After the exam, we were herded into the training hall, where we were instructed to run laps around the ground and perform simple exercises like jumping and rope climbing. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy as students cheered each other on, the sound of laughter and encouragement filling the air. As I looked around, I noticed some students excelling in these physical activities far beyond my abilities. This realization sent a wave of anxiety through me. What if I didn't make it into the top class?
I had heard the curriculum for that class was intense, allowing students to graduate up to three years early if they could pass the graduation exam, which normally took six years. The thought of potentially missing out on such an opportunity terrified me. I couldn't help but wonder why someone like Sasuke, who was reputed to be the top student, hadn't graduated early. Surely, with his talent, he could have done so. But I brushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on my own performance.
During the physical exam, my heart raced as I pushed myself to keep up with my peers. I managed to hit four targets during the shuriken skills test, while many of my classmates were hitting eight with impressive precision. It was disheartening. Though I realized I was better than most, the disparity between my results and the top students' was stark. It was evident that clan kids, who had likely been trained from a young age, had a significant advantage. I understood why civilian children like myself were often left behind; my parents had only started training me at my request. With my mom being a ninja, I could see why they felt secure in not pushing me harder—after all, they already had a stable future.
The training hall felt like a gauntlet, and with every lap, every jump, I could feel the pressure mounting. I struggled to maintain my pace, watching as some students effortlessly completed the exercises, while I fought to keep up. It was a humbling experience, and with these thoughts swirling in my mind, I made my way to my parents, trying to hide my disappointment.
They quickly picked up on my mood and offered words of consolation, assuring me that my efforts would pay off in time. To lift my spirits, they decided to take me out for a meal, and we ended up at a BBQ restaurant similar to my father's. As I sat down to eat, I realized it was my first time eating out since arriving at the academy a month ago.
The food was incredible—juicy pieces of meat sizzling on the grill, and the aroma wafted through the air, tantalizing my senses. I found myself enjoying every bite, the flavors exploding in my mouth. For a brief moment, the worries about the exam faded away, and I felt a sense of normalcy return.
After the meal, I glanced at the bill, which totaled 5000 ryo. I wasn't sure if that was expensive or reasonable, but I couldn't help but wonder how much a meal at Ichiraku's would cost in comparison. The thought brought a smile to my face, momentarily distracting me from my earlier anxieties.
Once we finished our meal, we headed back to the academy to check the results, and my heart raced with a mix of fear and anticipation. After what felt like an eternity, the results were finally posted. I felt a rush of emotions as I scanned the list, both relieved and nervous to see my placement: I had made it into class 1A, but barely—I was in the second-to-last position.
My scores were:
Written Exam: 100
Physical Exam: 60
Shuriken Exam: 40
With a total of 200 points, I was relieved to see I had made the cut, but I was also disheartened by how close I had come to failing. I glanced around at my classmates' scores, and my heart sank further. Most students had scores that consistently ranged around 80 across all exams. Even the last student in class 1A had performed better than me overall, with a low written score but better physical and shuriken scores.
The weight of disappointment settled heavily on my shoulders. I couldn't shake the feeling of being the weakest in my class. Checking the results for class 1B, I noticed that many students had done better than me in physical and shuriken tests. The only reason I had qualified for class 1A was due to my written exam score. The realization stung; I felt like I was hanging on by a thread.
Yet, within that moment of despair, a flicker of determination sparked inside me. I resolved to work harder than ever, to push beyond my limits and prove my worth. I understood that my journey was just beginning, and if I wanted to make a difference in my life and the lives of others, I had to fight for it.
When I returned to my parents, I expected them to be disappointed, but to my surprise, they were incredibly proud. My dad even started to cry, which was both embarrassing and heartwarming. His tears of joy made me feel appreciated, despite my mixed feelings about my performance.
Later that day, we hosted a huge celebration party at home. Many of my mom's and dad's friends came, some of whom were ninjas themselves—though all were genin. They brought their children along, and surprisingly, most of them were younger than me.
As we mingled, I played with them, showing off my faulty transformation jutsu, which had more than a few flaws. Laughter filled the room as I attempted the jutsu, my face shifting comically with each failed attempt. The younger kids giggled, mimicking my moves, and in that moment, I forgot about the pressures of the academy. Surrounded by friends and family, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.
The atmosphere was lively, filled with chatter and the clinking of glasses. I realized how fortunate I was to have such supportive parents and a community that rallied around me. The night was filled with stories of their own academy experiences, and I soaked in every word, feeling inspired.
Despite the challenges ahead, I was determined to push through, improve, and prove to everyone, especially myself, that I belonged in the top class. With the love and support of my family and friends, I felt ready to face whatever obstacles lay in my path. I would not let this setback define me; instead, I would rise above it.