Naoki's standards, given his memories of a past life.
Compared to the dull cultural lessons, the seven- and eight-year-olds in the second grade were far more enthusiastic about a class that let them move around. So when their homeroom teacher, Masaki Yuto, stepped into the classroom and announced, "Next period is practical class. After the break, everyone gather on the field," most of the students had already bolted for the door.
Naoki and Kushina followed along at a calmer pace.
By the time the bell rang, Class 1 of Grade 2 had assembled on the training field.
"Warm up with five laps around the field!" Masaki Yuto called out.
The students took off immediately.
The training field looped around at nearly 400 meters per lap—roughly the same size as a university track in Naoki's previous life. Running five laps added up to about 2,000 meters.
If it had been his former self—just a regular boy—Naoki might have struggled with that kind of distance. But in this body, as an eight-year-old with ninja potential and chakra-enhanced stamina, it was laughably easy.
Ordinary human standards didn't apply here.
Even though the students were only eight, their basic chakra control gave them better endurance than average adults. When they entered second grade, teachers had even taught them techniques to conserve energy and chakra during long-distance runs.
Still, not everyone grasped those lessons.
Many of the kids, full of energy and eager to show off, sprinted through the first lap and quickly burned out. By the second lap, they were already falling behind.
If this had been a battlefield, their premature exhaustion would've meant one thing—death. Fortunately, today was just class, and the worst they'd face was Masaki Yuto's scolding.
Even so, a few students remained consistent at the front of the pack.
Among them were the expected prodigies from prestigious clans like the Uchiha and Hyuga. But mixed in were three non-clan students: a blond-haired boy, a redhead, and a dark-haired figure keeping pace with ease.
The blond was Namikaze Minato—a civilian genius who had quickly earned recognition. Despite lacking the clan advantages in training and nutrition, he consistently ranked among the top in both academics and fieldwork. He was the real deal.
Then there was Uzumaki Kushina, whose stamina came naturally from her powerful Uzumaki lineage. As for the black-haired boy keeping pace with both of them—
"That boy…" Masaki Yuto narrowed his eyes at Naoki. "He's not falling behind at all."
Naoki and Minato were the only two civilian-born students in the lead group. Kushina's place made sense, given her natural vitality. But Naoki? He could've pushed past even the clan heirs if he wanted to.
But he didn't. There was no need to draw attention.
Let Minato take the spotlight. Naoki was content to improve quietly.
Eventually, the five laps were done.
A clear divide had formed. The students who had overexerted themselves were panting and red-faced, while the front-runners—Minato, Naoki, Kushina, and the clan prodigies—were only slightly flushed.
The difference between average students and future shinobi was already beginning to show.
Those stuck at the bottom would need a miracle to ever become jōnin.
"All right," Masaki Yuto said. "Catch your breath. Next up is shuriken throwing."
He pointed at a few students. "Namikaze, Asakawa, Hinata, Nara—you're with me. Come grab the shuriken baskets."
"Understood, teacher."
The selected students—who had barely broken a sweat—followed him to the equipment storage, each carrying back a large basket.
Though they looked like real shuriken, these were wooden training versions designed to prevent injury. Still sharp enough to sting, but not to pierce.
Once the baskets were placed, the rest of the class began gathering. Masaki Yuto stepped forward again, ready to instruct.
"As always, let's review. One: never aim a shuriken at your classmates."
A few kids giggled.
"Two: pay attention to technique, angle, and force. If you can't get it right, follow the form I demonstrated. No exceptions."
Seeing that some students were zoning out, he raised his voice.
"Listen carefully! Don't assume every fight will be all flashy ninjutsu."
"In real battles—especially for Genin and Chūnin—chakra management is critical. Most fights come down to taijutsu and shuriken skills. That means this matters."
His tone sharpened as he laid out the stakes.
"The test will be the same as always: ten throws, ten meters away. You pass if you hit the target at least seven times."
"Fail... and you're running five more laps."
At the edge of the field stood several life-sized wooden training dummies, shaped like people and marked with target zones.
"You've got time to practice. The test will be ten minutes before the end of class."
With that, the students scrambled to grab shuriken and stake out targets. Each was given ten shuriken to practice.
"Naoki, let's use those two targets over there," Kushina said, pointing to two side-by-side dummies.
"Sure."
As they headed over, a sudden thunk interrupted them—one of the dummies had a shuriken embedded in it already.
"Ah, sorry, Asakawa. I picked that target first," a boy said smugly, walking over.
He had neatly combed black hair and wore a uniform embroidered with small symbols that looked like ping-pong balls.
"Uchiha Kanmon…" Kushina scowled. "Do you have to always get in Naoki's way?"
Kanmon had a habit of inserting himself wherever Naoki was. To Kushina, it seemed almost personal.
In reality, Kanmon wasn't targeting Naoki alone. He challenged anyone who stood out—Naoki, Minato, it didn't matter. The guy was competitive and desperate to prove himself.
And shuriken throwing was where he felt strongest. As a member of the Uchiha clan, this was practically in his blood.
"So," Kanmon said with a grin, "how about a contest? Ten throws. Let's see who scores higher."
Naoki sighed. "Do we really have to do this?"
But deep down, he understood. They were still kids, desperate to be seen. And in a world like this—where strength was everything—that drive was encouraged.
"Fine," he said at last. "Let's do it."
Kanmon smiled, already brimming with confidence.
*********
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