Chapter 1 - A Ninja's First Show
Konohagakure's Ninja Academy bustled with the energy of young students eager to prove themselves. The classroom was filled with murmurs as they awaited their turn for the day's evaluation. At the front of the room, a Chūnin instructor stood with a list in hand, calling out names one by one.
"Kazane Hatake," the instructor announced.
At his name, a boy with silver hair slowly stepped forward. His expression remained neutral, but a tightness in his jaw betrayed his tension. He stopped at the center of the demonstration area, taking a deep breath before forming a series of hand seals with practiced precision.
"Clone Jutsu."
A cloud of white smoke erupted around him, but when it cleared, the space where a clone should have been remained empty.
Kazane exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching. He refused to let this be the end of it. His hands came together again, forming the seals faster, more urgently.
"That was just a mistake." His voice was steady, though frustration simmered beneath it.
"Clone Jutsu!"
Another puff of smoke. And once again, nothing.
"Enough." The instructor's voice was firm, laced with disappointment. "The world of ninjas doesn't tolerate mistakes. A mistake in battle can cost you your life—and the lives of your comrades."
Kazane clenched his fists, swallowing down the bitter taste in his throat. He knew that. Everyone knew that. But hearing it directed at him, in front of the entire class, still stung.
"I understand," he replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Had it been any other student, the instructor might have given them another chance. But Kazane wasn't just any student. He was a Hatake, the son of Konoha's White Fang. Expectations for him weren't just high—they were suffocating.
Especially since his younger brother, Hatake Kakashi, had already surpassed him.
"If you understand, return to your seat," the instructor said, already moving on.
Kazane turned on his heel and walked back, barely noticing the whispers around him.
"Next, Uchiha Makoto."
A boy with neatly cut black hair stepped forward with an air of quiet confidence. He brought his hands together in a single, precise motion.
"Clone Jutsu."
A soft burst of smoke filled the space beside him, revealing a perfect replica of himself. The clone mirrored his stance exactly, even maintaining the same calm expression.
"97 points," the instructor announced, nodding in approval. "Well done."
The classroom buzzed with murmurs of admiration.
"As expected of an Uchiha!"
"Makoto is a genius."
Kazane forced a small chuckle at their reactions, though it only deepened the hollow feeling in his chest.
It had been a year since he arrived in this world.
This was the world of Naruto, a place of extraordinary talent, overwhelming power of ninjutsu, and unforgiving cruelty. He had been born into the prestigious Hatake clan—the eldest son of Sakumo Hatake, the legendary White Fang of Konoha.
His father had once been a hero feared across nations. His younger brother, Kakashi, was already celebrated as a prodigy, a boy who graduated from the academy at five, became a Chūnin at six, and was already walking the path to becoming Konoha's next White Fang.
And then there was Kazane.
At school, he was barely scraping by. Other than taijutsu, he lagged behind in nearly every subject. He had a natural difficulty refining chakra, possessing only a fraction of what his peers had. No matter how much he trained, even the most basic jutsu refused to manifest in his hands.
The only advantage he had was his body. He was absurdly strong for his age, capable of consuming massive amounts of food and displaying physical strength far beyond the other students.
But raw strength wasn't enough.
Taijutsu alone wouldn't take him far—not unless he delved into techniques like the Eight Gates, which could grant monstrous power but at the cost of his own life force. And even if he wanted to walk that path, he had neither the talent nor the time.
A full year had passed since he arrived in this world.
No system. No hidden master to guide him.
And worst of all, his father was already gone.
By the time he gained awareness of his situation, Sakumo Hatake had already taken his own life. He had been too late to change anything, too late to stop the tragedy.
And now, time was running out.
The year was Konoha Year 42. The Third Shinobi War would break out next year, a war that would shape the fate of countless lives.
At his current level, he wouldn't survive.
And Kazane Hatake had no intention of dying as just another nameless casualty.
Even after Kazane returned to his seat. The failed Clone Jutsu still weighed heavily on his mind, but he pushed down his frustration.
"Silence," the instructor commanded, his voice sharp. The murmurs in the room faded instantly.
"Next, Uchiha Obito."
At his name, a boy with unruly black hair stood up, glancing briefly at the Uchiha who had gone before him—Makoto—before stepping forward.
Obito inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose, trying to steady himself. His dark eyes flickered to a girl sitting near the front—Nohara Rin.
'This time, I have to surpass Uchiha Makoto. I have to impress Rin.'
With newfound determination, he formed the seals swiftly.
"Clone Jutsu!"
A cloud of white smoke erupted around him.
The class held their breath.
As the smoke cleared, a wobbly, unsteady clone emerged beside him. It was visibly distorted, its form barely stable, like a mirage struggling to stay together.
A few students chuckled under their breath.
The instructor barely reacted.
"Fifty points."
The judgment was quick and merciless.
Obito stiffened, his mouth opening slightly in protest. He glanced at Makoto, whose near-perfect clone had earned him a score almost twice as high. Then he looked at Rin, hoping—praying—to see some encouragement in her eyes.
But she wasn't looking at him.
He clenched his fists.
"Argh! No! Let me try again!"
Before the instructor could stop him, Obito was already forming the seals once more.
Another puff of smoke.
No clone appeared this time.
Some students snickered. Others looked away, embarrassed for him.
Gritting his teeth, he tried again.
On his third attempt, he managed to create a slightly more solid-looking clone—still far from perfect, but at least recognizable.
"Sixty points," the instructor stated flatly. "Barely passing."
Obito's expression brightened immediately, as if sixty points was some great victory. He turned toward Rin, puffing out his chest.
"Hah! See? That earlier failure wasn't my true ability! Clone Jutsu? Pfft, piece of cake!"
Before he could revel in his moment any longer, the instructor's stern voice cut through his pride.
"Get back to your seat."
Obito flinched at the sharp tone, grumbling under his breath as he shuffled back.
Kazane, watching the entire ordeal, leaned back slightly in his chair, his thoughts drifting.
It was strange seeing Obito at this stage in life—this clumsy, awkward, and relatively harmless kid who was still desperate for approval. Yet in the future, after witnessing Rin's death, this same Obito would awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan and become a nightmare to the entire shinobi world.
Kamui, intangibility, space-time manipulation…
He would go from being a mediocre Academy student to a man capable of going toe-to-toe with the Fourth Hokage and later fighting multiple Kage-level opponents at once.
Then, he would orchestrate the Nine-Tails attack on Konoha, indirectly leading to the death of Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage himself.
All of that… from this kid who just barely scraped by with sixty points in a Clone Jutsu test.
The absurdity of it all was almost laughable.
Kazane sighed, rubbing his temples.
'Forget it. No point dwelling on it. I should just focus on my own training. Even if I can't use Ninjutsu, I refuse to give up.'
With that, he stood up and left the classroom.
Kazane walked through the Academy's rear exit, making his way toward the quiet forest behind the school. This had become his usual routine—after failing in class, he would immediately push his body to the limit, trying to compensate for his weakness in chakra control.
As he passed through the Academy's corridors, whispers followed him.
"That's Kakashi's older brother. I heard he can't even use a single jutsu."
"He's a Hatake in name only. Kakashi's already a Chūnin, and this guy can't even graduate properly."
"Is he really White Fang's son? He's nothing like his father."
Kazane ignored them.
He had heard these words countless times over the past year. It didn't matter how many times people whispered behind his back—none of it would change reality.
By the time he reached the training grounds, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the field. The air was still, and the only sounds were the rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
Without hesitation, he moved to his usual training spot—a clearing where several tree trunks bore the marks of his relentless practice.
He cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms, and took a steadying breath. Then he began.
First, **500 straight punches** against the training post.
"One… two… three…"
The sharp sound of fists slamming against wood echoed in the quiet.
"One hundred… one hundred and one…"
He focused on keeping his form precise, making sure each punch carried weight and force behind it.
By the time he reached two hundred, sweat was already forming on his brow.
Three hundred. His knuckles were beginning to sting.
Four hundred. The wood was stained red.
Five hundred. His arms ached, but he still wasn't done.
Next, **500 side kicks.**
"One… two… three…"
The impact of each kick sent vibrations up his leg, but he didn't slow down.
Halfway through, he was already breathing heavily.
By the time he reached five hundred, his entire body was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to him uncomfortably. His leg muscles burned, but he didn't allow himself to rest.
Next: **100 push-ups, 100 squats.**
"Twenty-one… twenty-two…"
His body screamed in protest, but he had long since learned to push past the pain.
"Fifty… fifty-one…"
His arms shook, but he refused to collapse.
"Seventy… seventy-one…"
It wasn't enough. He needed to be stronger.
"Ninety… ninety-one…"
His vision blurred slightly, but he pushed through the exhaustion.
Finally, after finishing his final set, he lay on the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. His chest rose and fell in deep, labored breaths.
But he wasn't finished yet.
As soon as his body allowed it, he stood up and began his last task of the day—**a long-distance run back home**.
Even if he couldn't use Ninjutsu.
Even if people laughed at him.
Even if the world expected nothing from him.
He refused to let this be his limit.