The training ground was still buzzing with the faint rustle of Sayaka's paper shuriken as they settled into the dirt, their edges dulled now that her chakra had dissipated.
Kenta stood there, one hand raised to halt the duel, his lips curling into a smug grin that practically screamed 'I could've kept going, but I'm too nice to embarrass you further'.
Sayaka lowered her hands, her glare sharp enough to cut through stone, but she didn't argue. She knew better by now—Kenta wasn't just a kid with a fancy title; he was a bowl full of trouble wrapped in a noble's haughty smirk.
"Fine," she muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Kenta turned, his sharp eyes narrowing as a figure approached—a man in his mid-twenties, clad in the standard green flak jacket of a Konoha chūnin.
His hair was a messy mop of brown, and he carried himself with the casual slouch of someone who'd rather be napping than running errands. A scroll was tucked under his arm, and he raised a hand in a half-hearted wave as he got closer.
"Young Master Kenta Madoka?" the chūnin called out, his tone somewhere between bored and mildly curious.
Kenta crossed his arms, tilting his head with an exaggerated air of importance. "That's me, the one and only. Who're you, and why do you look like you'd rather be anywhere else?"
The chūnin stopped a few feet away, scratching the back of his neck. "Name's Haruto. Chūnin, obviously. I've been sent by the Hokage's office to brief you on the Shinobi Academy, since you'll be joining soon. Orders from your grandfather, I guess. Can we make this quick? I've got a ramen date with my squad in an hour."
Kenta's grin widened. "Ramen, huh? Well, Haruto, you've got my attention. But let's make this fun—I'll ask the questions, and you answer like your life depends on it. Deal?"
Haruto sighed, clearly regretting his life choices, but nodded. "Sure, whatever. Ask away."
Sayaka stepped back, leaning against a nearby tree with a faint smirk. She wasn't leaving—she wanted to see how this played out.
'Finally the kid has someone else to mock. He is not cute at all. This kid and that Cat Tora are the same type. They look innocent from outside but are hidden demons.That's why the two can't stand in front of each other for two seconds without breaking into a fight.' Sayaka thought
Kenta clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and deliberate, and then pointed at Haruto like he was about to interrogate a criminal.
"Alright, first things first," Kenta began, pacing a small circle around the chūnin. "This Shinobi Academy thing—how does it work? I've heard kids join young, but I'm eight already. Am I walking into a bunch of babies who can't tell a kunai from a chopstick, or what?"
Haruto stifled a yawn, shifting the scroll to his other arm. "Okay, so here's the rundown. Konoha's Shinobi Academy is the training ground for all our ninja hopefuls. Most kids start at six—fresh-faced little brats who've barely figured out how to tie their shoes, let alone mold chakra. The standard program's seven years long, so they'd graduate around twelve or thirteen, assuming they don't flunk out or get bored and quit."
Kenta stopped pacing, raising an eyebrow. "Seven years? That's a lifetime. I'd go insane sitting in a classroom that long. Don't tell me it's all just books and lectures."
"Nah, it's not that bad," Haruto said, smirking faintly. "First couple years are the basics—chakra control, taijutsu fundamentals, weapon handling, some history and strategy stuff. You know, the boring junk that builds a foundation. After that, it ramps up—ninjutsu, genjutsu, teamwork drills, survival training. By the end, they're tossing shuriken blindfolded and sparring like they mean it. But here's the kicker: not everyone takes the full seven years."
Kenta's eyes gleamed with interest. "Oh? Do tell."
Haruto shrugged. "Depends on talent. Some kids are naturals—clan heirs, prodigies, or just freaks of nature. They graduate early if they can pass the final exam. I've seen kids as young as nine walk out with a forehead protector, though that's rare. In peacetime, they're stricter about it—gotta make sure you're not just some cocky punk who'll die on their first mission. But during war? Hah, they'll push you out as soon as you can hold your own. Need bodies on the front lines, you know?"
Kenta nodded thoughtfully, his mind already racing. He knew that the chunin was not tsupposed to say the last line but at least the Konoha shinobi knew the reality of the world and were not brainwashed to see that Konoha was doing the right thing by sending kids to the battlefield.
'Seven years as a baseline, but talent skips the line. Good thing I'm a walking cheat code with Boogie Woogie and a past life of kicking ass.' He glanced at Haruto. "So where do I fit in? I'm not starting with the six-year-olds, right? I'd rather fight a rogue ninja blindfolded than babysit toddlers."
Haruto unrolled the scroll with a flick of his wrist, scanning it briefly. "Nope, you're not starting from scratch. Says here you're joining the third-year class. You're eight, so you're a bit older than the average newbie, but your tutors back in the capital already covered the basics—chakra theory, taijutsu, some weapon drills. You're ahead of the curve, apparently. Third year's when they start getting serious—more sparring, intro to ninjutsu, that kinda thing. You'll fit right in."
Kenta smirked, puffing out his chest. "Fit in? Please, I'll be running circles around them. Literally, if I feel like clapping my hands." He mimed a quick clap. Haruto, oblivious to the meaning, just raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, right," Haruto said, rolling the scroll back up. "Anyway, you're not behind, if that's what you're worried about. Your grandpa pulled some strings—probably waved his Daimyō title around—so they're slotting you in mid-program. Just don't expect them to go easy on you. Third-years are competitive little monsters. They'll smell noble blood and come swinging."
Kenta laughed, a sharp, confident sound. "Let 'em try. I've been breaking noses since before I could walk—well, in this life, anyway. What's the schedule like? I'm not sitting through hours of history lectures, am I?"
Haruto snorted. "Not quite. Academy runs six days a week, sunrise to mid-afternoon. Mornings are physical—taijutsu, conditioning, weapons practice. Afternoons are mental—chakra exercises, jutsu theory, some history and tactics. You'll get the politics stuff, yeah, but it's light—just enough to know why we're not all murdering each other over rice fields. Day off's for rest, but most kids use it to train anyway. Instructors don't mess around either—they're usually chūnin or jōnin with a chip on their shoulder. You slack off, they'll make you regret it."
Kenta tilted his head, processing this.
'Six days of grind, huh? Sounds like my old underground fight camps, but with more rules and less blood.'
Kenta tapped his chin, pretending to mull it over. "Hmm… what about graduating? You said talent matters—how do I get out early? I'm not wasting four more years when I could be punching rogue ninja in the face."
"Final exam," Haruto replied, leaning against a nearby post. "Doesn't matter what year you're in—if you can pass it, you're out. It's a practical test: taijutsu spar, basic ninjutsu—like the Clone Technique or Substitution—and a mission simulation. There is also a spar with the instructor. Gotta show you're not a liability. Most third-years aren't ready yet, but with your… uh, confidence, you might push for it sooner. Just don't piss off the instructors, or they'll fail you out of spite."
Kenta's eyes sparkled with mischief.
'Clone Technique? Easy. Substitution? Child's play. Sparring with instructor? Now that would be fun.'
"Perfect. I'll be a genin before they know what hit 'em. One last thing—what's the deal with clans? Are the Hyūga and Uchiha brats gonna try to flex on me?"
Haruto smirked. "Oh, yeah. Clan kids are the worst—Hyūga with their fancy eyes, Uchiha with their fireballs and attitude. Third-year's got a mix of 'em, plus some civilian-born scrappers who hate the privileged types. You being a noble? They'll either kiss up or try to knock you down a peg. Watch your back."
Kenta cracked his knuckles, grinning like a predator. "Let 'em come. I've got no blades, no fancy eyes—just fists and a little trick up my sleeve. They won't know what hit 'em."
Haruto pushed off the post, tucking the scroll under his arm. "Well, that's the gist of it. You'll start next week. Don't die before then, alright? I'd hate to waste this trip."
"Aw, Haruto, you're warming up to me already," Kenta teased,
Haruto waved dismissively and trudged off, muttering something about "cocky nobles." Sayaka stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"You're going to turn that academy upside down, aren't you, young master?" she said.
Kenta flashed her a toothy grin. "Upside down, inside out, and backwards. They're not ready for the great me."
Sayaka sighed, but there was a flicker of pride in her eyes. "Just don't get expelled on day one."
"No promises," Kenta shot back.
------Author Notes-------
Y'all can read 15 extra chapters of the novel on my pat*reon. It would also motivate me to write more and well pay for my tuition. But I would continue to write with or without you joining my pat*reon. Your support even here on Webnovel means a lot! Thankyou!
https://pat*reon.com/BoogieWoogie266
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