The Academy classroom was exactly as Shiro remembered it from the anime—loud, chaotic, and filled with the distinct smell of Choji Akimichi's barbecue chips.
Shiro Utsumi sat in the middle row, leaning back with a lazy smirk as he watched the usual morning drama unfold. To his left, Sakura Haruno and Ino Yamanaka were locked in their daily verbal sparring match over who got to sit next to Sasuke Uchiha. Sasuke, for his part, looked like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet.
"Honestly, Sasuke-kun doesn't even like loud girls, Ino-pig!" Sakura screeched.
"Like he'd prefer a forehead like yours, Billboard Brow!" Ino shot back.
Shiro chuckled softly, shaking his head. To his previous life's mind, their obsession was almost cute, in a childish sort of way. He glanced further back, seeing Shino Aburame sitting in a corner, perfectly still and shrouded in his high collar, ignored by almost everyone. Nearby, Shikamaru Nara had his head firmly planted on his desk, his breathing deep and rhythmic, while Choji's rhythmic crunch-crunch-crunch provided a backbeat to the classroom's noise.
"Rough morning, Shikamaru?" Shiro asked, reaching over to tap the boy's desk.
Shikamaru opened one eye, looking at Shiro with a tired expression. "The clouds were moving so slowly this morning, Shiro. It's a drag to have to be inside for an exam."
"Spoken like a true philosopher," Shiro joked. He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and turned to see Hinata. Her pale eyes were fixed on her desk, but her proximity to him spoke volumes.
"Good morning, Shiro-kun," she whispered.
"Morning, Hinata," Shiro replied, his voice warm. He reached out and adjusted the collar of her jacket, a casual gesture that made her face turn a shade of red that rivaled a tomato. He had been her anchor ever since he'd stepped in to deal with those bullies years ago. While Naruto was busy being the class clown, Shiro had been the one offering her a quiet, steady presence. He didn't do it because he wanted to be a hero; he did it because he genuinely liked her company.
He was comfortable here. Being the son of a high-ranking ANBU Jonin who had died defending the village during the Nine-Tails incident gave him a unique status. He wasn't a "clan kid," but he had a legacy. The Third Hokage kept a distant, paternal eye on him, and his father's estate provided more than enough Ryo to live comfortably in a decent apartment. More importantly, his father had left him scrolls—notes on chakra control, wind-natured manipulation, and the art of the short blade.
Because of that "loyal soldier" heritage, Shiro didn't have to worry about the likes of Danzo Shimura looking for a stray root. He was a "Legacy Child," a son of the Leaf's shadows.
"Utsumi, Shiro! You're up!" Iruka-sensei called.
Shiro stood up, his movements lean and efficient. He didn't have the heavy-set muscles of a brawler; he was built like a runner, designed for speed and precision.
Inside the testing room, Iruka and Mizuki waited. Shiro didn't feel the need to show off. He knew that drawing too much attention was a mistake for someone who knew the future.
"Bunshin Jutsu, please," Iruka said.
Shiro formed the seal. He didn't pour massive amounts of chakra into it. Instead, he used the exact, surgical amount required.
Poof.
Three clones appeared. They weren't flashy, and they didn't have elemental traits. They were simply... perfect. Their edges were sharp, their eyes held a spark of simulated intelligence, and they moved in perfect synchronization with Shiro as he bowed.
"Excellent control, Shiro," Iruka noted, marking his clipboard. "Your chakra efficiency is easily the highest in the class. You pass."
Mizuki gave a shallow nod, his eyes lingering on the short blade strapped to Shiro's lower back. "Your father would have been proud of that precision, Utsumi."
"Thank you, Sensei," Shiro replied neutrally. He took his forehead protector—the blue fabric feeling cool in his hand—and walked out.
Back in the hall, he didn't linger to celebrate with the girls or brag to Kiba. He saw Naruto sitting on the swing outside, the weight of failure visible in the boy's slumped shoulders. Shiro's gaze was cool, observant.
A younger, more "heroic" version of himself might have gone over to comfort the boy. But Shiro knew what tonight was. He knew about the scroll, the betrayal, and the secret of the Fox. If he interfered now, he might ruin Naruto's chance to learn the Tajuu Kage Bunshin, a technique that was vital for the blond's growth.
Not my problem, Shiro thought, turning his back on the courtyard. I have my own path to walk.
He headed toward the village markets. He had enough money to buy some high-quality whetstones for his blade and perhaps a small gift for Hinata for when she inevitably passed her own exam. He wasn't interested in being the protagonist of this world; he just wanted to be the one who survived it with his interests—and his people—intact.
He tied the headband around his forehead, the metal plate reflecting the afternoon sun. He wasn't a student anymore. He was a shinobi.