The previous day's classes had been mostly introductions, but now the real lessons were beginning.
Barely fifteen minutes into the first lecture, Hoshiyomi was already starting to fidget—not because he was bad at school, but because the teacher was just too long-winded.
Shinobi Academy instructors were used to teaching six-year-olds. Since children that age couldn't grasp concepts on the first try, everything had to be repeated again and again… and again.
That approach was perfectly reasonable—for actual six-year-olds. But for someone with an adult's mindset like Hoshiyomi, it was mental torture.
To him, only the first five minutes of the class contained useful information. The rest? Forty minutes of repetitive examples and slow explanations.
It's like listening to someone explain "1+1=2" for 40 minutes when you already know the entire multiplication table.
So, instead of listening, Hoshiyomi reached into his gear pouch and pulled out his dagger, spinning it quietly beneath the desk.
It was a habit he'd developed in this life—a subtle form of training. Not only did it improve his finger dexterity, but he even earned a small amount of sword EXP from it.
The idea had come from a theory he'd once read in a novel from his previous life:
True masters are as comfortable with a blade as they are with their own hands. They don't fear the weapon—because it's become an extension of themselves.
Only when someone reached that level could their swordsmanship be called truly advanced.
That concept had left a deep impression on his chūnibyō younger self. Even now, after reincarnating, he hadn't let go of that ideal.
After a long day of sword practice, when his muscles were sore and stiff, he'd use his downtime to quietly practice spinning the dagger—turning it with ease thanks to the Weapon Mastery skill and a full year of training.
Hoshiyomi thought he was being subtle.
But what he didn't realize was that Tsunade, seated just behind him, had a perfect view of everything.
She, too, was struggling to stay focused. Everything the teacher was saying? Grandma Mito had taught her already—and better.
Bored out of her mind, Tsunade's golden eyes wandered across the room, looking for something—anything—entertaining.
Over there, that Inuzuka girl is secretly petting her puppy again. Might go say hi after class—that dog's pretty cute.
Akimichi Teisei's already snacking again. How does he eat so much and still move? I'd be too full to even walk…
Hoshiyomi's zoning out again. Boring… no, wait. What's he doing?
She squinted, craning her neck.
Then she saw it.
Whoa…
The small, elegant dagger in Hoshiyomi's hand spun like magic, flipping and twirling between his fingers with practiced grace.
That looks… awesome!
It reminded her of how slick she looked when shaking dice at the gambling table. There was a flair to it—a confident rhythm.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in her mind:
If he can do that, so can I!
After all, she was Tsunade, granddaughter of Hashirama himself—the undisputed heir to the Senju clan's gambling legacy. She'd been practicing since she was three! By age five, she was already sneaking into casinos like a pro.
A little dagger-spinning? No problem.
Except…
She didn't have a dagger.
She scanned the room. The closest thing that resembled a blade was the pencil in Yako's hand.
...It'll have to do.
Without warning, Tsunade snatched the pencil right out of Yako's hand.
"Hey!"
Yako gave her a look of wide-eyed distress—but didn't protest. How could she? Arguing with Princess Tsunade was like challenging a thunderstorm.
Tsunade gripped the pencil confidently, mimicking Hoshiyomi's movements.
Alright, watch and learn…
And then…
Clatter.
The pencil flipped once, slipped from her fingers, and hit the floor with a faint clunk, rolling away like it was mocking her.
Tsunade stared.
…You dare defy me?
Eyebrow twitching, she reached for Yako again.
The poor girl sighed—half-resigned, half-pitiful—and silently handed over another pencil.
Again, Tsunade tried.
Drop. Clunk. Roll.
Then again.
Drop. Clunk. Roll.
Four tries later, pencils littered the floor like fallen soldiers. Tsunade's face twitched with growing fury. On her fifth attempt, the pencil snapped in half with a crack.
Yako let out a whimper.
"That… was the last one."
"I know!"
Tsunade snapped, causing Yako to flinch so hard she nearly cried.
"I-I'll pick them up!" she offered quickly, already bending down.
But Tsunade caught her by the wrist and gently pulled her back.
"Yako, come on. I've told you—we're friends, not master and servant. You don't have to be scared of me."
"B-but…"
"No buts. And no crying."
Yako sniffled, wiping her eyes. Tsunade finally cracked a smile and pinched her friend's cheek.
"That's better. We'll pick up the pencils later. First…"
She turned toward Hoshiyomi.
"Time to deal with you."
In her mind, the chain of blame was perfectly logical:
Yako cried because Tsunade got mad.Tsunade got mad because she couldn't spin the pencil.She tried spinning the pencil because Hoshiyomi made it look so cool.
Clearly, all of this was Hoshiyomi's fault.
Time to make him pay!
Yako, of course, was completely confused.
How is this his fault again?
But she wasn't about to argue. Not with Princess Tsunade.
Tsunade marched over, puffed up like an angry cat, and jabbed Hoshiyomi in the back.
Startled, Hoshiyomi flinched—causing the dagger to fall from his hands.
Reflexes sharp as ever, he caught it mid-air, smoothly returned it to his gear pouch, and turned with a frown.
But when he saw her pouty cheeks and furrowed brows…
Half his irritation melted on the spot.
Seriously? That face is almost criminally cute.
Tsunade stared him down with a scowl and jabbed a finger toward the dagger just barely visible in his pouch.
"I want to learn that."