Chapter 36: We Are Very Professional
The examination room hit me like a wall of nervous energy the moment I stepped inside. Bodies packed the space—hundreds of them, by my rough count. Half wore Konoha headbands, the familiar leaf symbol catching the fluorescent light, while the rest sported the varied insignia of foreign villages. Mist, Cloud, Sand, Grass, Rain, Hot Spring, Waterfall—a regular United Nations of teenage anxiety and barely-contained homicidal tendencies.
I gave the Konoha kids a cursory glance before focusing on what really mattered: the foreign competition. Specifically, the Mist, Cloud, and Sand ninja. Call it professional interest. Or survival instinct.
While I sized up the room, the room sized me up right back. Several Konoha ninja did double-takes when they spotted me, their faces cycling through confusion, recognition, and something that might have been pity. Most of them were my age or older—people I'd crossed paths with during my less-than-stellar academy days. Seeing me here as an examiner probably felt like watching your high school dropout become your boss.
Life's funny that way.
But hey, the show must go on. Nara Chuichi delivered his opening remarks with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list, then distributed the test papers like he was handing out death sentences.
I'd seen this particular instrument of torture before. The questions were brutal—the kind that would make even Konoha's honor students break out in a cold sweat, let alone the foreign kids who probably thought "literature analysis" was a type of poison. But that was the point. This wasn't really about academic prowess. It was about creative cheating, information gathering, and the subtle art of not getting caught.
Well, not getting caught by most people.
The papers hit the desks, and Nara Chuichi shot a meaningful look at me and the other proctors before making his exit. Yamanaka Akifu and Akimichi Choji, both wisely recognizing my... unique qualifications for this particular job, graciously stepped aside and let me take the prime surveillance position up front.
Lucky me.
The scratching of pencils filled the air as the exam began in earnest. Everything seemed peaceful enough—just your typical high-stakes ninja examination where failure could literally mean death in the next round.
Up in his monitoring booth, Nara Chuichi probably felt pretty good about himself. The written exam was always the easy part for proctors. Just sit back, relax, and watch the kids slowly realize they were screwed.
But me? I had other plans.
See, it didn't take long for the candidates to figure out that the test was impossible through legitimate means. That's when the real fun began. Sand started creeping across floors, eyes began darting in suspicious patterns, and hands started wandering to places they shouldn't go.
Amateur hour.
"Number 78, warning! Pull back your Eye of Sand—I can see it from here!"
The kid jumped like I'd electrocuted him.
"Number 86, warning! Stop that squinting nonsense. You're not fooling anyone."
A Cloud ninja flinched and tried to look innocent. Adorable.
"Number 32, warning! Hand over the cheat sheet. You know what? Just give me your underwear while you're at it."
Okay, maybe I was having a little too much fun with that one. The kid looked like he might actually do it.
"Number 16, warning! Unwrap your legs from the boy in front of you. This is supposed to be an exam, not a mating ritual!"
The beauty of my previous life's experience was that I'd seen every cheating method in the book. Sure, these ninja had their own creative twists—supernatural abilities tend to open up new possibilities—but human nature remained depressingly predictable. The nervous glances, the subtle movements, the desperate improvisation when plan A failed spectacularly.
I'd lived all of it.
Less than ten minutes in, and I was really hitting my stride.
"Number 86! Disqualified!"
The announcement hit the room like a physical blow. Suddenly, everyone was statue-still, afraid that breathing too loudly might catch my attention. Which was hilarious, because they still needed to cheat to pass. Classic catch-22.
Up in his booth, Nara Chuichi was probably having a minor heart attack. In his experience, proctors caught maybe one in five infractions. I was batting closer to perfect.
"Is Qifeng trying to kill the entire exam?" I could practically hear him thinking.
And honestly? Maybe I was. There's something deeply satisfying about being on the other side of the authority equation. All those years of getting caught, of walking out of exam rooms with my tail between my legs—this was payback time.
One by one, I sent them packing. Heads hung low, dreams crushed, egos thoroughly deflated. The proctors stationed outside, who'd expected a quiet morning, suddenly found themselves busier than bartenders at closing time.
Twenty candidates in twenty minutes. Not bad for a morning's work.
I wasn't discriminating, either. Konoha kids got the boot just as fast as foreign ninja. Equal opportunity crushing of dreams—that's what I call fair.
"Does this guy have X-ray vision or something?" I could hear them muttering.
If only they knew the truth. I didn't have special eyes or supernatural senses. I just had something far more dangerous: the bitter experience of someone who'd been in their exact position way too many times.
"Number 16, disqualified!"
Ah, number 16. My old friend from last night's alley encounter. What a delightful coincidence.
Now, I want to be clear: I wasn't targeting him specifically. I was just paying him the same special attention I'd pay to any hostile foreign ninja who'd called me trash twelve hours earlier. That's called being thorough.
Professional, even.
But number 16—bless his heart—didn't see it that way. Instead of slinking out quietly like the others, he decided to make a scene.
"I don't accept this! You're targeting me! You're targeting us Mist ninja!"
He stood there in front of my desk, radiating indignation like a angry tea kettle. The whole room went silent. This was either going to be entertaining or career-ending. Possibly both.
I looked at him with my best poker face. "This examiner is very professional and doesn't target anyone."
Unless they really, really deserve it, I didn't add. Because I'm professional like that.
The kid clenched his fists, his face cycling through several interesting shades of red. I could practically see the gears turning in his head: yesterday's humiliation plus today's "persecution" equals... well, probably something stupid.
"Go to hell!"
And there it was.
The kid drew a kunai and lunged at me with all the grace and subtlety of a charging rhinoceros. In his defense, he probably figured I was just some paper-pusher who'd gotten lucky with an examiner position. Young, relatively unknown, probably weak.
Poor kid. He was about to learn why assumptions make an ass out of u and... well, mostly just him.
Yamanaka Akifu and Akimichi Choji looked ready to intervene, but they were too far away. Up in his booth, Nara Chuichi was probably calculating how much paperwork a dead candidate would generate.
The room held its breath. Even some of the stronger candidates—I spotted Hoshigaki Kisame and a few promising Cloud and Sand ninja—leaned forward with interest. Time for the new guy to put up or shut up.
For a split second, I considered my options. Dodge and look weak, or fight back and risk being called excessive. But then I remembered where I was: this was Konoha, and I was wearing their headband. The village's reputation was at stake.
Also, this kid had called me trash. That was just unacceptable.
The forehead protector felt warm against my skin as I made my choice.
Instead of backing away, I stepped forward to meet his charge. My fist caught his wrist, deflecting the kunai strike, and in one smooth motion I pivoted and drove my foot into his chest with every ounce of force I could muster.
*Crack. Crack.*
The sound of ribs breaking is surprisingly crisp in a quiet room.
The Mist ninja flew backward like he'd been shot from a cannon, slamming into the examination room wall with a wet *thud* before sliding down to the floor. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he stared at me with the kind of wide-eyed disbelief usually reserved for people who've just been hit by trucks.
I walked over slowly, looking down at his crumpled form with what I hoped was appropriately professorial disdain.
"We are very professional," I said calmly, "and don't target anyone."
*Poof.*
Whether from pain or sheer outrage, he passed out.
I turned back to face the room, letting my gaze sweep across every candidate present. Not one of them met my eyes. Smart kids.
"The exam continues."
The scratching of pencils resumed with newfound urgency. Funny how a little demonstration of professional competence could improve classroom focus.
In the back of my mind, I had to admit: being on this side of the desk was pretty great. Sure, the pay probably wasn't much better than my usual missions, but the job satisfaction?
Absolutely priceless.
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