The sun was barely up when Kenta swaggered into the academy grounds, his usual smirk dialed up to eleven.
Day two promised action—physical conditioning and spars—and he was itching to flex his skills. No more dusty scrolls or Shikazo's nap-inducing lectures; today, he'd show these kids what a martial arts expert could do.
He cracked his knuckles, ignoring the faint ache from yesterday's boredom, and headed straight for the training field where the third-years were already assembling.
First up was physical conditioning, a grueling mix of laps, push-ups, and obstacle courses designed to weed out the weak.
Shikazo Nara slouched by a tree, halfheartedly barking orders. "Run ten laps… climb the wall… don't die… whatever." Kenta smirked—piece of cake.
His body wasn't bulky like Todo Aoi's yet; he was still an eight-year-old growing into his frame, and piling on muscle too fast would stunt him.
But years of martial arts in his past life, plus three years of training in this one, had sculpted lean, wiry strength into his limbs. He still was looking to get all bulky with muscles but all in due time.
The class took off, and Kenta breezed through the laps, his breathing steady despite the yin-yang chakra imbalance nagging at him.
Reincarnation had jacked up his yin energy—too much spiritual juice, not enough physical grounding—and it threw his balance off if he didn't keep his body in check. He has managed to keep the imbalance in check but he would have to keep at it as he grew in age.
By the time they hit the obstacle course—ropes, logs, a muddy crawl—he was barely sweating, vaulting over barriers with a grace that made jaws drop. The other kids, panting and red-faced, shot him stunned glances.
"Thought he'd be a lazy noble ass," one muttered. "How's he not dead yet?" whispered another. Kenta just grinned wider.
'Surprise, peasants—I'm built different.'
Shikazo raised a sleepy eyebrow but said nothing, scribbling something on a clipboard. Kenta strutted back to the group, hands behind his head, basking in their shock.
'Let 'em gawk. I'm just warming up.'
Next came spars, and Kenta's eyes gleamed with mischief. He'd spent the last day piecing together the classroom's political web—clan rivalries, alliances, petty grudges—all ripe for exploitation.
His first target? The Shimura clan. He didn't like Danzo, their shady head, one bit—too sneaky, too power-hungry, and way too full of himself. Plus, the Shimura were merchants, direct rivals to his mother's cutthroat trading empire.
'Mom would thank me for this,' he thought, smirking viciously. He'd sniffed out a juicy tidbit: the Shimura were negotiating a trade deal with the Foki, a minor shinobi clan who owned prime tea-growing land in the Fire Country. Time to stir the pot.
He sidled up to Takeshi Shimura, a wiry kid with a pinched face and a merchant's calculating stare. "Hey, Shimura," Kenta called, loud enough for the class to hear, "heard your clan's cozying up to the Foki. Bet they're gonna fleece you for every last ryō—those tea fields aren't worth half what you think!"
Takeshi bristled, his fists clenching. "What's it to you, noble brat? Our deals are solid!"
Kenta laughed, turning to Haruto Foki, a lanky kid with a nervous tic. "Oh, Haruto, he thinks you're dumb enough to sell cheap! Tell him how you're gonna jack up the price once the ink's dry—Foki's no pushover, right?"
Haruto blinked, caught off guard, but puffed up at the implied challenge. "Uh… yeah! We're not giving anything away for free, Shimura! You better bring gold, not promises!"
Takeshi's face reddened. "You little—our clan doesn't get swindled by dirt-farmers like you!" The insults flew, and Kenta fanned the flames, tossing in jabs like, "Ooh, Takeshi, hope your haggling's better than your face!" and "Haruto, don't let him shortchange your tea—it's the only thing your clan's got going!" By the time Shikazo called for sparring pairs, Takeshi was seething, demanding to face Haruto. Kenta stepped back, grinning like a fox in a henhouse as the two squared off.
The spar was a mess—Takeshi charged with wild, angry swings, his taijutsu sloppy from rage, while Haruto dodged and countered with desperate kicks. Takeshi landed a brutal elbow to Haruto's ribs, snarling, "That's for thinking you can cheat us!" The class winced, but Kenta cackled silently.
'No trade deal's getting canceled over this, but the Foki'll smell blood and push harder in negotiations. Shimura's gonna bleed ryō—and Mom's gonna owe me a lot of desserts.'
His vicious streak purred with satisfaction—petty, yes, but oh-so-sweet.
When Shikazo finally called for the next pair, Kenta strutted forward, pointing straight at Minato. "You're up, pretty boy. Let's dance." Minato's eyes widened, but he nodded, stepping into the ring with a calm smile. Kushina, nearby, shot to her feet, red hair flaring. "Hey! I wanted to crush that jerk, ya know! Pick me instead!" Kenta waved her off without a glance.
"Red can wait—Goldilocks needs humbling first."
Shikazo yawned. "Fine, Kenta versus Minato. Go. Don't kill each other—too much paperwork."
The spar began, and Minato moved fast—faster than most kids, his steps light and precise. He darted in, aiming a quick punch at Kenta's arm, testing him.
Kenta sidestepped effortlessly, his smirk unwavering. 'Predictable,' he thought, reading Minato's flow like an open book. His past life's instincts kicked in, honed by years of brawling, and he saw every twitch—shoulder tense, eyes flicking, weight shifting.
Minato lunged again, this time with a feint followed by a low kick. Kenta countered with a Thunder Palm Fist'—a sharp, explosive palm strike aimed at Minato's chest. His hand shot out like lightning, and Minato barely blocked, stumbling back with a surprised grunt. 'That's for thinking you're cool or acting cool in my noble presence,'
Kenta mused, circling him. Shikazo's eyebrow crept up, the first sign of interest all day.
Minato recovered, darting in with a flurry of strikes his speed impressive. Kenta danced around them, ducking and weaving, then retaliated with a Palm Strike. He twisted his hips, driving his open hand into Minato's shoulder with pinpoint force, sending the blonde skidding sideways. "Too slow, Goldilocks!" Kenta taunted, grinning as Minato rubbed his arm, wincing.
The class murmured, eyes wide. Minato was a genius—everyone knew it—but Kenta was toying with him. Kushina's fists clenched, her glare promising murder. [A/N: Feelings already?]
Minato adjusted, coming in low with a sweeping kick, but Kenta saw it coming a mile away. He leapt over it, landing with a flourish, and unleashed a Hammer Punch—a downward fist strike fueled by raw power which knocked Minato out.
Minato grasped his stomach in pain.
Shikazo actually sat up straighter, muttering, "Huh. Kid's got moves."
Shikazo called it. "Enough. Kenta wins. Sit down before I regret waking up." Minato panted, offering a sheepish grin. "You're really good, Kenta. Never seen moves like that."
Kenta shrugged, smug as ever. "Stick around, Goldilocks—I'm full of surprises." Kushina stomped over, jabbing a finger at him. "Next time, it's me, ya know! I'll wipe that grin off your face!" Kenta just winked. "Dream on, Red."
----Author Notes-------
Thankyou Almotazbllah Ahmed and snoop dog for supporting me!
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