Reika turned back to her paper, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't argue. Kuro was right, and they both knew it.
Kuro's gaze wandered, landing inevitably on Naruto. The boy stood out like a flame in the darkness—loud, bright, and impossible to ignore. He wasn't scribbling or fidgeting anymore. He wasn't glancing nervously at the door or second-guessing his place in the room. Naruto sat still and steady, his face set with a resolve that was almost too big for his small frame. His fists were unclenched now, resting on his desk, but there was a quiet strength in the way he held himself.
*This kid,* Kuro thought, his usual smug amusement replaced with something quieter. Naruto was an anomaly, a wild card. He didn't fit into the neat boxes most competitors could be sorted into—genius, strategist, weakling, follower. No, Naruto was something else entirely: a force of nature that refused to bow to the rules of the game. *When everything says he should give up, he doubles down. It's like he doesn't know how to quit.*
Kuro's smile faded as a contemplative look crossed his face. This wasn't just stubbornness—it was something deeper. That kind of resolve couldn't be faked or taught. It came from a place of raw defiance, forged in the fires of failure and loneliness.
*And that,* Kuro realized, *is what sets him apart.*
Ibiki finally moved, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor as he stepped toward the center of the room. The sound drew every eye, freezing the faint fidgeting and whispered breaths of the remaining participants. He loomed there for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, his scarred face giving nothing away.
"The final question," Ibiki said, his voice low and gravelly, yet loud enough to carry through the silence, "will decide your fate."
A collective shiver seemed to pass through the room. Kuro saw it in the way students stiffened, some gripping their pencils tighter, others casting sidelong glances at their teammates, searching for reassurance they wouldn't find.
Naruto, though—Naruto didn't flinch. He didn't blink. If anything, the fire in his eyes seemed to burn brighter.
Kuro leaned forward, his chair settling back onto all four legs with a soft thud. His gaze stayed fixed on the blond boy, a spark of curiosity glinting in his dark eyes.
-----
Xero watched him, searching for something—doubt, hesitation, *anything*—but there was none. Kuro's calm in the face of this psychological storm was infuriatingly steady, like a mountain unmoved by the winds howling around it. *What's he so sure about?* Xero thought bitterly, his gaze narrowing. It wasn't as though Kuro had the answers. No one did. This wasn't about strategy or skill anymore—it was about nerve. And Kuro? Kuro seemed to have it in abundance, as though the threat of failure meant nothing to him. Xero's fingers stopped drumming, curling into fists against the desk. That quiet voice at the back of his mind—*the one that told him to quit before he embarrassed himself, to leave while he still could*—grew louder now, an insistent whisper that picked at the cracks in his resolve. *What are you even doing here? You're not like them. You're not smart like Reika. You don't have Naruto's insane resolve or Kuro's ice-cold composure.* The door slammed again, and Xero's head snapped up. Another competitor had cracked—this time a girl who looked close to tears. She didn't even meet Ibiki's eyes as she left, her footsteps fast and desperate, as though fleeing a battlefield she had no chance of surviving. Xero swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. He slouched deeper in his chair, trying to look as apathetic as ever, but he couldn't stop his leg from bouncing beneath the desk. *Why am I even here?* His gaze flickered to Naruto then, two rows over, and what he saw startled him. Naruto sat up straight, his arms resting calmly on his desk. His test paper was still blank—Xero had seen him scribble aimlessly for most of the exam—but there was no shame in his posture, no doubt in his eyes. The idiot actually looked... proud. Determined. Like nothing Ibiki could say or do would make him budge. It made no sense. How could someone who clearly didn't have the answers *still* be so sure of himself? Naruto didn't look like a boy on the brink of failure—he looked like a boy who'd already decided he'd won. And then there was Kuro, who met Xero's gaze suddenly, as though he'd felt the weight of the stare. His smirk was gone now, replaced with something quieter and unreadable—an expression that told Xero, *You already know what you need to do.* For a moment, Xero froze, caught between the urge to stand up and walk out and the stubborn pull that anchored him to his seat. He realized, in that instant, that this wasn't about answers or even the final question. This was about whether or not he would let fear decide his fate. Ibiki's voice rumbled through the room, his words slow and deliberate, each one landing like a hammer on a fragile surface. "Those of you still here have chosen to face the final question. But let me remind you one last time: failure here means you will *never* be allowed to take the Chunin Exams again." Xero's chest tightened, and his palms began to sweat. His mind screamed at him to move, to stand up and leave while there was still time. But then, as if on instinct, he straightened up in his chair. *You've run from things before,* he thought. *From tests. From challenges. From people who said you weren't good enough. Where did that ever get you?* His jaw tightened as the voice in his head—the one that urged him to quit—began to fade. *No more.* He stole one last glance at Kuro, who gave him the slightest of nods, as if acknowledging his decision. Then he looked at Naruto again, whose confidence burned like a signal flare in the dark room. It wasn't just his stubbornness—it was his refusal to let doubt claim him. Xero let out a slow breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. *I'm staying.*