Dawn had not fully broken, but the square outside the exam grounds was already packed.
The gates had yet to open. The flags went up first.
The first was Konoha's own, its fabric pulled taut by the morning wind. An old soldier raised it, tightening the ropes three times to keep it straight.
The visiting villages' flags went up next. One pole per village, each spaced neatly apart.
Amegakure's flag had a gray background, with several cloth tassels hanging from its corners.
Kusagakure's flag stood half a head shorter, its color drab, its pole set crooked. Fewer people stood beneath it, too.
No one beneath Takigakure's flag made a sound as it went up.
Otogakure's flag went up last. Its pole was the oldest, but the flag itself was new.
The team beneath it was too quiet to seem like examinees.
Candidates from the other villages looked around and whispered to one another as they entered.
Only this team stood in a perfectly straight line, none of them looking at the others. Even people passing in front of them softened their footsteps.
Someone at the end of the line lifted his head, scanned half the square, then lowered it again.
Halfway through the raising of the flags, the wind changed direction. Every flag swung around at once, snapping in the breeze.
Kiyoshi stood beneath his own village's flag and counted the poles one by one.
After the flags, he counted people. After the people, he counted routes-which hugged the foot of the wall, which led straight to the gates, which were secluded and easy to take, which sheltered beneath the eaves out of the wind.
Someone who laid out lines could never shake that habit.
The hum of voices in the square rose in overlapping waves.
Candidates from each village