Then, a ripple of shock and relief swept through the room. Gasps and whispers broke out among the remaining participants, their tension releasing in an audible wave. Some had barely processed Ibiki's words, still staring blankly, while others couldn't hold back their emotions any longer. Their relief was palpable, flooding the room in a wave that was almost tangible.
Naruto leapt to his feet, pumping his fist in the air. "Yeah! I knew it!" he shouted, his voice ringing out with the pure, unrestrained joy of a child who had just been told they could play for one more hour. His enthusiasm echoed off the walls, causing several others to chuckle despite themselves.
Beside him, Sakura slumped forward, burying her face in her hands as she let out a relieved sigh. The fight had drained her, but now, in this moment, she felt the weight of the test lift off her shoulders. She wasn't sure how much longer she could have stayed, but she had made it. The wave of relief washed over her like a warm breeze on a cold day.
Sasuke, ever composed, simply crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His face was unreadable, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. It was subtle—barely a twitch—but it was there, as though he'd known all along that the test would break no one in this room but the weak. He was never concerned, never questioning. He had passed this test long ago, long before anyone had entered this room. He had seen the storm before, and it did nothing to faze him.
Kuro's gaze shifted slightly, watching the small drama unfold around him, but his posture didn't change. He had not been swayed by the tension in the air, and now, in the aftermath, he wasn't interested in the reactions of his peers. What mattered was the result. He was calm. He was steady. He had passed, like always, and now the rest was just noise. He could hear it, but it did not move him.
Reika glanced over again, catching his eyes for just a moment before looking away. The subtle reassurance in his gaze was all she needed. She wasn't sure what she had expected—perhaps something more dramatic, more triumphant. But the simplicity of it was what made it perfect. It wasn't about the loud cheers or the gasps of disbelief. It was about remaining still and steady when everything around you seemed to fall apart.
And just like that, the room had shifted. The storm had passed. And now, the remaining challengers stood on the precipice of something much bigger. The first challenge had ended, but the trials ahead promised to be far more dangerous. And they would face it together. The clock was ticking again. The real test was about to begin.
---
Xero let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment, punctuating the surreal calm that had settled around them. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on the faces of the other participants, each one processing the gravity of the situation. Some still looked stunned, others unsure if they should be relieved or fearful for what would come next. But Xero's gaze was fixed on Kuro, who sat with his usual unflappable composure, the corner of his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.
"So that's it, huh? No wonder you were so chill," Xero muttered, the words tinged with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He leaned back against his chair, his hands still ruffling through his hair as if to try and make sense of the entire ordeal. It wasn't just the exam, it was the way Kuro had handled it—so effortlessly, as if it were all just another day at the office. Xero couldn't help but wonder if Kuro even broke a sweat.
Kuro stretched lazily, his back arching as his arms extended above his head in a fluid, relaxed motion. There was no sign of tension in his body, no trace of anxiety. It was as if the world around him had slowed to a crawl, and he, in his infinite calmness, had simply adjusted to its rhythm. He leaned back in his chair with an ease that only he could pull off, his eyes lazily scanning the room with a detached amusement.
"Told you there was nothing to worry about," he said with an easy smile, his voice smooth, almost playful, as if he were explaining a simple concept to a child. His gaze flicked back to Xero, locking with his for a brief moment. The silent confidence that radiated from Kuro was impossible to ignore, like an unspoken promise that, in his world, the chaos had no hold over him.
Xero snorted, shaking his head, but the sound was light—amused rather than frustrated. "Yeah, yeah, you're a genius. Don't let it go to your head." The sarcasm in his voice was familiar, but it lacked its usual bite. There was no venom behind it now, no edge. Instead, it was almost a form of reluctant admiration, as though Xero couldn't help but acknowledge Kuro's skill, even if it irked him a little.
But despite his sarcastic tone, there was a hint of genuine gratitude in his voice, barely perceptible but unmistakable. The kind of gratitude that only showed up when you realized you had been in the presence of something extraordinary, but it didn't quite sink in until after the fact. It was as if, in that brief moment, Xero had come to terms with the fact that, despite his own cleverness, Kuro's calm was something beyond comprehension.
Kuro simply chuckled, the sound warm and effortlessly charming. "Don't worry, I won't. I'm far too humble for that," he teased, knowing exactly how Xero would react. There was a light in Kuro's eyes, a playful spark that hinted at deeper layers of thought—layers that Xero knew better than to try and pry into.
Xero rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Humble Genius." His posture softened, the tension in his shoulders ebbing away, the heaviness of the exam slowly lifting from his chest. He glanced at Kuro again, the earlier awe replaced with a more complicated emotion—something close to respect, tempered with an understanding that, despite everything, they both had their roles to play in this world of trials.