The atmosphere at the Ninja Academy matched that of the village—bustling and full of energy. A long banner reading "Ninja Academy Entrance Ceremony" hung above the gate. A group of five- or six-year-old children gathered at the entrance, chatting, laughing, and arguing with youthful excitement.
It was easy to tell clan children from civilians.
The civilian kids clustered together, eyes wide with curiosity, fidgeting nervously as they whispered among themselves. For them, becoming a ninja meant hope—status, recognition, a path out of obscurity. The dangers of the shinobi world still felt far away; few had ever been told the truth. After all, most of them were war orphans from the Second Shinobi World War.
They hadn't trained much. According to the system's assessment, many were at Level 0—some even below that. Still, they'd be allowed into the academy, where they would eventually become cannon fodder on the battlefield.
How many among them would ever become a Jiraiya, an Orochimaru, or even the Fourth Hokage?
The truth was cruel.
Clan children stood apart, scattered and proud. They gathered only with close friends or trusted peers. To them, this ceremony was just a formality—they were guaranteed admission. Most had already undergone basic physical training, with system levels at 1 or even 2. Their air of superiority over the civilian kids was obvious.
Soon, a dark-faced chūnin wearing a Konoha flak jacket and forehead protector arrived to organize the group. He began leading the children toward the training field.
While the Academy accepted all children of appropriate age, admission wasn't guaranteed. Everyone had to pass the entrance assessment.
Not everyone was even qualified to be cannon fodder. In this world, even cannon fodder had standards.
The test was simple: run 200 laps around the training field.
Two hundred laps—no more, no less.
Chakra, the physical and spiritual energy found in every cell of the body, fueled a ninja's abilities. And physical strength was vital in battle. While 200 laps sounded daunting for an ordinary person, in a chakra-rich world like this one, even young children had enhanced physical capabilities from an early age.
For a clan like the Uchiha, 200 laps was basic training.
Sunlight filtered through sparse tree branches and danced across the children's faces as they ran—not just for the test, but for their dreams.
And for Uchiha Tatsumi, there was only one goal: First place.
What's the point of coming in second? Only the top spot gets attention. Winning by a landslide—that's how you prove Uchiha talent.
As soon as the race began, Tatsumi surged to the front.
Running beside him was a boy with spiky brown hair and energetic eyes—clearly about five years old. His clothes bore the emblem of the Senju clan.
Senju Nawaki.
The younger brother of Tsunade. Grandson of the First Hokage.
Tatsumi's eyes narrowed. "I didn't think I'd be in the same class as Nawaki..." he thought.
He didn't mind showing off at the Academy—especially since his status within the Uchiha clan wasn't the best. If he graduated unnoticed, he'd be assigned to a random jōnin instructor with no clan ties or prospects. That path led nowhere.
In Konoha, power meant influence. And influence meant aligning with the Hokage's faction—just like his father had done.
To rise, he needed attention. Talent. Results. No one cares about a weakling.
He poured more energy into his steps, determined to pass Nawaki.
Beating the First Hokage's grandson—as an orphaned Uchiha child—would send a message.
What better debut could there be?
Nawaki, of course, wasn't easy to shake. His chakra reserves were massive, and even without inheriting Hashirama's mythical physique, his body was strong—stronger than most Uchihas of the same age.
That's why the Senju dominated the Warring States Era. That's how they eventually overwhelmed the Uchiha.
But Tatsumi was different. He had no mentor. No family support. His growth came from his own will.
Nawaki had training from Tsunade, guidance from Jiraiya and Orochimaru, and the support of his grandmother, Uzumaki Mito.
Before Tatsumi had upgraded his stats yesterday, Nawaki outclassed him in taijutsu.
Still, Tatsumi had a system.
And now, with his taijutsu at Level 3, he was tearing through the track.
Some of the other clan children, unwilling to fall too far behind, began speeding up. It was fine to lose—but being lapped? That would be humiliating. Their families would definitely notice.
The pace of the entire group picked up.
At first, Nawaki kept pace with Tatsumi by relying on his chakra. But as his reserves waned, the gap began to grow.
Despite his strong physique, Nawaki simply couldn't match the raw stats of a Level 3 taijutsu user. According to the system, Level 3 enhanced stamina, endurance, speed, and taijutsu comprehension exponentially over Level 2.
Tatsumi felt weightless—like he was flying.
Soon, he began to pull ahead. The gap widened. Nawaki clenched his jaw and gave chase, but it was no use.
He fell to second place.
No matter how much Nawaki pushed himself, the little Uchiha kid up front kept widening the lead. Every time Nawaki sped up, Tatsumi pulled farther away.
"Did that guy take some kind of stimulant?!" Nawaki grumbled.
"Damn it."
Tatsumi, meanwhile, felt like he'd never run this fast in his life. He even found time to glance back, admiring the frustrated faces behind him.
"My dear classmates," he thought, "if you want to catch me... then hate me. Curse me. Train like your lives depend on it."
"Keep running—just to catch up."
"Then, maybe one day, when you're fast enough... come challenge me again."