Mizuki's Daily Jealousy

Inside the office, several teachers were gathered together to discuss the upcoming exams.

"Mizuki, I suppose your class will be the top of the grade for this monthly exam again, right?" Fujino Okuma said, his voice tinged with a hint of envy. "You're one step closer to the Outstanding Teacher of the Year award at the end of the term."

Although he and Mizuki were both homeroom teachers for the fifth-grade students, the students in his Class 2 were of mediocre aptitude, with not a single genius among them. In contrast, Mizuki's Class 1 boasted Hyuga Neji, a genius who had dominated the school's top spot in both theory and practical exams ever since enrollment.

What made Fujino Okuma feel even more helpless was that he also served as the ninjutsu instructor for Mizuki's Class 1, giving him the feeling that while he did all the hard work, Mizuki reaped all the credit.

Sitting in his chair, Mizuki felt a smug smile tug at his lips upon hearing this. He picked up his teacup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and then replied, "Okuma, you're jumping to conclusions. It's only the first month's exam; the Outstanding Teacher award is still a long way off."

He set down his cup and added, "Your teaching methods are excellent as well, Okuma. It's just that I've been a bit luckier, having two students in my class with relatively high talent."

Matsumoto Mie did not participate in the conversation between Mizuki and Fujino Okuma.

She was in charge of the first-grade Class 2 and fourth-grade Class 3. The quality of her students was even more dismal than those in Fujino Okuma's class; let alone geniuses, the two classes combined didn't even have a single student from a ninja clan. However, she took this in stride. After all, her life's focus was primarily on her family, and she had no great desire for promotions or raises.

When Matsumoto Mie saw Qiushui walk into the office, her eyes lit up slightly, and she said with a smile, "Qiushui, speaking of which, I was just about to compliment you. Last Friday, when I went to teach in fourth-grade Class 1, Naruto actually raised his hand to answer a question. You wouldn't know—I've been teaching in that class for years, and this is the first time I've ever seen him raise his hand in class. If his grades improve, perhaps your class will get a good ranking in this monthly exam. You might even have a shot at the Outstanding Teacher award at the end of the year."

Qiushui replied modestly, "You're too kind, Matsumoto. I only did what was expected of me."

"Not at all," Matsumoto Mie waved her hand. "You don't know how difficult that student, Naruto, was to manage in class before. No matter how many teachers were swapped in, none could do anything with him. You've only been here a short while, and you've already got him listening obediently—that's not as simple as just 'doing what's expected'." She paused, then added with a smile, "Keep up the good work; I'm rooting for you."

Seeing this scene, Mizuki began to feel uncomfortable again.

Although Qiushui taught the fourth grade and he taught the fifth, the two were on completely different tracks for the Outstanding Teacher award, with no conflict of interest or competitive relationship. Yet, watching Matsumoto Mie smile so sincerely at Qiushui, her words laced with genuine appreciation, he found it inexplicably grating.

After school in the afternoon.

Qiushui did not head straight home. Instead, he detoured to his residence and picked up a stack of bound manuscripts from his desk—novels written by his shadow clones over the past half-month. It was already a thick pile. He flipped through them to confirm the page numbers were complete, in order, and the handwriting was clear, then tucked them into his coat and turned to head toward the Shueisha Publishing House in the center of the village.

This was the largest publishing house in the village; it was said that the Third Hokage's Will of Fire and Jiraiya's Icha Icha Paradise were both published here.

Qiushui walked through several streets and stopped in front of a five-story building. A well-crafted plaque hung above the door, bearing the four large characters: Shueisha Publishing House.

Qiushui pushed the door open, and the wind chime above it jingled.

The first thing that caught his eye was a giant poster for Jiraiya's Icha Icha Paradise series.

The poster depicted a man and a woman in an ambiguous pose with hazy, longing expressions, accompanied by the caption: "The #1 Bestseller in the Ninja World—have you read it yet?"

Qiushui's eyelid twitched.

Although he hadn't read the novel, just looking at the poster told him it was worthy of being the book Kakashi often stayed up all night to read; it was undoubtedly very lewd and very violent.

He averted his gaze and scanned the interior of the publishing house. The space was larger than he had imagined. Several staff members were scattered at different workstations, flipping through documents. The tables were piled high with manuscripts and sample books, and there were a few others like him holding novel drafts, sitting or standing with expressions of nervousness and anticipation.

Qiushui walked to the front desk.

A girl of about twenty sat there, sporting short brown hair and large eyes, her head bowed as she organized something.

"Hello," Qiushui said. "I'm here to submit a novel."

The girl looked up.

Her eyes brightened noticeably.

She looked at Qiushui's face, stunned for a second, before she reacted: "Ah, yes, yes! Please, wait a moment."

Perhaps there weren't many people writing novels in this world, or perhaps for some other reason, the girl didn't make him wait in line. Instead, she stood up and led him toward the upper floors.

Qiushui followed her to the second floor and stopped in front of an independent office.

The girl knocked on the door.

"Come in." A hoarse voice came from inside, sounding like someone who stayed up late year-round.

The girl pushed the door open.

Inside the office sat a middle-aged man in his forties with an ordinary face and two prominent dark circles under his eyes, holding a book as he read.

"Editor-in-Chief Kishimoto," the girl gestured toward Qiushui, "this is an author here to submit a novel."

Kishimoto Masashi's gaze lingered on Qiushui's face for a moment before he nodded and said, "Understood. You may head back down."

The girl acknowledged him, turned to leave, and pulled the door shut behind her.

The office fell silent.

Kishimoto Masashi set down the book he was holding, leaned back into his chair, looked Qiushui up and down, and said, "Sit."

Qiushui sat down as instructed.

Kishimoto Masashi asked, "What genre is the novel you've written?"

"Progression," Qiushui replied.

"Did you bring the manuscript?"

"I did." Qiushui took the manuscript from his coat and placed it on the desk.

Kishimoto Masashi picked it up and glanced at the front page. The cover bore several large characters: The Strongest Ninja in the Ninja World, Yet a Trash Youth Abandoned by His Clan?

The handwriting was neat, the strokes powerful. Kishimoto Masashi nodded silently to himself; at the very least, the penmanship was good.

He flipped to the first page and began to read.

Qiushui sat before the desk, not in a hurry, waiting quietly.

Kishimoto Masashi was fifty years old this year and had been an editor for thirty years.

Thirty years ago, he was a youth full of youthful vigor. When he first joined the publishing house, he was brimming with passion, determined to find a literary master who could surpass Jiraiya and become a gold-medal editor.

Back then, he had been full of anticipation for every author who came to submit a novel.