When Jiraiya truly grew serious, the jeers in the crowd died in an instant. Those who had mocked him as a loud-mouthed commoner suddenly realized the boy had teeth.
Looking at his frame—larger and broader than anyone else in Class A—most would have pinned him as a lumbering tank: high power, zero grace. But street brawls are won with speed, not just weight. Jiraiya moved with a frantic, explosive agility that caught even Xingye off guard for a fleeting second.
But a second was all the opening Xingye needed.
A year of the System's relentless grind had pushed Xingye's conditioning beyond the limits of a normal child. As Jiraiya lunged with a predictable, telegraphed punch, Xingye simply flowed. He sidestepped the strike, his movements as fluid as water, and stuck out a foot.
Jiraiya, carried by his own momentum, tripped. As he flailed to regain his balance, Xingye's elbow drove sharply into the small of his back.
The white-haired boy plummeted toward the dirt. In a real fight, a fall like that meant a broken nose or a shattered jaw. Jiraiya braced for the impact, his eyes wide with panic.
Then, he stopped.
A sharp tug at his collar arrested his fall inches from the ground. Jiraiya looked back, stunned, to see Xingye smiling down at him, holding him steady.
The surrounding students let out a collective gasp. A few of the girls were already whispering, their eyes sparkling with a new kind of intensity.
"Starry Night-kun is so kind," one whispered, using the literal translation of his name. "Handsome, strong, and a gentleman. I'm a fan."
Xingye heard it all. He felt a swell of smug satisfaction. Perfect. This is the 'Master's Demeanor.' Pull him up, show magnanimity, and earn a loyal follower for life. I'm a genius.
He began to pull Jiraiya back to his feet, already imagining his future as the popular leader of the class.
Then, the world betrayed him.
RIP.
The sound was sharp and final. The poor-quality fabric of Jiraiya's shirt gave way under the strain. Jiraiya's nose made a solid, sickening thud as it met the packed earth. He let out a muffled cry of pain, clutching his face.
Xingye stood there, staring blankly at the strip of cheap cloth dangling from his hand.
Director, cut! This isn't the script!
The silence that followed was excruciatingly awkward. The "fan club" that had been forming seconds ago looked on with renewed hesitation. Even the arrogant Uchiha Iwa suddenly seemed like a more reliable option by comparison.
A sudden, melodic laugh broke the tension. It was Tsunade. She was doubled over, her golden ponytails shaking as she pointed at the two of them. Her laughter was infectious; soon, even Mitsui-sensei was fighting a smirk.
Jiraiya sat up, his face crimson, blood trickling from his nose. Xingye quickly dropped the scrap of cloth and helped him up for real this time.
"Sorry," Xingye muttered, genuinely embarrassed. "I'll buy you a new outfit after school. I didn't think..."
Jiraiya waved a hand dismissively, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Forget it. Not your fault I'm wearing rags. I lost this one, but don't get comfortable. I'm winning the next one."
The matches continued, but they were mostly unrefined brawls—until the very end.
Sakumo Hatake stepped into the ring against a Hyuga boy named Ken. It was the only match that mattered. Ken moved with the distinct, whipping grace of the Gentle Fist, even if his lack of the Byakugan made his "Eight Trigrams" a blind flurry.
Sakumo, the future White Fang, didn't even draw the short sword on his back. He moved like a ghost, dodging Ken's palm strikes without using a drop of chakra. With a few surgical counter-moves, he sent the Hyuga sprawling.
"Who do you think is better?" Jiraiya asked, leaning toward Xingye. "Ken would be a beast if he had his eyes, but that Sakumo kid is... scary."
Xingye didn't answer. His gaze was locked on the white hilt of the blade on Sakumo's back. He felt a phantom itch in his own palms—the urge to test his Entry-level swordsmanship against a true prodigy.
Sakumo seemed to feel the weight of the gaze. He turned, his dark eyes meeting Xingye's. Xingye smiled and tapped his own back, a silent acknowledgement of the "Sword" between them. Sakumo blinked, gave a nearly imperceptible nod, and walked back into the crowd.
The assessment over, Mitsui led them back to the classroom to claim their spoils. The top fifteen could choose any seat.
Uchiha Iwa went first, naturally claiming the center seat of the middle row like a king on a throne.
Tsunade entered second. She scanned the room for a moment before heading to the back, claiming a quiet spot by the window.
A third boy tried to sit next to her, but a single glare from Tsunade sent him scurrying to the back door in shame.
Xingye, the fourth to enter, didn't make the same mistake. He knew the "Social Theory of the Front Desk." Sitting next to a girl like Tsunade invited defensive walls. Sitting in front of her? That was a bridge. It allowed for casual turns, shared notes, and a presence that was always in her line of sight without being intrusive.
He walked to the desk directly in front of her. He didn't just sit; he paused, offering a polite, confident smile.
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
Tsunade looked up from her desk, her amber eyes meeting his.