The annual Konoha Ninja Academy entrance exam was more than just a school ritual; it was a grand spectacle for the entire Hidden Leaf Village. Today, the academy playground was a sea of bodies, the air thick with the scent of dust and the cacophony of nervous chatter.
Hundreds of children, barely five or six years old, stood in long, winding queues. Among them stood Minato Namikaze. He remained perfectly still, a quiet observer in the line, watching as groups of three were ushered forward by the academy teachers to face their first real trial.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Three Shuriken buried themselves deep into the center of the bullseye. A black-haired boy straightened his back, a flicker of arrogance dancing across his face as he exhaled a sharp breath of relief.
"Sarutobi Shinnosuke, full marks!" the scoring Chunin barked, his voice carrying across the yard to ensure everyone noted the name.
The crowd of parents gathered at the edge of the field erupted into a flurry of excited whispers.
"As expected of the Hokage's son..."
"The top student of this year's class has to be Young Master Shinnosuke, right?"
Listening to the envious chatter, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, stood at the front of the spectator area. He offered a small, satisfied chuckle, taking a slow puff from his pipe as the smoke curled into the air.
"Yo, not bad at all. That Shinnosuke kid is alright," a voice boomed from behind him. Jiraiya, sporting a wild mane of white hair and a confident grin, crossed his arms. "He's a genius, just like me!"
Beside him, Orochimaru caught the comment and let a thin, pale smile touch his lips. It wasn't a smile of agreement; it was one of quiet contempt. He didn't doubt Jiraiya's own strength—even if the man had been a "dead last" in school, his raw power was now undeniable. But to call Shinnosuke a genius for hitting a target? The word was becoming dangerously cheap.
To Orochimaru, anyone with a functioning brain could master a Shuriken after a few months of tedious practice. When Jiraiya was six, his accuracy was worse than a blind man's, yet he was still a monster because his Chakra reserves were twice what Shinnosuke's were now.
[!NOTE]
Based on current growth, Shinnosuke's ceiling likely caps at the level of a standard Jonin.
Tsunade, standing on the other side of the Hokage, twirled a strand of her blonde hair around her finger with visible impatience. She was only here as a courtesy to her teacher. Her mind was already at the gambling dens, wondering if her luck would finally turn. To these three, the "genius" of a child was hardly worth the sun beating down on their necks.
"Next group: Tsuchiya Naoto, Toyama Rin, and Minato Namikaze!"
Hearing his name, Minato stepped forward with practiced grace. As he took his position, a ripple of excitement went through the young girls in the back of the line.
"Wait, look at that boy! He's actually really handsome, isn't he?"
"It's not just his face... his aura is so warm. Look at that smile!"
Minato caught the whispers and offered a modest, sheepish grin, scratching his cheek with a slightly embarrassed index finger. The proctoring teacher didn't pay it much mind; children in the Ninja World were often precocious, and every year had its "Golden Boy."
Still, the teacher had to admit the boy was striking. His hair was the color of a midday sun, and his azure eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. Even with the lingering softness of childhood in his cheeks, he possessed a natural symmetry that commanded attention.
But in Konoha, looks were a secondary currency. Strength was the only legal tender.
Suddenly, Minato's fingers twitched. In a blur of movement that almost defied the eye, three Shuriken materialized between his knuckles. With a sharp flick, three black shadows streaked through the air.
Thud.
The three blades occupied the center of the bullseye, grouped so tightly they nearly touched.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Hiruzen Sarutobi narrowed his eyes, his pipe pausing mid-air. Even Orochimaru and Tsunade snapped their heads toward the boy, their boredom replaced by sharp, clinical interest.
"Now that," Jiraiya muttered, rubbing his chin as he stared at Minato, "is some beautiful Shurikenjutsu. He's almost as dashing as I am!"
The experts saw what the parents missed. Because everyone's finger length and grip strength are unique, throwing three blades simultaneously with perfect accuracy requires more than just practice. It demands elite dynamic vision, flawless muscle control, and a level of body coordination that most adults never achieve.
This wasn't just skill; this was pure, unadulterated talent. Even within the Uchiha Clan, few children could boast such precision at age six.
"Minato Namikaze! Full marks!" the teacher announced, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
"Hmph! Not bad, but don't get cocky!" the boy next to him, Tsuchiya Naoto, shouted. Eager to prove himself, Naoto wound up and threw his blades with all his might. They flew in three wild, crooked arcs. Two clattered uselessly onto the dirt, and the third somehow managed to thunk into Minato's target.
"Tsuchiya Naoto, zero points."
"Darn it!" Naoto's face turned a violent shade of red. He wiped a stray tear from his eye and turned tail, running back toward the crowd as a wave of laughter followed him.
Minato watched him go, feeling a flicker of amusement that he quickly suppressed. He knew it would be impolite to laugh. However, his smile faded completely when he saw Naoto dive into the comforting arms of his mother, sobbing loudly.
That kid has a mother, Minato thought coldly. Most likely a father, too.
His own story had changed irrevocably six months ago. Before then, he had been just another child of the Leaf. His father, a retired Chunin, had built a successful trading business to support his sickly wife. They were comfortable—happy, even.
Then came the rain. A landslide had crushed a caravan, and his father had died a hero's death, crushed by falling rocks while trying to save his workers. Disasters, as the saying goes, never travel alone. The news broke his mother's heart. Her health spiraled, and she passed away quietly in the night just a month later.
At the exact moment Minato looked upon his mother's cold body, something in his mind snapped. A frigid, alien power erupted within his brain. Memory fragments, sharp as broken glass, flooded his consciousness in a tidal wave of agony.
In those memories, he wasn't just Minato. He was a university student—gentle, studious, and well-liked. After losing his own parents in that life, he had taken up a job cosplaying as Minato Namikaze for three hundred units a day, thanks to his uncanny resemblance to the character.
He remembered the end of the convention. He remembered crossing the street with a box of figurines. He remembered the truck—the "Dayun" truck—roaring toward him. Perhaps it was the "skin bonus" of the costume, but he had moved with the instinct of a Yellow Flash, narrowly dodging death.
But then, the truck had shifted. It had transformed into a towering Cybertronian and leveled a mechanical fist at him.
Then, darkness. A mocking electronic voice had echoed in the void: "Time to go to another world, young man!"
When he finally processed the chaos, Minato's consciousness found itself in a vast, white space where time felt irrelevant. Three statues stood before him, and his heart nearly stopped. They were the very figurines he had been carrying.
There was Senju Hashirama, the First Hokage, clad in his iconic red armor with a wooden dragon coiling behind him. There was Uchiha Madara, his Mangekyo Sharingan spinning, backed by the ethereal ribs of a Susanoo. And finally, tucked away as a space-filler in his box, was Marine Admiral Kizaru, standing with his hands in his pockets.
As Minato watched, the statues dissolved into three distinct streaks of light—green, red, and golden-yellow—and surged into his chest.
When he woke up in the Konoha Hospital, his old life was gone. His parents were buried. But in their place, a terrifying new power had taken root.
System Status Update:
Synchronization Rate: 95%
Unlocked Bloodline/Abilities:
Glint-Glint Fruit (Pika Pika no Mi)
Wood Release (Mokuton)
Mangekyo Sharingan
He was no longer just a handsome orphan. He was something much more dangerous.