The courtyard of the Ninja Academy of Konoha was crowded that morning.
Children filled every free space, some clinging to their parents' clothes, others running around without any clear direction, as if they needed to burn off energy before someone told them to be quiet. The murmur of conversations blended with the creak of old wood and the light wind passing through the open area.
He remained still, watching.
His posture was far too proper for someone his age, hands resting in front of his body, eyes attentive to the whole scene. Faces, tones of voice, exaggerated reactions. There was no hurry. This was not a moment to stand out.
It was a moment to **understand the stage**.
The noise gradually faded as a familiar figure approached the small platform at the front of the courtyard. There was no formal announcement. None was needed.
Hiruzen Sarutobi.
The Third Hokage leaned on his cane, pipe in hand, his eyes sweeping across the courtyard like someone who had done this dozens of times before. His expression was calm—almost gentle.
Almost.
The boy watched with a critical gaze.
*So this is how he presents himself.*
*The village's kindly grandfather. The calm face hiding decades of convenient decisions.*
Hiruzen began to speak, his voice steady and controlled.
— Welcome. Today, you take your first step on a path that is not easy… but necessary.
Measured words. None wasted.
— Konoha is not made only of walls or jutsu. It is made of people. Of bonds. Of the willingness to protect one another, even when the cost is high.
The boy listened, but did not let himself be carried away.
*A beautiful speech.*
*Useful for children. Convenient for leaders.*
He knew the subtext: the Will of Fire was not just an ideal—it was a tool. A concept shaped to ensure continuity, obedience, and sacrifice—almost always from the same people.
— This is what we call the Will of Fire — Hiruzen concluded. — If you understand this, you will have taken the most important step.
Some children shifted nervously. Others looked enchanted.
He did not.
*Understanding does not mean accepting.*
*And accepting does not mean agreeing.*
The Hokage softened his tone at the end, adding light remarks about good behavior and respect for teachers, drawing laughter from the young audience.
The speech ended.
Teachers began organizing the classes, guiding the students into the Academy.
The boy took a quiet breath.
*Enough observing from the outside.*
He followed his assigned group, steps firm, head held high, expression neutral. The interior of the building greeted him with the scent of old wood and paper. The walls bore the marks of time, and the corridor seemed longer than it truly was, as if carrying the symbolic weight of countless generations.
He walked attentively.
Every detail mattered.
The light filtering through the high windows.
The echo of footsteps.
The restrained silence that grew as they advanced.
This was not just a school. It was a filter.
When he reached the classroom, he entered without hesitation. The environment was simple, functional. Wooden benches aligned in rows, a clean board, side windows open to allow air circulation.
He chose a seat in the **second row**, neither too close to the front nor hidden away. He sat and rested his hands on the bench, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers.
He looked around calmly.
The children entered little by little.
Some talked too much.
Others withdrew into silence.
There was artificial confidence, poorly disguised anxiety, and genuine curiosity.
He memorized it all.
Then the door closed.
The teacher had arrived.
He was a man from the Sarutobi clan, of average height, relaxed posture—but clearly trained. His attentive eyes showed someone who did not underestimate what he saw.
— Good morning — he said. — My name is **Kaito Sarutobi**.
The surname caused small reactions throughout the room.
— I like discipline, honest effort, and mutual respect — he continued. — I don't like laziness, arrogance, or those who think being a ninja is just about flashy jutsu.
He walked slowly across the front of the room.
— My dream — he said, after a pause — is to train ninjas who survive. On the battlefield… and outside of it.
The silence grew heavier.
— Now I want to know you — he added. — One by one. Say your name, what you like, what you dislike… and what your dream is.
Some children swallowed nervously.
Others smiled, excited.
The boy felt his body adjust automatically, as if already preparing for the moment.
Not out of nervousness.
But because he knew that from this point on, **every word would be observed**.
The teacher turned back to the class, ready to call the first student.