Konoha Year 42, Late March.
The Academy's enrollment list had just gone up, and the entrance exam results were posted that same day. Kids and parents crowded around the bulletin board, buzzing with excitement.
At the very front of the crowd, a father-son pair in matching green spandex jumpsuits was drawing a different kind of attention.
Might Duy held his son up on his shoulders, completely ignoring the snickering around them, bellowing encouragement at full volume. Might Guy twisted left and right on top of him, scanning the board name by name — and coming up empty every time.
"It's not here. It's not here. It's still not here..."
He'd half-expected this the moment the exam ended. But seeing it confirmed was something else. The sounds around him weren't helping.
"Found it!"
"I passed!"
"That's my boy..."
"Congratulations!"
Laughter and cheers rippled through the crowd of six-year-olds and their parents. Being a ninja was dangerous, sure — but it was respectable work, good money, and for a lot of common families, the clearest path up in the world.
"Son, keep looking—"
Duy's voice was still going strong, but mid-sentence he felt something wet hit his face. He looked up instinctively. Guy had already given up. Tears were streaming down his face.
"Dad. My name isn't on the board."
"Guy." Duy's voice climbed higher. He could see his son's shoulders shaking, the tears coming faster. He didn't lower his voice — he raised it, loud enough to drown out every laugh in the crowd. "You gave everything you had. That kind of effort never goes to waste. The road ahead of you is soaked in tears — and at the end of it, you will find your name. Keep looking!"
"Yes sir!"
Guy pulled himself together and snapped back with everything he had. The tears stopped. He started scanning the board again, rocking side to side, searching for a name that wasn't there.
"Might Guy..."
Shiranui Genma, stuck right at the front of the crowd with Guy dangling overhead, looked up with a pained expression. At six, he was practically ancient by Academy standards — old enough to put on a worldly air and mutter under his breath:
"That guy seriously needs to let it go. The name's not going to magically appear."
Ebisu pushed his sunglasses up and winced sympathetically.
"I can't watch this."
Furukawa Osamu had been listening to both of them. He watched the father and son's energy slowly deflate and figured someone had to say something.
"Don't forget there's a waitlist. He'll get in, I'm sure of it."
The Might duo spun around like he'd just announced a jutsu they'd never heard of. Both of them stared at him wide-eyed, thick black eyebrows shooting upward in unison.
Under the full force of their attention, Osamu got a little self-conscious. He glanced down at his black turtleneck tee and dark trousers, then ran a hand through his loosely curled black hair.
He was about to say something else, but they beat him to it.
"THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!"
Both of them gave a massive thumbs-up at the exact same time. The smiles were so wide and so bright that Osamu had the brief, irrational impression their teeth were literally sparkling.
The whole crowd took an involuntary step back. The noise died. An awkward silence settled over everything — until a voice from behind them cut through it.
"Osamu. Come on, the orientation's starting."
Hatake Kakashi stood with his hands in his pockets, a patterned scarf pulled up over half his face, looking completely unbothered.
The crowd's chatter picked back up. The snickering returned.
Before Osamu could squeeze in one last word of encouragement, Genma and Ebisu each grabbed one of his arms and started hauling him toward the exit. Behind them, the Might family had already launched back into their own world.
"If I can run five hundred laps around the field, I'll definitely make the waitlist!"
"Guy!"
Osamu looked back over his shoulder at the two of them — clutching each other, pumping their fists, crying their eyes out — and could only think one thing:
Anime tears. Those are actual anime tears.
A near-kidnapping of the Jinchuriki candidate had put Konoha on edge. Sensing war on the horizon, the higher-ups had quietly lowered the Academy's enrollment age. Konoha wasn't going to throw fresh Genin at the front lines — but they needed to start building up that bench sooner rather than later, for the low-risk work if nothing else.
In the tiered classroom of Class 1-A, a Chunin teacher named Kimura Ryosuke — plain-faced, a scar across his left cheek — was patiently fielding questions from parents. Not a trace of impatience on him.
When the orientation finally wrapped up, Kimura looked down at the two boys flanking Hatake Sakumo and shook his head with an impressed smile.
"Teaching actual geniuses — no pressure at all."
"At their age I was still playing ninja in the backyard. Kakashi already has the Body Flicker Technique down cold. What do you expect from Sakumo's kid."
The parents and students still lingering in the room all looked at the masked boy. Sakumo, dressed plainly as always, ruffled Osamu's hair instead.
"Osamu's talent for ninjutsu is better than Kakashi's."
"I'm counting on you to push both of them hard over the next few years. Getting into the Academy is just the beginning."
Hearing that from the White Fang of Konoha, Kimura blinked. He thought back to the entrance exam results. Then slowly nodded.
Like Kakashi, Osamu wouldn't even turn five until September.
"Sakumo-sama, Kimura-sensei — I'll work twice as hard, I promise."
Osamu said it quickly, his small face doing a convincing job of looking both earnest and a little overwhelmed. Kakashi turned away just slightly and muttered:
"Father. I'll have C-rank techniques mastered soon too."
Kimura laughed out loud. He was already liking the idea of teaching these two.
"Ha — now that's what competition between geniuses looks like! Give it everything you've got, both of you!"
Both boys gave a small bow. Osamu caught a few girls nearby staring at them. Around them, a chorus of quiet tchs from the other boys. Good-looking and talented. The worst kind.
"Osamu! Kakashi! You in for kick-the-can?"
Shiranui Genma was leaning in the doorway, a skewer of three-color dango hanging from his mouth, a cluster of classmates gathered behind him. Osamu sighed internally. Externally, he grinned.
"You're it — I'm on my way!"
Kakashi wanted to go too — you could see it — but his feet didn't move. He tilted his head up toward his father, then quietly said:
"I'd rather get back to training."
Sakumo gave his very-much-not-convincing son a light pat and watched him trudge out after the others with that reluctant expression. He allowed himself a small nod.
More Academy teachers kept stopping by to pay their respects. The White Fang greeted each one without a hint of pretension. But in the quiet moments between, his thoughts drifted to the Furukaras — gone on a mission, a choice they didn't come back from.
Osamu will make a fine ninja.
Out on the Academy's training grounds, Osamu had hopped the wooden fence and walked his chakra up into the branches. He hung there upside-down, one hand pressed flat against the bark, running his Extraction Technique on the tree.
The [Essence] prompt blinked into view again.
Osamu stared at it and let himself wonder, quietly:
What would I get if I used[Extraction]on the God Tree itself?