After making my decision, I closed the box carefully. But unlike before, I wasn't nervous.
I knew I had made the right choice.
And I was ready for whatever consequence came next.
"One minute has passed. Now, each candidate will be called in numerical order to bring their box to the table." Kurenai announced, her voice as calm and composed as ever. "Candidate number 4, you're first."
As each candidate was called, one by one, I watched their expressions closely.
Some looked confident.
Others walked with lowered heads, already resigned to whatever fate awaited them.
"Candidate number 12."
Jimei.
To my surprise, he walked up with his head held high and firm steps.
He placed the box on the designated spot, then, on his way back to his seat, finally looked at me… and winked.
That idiot…
He'd spent the whole minute avoiding my eyes, and now he has the audacity to wink at me?
"Candidate number 27. Your turn!"
I stood up, the faintest smile still tugging at my lips.
Box in hand, I walked to the table and placed it down firmly on the number marked for me.
Without hesitation, I turned and walked back to my seat.
Minutes later, I watched Natsu make her way to the table. Her posture was straight. Calm. Unshaken.
I could only trust that she came to the same conclusion I had… and made the right choice.
Finally, the last box was placed.
And Kurenai began to move again.
"Now!" she said, that same unreadable, almost teasing smile on her lips "Let's see which teams truly understood the tenth question."
She formed a hand seal.
Click.
The lids of all the boxes opened simultaneously. A red glow began to fill the room. But it wasn't uniform.
Not every sphere was lit.
The boxes were arranged in groups of three — one for each team — and the pattern was easy to spot.
Four groups showed no glow at all. None of their three spheres were lit. I heard muffled curses. A fist slamming onto a table.
Other groups had just one glowing sphere. The lonely sacrifice of a single teammate. A few rare ones had two glowing spheres, with one left unlit.
And then… My eyes finally landed on the set of boxes that belonged to my team.
All three spheres glowed brightly. A warm, vivid red. Almost as if they were pulsing like they were a single flame split across three bodies.
My chest tightened. All of us had chosen to sacrifice ourselves. No words exchanged. No glances coordinated. No guarantees. Only trust.
We weren't the only team to make that decision. In fact, a little more than half of the teams had done the same. I believed it was the right choice. A true leader should be willing to sacrifice for their team... but there was still a part of me that wondered. What if we were wrong?
"Now, the teams who made the wrong choice will be eliminated." Kurenai said, forming another hand seal.
CRAACK!
The sound snapped through the air—sharp and ceremonial.
The spheres began to shatter, one by one, as if they were made of delicate porcelain. And not just the ones where no one had chosen to sacrifice. Even the ones with just one or two glowing spheres were condemned.
It was brutal. Unforgiving. The orbs shattered like glass under pressure, scattering fragments across the growing silence of the room.
Only a few spheres remained intact. Only those where all three had chosen to sacrifice.
Still glowing red. Still pulsing like synchronized hearts. A warm red, full of meaning.
Three solitary decisions, made in silence, and yet identical. The same answer, from three minds who understood what was truly at stake.
Relief surged through my chest when I saw our team's spheres. Intact. Alive.
We'd gotten it right. We made the right choice. No words. No plan. Just trust.
"A chuunin isn't just a stronger fighter." Kurenai said as she paced slowly to the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back, her voice calm as ever. "They are leaders. A decision-maker. The responsibility for the success of the mission, and the lives of their teammates rests on their shoulders."
"To pass, you had to infuse the sphere with chakra." she continued. "A chuunin must be willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of their team and ensure the mission is completed."
A boy to my left suddenly stood up, his face twisted with frustration.
"But I did sacrifice myself!" he shouted. "The other two did nothing! I acted like a leader! I should've passed!"
Another genin stood, red with anger. "This is it?! This is how we're eliminated?! One of us sacrifices themselves and we still get cut?!"
More voices rose. Some in shock. Others in desperation. Murmurs. Protests. Muffled curses.
Kurenai didn't respond right away. She simply watched us in silence.
And then… A presence filled the room.
The temperature seemed to drop. The air grew heavy, dense—an invisible pressure pressing down on all of us, suffocating. A killing intent swept through the space, sudden and brutal.
This was nothing like what I'd felt when we first entered. That had been child's play in comparison.
If that had been a kitten meowing behind the door… This was a tiger, its eyes fixed on its prey.
The protests died immediately. A thick silence fell, broken only by the anxious breathing of a few genin.
Kurenai's eyes locked onto the first boy who had spoken. Her expression remained calm, but now it carried weight. Authority. Finality.
"You weren't paying attention at the start." She said firmly. "If even one member made the wrong choice, the whole team would be eliminated. The responsibility is shared."
She crossed her arms slowly. Now, the room was fully quiet. Every genin watched her, hanging onto her words.
"And more importantly… I never say that your team had a designated leader. What I said was: you are the leader."
Her words hung in the air, like a seal etched into our minds.
"Each of you should have considered yourselves the leader. That the decision was yours to make. If you don't have the resolve to act like a leader… How can you even think about becoming a chuunin?"
The boy lowered his eyes. He seemed smaller now. Around him, a few genin murmured to one another, some embarrassed, others thoughtful.
And me… I realized in that moment that many of them still hadn't truly understood. But maybe… with time… they would.
"If only one volunteered, it might seem noble…" Kurenai continued. "But it shows the others were waiting for someone else to bear the burden. That's dependency. Passivity. Fear."
Those words hurt. Even more painful was seeing the expressions around me. Some looked away. Some clenched their fists. One closed his eyes, as if trying to blink away the truth.
"If two volunteered… It's nearly the same. One of them hesitated. Waited. And in this exam, hesitation is failure."
The silence was pierced only by tension, visible in every posture. Many were in shock with their eyes wide, staring into nothing. Still trying to understand Still trying to accept.
"But if all three volunteered…" She paused. A faint smile crossed her lips. "It means none of them hesitated. None of them thought only of themselves. All of them understood that the mission matters more than their own lives."
I felt the weight of her gaze as it fell on me for a moment. It was a look full of respect.
And damn… it felt good.
"Those are the ones who acted like true chuunin."
Her words still echoed in the air as the eliminated genin began to leave the room in silence.
Frustration had given way to resignation. Some left with lowered heads. Others couldn't hold back their tears.
But as I looked around, I saw that the ones I knew—had passed.
Once the last eliminated team left the room, Kurenai turned back to those who remained. Her eyes had softened, but still held their firm resolve.
"Out of the 87 teams that began this test, 21 teams passed... Acceptable." She scanned the room, as if carefully studying each and every face. "With that, I declare the first phase of the Chuunin Exams… Is complete!"
I heard a few quiet cheers behind me, relieved voices, hushed laughter. Jimei looked like he was holding himself back from jumping with joy.
I just took a deep breath.
I wanted to celebrate too… But something deep inside told me that this was only the beginning.
And from here on out… Things would only get harder.