The Academy grounds were their usual blend of chaos and structure.
In the training yard, a few students were sparring under an instructor's watchful eye, while others sat in clusters, chatting, studying, or plotting some form of mischief.
Without dwelling any longer than necessary, I stepped into the classroom. My mind was still half-focused on my training plans, but I knew I had to start balancing my personal growth with everything else.
As much as I preferred to spend my time honing my skills, I wasn't stupid enough to ignore the value of forming connections.
And if I was going to establish any, the ones I'd pick wouldn't be just random classmates. No, they had to be individuals who could be useful—either as comrades or as future assets.
That's why, for the first time in a while, I let my attention drift away from just me—and toward the people who had been there from the beginning.
My eyes flicked over to the usual suspects—Aiko, Renji, Daichi, Daisuke, and Katsuro Nara—all gathered in our usual corner of the room. The orphanage squad plus one very lazy Nara.
Sitting near Katsuro, half-listening to the conversation while methodically rotating a kunai between his fingers, was Kenji Hyūga.
Unlike the prodigies of his clan, Kenji had no special talent that set him apart—not that he lacked skill, but compared to the main branch heirs, he was just another shinobi.
And next to him, arms crossed and posture sharp, was Riku Uchiha.
He wasn't a prodigy like Shisui or Itachi, but his presence alone carried the quiet confidence of someone raised in a clan that considered itself above most.
Then there were others—Tsubaki Aburame, who barely spoke but always seemed to see everything, Ryota Inuzuka, who had no partner yet but carried himself with the rowdy energy of his clan, and Hina Akimichi, whose easygoing demeanor hid a sharp mind.
Aiko was the first to notice me, her eyes glinting with amusement. She tapped the desk rhythmically, a tune only she could hear playing in her head. "Look who finally decided to join the land of the living."
I smirked. "I was busy. Unlike some people, I don't waste my time."
"Excuse you," Renji said, flipping his long black hair back with a dramatic motion. "I'll have you know, I'm very efficient at doing absolutely nothing."
"That's called being useless," I deadpanned.
"Wrong. That's called being stress-free," he corrected. "You should try it sometime, Murakami."
I rolled my eyes and dropped into my seat beside Aiko, stretching my legs out. "I'll relax when I'm dead."
Daichi, the most physically imposing of the group, crossed his arms and gave me a skeptical look. "You say that, but I bet you don't even sleep properly."
"I sleep fine," I said.
Daisuke arched an eyebrow. "You meditate in the middle of the night, Murakami. That's not sleeping."
I waved him off. "Semantics."
Aiko leaned in with a knowing grin. "You're really bad at this whole 'social interaction' thing, huh?"
"Oh no, I'm great at it," I said. "You guys just don't appreciate my charm."
"That's because you don't have any," Renji quipped.
Before I could fire back, a lazy voice joined the conversation.
"You guys are exhausting," Katsuro Nara muttered, head now resting on his folded arms. He hadn't even bothered lifting his head since I sat down.
I nudged his desk with my foot. "You know, for someone with a genius-level IQ, you sure lack ambition."
He cracked one eye open. "Wrong. My ambition is to exert the least amount of effort possible while still getting what I want."
"That's called laziness."
"And yet, I'm still passing all my classes while barely trying," he mused. "Meanwhile, you're running around training like your life depends on it. Makes you wonder who the real genius is here."
I gave him a dry look. "I know my life depends on it. That's the difference."
His expression flickered for just a second—an acknowledgment that, despite his carefree attitude, he understood exactly what I meant.
It was the reality of being a shinobi.
Some of us were born with advantages, and some of us had to claw our way up. I wasn't a Hyūga with a Byakugan or an Uchiha with a Sharingan. I didn't have some overpowered bloodline or clan techniques to fall back on.
No preordained destiny, no inherited talent that set me apart from the rest.
I wasn't an Uzumaki, blessed with absurd chakra reserves and near-inhuman vitality. I didn't have the Senju's monstrous stamina or natural affinity for Ninjutsu.
My mind wasn't a living Genjutsu weapon like the Kurama clan's freaks of nature, and I wasn't walking around with a built-in Kekkei Genkai like those Yuki or Kaguya brats.
I was just me.
No safety net, no genetic crutch. Just effort, discipline, and an unwavering refusal to be left behind.
Some people would call that a disadvantage. I called it motivation.
All I had was what I could make for myself.
Aiko must have sensed the shift in my mood because she nudged me with her elbow. "So, what's the next step in your master plan? You always look like you're two steps ahead of everyone else."
I grinned. "Three steps, actually."
Renji scoffed. "Of course. So what is it?"
I tapped my fingers against the desk. "Chakra control exercises, training my Genjutsu, and finding a way to beat Katsuro at shogi."
Katsuro finally lifted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You? Beat me at shogi?"
I shrugged. "I like a challenge."
That was the truth. But it didn't mean I didn't recognize just how unfair some advantages were.
Take the Nara, for example. Every single one of them was born with that same absurd intelligence, that instinctive grasp of strategy that made them natural tacticians.
It wasn't just about being smart—plenty of people were smart.
The Nara clan took it a step further.
Their minds weren't just sharp; they were designed for battlefield analysis, for outmaneuvering opponents before they even realized they'd been played.
And it wasn't like you could brute force your way past it either. The Shadow Possession Jutsu wasn't flashy, but in the right hands, it was a death sentence. One moment you were moving, the next, you were frozen, completely at their mercy.
Frankly, it was annoying.
I'd even been tempted to introduce a game like Chess, just to see if I could level the playing field. Maybe give myself a shot at beating Katsuro at his own game. But even that thought made me hesitate.
Because let's be real—what were the chances I'd actually win?
I could already see it: me, smugly explaining the rules, thinking I had the upper hand… only for Katsuro to wipe the floor with me within minutes. It'd be a tragedy.
A game I invented, and I'd still lose.
Yeah, no thanks. Some things just weren't worth the humiliation.
Daichi snorted. "You're going to lose."
Daisuke nodded. "Horribly."
Aiko smirked. "This is gonna be fun to watch."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the overwhelming support, guys."
Katsuro stretched, finally sitting up properly. "Tell you what, if you do manage to beat me, I'll actually put in effort for an entire day."
Renji gasped dramatically. "The whole day? Are you sure you won't collapse from exhaustion?"
Katsuro yawned. "We'll see."
I grinned. "Deal."
For a while, we just sat there, the usual banter filling the air, and for the first time in a while, I let myself just exist in the moment.
The orphanage had never been perfect, but it was warm.
We didn't have a family so we made one for ourselves.
Thanks to the changes I'd made, it wasn't exactly a home, but it was as close as we could get, and for us, that was enough.
It wasn't about luxury or comfort, it was about creating a space where we could feel like we weren't just waiting for life to start. It was about giving us a fighting chance, and that's exactly what I did.
We weren't a perfect group—far from it.
We had our quirks, our disagreements, and our different ways of life—but there was an unspoken understanding between us.
We weren't here by choice, but somehow, in this place, we had found a sort of bond. A kind of camaraderie that made everything a little easier to bear.
In this strange little corner of the world, we were carving out a place for ourselves. One that, for now, would be enough.
Each of us had our own reasons for being here. Some lost their parents to the ravages of war, some were abandoned upon birth, some were brought in from neighbouring settlement within the land of fire.
We weren't all going to walk the same path forever. People changed. Things happened.
But that didn't mean it had to be the end of the story. I had the strange, somewhat comforting feeling that our lives would always be linked in one way or another.
…
The chatter in the classroom died down the moment the door slid open.
Daigo-sensei strode in, his presence alone enough to command attention. He wasn't the most intimidating instructor, but there was something about his sharp gaze that made even the rowdiest students sit up straight.
He paused at the front of the room, arms crossed, waiting. A few murmurs still lingered in the air, but after a single pointed look from him, silence settled over the class.
"Good," he said simply, nodding in approval. "Now that you all remember how to behave, we'll get straight to the point."
His gaze swept across the room, lingering on a few students before continuing. "Today, we're doing something different. You'll be observing the upperclassmen as they go through their graduation exams."
A spark of interest flickered through the class. A few students sat up straighter, exchanging glances. Graduation exams weren't something they got to see often.
Daigo-sensei continued, "This will include the three foundational techniques—Clone Jutsu, Transformation Jutsu, and Substitution Jutsu. After that, there will be spars to determine combat readiness."
Some of the students perked up at that, excitement clear on their faces. The foundational techniques were basic, sure, but the real spectacle would be the sparring matches. Seeing the upperclassmen fight was a rare opportunity.
Renji smirked, whispering, "Now this might actually be fun."
I ignored him, focusing on Daigo-sensei as he continued.
"You are expected to watch carefully," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Pay attention to how they execute their jutsu, how they move, and how they adapt in battle. There's a difference between learning from a textbook and seeing it in action."
He let that sink in for a moment before adding, "Some of you will be in their place soon enough. Whether you pass or fail depends on your own effort."
The weight of his words settled over the room. Some students shifted in their seats, suddenly more aware of their own progress—or lack thereof.
Daigo-sensei glanced toward the window, judging the time. "We leave in five minutes. Form up outside. I don't want to hear any complaints about missing lunch or training. Consider this part of your education."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the class buzzing with conversation once more.
I leaned back in my seat, arms crossed. Watching the graduation exams would be useful, but more than that, it was a reminder.
We weren't just kids playing at being shinobi.
Soon enough, we'd be tested too and God knows how many of us would live long enough to reminiscence about this moment.