Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: The Academy Exam

THROW POWER STONES AT ME.

👉 PLS SUPPORT ME AT: Patreon/Evil_Creator

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Konoha Year 56

Age: 5

The morning sun hung low over Konoha, casting long, golden shadows across the bustling streets. The village was awake early—shinobi moving with purpose, civilians preparing supplies, and patrols rotating along rooftops.

For most, it was just another tense day in an uneasy peace.

For Dojima Gin, it was the first real step into his new life.

He walked quietly toward the center of the village, dressed plainly in a navy-blue shirt and grey shorts. His sandals were worn, his posture slightly hunched—exactly how a five-year-old orphan should look.

Inside, his mind was anything but five.

The ground spoke to him.

Every step sent faint vibrations through the earth, and Gin felt them all—overlapping rhythms forming a living map. A chunin landing on a rooftop two streets away. The steady pulse of a jonin's chakra-enhanced stride. The hollow clatter of wooden crates being unloaded nearby.

Konoha felt… heavy.

Not oppressive—but coiled.

Like a village constantly reminding itself not to start another war before breakfast.

A Body That Refused to Be Weak

[Synchronization: 1.2%]

The system's whisper echoed quietly in his mind.

Gin felt it constantly now—a subtle shift in balance. His center of gravity sat lower than it should, as if the earth itself had taken a liking to him and decided he wasn't allowed to fall over anymore. His small body felt denser, sturdier—like a mountain that had been aggressively downsized.

Edward Newgate's soul was vast.

Gin's body was doing its best not to explode while holding it.

He consciously slowed his pace, letting his steps become uneven and slightly clumsy. A little stumble here. A delayed step there.

Looking talented was acceptable.

Looking wrong was not.

Letting the Tremor Bloodline leak—even passively—would draw attention.

Attention meant Danzo.

And Danzo meant basements.

Gin preferred sunlight.

The Academy Courtyard

The Ninja Academy loomed ahead, its iconic red roof standing proudly above the surrounding buildings. The kanji for Fire gleamed in the sunlight—a reminder that this place didn't teach children how to live.

It taught them how to survive just long enough to be useful.

The courtyard was crowded with parents and children. Gin stood off to the side, quiet and observant, scanning the gathering like a suspicious accountant.

He recognized the symbols immediately.

High collars and fan crests—the Uchiha.

Bandages and pale, unblinking eyes—the Hyuga.

Wild hair and red face paint—the Inuzuka.

Clan heirs.

Protected. Watched.

Loved.

Then he saw the silver hair.

A boy stood alone near the edge of the courtyard, a mask already covering the lower half of his face despite being barely taller than the average fence. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was sharp—like a blade that had already accepted the inevitability of combat.

Kakashi Hatake.

A prodigy. A genius.

A child who looked like he'd already filled out his retirement paperwork.

Gin's bloodline stirred.

The Tremor within him wasn't just about destruction—it was about sensing. Every living being had a rhythm. A vibration.

To Gin, the courtyard was a full orchestra.

The Uchiha children flickered like unstable flames.

The Hyuga felt smooth and controlled—almost sealed.

Kakashi's rhythm was fast and precise, like a blade humming impatiently.

Gin immediately looked away.

Staring at prodigies was a great way to become noticed by prodigies.

The usually quiet Ninja Academy was anything but.

Children between five and six buzzed with energy, voices overlapping in chaotic excitement. Some were shouting. Some were crying. One kid was biting another kid's sleeve for reasons no one bothered to investigate.

The cause of the chaos stood at the center of the field.

The entrance evaluations.

"Ninjutsu: 10 points!

Shuriken: 10 points!

Taijutsu: 10 points!

Hatake Kakashi!"

The examiner's voice echoed proudly across the courtyard, followed by gasps and whispered awe.

From the center of the training field, Kakashi strolled back with an expression that suggested he found the entire affair mildly inconvenient.

His half-lidded eyes swept the crowd with the enthusiasm of someone who had already peaked academically.

"Next—Might Guy!"

"Yes!!"

A green blur launched forward with enough enthusiasm to threaten the structural integrity of the courtyard.

Wearing green tights and sporting a bowl haircut that looked like it had been cut during a moment of intense confidence, the boy flashed a blinding smile at the crowd.

"I'm up!"

Guy dashed to the center. "I'll show them all!"

Three minutes later—

"Might Guy," the examiner read, his voice noticeably less inspired. "Ninjutsu: 3. Shuriken: 3. Taijutsu: 6."

The silence that followed was profound.

Guy returned with a stiff smile and a visibly wounded soul. His green jumpsuit seemed somehow greener. And sadder.

A few kids snickered.

Gin wisely did not.

"Next—Dojima Gin," a chunin instructor called, clipboard in hand.

Gin inhaled slowly and stepped forward.

This was it.

He needed to show talent—enough to be placed in a higher class where resources were better—but not so much that someone decided to talk to him after.

"Show us your chakra control, or your strongest ninjutsu," the examiner said.

Kakashi had casually dropped a textbook C-rank Earth Style earlier.

Guy had nearly passed out.

Gin raised both hands, index and middle fingers extended, forming a seal. Chakra stirred.

Weakly.

The examiner squinted.

"Ninjutsu: 1 point," he announced flatly.

Gin lowered his hands, expression calm.

Perfect.

Anything more and his chakra's natural urge to shake things would have made an appearance. And explaining that would be inconvenient.

"Shuriken test."

The wooden shuriken felt absurdly light in his hand.

Gin focused—not on power, but on direction.

He threw.

THWACK.

The shuriken embedded itself deep into the target, spiderweb cracks spreading outward from the point of impact.

Several instructors stiffened.

The examiner stared at the target. Then at Gin.

Then back at the target.

"…You've got some power, kid."

Gin bowed lightly and stepped back into line, heart rate steady.

Good.

Noticeable, but not alarming.

He was just beginning to relax when the clipboard snapped shut with a sound far too final for his liking.

"Hold on," another voice called out.

Gin's internal peace immediately filed a missing person's report.

A broad-shouldered chunin stepped forward, sleeves rolled up, clan symbol stitched proudly on his vest. He had the unmistakable build of someone who considered calories a tactical resource.

An Akimichi.

The instructor rubbed his chin, eyes flicking between the cracked target and Gin's small frame. A slow grin spread across his face—the kind that suggested this was about to be very entertaining for exactly one person.

"We'll be adding an additional taijutsu assessment," he announced casually.

Murmurs rippled through the courtyard.

"For this candidate."

Gin froze.

The examiner blinked. "That wasn't scheduled—"

"I know," the Akimichi chunin said cheerfully. "But I'm curious."

That was not a reassuring sentence.

The instructor cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like someone breaking firewood. "Nothing serious. Just a light spar. I'll keep it gentle."

Gin looked at the man.

The man looked like he ate gentle for breakfast.

Several kids leaned forward, excitement instantly reignited. Guy's eyes sparkled like he'd just been offered front-row seats to destiny. Kakashi tilted his head slightly, interest flickering behind bored eyes.

Gin swallowed.

A spar.

With an Akimichi.

At age five.

System, Gin thought desperately, this would be a great time for a warning. Or a miracle. Or a very convincing illusion of sudden illness.

[Synchronization: 1.2%]

The system, as usual, chose silence.

The Akimichi chunin beckoned him toward the practice ring, grin widening. "Don't worry, kid. I'll go easy."

Gin stepped forward slowly, every instinct screaming that the ground beneath him was already bracing itself.

Because if he slipped—

If he reacted—

The earth wouldn't just shake.

It would answer.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

THROW POWER STONES AT ME.

NOT FOR GREED. FOR SCIENCE.

Every Power Stone fuels my transformation into a chapter-producing cryptid. Rankings go up → brain activates → EXTRA CHAPTERS SPAWN WEEKLY.

This novel is held together by duct tape, caffeine, and your support. If you starve the goblin, the goblin gets sad. If you feed the goblin—THE GOBLIN WRITES FASTER.

👉 PLS SUPPORT ME AT: Patreon/Evil_Creator

Donate. Ascend the rankings. Summon more chapters.

This is not a request. This is a ritual.