Kakashi Has the Potential of a Hokage!

Kakashi shuddered and whipped his head around—classmates laughing and messing around, unfamiliar faces hurrying past. Nothing unusual.

"Huh? My imagination?" Kakashi's eyes swept a distant spot without a trace, suspicion stirring in his mind.

On the other side.

Higashino Shinichi carried a sword, his steps steady as he headed toward the school's training ground.

Just as he had planned—moving out of the orphanage, stepping into the Ninja Academy, he was shifting the stage for crafting his persona from the relatively closed-off orphanage surroundings to this larger stage, one that gathered Konoha's future new generation and could radiate through them to the village's families.

Approaching noon, the sun blazed.

Though it was lunch break, the campus wasn't empty. Like many real Japanese schools, most students at Konoha's Ninja Academy didn't go home for lunch.

Some brought bento from home, others grabbed a quick meal at the school cafeteria, then stayed in classrooms, the training ground, or the library, enjoying their midday rest and free time.

So even during the lunch hour, the campus buzzed with figures, filled with the energy and noise of boys and girls.

Shinichi needed exactly this kind of audience.

He reached the edge of the training ground—a spacious area with simple wooden posts, targets, and flat zones for taijutsu and ninjutsu practice.

At this moment, many students were scattered in twos and threes: some sat under trees eating bento and chatting, others practiced throwing shuriken, and a few sparred in simple taijutsu on the open ground.

Shinichi's choice was conspicuous. He walked to an open spot that was relatively isolated but easily visible from the paths and all parts of the training ground, and stopped.

He didn't start immediately. Instead, he stood quietly for a moment, his gaze slowly sweeping the surroundings, taking in the glances—intentional or not—directed at him.

Good.

He took a deep breath, his right hand gripping the sword hilt.

The next second, he moved.

No flashy or dazzling techniques—just the most basic, solid sword-drawing swings: stepping forward, twisting his waist, swinging his arm. The long sword cut through the air, bringing a short, sharp whistle.

His movements were so standard they were almost rigid, each burst of power clearly discernible—from the soles of his feet to his hips and waist, then to his shoulders, arms, wrists, and fingers. The transfer of force was precise and smooth.

Then the second swing, the third...

His speed wasn't fast; he even deliberately maintained a steady, clear rhythm, as if not pursuing lethality but rather carving out every detail of the motion. His hand holding the sword was extremely steady, his gaze focused and fixed, staring at some nonexistent point in the void ahead, utterly absorbed.

Gradually, some students who had been doing their own things nearby had their attention drawn over.

"Look over there... that guy practicing with a sword?"

"So serious, the same move, repeating it so many times, and still so precise."

"A new student? Haven't seen him before."

"Tch, not resting at noon, pushing himself this hard..."

Low murmurs drifted over—curiosity, praise, and some dismissive mutters. Shinichi felt those gazes and comments. This was exactly what he wanted.

Starting from this noon, every lunch break he would be here, unwavering, practicing his sword under the eyes of the crowd.

And starting tomorrow, and every day after, he would also appear on the training ground or the roads around the school during the morning rush hour, carrying huge boulders as he ran.

Day after day.

There might be ridicule, sarcasm, even being called weird or freak—it didn't matter.

As long as diligence, hard work, astonishing perseverance, solid fundamentals, and some talent in swordsmanship... these impressions had a chance of being acknowledged and recognized by some of these people.

And through these classmates' eyes, they would be continuously confirmed and deepened. Then, as they chatted after school, they would quietly flow into their respective families.

A casual mention by parents or elders at the dinner table, ordinary exchanges between neighbors—all would gradually bind the name "Higashino Shinichi" with these traits.

Even in the future, when these classmates graduated and became genin, chunin, or took up other occupations, in casual chats with mentors, teammates, or colleagues, they might occasionally recall: "Back in school, there was this guy—every morning you'd see him running with a huge rock on his back, and at noon he'd be practicing his sword without fail, pushing himself like crazy..."

Impressions like water droplets, gathering into streams, would eventually shape the real him in others' perceptions.

July's weather had already soaked Konoha in a sticky heat.

Time passed quickly. Before they knew it, the first semester was about to end, and the academy was facing three days of final exams.

"Thank goodness for you, Shinichi!"

As soon as the morning written culture exam ended and the proctor had just left the classroom with the collected papers, Ishizuka Takashi let out a long breath of relief. Then, looking at Shinichi beside him, his dark, sturdy face showed gratitude: "If it weren't for you, my culture exam would've been as doomed as the previous ones."

He was telling the truth. During the exam, Shinichi hadn't made any big moves—he'd just turned the part with the answers written on it toward Takashi's side.

"The practical exam is this afternoon," Ishizuka Takashi quickly recovered from the near-death experience of the culture test, leaning forward with the familiar gleam of eagerness for combat in his eyes. "I heard from upperclassmen that to get a more comprehensive evaluation, the practical exam sometimes scrambles classes and randomly matches opponents. I really hope I get to face some tough guys from other classes and have a good fight."

"Big darkie, don't get too happy too early. If you get matched against that Kakashi guy, you'll be crying," Shizune, who was tidying her stationery nearby, looked up and poured cold water.

"Kakashi..." The excitement on Ishizuka Takashi's face visibly froze for a moment. Then he scratched his head and frankly admitted, "That guy... he really is something. A genius among geniuses."

"Genius among geniuses"—this evaluation was almost everyone's consensus on Hatake Kakashi in the current academy.

Since enrollment, in monthly exams and midterms, all tests—theory, ninjutsu, taijutsu, genjutsu, shuriken... every subject—had been perfect scores.

And perfect scores were just the starting point of his astonishing talent.

When most first-year students were still struggling to build a foundation, and being praised as a genius just for using the Three Basic Techniques without error...

Kakashi could already fluidly perform elemental release techniques.

And not just one—Wind, Fire, Lightning, Earth, Water—all five natures were at his command.

Innate five-attribute Chakra was a one-in-ten-thousand, almost legendary talent.

Looking back across Konoha's history since the village's founding, only three people were clearly recorded as possessing such a gift: the First Hokage Hashirama Senju, who founded the era; the Second Hokage Tobirama Senju, who laid the foundation; and the current Third Hokage Sarutobi Hiruzen, hailed as the "Strongest Hokage."

And Kakashi was the fourth.

Thus, when the tip of the iceberg of Kakashi's five-attribute ninjutsu talent was revealed at the academy—

"Hokage material"—who knew which busybody student first uttered those words?

But like wildfire, they quietly spread among teachers and students, then rapidly swept through all of Konoha.

Now, even the most ordinary civilians in the village had heard, over tea or after meals, that the five-year-old son of Konoha's White Fang was a genius among geniuses, a hope bearing the future name of Hokage.