The air in the training arena was thick with tension, like a string stretched too tight. Rows of students stood motionless, their posture rigid, their eyes fixed on the center. Silence held its breath.
Fujimoto-sensei stepped forward, the long scroll unfurling in his hands with a whisper of old paper. His presence, as always, was calm. Measured. Unforgiving.
"For the practical demonstration," he began, his voice slicing through the quiet, "I will call each of you. You will perform the jutsu assigned from those studied this year. You will be evaluated on execution precision, chakra control, and overall effectiveness."
His eyes scanned the list.
"Kaito Aoi. Kawarimi no Jutsu."
Aoi stepped out, steady and focused. His fingers moved with clinical precision—each seal crisp, deliberate. In a blink, his figure vanished, replaced by the training log with seamless timing.
"Good chakra control," one of the examiners noted, jotting something down.
"Tsuki Jun'ko. Henge no Jutsu."
Jun'ko smirked. With a puff of chakra, her form shimmered—then shifted into an impeccable replica of Fujimoto-sensei himself. Stern expression included.
A murmur of amusement rippled through the students. Even Fujimoto raised an eyebrow.
"Hōzuki Hiroshi. Suiton: Mizurappa."
Hiroshi exhaled sharply. Water surged from his mouth in a focused jet, crashing against the distant target with a satisfying thwack. Controlled. Sharp.
"Yuki Yukiko. Kawarimi no Jutsu."
Yukiko moved with dancer's grace. Her substitution was flawless—elegant, fluid, almost too smooth.
Then came the name that drew a momentary stillness from the air.
"Mizutani Ren."
Ren stepped forward. Calm. Composed. His eyes unreadable.
"Kirigakure no Jutsu."
His fingers blurred through the seals—not rushed, but not too smooth either. Just... average. A mist began to form, thick and clinging, but slightly uneven at the edges. Intentional flaws.
Enough to be believable. Just a student. Still learning.
Fujimoto stepped closer, watching the drifting fog. His eyes narrowed briefly—barely perceptible.
He noticed something. A twitch in the mist? A tremor in the chakra flow?
But the moment passed.
"A decent foundation," one of the examiners said. "Still needs refinement."
As the mist dispersed, Ren let his breath ease. He returned to his place without a word.
I had to fight to maintain those imperfections, he thought. Sparring will be even harder to calibrate...
The evaluation continued. Students took their turns—Kawarimi, Henge, Mizurappa, Kirigakure no Jutsu—cycling through the arena with varying degrees of success. For some, it was a triumph. For others, a bitter stumble.
And finally, as the last jutsu faded, Fujimoto turned toward the blackboard. A provisional ranking was already scrawled across it, combining written exam scores with today's performance.
"You know the rules," he said. "Only the top sixteen advance to the sparring matches. Pairings are fixed: first versus sixteenth, second versus fifteenth, and so on."
One by one, he began to write the names.
1. Hozuki Hiroshi - 58/60
2. Kurushimi Misaki - 57/60
3. Yuki Yukiko - 57/60
4. Kaito Aoi - 57/60
5. Koshima Kurara - 56/60
6. Tsuki Jun'ko - 54/60
7. Karatachi Shinji - 53/60
8. Yuki Sora - 52/60
9. Mizutani Ren - 52/60
10. Mori Mizuchi - 51/60
11. Munashi Touma - 51/60
12. Kaguya Shin - 51/60
13. Terano Kaori - 51/60
14. Kenji Irame - 50/60
15. Rajino Koga - 50/60
16. Ishin Taki - 50/60
Ninth, well, that might be enough but I'll win just one match to be sure.
"Now I'll announce the pairings for the first round," Fujimoto-sensei declared, starting to draw a bracket on the board. "The matches will be held in this order:"
He turned to the class, chalk tapping rhythmically on the board as he listed:
"Karatachi Shinji (7th) vs. Munashi Touma (11th)"
"Hōzuki Hiroshi (1st) vs. Kenji Irame (14th)"
"Yuki Yukiko (3rd) vs. Mori Mizuchi (10th)"
"Mizutani Ren (9th) vs. Rajino Koga (15th)"
"Kaito Aoi (4th) vs. Kaguya Shin (12th)"
"Koshima Kurara (5th) vs. Terano Kaori (13th)"
"Kurushimi Misaki (2nd) vs. Ishin Taki (16th)"
"Tsuki Jun'ko (6th) vs. Yuki Sora (8th)"
"Prepare yourselves properly," Fujimoto-sensei concluded. "Tomorrow begins the real test of your abilities."
Lunch break brought no rest—just a different kind of tension. The usual group had gathered near the board, eyes fixed on the newly drawn tournament bracket. It loomed like a silent challenge.
"Technically," Aoi muttered, adjusting his glasses with an anxious flick, her finger tracing the tournament lines, "if I win against Shin... which is highly unlikely considering his kekkei genkai... I'd end up facing the winner between Kurara and Kaori in the quarterfinals."
"Which probably means Kurara," Jun'ko added, arms crossed, her tone breezy. "But hey—at least you don't have to deal with another ice user in the first round. Yuki Sora's gonna be a nightmare."
Shinji let out a long yawn, rolling his shoulder lazily. Between his fingers, small coral crystals formed and faded, absentminded like a tic. "If I beat Touma... hmm... then I go against the winner of Hiroshi and Kenji in the quarters. Which means..."
"Hiroshi," they all said in unison.
Aoi didn't even blink. His eyes were still fixed on the board, mind already spiraling through dozens of what-if scenarios.
"The problem with Shin," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, "isn't dodging his attacks. It's the fact that one clean hit from his bones could—"
"Stop tormenting yourself," Jun'ko cut in, throwing a playful elbow his way. "You've got a day to prepare." Then, with a sly tilt of her head, she added, "Besides... I heard he's afraid of needles. And you're pretty good with those, aren't you?"
"Technically I have a night," Aoi replied flatly. "And I've never used syringes in combat."
"Yet," Jun'ko grinned.
Ren stood just behind them, silent, observing. His eyes moved over the bracket with calculated precision. Koga first. Should be manageable. But then his gaze shifted downward, stopping at another name. Misaki...
The laughter and chatter faded as the students began to drift away, heading back toward the academy halls. Ren remained still, his figure half-lost in the edge of the lingering mist.
Tomorrow, he thought, the real test begins—the balance between showing and hiding.