It's been a few months since the academy started.
Most days are dull—Konoha's history, basic math, a little kunai throwing, some low-level taijutsu drills. Enough to weed out the weak, not enough to challenge someone like me. Predictably, Sasuke shines in anything physical. He throws kunai like it's instinct, and his taijutsu is sharp, polished—almost too polished for someone his age. He basks in it. Top of the class. Praised, envied, obsessed over.
I'm not far behind him. Top 3 in kunai and taijutsu. But when it comes to theory—math, history, analysis, I leave everyone behind, including him. And that, that, gets under Sasuke's skin. He hates that he can't touch me there. I see it in his eyes when he hears my name at the top of a scroll. Anger, quiet and simmering. A child's pride being bruised. And yet... it fuels me.
Naruto? A disaster in every academic sense. Last in most things, reckless, loud, and frankly, clueless. But oddly enough, he holds his own in taijutsu—raw chakra, stubborn stamina, all thanks to the beast inside him and the Uzumaki blood. He doesn't know the power he has. He wastes it chasing after Sasuke like a dog. Anyone else tops the class is fine to him, but if it's Sasuke, he turns rabid. It's almost tragic. Almost.
Sometimes, I try to teach him, Naruto, I mean. But teaching him is like trying to fill a cracked pot with water. The effort leaks out. He can't focus. His mind runs ahead of him. And yet, he has made some friends. Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba… a gang of lazy clowns who pass time fooling around, standing outside class more than they're in it.
Hinata... she's like fog. Always present, never confronting. She watches Naruto from corners, from behind books, through lowered lashes. Her feelings are obvious, but she'll never act. Some people live their whole lives like that. Ghosts in their own stories.
But me, I'm different. I've started my plan. Quiet, deliberate. Helping people, being kind, earning trust. Small gestures. A word here, a bandage there. They're beginning to notice. Not love, not yet. But warmth. That's enough. Because they're all tools. Tools that must be sharpened, trusted, and used—by me, and me alone. It'll take time. But I have time. And I don't waste it.
Even Iruka has started to take note. That's good. I want him to.
He entered the classroom today, stern and sharp. keep silent, he said. It's kunai practice today. We'll do it outside.
We followed, slow and restless. The training ground was damp with early dew, the targets set up, dull wood with bullseyes faded from years of use. Iruka began calling names. One by one, they walked up, threw their ten kunai, and stepped back.
Then Sasuke stepped forward, his steps confident, smug. The girls whispered, the teachers watched. He drew and threw in one fluid sequence. 8 of the ten struck near center, one dead on. Iruka nodded.
"Well done, Sasuke. 9 out of 10."
The girls erupted. Sasuke.... they cried in unison. The teachers murmured, "As expected of an Uchiha."
Then it was Naruto's turn. He jogged up, grinning too wide, trying too hard. He threw ten kunai, erratic and wild. Not a single one hit the center. Two scratched the edges. "2 out of 10," Iruka said flatly.
Laughter. All around. A harsh wave. Naruto flinched. His smile turned bitter. "Tch—I wasn't even trying," he snapped. "Kunai are for losers anyway."
No one believed him.
Then my name was called.
I walked to the line. Calm. Controlled. I picked up the kunai, felt the weight, and threw. One after another, deliberate and clean. Nine struck close to the center. Not perfect. But precise.
Iruka's voice carried. "Good job, Johan. 9 out of 10."
I nodded politely. "Thank you, sensei." Then I turned back, catching Sasuke's stunned expression. His pride cracked, just for a moment.
And I smiled to myself.
Because this is how it begins.