I leaned forward slightly, hands in my pockets, as the next few students stepped up. But let's be honest—After Sakumo's completely unfair display of precision, the next few students felt like background extras in a war film—just there to fill space before the next actual fight.
Not that I said that out loud. That would be rude.
Instead, I watched as another hopeful, a boy named Fujimoto Sora, stepped forward. He was the type who looked like he was about three seconds away from taking a nap, and his Clone Jutsu performance showed it—his duplicates were technically there, but they swayed slightly, like they weren't entirely convinced they were supposed to exist.
The Transformation Jutsu was… passable. He turned into a shinobi instructor, though he picked one of the really old ones, which made it feel like a creative choice rather than a miscalculation.
Then came Substitution.
Sora made the hand seals, focused hard, and—
Boom!
A cloud of smoke erupted. When it cleared, a very confused dog sat where he had just been, staring at all of us like it had just been teleported into a different dimension.
The actual Sora?
Still standing in the same spot, looking at his hands as if they had personally betrayed him.
The proctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fail."
Sora nodded solemnly and walked off, the dog following after him. I assumed this meant it was his, but given what I'd just seen, I wasn't ruling out that he had somehow performed an accidental Summoning Jutsu.
Next up was another girl, one of those painfully eager types who was way too excited to be taking a test. She executed all three jutsu with the kind of rigid precision that only comes from practicing in front of a mirror every morning.
"Pass," the proctor said, moving on without fanfare.
And so it continued. Some did well enough. Some barely scraped by. Some were so bad that even the proctor gave them a look that said, Really?
One kid, in a moment that I would never forget, actually substituted with his own shoe.
I didn't even know that was possible.
And judging by his own expression of betrayal as he landed barefoot on the dirt, neither did he.
The proctor gave him a very long stare before sighing and shaking his head. "Fail."
The kid just nodded solemnly and picked up his shoe like it had personally wronged him.
Poor guy.
By the time the last substitution had been performed—some of them competent, most of them… less so—the class was officially split into two groups: those who would be moving on to the sparring portion, and those who would be heading home with crippling shame and a refund request for their tuition fees.
If only that were possible.
But eventually, we reached the end of the first phase.
Only eighteen students had passed. Nine had been sent home to reconsider their life choices.
Which meant we were moving on to the fun part.
"Now," The proctor adjusted his clipboard and cleared his throat. "we begin the final portion of the exam. You will be paired against one another in a controlled sparring match."
A ripple of excitement spread through the onlookers.
Controlled sparring was Academy code for we're going to let you fight each other, but if you start doing anything life-threatening, we'll end it before you can get yourself killed.
Because let's be honest—watching people perform basic ninjutsu was fine and all, but there's a reason no one attends sports events to watch warm-ups.
Sparring was the real deal.
"Rules are simple," the proctor continued. "You fight until I say stop. No lethal force. No weapons unless explicitly stated. If I determine one of you is unable to continue, the match ends."
He turned toward the remaining students. "First match—" He glanced at his scroll, then looked back up.
"Hatake Sakumo versus Yamanaka Shiori."
I blinked.
Oh-ho.
This was going to be fun.
Shiori stepped forward, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she fixed Sakumo with a self-assured smirk.
She looked like one of those people who looked like they had never lost a battle of any kind in their life. She walked with her head held high, carried herself with confidence, like she already knew how things would play out.
The Yamanaka weren't exactly known for being combatants—their clan specialized in mind-based jutsu, after all—but she had a reputation for being both fast and annoyingly tricky.
Sakumo, for his part, just nodded politely. He didn't smirk. Didn't flex. Didn't say anything about how he was about to completely outclass her in every possible way.
Which somehow made it worse.
Poor girl. She had no idea.
Or maybe she did and this was all just bravodo considering she's already passed regardless of the result of this spar.
The two took their positions, the crowd around them growing quiet with anticipation.
Even Daigo-sensei looked mildly interested, which was basically the equivalent of another instructor jumping up and down with excitement.
The proctor raised his hand. "Begin."
Shiori moved first.
She exploded forward, hands flashing through hand seals as she threw a kunai—not at Sakumo, but behind him.
A distraction.
And an unnecessary one, because Sakumo didn't even acknowledge the kunai. He just shifted his weight ever so slightly, dodging her incoming punch like he had predicted it ten minutes ago.
She tried again—a feint into a leg sweep. Sakumo stepped over it effortlessly.
Another attempt—a flurry of quick jabs aimed at his torso. Sakumo barely moved, tilting his head just enough for them to miss.
The longer it went on, the more obvious it became.
He wasn't blocking. He wasn't counterattacking.
He was just not getting hit.
And Shiori knew it, too, because her movements started getting more frantic.
Finally, she gritted her teeth and flashed through a new set of hand seals.
"Mind-Body Switch Technique!"
For the first time, Sakumo actually reacted—his fingers twitched, and his foot shifted just slightly, as if he was bracing himself.
And then—just as Shiori released the jutsu—Sakumo moved.
It was subtle. Barely noticeable.
But he wasn't there anymore.
Now that was something considering that I didn't even see him move.
Shiori's body locked up, her technique missing its target by less than an inch.
And Sakumo?
Sakumo was already behind her.
Shiori barely had time to gasp before he struck—just a quick tap to the back of her knee, making her leg buckle. She stumbled, and before she could react, his arm was at her throat in a perfect hold.
Not choking. Not hurting.
Just enough.
The proctor didn't even let it go on for a full second. "Match over!"
Sakumo immediately released her and stepped back, as calm as ever.
Shiori, for her part, just stood there, breathing hard. Her expression wasn't angry, exactly. More like she was trying to do the math in her head about how she had lost so fast.
And honestly?
Same.
"Winner: Hatake Sakumo," the proctor declared.
The crowd murmured in approval.
I let out a low whistle. "Well, that was almost unfair."
Renji, standing beside me, crossed his arms. "I dunno. I feel like she could've won."
I gave him a look. "Could've? How?"
"…If Sakumo spontaneously decided to take a nap mid-fight?"
I snorted. "I'd still bet on him dodging attacks in his sleep."
Sakumo walked back to the lineup, still looking completely unbothered by the fact that he had just dismantled an opponent without breaking a sweat.
And the best part?
We still had so many fights left.
Oh yeah.
This was gonna be fun.
The proctor waited for the murmurs to settle before calling out the next names.
"Next match—Takahashi Ryuji versus Nakamura Daichi."
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd.
Both students were strong contenders—Takahashi Ryuji was known for his well-rounded skillset, solid in both ninjutsu and taijutsu, while Nakamura Daichi had a reputation for being relentless in a fight.
He wasn't necessarily the strongest, but he was tough. He didn't back down, and sometimes, that was enough to turn the tide of a battle.
They both stepped forward, giving each other short nods before taking their positions.
"Begin!"
Ryuji wasted no time.
The moment the proctor's hand dropped, he was already in motion, shooting forward with incredible speed as he feinted a quick jab toward Daichi's face, then pivoted into a low kick, aiming for his opponent's knee.
Daichi, however, wasn't fazed. Instead of trying to match Ryuji's speed, he braced himself. When Ryuji's jab came at him, Daichi moved to dodge it but quickly realised it was a feint as he saw the kick making for his knee.
He stepped back just enough to avoid it, letting it pass inches from his leg. Rather than moving backward or trying to evade further, Daichi quickly closed the distance between them with a sudden burst of force, pushing Ryuji back with a heavy palm strike to his chest.
Ryuji staggered back, surprised by the strength of the blow, but regained his balance immediately, but Daichi didn't give him time to recover.
He lunged forward, aiming to land a crushing blow to Ryuji's ribs, but Ryuji was quicker, sidestepping and landing a sharp knee to Daichi's side as he passed.
"Huh," I murmured, watching intently. "This one might actually be close."
Renji, standing beside me, nodded. "Ryuji is faster, but Daichi's a wall. If he can turn this into a brawl, he'll win."
Back on the field, the fight intensified.
Ryuji switched tactics, using speed and angles to chip away at Daichi's defense. His punches and kicks weren't landing hard, but they were landing, wearing Daichi down bit by bit.
Daichi, for his part, endured as he bided his time, waiting for an opening.
And then—he found it.
Ryuji overcommitted on a strike and It was a fraction too deep, a little too aggressive.
Daichi seized the moment and lunged, catching Ryuji mid-motion, and slammed a shoulder into his chest.
Ryuji hit the ground with a grunt.
The crowd let out a collective gasp.
But before Daichi could capitalize, the proctor raised a hand. "Match over!"
Ryuji was already pushing himself up, wincing slightly but otherwise fine.
"Winner: Nakamura Daichi!"
A mixture of cheers and mutters followed as Daichi helped Ryuji to his feet.
"Well," Renji said, crossing his arms. "That was solid."
I nodded.
Before I could say anything else, the proctor checked his scroll and called out the next names.
"Next match—" He paused, raising an eyebrow before glancing up.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Senju Tomoe versus Uchiha Masaru."
The crowd reacted immediately.
Now this… this was going to be fun.