Naruto's enrollment fell like a deep-water charge into the placid lake of the Academy, sending waves through every corridor and classroom.
Day one, theory.
Iruka, mid-lecture on the First Shinobi War, did what he always did with new intakes—lob a question, see who'd previewed the material. A small blond hand went up.
Encouraging, Iruka called on him.
What followed left the room—Iruka included—staring.
Clear structure, tight logic: Naruto broke down the tactical tradeoffs at the Valley of the End between Hashirama and Madara, then flagged textbook omissions on Tobirama's battlefield deployment of taboo techniques.
Iruka went statue-still.
This was far beyond a new student's entrance scope.
Day three, ninjutsu fundamentals.
While the class still wrestled to form a passable clone, Naruto—after Iruka's nod—stepped to the center.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu (Shadow Clone Technique)!"
Poof. Poof. Poof.
Ten perfect Narutos filled the room, each with its own impish squint and grin.
Iruka's lesson plan thumped to the floor.
Shadow clones were sealed away in the Forbidden Scroll. A six-year-old, three days in—who brought this kid?
End of week one, chakra control.
While others scuffed bark and slipped off streams, Naruto balanced on the tip of a single leaf for ten minutes, body still and breath quiet.
The instructor checked the spotless leaf beneath his toes, went back to the grading sheet, and—after a pause—wrote an "S+."
One month later.
"Monster" wasn't rumor anymore—it was consensus. Teachers, students, everyone.
He was no longer just "the Fourth's son."
By sheer, crushing talent, Naruto had earned new names: "Heir to the Golden Flash." "Future Kage-class."
Hallway chatter shifted.
"Hey, did you hear? Naruto trained at the back range—he spun up a huge sphere and cratered the ground!"
"I saw! That's Rasengan (Spiraling Sphere)—the Fourth's signature!"
"Sasuke's cool, but… Naruto looks stronger."
For the first time, Uchiha Sasuke—the boy who turned heads and set paces—felt pressure. No matter how he pushed, the "dead-last" (at least, that's what Sasuke used to assume) did what he couldn't—and made it look easy.
It stung.
That afternoon: open taijutsu sparring.
Iruka read the card. "Naruto vs. Kiba."
Kiba whooped, striding out with Akamaru at his heels. The class's acknowledged taijutsu ace had been itching to clash with Naruto.
"Come on, Naruto! Settle it!"
"Bring it, Kiba!" Naruto grinned, settling into stance.
Begin.
Kiba and Akamaru burst into twin tornadoes—Inuzuka-style fang drills from both sides, "Gatsuga (Fang Over Fang)" ripping air.
Naruto used… nothing fancy.
He stepped.
A hair's-breadth slip past Kiba's line, left foot half-step forward, sliding into the pocket Kiba's momentum opened.
Then an elbow.
Right point nudged into Kiba's midline.
Thump.
The spin stopped like someone hit pause. Kiba's eyes rolled white; a sour burp popped from his throat as he folded.
Three seconds, start to finish.
Naruto hadn't even drawn a deep breath.
Silence.
Mouths hung open.
Iruka had seen it: no exotic kata—just a textbook frame executed with timing, angle, and force at a level that bordered on the absolute. Not a child's scrap-sense. A veteran's fight instinct.
"Winner, Naruto," Iruka managed.
Naruto flashed Kiba a quick, apologetic smile and jogged back to line.
When class broke, eyes on Naruto shifted from curious to reverent.
Sasuke walked away, alone, to the far end of the grounds, pride and drive braided tight.
If taijutsu lagged, he'd answer with ninjutsu.
"Katon: Goukakyu no Jutsu (Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique)!"
He drew chakra to his throat and blew.
A fireball three meters wide roared out, slammed the dummy, and blossomed in a half-sun of heat.
For a student, the power was startling.
Not enough.
He tried again. And again. More chakra, more size.
A calm voice drifted behind him.
"Naruto, let's go. Time to head home."
Sasuke glanced back.
That man.
Shinju.
Leading an excited Naruto, Shinju crossed the range. His eyes stopped on Sasuke for a beat, slid to the charred target.
He spoke as he walked.
"Katon's power isn't about how big the flame is. It's about extreme compression of temperature."
"You're wasting too much chakra."
He didn't look back. He just left with Naruto.
Sasuke stood, stunned.
Extreme compression of temperature?
Wasting chakra?
He'd always chased volume—more chakra, bigger fireball, bigger boom.
Was that… the wrong way?
Suspicion warred with curiosity—curiosity won.
He closed his eyes, recalled Father's lessons on nature transformation. Gathered fire chakra in his throat—and held it.
Compressed.
Drew scattered heat into a single, dense point.
Harder than release by a hundredfold. Face flushing, veins standing at his temples, he pressed until something clicked.
"Katon: Goukakyu no Jutsu!"
He exhaled.
Not a giant orb this time.
A thin arm-thick lance—dark red shading to molten gold at the core—stabbed out. It crossed the ground in an instant and touched the dummy.
No boom. No roar.
The special fireproof mannequin, at contact, behaved like butter into magma—silently opening a bowl-wide hole, edges glossed to glass.
Sasuke stared.
Hand. Target. Back again.
The power had at least tripled.
The chakra cost? Barely half.
That man… Namikaze Shinju…
How?
While Sasuke stood in the aftershock, the halls birthed a fresh round of legend—this time about the Namikaze brothers.
"Hey, hear it? Sasuke was practicing fire style—Shinju-sama just passed by and said one sentence and Sasuke's ninjutsu got way stronger!"
"No way. Does Shinju-sama use fire style too?"
"Dunno. Feels like he knows everything."
A classmate Naruto had flattened earlier swallowed, speaking to his friends with the gravity of a survivor.
"Take my word—don't mess with Naruto."
"He's a monster."
"And his big brother…" He paused, throat bobbing.
"…is a god."
(End of Chapter)
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