When Jiraiya truly got serious, the classmates who had mocked him earlier all fell silent, realizing that this tall, seemingly goofy boy from a civilian background actually had real skill.
At first glance, Jiraiya's sturdy frame and somewhat foolish mannerisms made him look like a typical musclehead—high strength, low agility. But in reality, Jiraiya was deceptively fast. A natural fighter, he had refined his reflexes and close-quarters combat skills through countless unsanctioned street fights long before setting foot in the Ninja Academy.
Even Hoshiyomi was slightly surprised, but the surprise was fleeting. After a year of intense physical training, Hoshiyomi's overall condition had already surpassed that of Jiraiya. More importantly, Jiraiya's aggressive movements left him wide open to counters.
As Jiraiya charged in with a punch, Hoshiyomi sidestepped cleanly. Then, taking advantage of Jiraiya's momentum, he executed a textbook leg sweep. Caught off balance, Jiraiya flailed, struggling to recover midair—only to be struck in the back by Hoshiyomi's sharp elbow.
Jiraiya, already off-kilter, was sent stumbling forward. If he had been alone, he could have broken his fall or twisted to land better—but with Hoshiyomi still behind him, he had no such luxury.
Just as Jiraiya braced for impact, he felt a sudden tug at his collar. He came to an abrupt halt midair, suspended. Turning his head, he saw Hoshiyomi gripping his shirt with one hand, the other hand calmly resting on his hip. That smug grin on his face was infuriating.
Jiraiya blinked in disbelief. This guy didn't press his advantage? He even caught him? Was he mocking him, or just overly confident?
Around them, the crowd gasped. A few of the girls had already started whispering excitedly.
"Hoshiyomi is not only strong, he's so kind too!"
"He saved his opponent mid-fall…! So cool!"
"Handsome, capable, and kind? He's the perfect ninja!"
Hearing this chorus of admiration, Hoshiyomi was secretly pleased. That had gone better than planned. Not only had he demonstrated superior skill, he'd earned points for being graceful. Surely, Jiraiya would be so moved by his magnanimity that he'd follow him from now on like a loyal sidekick. And these girls? Obviously lining up for fan club registration.
Just as he was envisioning his glorious first day at the Academy, fate had other plans.
RIP!
Jiraiya hit the ground with a heavy thud, nose-first. Hoshiyomi stared in stunned silence at the torn piece of fabric in his hand.
…That wasn't part of the plan.
The classroom burst into laughter.
Even the always-serious Mitsui-sensei curved his lips in amusement. But it was Tsunade who laughed first—an unrestrained, gleeful laugh that set off a chain reaction. Students doubled over, not just at Jiraiya's fall but the utter shock on Hoshiyomi's face.
Hoshiyomi quickly tossed the scrap of cloth aside and bent down to help Jiraiya.
"Sorry about that. I'll get you a new outfit after school."
Jiraiya, still holding his bruised nose, waved him off. "It's fine, not your fault. I lost this time—but I'll definitely win next round."
Mitsui-sensei nodded, now back to business. "Match over. Next group, step up."
As they walked off the platform, Hoshiyomi casually struck up a conversation. Jiraiya, open-hearted as always, responded easily. Just like that, the two were chatting like old friends.
The rest of the assessment passed quickly. Most of the remaining matches were sloppy brawls, not worth watching. But the final match of the day caught Hoshiyomi's full attention.
Sakumo Hatake vs. Hyūga Ken.
Unlike the previous bouts, these two were composed and deadly. Hyūga Ken, though still a student, had already begun to grasp the Jūken style of the Hyūga clan. Although he hadn't awakened the Byakugan yet, his precision and fluid movements stood out.
But Sakumo was something else.
Even without drawing the short blade strapped across his back, Sakumo's footwork was impeccable. Calm and silent, he dodged Hyūga Ken's Eight Trigrams Four Palms with uncanny ease. A few well-timed counters later, Hyūga Ken was on the defensive—and then, on the ground.
The match ended decisively, drawing murmurs of admiration from students and instructors alike.
Jiraiya stared, eyes wide, and muttered to Hoshiyomi beside him, "Man, that Sakumo guy is intense. Do you think Hyūga Ken will get stronger once he awakens the Byakugan?"
Hoshiyomi gave a noncommittal nod but said nothing.
His eyes, however, were fixed on Sakumo. Or more precisely, on the sword across Sakumo's back.
He clenched his fists slightly.
He wanted to fight that guy.
But not in a classroom exam.
Soon.
The real combat drills would begin soon.
Sakumo, having just finished his match, glanced instinctively in Hoshiyomi's direction. During the fight, he had felt a sharp gaze—one that weighed him, evaluated him. Now, as their eyes met, Hoshiyomi offered a faint smile and casually pointed to his own back.
Perplexed, Sakumo turned slightly and looked over his shoulder at the short white tanto strapped across his back—the blade that had earned him the moniker "Konoha's White Fang" in the years to come. Realizing the meaning behind Hoshiyomi's gesture, his expression shifted. Without saying a word, Sakumo gave a small nod before quietly retreating into the crowd.
With the sparring assessments concluded, Mitsui-sensei rounded up the class and led them back to the academy building. As promised, the top 15 scorers would now choose their seats in order of performance.
Uchiha Iwa was first. He strutted into the classroom like a peacock in full display, making his way to the very center of the room—where he could survey all and be seen by all. He wore the proud smirk typical of Uchiha heirs, as if the classroom was merely another piece of territory under clan control.
Next came Tsunade. Pausing briefly at the doorway, she scanned the room before selecting a seat by the back window—a spot that provided both an escape route and a good view. True to her nature, she preferred a place where she could disengage at any time if things got boring.
Uchiha Iwa eyed her for a long while. She was a Senju—granddaughter of the First Hokage, no less. In any other circumstance, he might've tried to cozy up to her, maybe even claim the seat beside her. But years of clan rivalry still simmered under the surface. In the end, Iwa merely clicked his tongue and kept his distance.
The third entrant—some eager but unfortunate boy—made a beeline for the seat next to Tsunade. He didn't even get the words out before she glared him down and bluntly said, "No."
Flustered and humiliated, the boy shuffled off to the back corner near the door, trying to act like that had been his plan all along.
Hoshiyomi, fourth in line, had been watching the entire scene with amusement. He shook his head slightly. Rookies, he thought. If you rush in like a wild dog, of course you'll get your tail kicked.
Unlike the boy before him, Hoshiyomi didn't hesitate. He walked to the desk directly in front of Tsunade's and stopped with a calm, easy smile. This wasn't a random decision. Years of social navigation—in both his previous life and this one—had taught him a few reliable tricks.
The seat in front of a girl was a prime position: close enough for interaction, distant enough to avoid suspicion. From there, one could easily turn around, offer a helpful note, make casual conversation, or even flash a smile when the moment was right. If one had skills worth noticing, this seat was the stage to showcase them.
Hoshiyomi turned slightly, looked up at Tsunade, and asked with a polite smile, "Mind if I take this seat?"