Inside the Forest of Death!
The usual calm had been completely shattered.
Figures darted lightning-fast through the dense trees.
For ordinary people, this forest would be utterly impassable. But for these figures, they moved through it effortlessly.
That's the difference: they were shinobi.
No matter how many ordinary people you threw at them, none could pose a threat to these ninja, who could ignore environmental obstacles and move freely.
That's why this world is called the Shinobi World — because ninja are its main characters.
A tall, brawny teenager, clad in an earth-colored bodysuit and wearing an Iwagakure forehead protector, landed heavily on the ground. Turning back, he bellowed:
"If you've come looking for trouble, don't skulk around like rats — come out and face me!"
As the so-called "strongest genius" among the examinees, Akira naturally sensed the lurking presences tailing them.
But despite his challenge, no one stepped forward.
Instead, their answer came in another form.
Whoosh, whoosh!
A volley of kunai whistled through the air.
Even a Kage-level body couldn't simply shrug off a kunai strike.
On the battlefield, far more ninja die from kunai and other tools than from flashy ninjutsu.
But a frontal kunai throw like this?
Even an average genin could dodge it, let alone Akira.
Despite his bulky build, Akira moved with astonishing agility — like a dancing bear.
That's the magic of chakra reinforcement: under its power, anything becomes possible.
Dodging the attacks, Akira's usually honest, blocky face twisted into a sharp killing intent.
His hands flew through hand seals at lightning speed.
"Earth Release: Ground Fracture Palm!"
Boom!
His palms slammed into the ground.
A rumbling wave radiated outward, shattering the earth like broken glass.
The forest ahead was flattened, and the area where the kunai had been thrown turned into rubble — flecks of blood mixed among the debris.
Though it was only a C-rank technique, in Akira's hands, it packed a punch no weaker than a B-rank jutsu.
No wonder he was ranked the number one genius in this year's Chūnin Exams.
With just one move, the area fell silent.
No one dared step out to face him head-on.
But that was to be expected.
They were ninja, not samurai.
If they didn't have the advantage, they wouldn't attack; they'd simply hide in the shadows, waiting for the right moment.
"Tch, what a pain," Akira muttered, annoyed.
He would have preferred a direct confrontation instead of having these pests tailing him from the dark.
"Captain, maybe we should focus on gathering the tokens first?"
One of his teammates cautiously reminded him — after all, they were here to take the exam, not to pick fights.
"Let's go!"
Glancing once more around the area, Akira growled under his breath, then turned and led his team away.
There was still business to handle. Otherwise, he definitely wouldn't have let those cowards off so easily.
—
Not even two kilometers away…
"Wind Release: Sickle Weasel!"
A fierce wind tore through the air like invisible blades, shredding everything in front.
Maki, wearing a Sunagakure forehead protector, lowered his hands after casting the jutsu.
"Captain, your wind jutsu has improved again!"
A young teammate looked at him with admiration.
"Yura, no matter how much you butter up the captain, it won't erase your screw-up just now!"
A girl with a large bundle of white cloth strapped to her back sneered at him.
The two started bickering,
until their captain, Maki, sighed and cut them off.
"Stop it. Clean up the battlefield. We'll collect the tokens while keeping an eye out for Konoha squads. And don't forget the mission we were given!"
With that, he started moving.
They weren't cleaning up the battlefield because they cared about preserving the Forest of Death.
Please — as if Suna shinobi cared about that.
They were doing it to avoid leaving behind any of their own intel — and to recover their ninja tools.
Kunai, senbon, shuriken — these were all expensive and needed to be retrieved.
Only the "big rich clans" could afford to toss them away like candy.
And the struggling Suna ninja were definitely not in that category.
—
Both Akira and Maki responded to ambushes the same way.
Instead of avoiding confrontation, they chose overwhelming counterattacks,
leaving their enemies no chance to even fire off a signal flare.
They were also fully aware that the Forest of Death was packed with surveillance cameras, broadcasting their fights to the observers watching from the tower.
But precisely because of this, they fought even harder.
In the shinobi world, killing wasn't the sin.
Weakness was.
This year's examinees were all under fifteen.
The youngest, Kakashi, was just seven.
And yet, they were forced to slaughter each other.
No wonder figures like Madara, Obito, and Nagato later concluded the world was twisted and tried to "correct" it.
They weren't wrong in spotting the problem — only their solutions were warped.
The genius-ranked candidates at the top of the intel handbooks were all prime hunting targets for rival villages.
If even Akira and Maki were under attack, there was no way someone like Kakashi — ranked third — would be left alone.
—
"Fire Release: Flame Bullet!"
Akira fired a blast that tore through the underbrush ahead,
but no hit.
While Flame Bullet was faster than Fireball Jutsu,
it still wasn't that fast by jutsu standards — anyone on guard could easily dodge it.
But that was precisely Akira's goal.
Flash!
A streak of white light zipped past.
The last enemy kunoichi, who had dodged the Flame Bullet, was skewered through the heart with a short blade.
Kakashi had struck.
He was the ace of Team Three — at least, according to the intelligence reports.
"Tsk tsk, good thing she wasn't one of those 'anti-demon ninja,' or getting stabbed once wouldn't have been enough!"
Akira joked, glancing at the corpse.
He was already used to the blood and death.
But he still liked to crack jokes from his old, pre-shinobi life — just to remind himself not to let his values get completely twisted by this world.
Seeing Kakashi calmly sheathe his blade and walk over, Akira grinned.
"No wonder you're our Team Three powerhouse. You took care of all the pursuers.
From now on, we'll just leave all the fighting to you, yeah?"
No, he definitely wasn't trying to slack off or dump responsibility.
He was just a poor, helpless, and weak teammate — wasn't it only natural for him to cling to the strongest member?
And as for whether he felt guilty about making a seven-year-old do all the killing?
Sorry — not even a little bit.
Akira had a conscience… just not much of one.
Kakashi, of course, couldn't read Akira's inner monologue.
But his dead-fish eyes stared coldly at him.
You're kidding, right?
Don't you know perfectly well who the real powerhouse on this team is?
Even though Kakashi was growing rapidly,
he knew Akira's growth was even faster — so fast he wasn't sure how strong Akira really was anymore.
And yet, Akira always held back, pushing Kakashi to the front.
Even if he didn't openly complain, it still annoyed him a little.
"Alright, alright, my bad. Here, take this as an apology!"
Akira, sensing his teammate's unspoken grumbling, cheerfully pulled out a bottle of healing potion and offered it.
Sure, Kakashi probably had his own — but hey, who ever complains about too many good supplies?
A brief silence.
Snap.
Kakashi took the potion.
Deal sealed: he wouldn't mind continuing to draw enemy fire, letting Akira keep slacking off behind the scenes.
—
"We've recovered all the ninja tools. But where the hell are those tokens?"
Yamanaka Koji, who had been cleaning up the battlefield, finally voiced the lingering question.
Now that they'd taken out the fastest pursuers and temporarily intimidated the rest, the next step was to search for the tokens.
"I doubt they're that hard to find," Akira mused.
"The hard part will be grabbing one… and safely getting it back to the central tower."
Before the others could reply,
they realized they wouldn't have to search at all.
(End of Chapter)