Kuro Watanabe was a ghost. His mind, once a fortress of logic, was now a chaotic ruin. He knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that Makima was not just a genius, but a sadist with inhuman power who had actively engineered his downfall. The final practical exam, the Kawarimi no Jutsu (Body Replacement Technique), was his last, desperate stand: an attempt to expose her to the world, or die trying.
Makima finished her own spar, a flawless demonstration that earned high praise. She then focused on Kuro's upcoming match, observing his tense, frantic energy with cold delight.
Kuro was paired with a strong, aggressive boy who was instructed to use a real, steel practice kunai for their final strike—a test of nerve and speed. Kuro knew the danger, but he was already resigned to a fatal outcome if it meant revealing her truth.
As the spar began, Kuro was running on pure adrenaline. His opponent charged, aiming the kunai at the practice post Kuro was supposed to switch places with.
Makima watched from the sidelines, her smile sweet, her hands clasped. This was the moment for complete, irreversible destruction and silencing.
The opponent threw the kunai with force. Just as it left his hand, Makima issued a subtle, surgical Dictation coupled with a hint of her Wind Affinity, not just shifting the trajectory, but subtly accelerating its final velocity.
"The kunai's trajectory must be shifted exactly two inches to the left, ensuring it strikes Kuro Watanabe's head at the point of greatest velocity. Furthermore, he must perceive the impact as unavoidable, forcing him to attempt the Kawarimi under maximum duress and panic."
A tiny, invisible gust of Wind Release erupted from Makima's hand, too fast and subtle for the instructor to perceive. The kunai's path shifted, aiming directly for Kuro's temple, now moving slightly faster than anticipated.
Kuro saw the shift. The projectile was aimed at his head. He screamed inwardly, his hands flying through the difficult Kawarimi sequence. He was milliseconds from completing the jutsu.
Mid-jutsu, as the kunai hurtled toward him, Makima issued her primary command, aiming to shatter his life's purpose: "You must perceive this moment as the absolute, crushing realization that your third-rate origins and foolish ambition make you a destructive form of chaos, and that your every future effort will only lead to greater, terminal failure. You are nothing."
The command hit him, overwhelming his mind's capacity for execution. His hands froze, the focus shattered by absolute, paralyzing dread. The final seal was never made.
The steel practice kunai struck him hard on the shoulder, impacting with bone-jarring force. He collapsed, clutching his arm, his body wracked with pain and mental terror.
In the brief, searing moment of physical pain, his mind fought the control. He looked up at Makima, still standing on the sidelines. He saw the cold, golden, depthless focus in her eyes, confirming his horrible suspicion. The Wind, the Water, the sudden failure, the mocking words—she did it all, she controlled everything. She is the monster... the Devil! He realized the depth of the horror: she was a foreign entity, a parasite hiding in the heart of the village, and he was the only one who knew.
He opened his mouth, desperately trying to form the word "Control" or "Monster." A raw, desperate, inarticulate sound tore from his throat.
Makima knelt beside him instantly, her face a mask of perfect, profound sorrow, her hand resting heavily on his shoulder, securing the final command directly into his fractured psyche.
"Such chaos, Kuro-kun," she whispered, her voice dangerously low, meant only for him, silencing his choked scream with the cold weight of her intent. "You almost saw it, didn't you? The secret behind the pretty Uzumaki eyes. But the village needs order, not the chaos of truth. You will be silent."
She issued her second, final, and irreversible command, driving it deep into his consciousness:
"You must immediately forget this moment. Forget my touch. Forget the knowledge of my true nature. Your purpose is now to serve the system you once tried to compete with. You will dedicate your superior, orderly mind to supporting the village as a clerk in the library archives. You will find peace in silence and in service to order. This is your destiny."
Kuro's body convulsed once, a final tremor of the conquered will. The terror, the memory of the devil, the searing ambition—it all vanished, replaced by a sudden, immense, overwhelming calm and a sense of preordained purpose. He looked up at Makima, his eyes now vacant, filled only with passive gratitude and profound relief.
"Yes, Makima-san," he whispered, the pain in his shoulder receding into triviality. "You're right. I need to serve the village where I won't disrupt the order. The archives. I will go there. Quietly. It is the only way to find peace."
Makima stood up, leaving the broken boy. She had eliminated the chaos of intellectual rivalry, sadistic intent, and ambitious commoners, and sealed the secret of her existence. She stood alone as the undisputed top genius.
Makima has now silenced the one person who almost understood her true nature. The Academy is now perfectly ordered.