The Folded Corner of the Ninja Academy Notice

The Ninja Academy notice arrived before lunch.

The paper was thin, but its corners had been folded neatly. Yamashiro Takuma had not come in person; a young genin delivered it instead, his forehead protector hanging around his neck as he stood at the entrance to East Row 2 and checked the list. When he called out names, his voice was clear. It lacked the scrutinizing edge of the registration ninja's voice, but it was not soft enough to ignore.

"Uchiha Che."

Che rose from beside the water basin, a little rice gruel still clinging to the wooden spoon in his hand.

Kiyo grew nervous before he did. "Is it an exam?"

The young genin glanced at Kiyo. "It's a preliminary enrollment assessment notice."

Kiyo's face turned even paler. "That sounds longer than an exam."

Che set the spoon back beside the bucket and went over to take the paper. It listed the time, location, and subjects for the preliminary assessment: literacy, basic physical fitness, chakra stability observation, and a Three Basic Techniques knowledge Q&A. No actual techniques were required. The last line stated that students from post-disaster temporary preparatory classes could be led there together by their instructors.

No actual techniques.

Che saw those words first. The tension in him eased slightly, only for him to quickly draw that breath back in. The assessment might not test technique use, but that did not mean they would not be observed. How much a child knew, how they answered, how they stood before unfamiliar teachers—everything would be seen.

The edge of the paper felt stiff beneath his fingertips.

Kiyo squeezed over to look, growing more displeased the further he read. "Why is literacy first?"

"Because ninja need to read mission documents," Che said.

"Can't the mission document read itself to me?"

"If it's willing."

Saori poked her head out from behind them, her bell tinkling softly. "For chakra stability observation, will they use water bowls?"

Che looked at the notice. "Maybe. Or paper slips, wooden chips, or string. The Ninja Academy might not use the same methods we do."

The young genin heard him and smiled. "Your teacher will explain it. Don't train too hard beforehand. Injuries before the assessment will be recorded too."

That made something stir in Che's mind.

Injuries before the assessment would be recorded too.

Konoha's records were always everywhere. Injuries were recorded, answers were recorded, lateness was recorded, and being too fast would be recorded too. Che did not dislike records themselves. He even relied on them. But when the records were in someone else's hands, they became like invisible threads lightly winding around the children's ankles.

After the young genin left, Kiyo stared at the notice as if it were a talisman that would turn into an examiner.

"Che," he said, "if I start apologizing to words now, will it help?"

"That depends on whether words hold grudges."

"Words probably don't, right?"

Saori said seriously, "Aunt Sae says paper bites."

Kiyo immediately moved the notice farther away.

During the afternoon preparatory class, Mine pinned the same notice to the wooden board. Instead of explaining the subjects right away, she had everyone say which part they feared most.

The older children feared losing to others in physical fitness. Kiyo feared literacy. Saori feared unfamiliar teachers asking her questions. Some feared spilling their chakra water bowls, while others feared getting lost at the Ninja Academy.

When it was Che's turn, he had originally wanted to say, "I'm fine with all of it." It was the safest answer, and also the sort of answer someone overly controlling would give.

Mine looked at him.

Che swallowed the words and replaced them with something else. "I'm afraid of answering too quickly."

The classroom fell quiet for a moment.

Kiyo turned to him. "You can be afraid of that?"

"You can," Che said. "You're afraid you won't be able to answer. I'm afraid that if I do, it won't sound like something someone my age should know."

Kiyo thought about it. "Then you can get some answers wrong."

Mine immediately said, "You are not allowed to deliberately get basic questions wrong."

Che raised both hands. "I haven't done anything yet."

"People like you need to be stopped in advance," Mine said.

The classroom broke into laughter again. Che laughed as well, but inwardly admitted that Mine was right. He really had considered intentionally answering wrong. Not because he looked down on knowledge, but because he was too afraid of being seen. Yet deliberately giving wrong answers would leave traces too. Someone who clearly understood something but pretended not to usually looked stranger than someone who was simply smart.

Mine turned the wooden board around and wrote down three rules for preparing for the assessment: Don't hide the basics. You may be slow. Your reasons should sound like you.

"Don't hide the basics," she said. "If you know the words, you know them. If your stance is steady, it's steady. If you can hold a water bowl for three breaths, then hold it for three breaths. Hiding your talents doesn't mean damaging yourself."

She looked at Che, then at several of the older children.

"You may be slow. There's no shame in thinking before you answer. Ninja don't win by being the first to speak."

Kiyo let out a breath. "Then I can think for a long time."

"Thinking too long will also be recorded," Mine said.

Kiyo's breath caught in his throat again.

"Your reasons should sound like you," Mine continued. "You aren't official ninja yet. You don't need to make your answers sound like mission reports. Say what you know in whatever way you can explain clearly."

Che copied down the three rules.

After he finished, Mine did not have them put their papers away immediately. She turned the notice over. The back was blank.

"Now write down one thing you want to bring to the Ninja Academy that day," she said. "It can't be a weapon, food, or someone who will take the assessment for you."

Kiyo had just opened his mouth when Mine added, "Wood isn't allowed either."

Kiyo shut his mouth, feeling that he had been targeted with unnerving precision.

Some of the older children wrote wrist guards, while others wrote old pens left behind by their fathers. Saori wrote a bell, then added beside it, "Wrap it up so it won't ring too loudly." She was afraid unfamiliar teachers would ask her questions, but she was also afraid the bell would draw everyone's attention to her. Still, she wanted to bring it. Without it, her cloth doll would feel as though a part of it were missing.

When it was Che's turn, he stared at the blank back of the paper and wanted to write wooden notebook.

He could not bring the wooden notebook. It held too many private records, too many details about routes, glances, clan gossip, and his true capabilities. Taking it to the Ninja Academy would be like placing a small piece of his heart on someone else's desk.

In the end, he wrote, "An ordinary pen."

When Mine saw it, she asked, "Why ordinary?"

"If it's too old, people will ask. If it's too new, people will ask too," Che said. "Something ordinary has a steady feel."

Kiyo sighed. "You even have to hide your talents with a pen."

Che nodded solemnly. "Stationery is part of ninja survival too."

Mine did not laugh too obviously. She only said, "Ordinary is fine, but don't write yourself out of existence."

That made Che add three small words beside the edge of the paper: Write clearly.

He realized that even when choosing what to bring, he was managing risk. Choosing a pen, choosing how quickly to answer, choosing his stance, choosing when to joke, even choosing how much nervousness to let others see. Of course, he needed all of that. But if every step was only about avoiding attention, then before the assessment even began, he would already have shrunk himself into a corner.

A ninja needed to know how to hide, but also how to stand on the field.

He had not learned that balance yet.

When he copied down "Your reasons should sound like you," he paused. Recently, he had been learning how to be himself: walking like himself, observing like himself, and answering like himself. But he was a transmigrator. The boundaries of who he was had never been clear. Modern ways of thinking, old memories, Uchiha blood, and the identity of a post-disaster orphan were all packed into one child's body. What kind of reason would sound like Uchiha Che?

After thinking for a while, he added another sentence beside it:

"You can be smart, but that intelligence must show in everyday life."

After dinner, Nao helped them check their notices.

She read very slowly, pausing especially at the line describing the assessment location. It would be held in a side courtyard of the Ninja Academy rather than an official classroom. For students from the post-disaster preparatory class, that was probably a gentler arrangement. They would not have to face an entire classroom of unfamiliar children as soon as they entered, and the Uchiha children would not seem as though they had been isolated separately.

"I'll take you to the meeting point that day," Nao said. "Mine will lead you inside."

Kiyo asked, "Can't you stay with us during the assessment?"

"No."

"What if the words bully me?"

Nao folded the notice. "Bully them back."

Che could not help laughing. "Aunt Nao, your teaching method is a little aggressive."

"It works on Kiyo."

Kiyo actually nodded seriously.

That night, Che slipped the notice into his wooden notebook. The corners had grown a little soft from all his handling. He did not write out many tactics, only a few points: answer literacy questions normally, do not fight for first in physical fitness, handle chakra stability according to public records, and use classroom language for Three Basic Techniques knowledge.

Kiyo tossed and turned beside him before finally lifting a corner of his blanket. "Che."

"Yeah?"

"If I write a word wrong, will the Ninja Academy not want me?"

Che set down his pen.

Kiyo usually talked about exams as though turning his fear into a joke could make it lighter. But there was no laughter in this question. It emerged from beneath the blanket, muffled, like a child finally revealing what he was truly worried about.

Che wanted to say no. He wanted to say Kiyo's handwriting was just ugly. He wanted to say the Ninja Academy would not reject someone over one word. But he knew that "no" would sound too much like comfort, and comfort sometimes made people feel they were being brushed aside.

"They'll record what you still need to practice," Che said. "They won't record that you're useless."

Kiyo was silent for a while. "Really?"

"Really. You can steady a water bowl, and you run fast too. Wrong words can be corrected. Getting lost while running would be the real problem."

"I won't get lost," Kiyo said more quietly.

"So you have your strengths," Che said. "And if your handwriting becomes too pretty, I'll suspect you were replaced with a Transformation Technique."

Kiyo finally laughed a little. "Then I'll keep a few flaws."

Saori spoke softly from the other side. "You need to be able to recognize flaws too."

The room fell quiet for a moment. Then Kiyo pulled his blanket back over himself and muttered, "You two both bully words."

Che picked up his pen again, but did not write right away. He suddenly felt that the notice had changed more than just his own atmosphere. Kiyo feared that the Ninja Academy would not want him. Saori feared that her voice would be noticed. Nao feared they would not be able to find steady footing within the system. Beside the folded corners of that paper, everyone had placed something they did not quite dare to say.

After he finished writing, he paused again.

If everything went according to plan, he would pass the assessment steadily—neither too conspicuous nor too foolish. But the world might not line up according to his plans. There would be unfamiliar teachers at the Ninja Academy. There might be Konoha children, and there might be peers from within the Uchiha clan eager to prove something. More importantly, he himself might be unable to stop himself from giving an answer too early.

Che held the tip of his pen against the paper and added one last line:

"The assessment isn't something to hide from. It's something to walk through."

Outside the window, the sound of patrols passed by, their footsteps farther away than usual.

The folded corner of the notice lay pressed inside the wooden notebook like a tiny signpost.

The Ninja Academy had not truly arrived yet.

But it had already begun to change the air around East Row 2, No. 7.