The war had changed everything.
Even if the Academy was still maintaining its structure, the tension in the village was undeniable.
Everyone present in the evaluation meeting understood that these discussions weren't just about education anymore, they were about Konoha's future.
The Shinobi Academy was no longer just a school; it was the foundation for the next generation of Shinobi.
The room was filled with instructors, each seated according to the year and class they taught.
At the front of the room, the Academy board members sat in quiet contemplation, some already holding their reports. Matsuda-sensei sat among the second-year instructors, waiting for his turn.
The discussion began with the first-year instructors presenting their reports.
"The incoming students this year have shown a wide range of talent," the first-year instructor of class 1D said, standing with his papers in hand. "However, many of them are still struggling with basic chakra control and stamina. Given the current state of affairs, I suggest an increased emphasis on physical conditioning and combat readiness in the coming terms."
There were nods around the room. Everyone knew what that really meant, whether they admitted it or not, the Academy had already begun shifting toward wartime training.
Once the first-year reports concluded, Matsuda-sensei stood up, straightening his papers.
"I'll begin my report on Class 2A."
A few heads turned in interest, his class had been the subject of conversation more than once this year, primarily due to a certain student.
"The overall progression of the students in 2A has been steady," Matsuda began, his tone measured and professional. "Physical conditioning has improved across the board, though some students are clearly adapting faster than others. Taijutsu proficiency remains solid, with a few standouts pushing ahead of their peers. Their improvement in sparring has been notable, though their discipline could still use work."
He set his papers down, speaking more naturally now. "Chakra control remains an issue for many. While most students struggle with fine control, I've made efforts to reinforce the fundamentals—leaf concentration exercises, tree climbing, and, for those who could manage, introductory water walking. A handful have shown noticeable improvements, though, as expected, those with larger reserves continue to face difficulty in fine-tuning their control."
He paused briefly, then continued. "Of particular note is Haruki Murakami."
The room shifted slightly at the mention of the name.
Matsuda did not hesitate. "As everyone here knows, he entered the Academy at seven, two years behind his peers. To properly evaluate his abilities, he was placed in my class among second-year students. At the time, there were doubts about whether he could keep up."
He let that statement hang in the air for a moment before continuing.
"Not only did he keep up, but he surpassed most of his classmates in several areas. His chakra control is among the best in the class, despite having above-average reserves. His application of the Academy's curriculum is methodical. He doesn't just learn techniques; he refines them for maximum efficiency. His taijutsu, while not the best, has improved significantly. He lacks brute strength, but he makes up for it with precise movements and efficient counterattacks with a preference for fundamental strikes over unnecessary flash."
He folded his arms. "But his greatest strength isn't in direct combat but in intelligence and adaptability. Unlike most children, he actively analyzes how the village operates. While other students focus on techniques, he's studying how resources flow, how markets shift, how supplies are impacted by war. Even his social interactions are measured—he is neither withdrawn nor overly engaged, maintaining a careful balance between participation and observation."
A silence settled over the room. The instructors understood the implication.
Matsuda continued, his tone sharper now. "In normal times, a student like Murakami would be encouraged toward a support or intelligence-based role. But we are not in normal times. Konoha needs more than just skilled shinobi, we need capable individuals who understand the larger picture. I believe that keeping him in a standard Academy progression is not only a waste of his potential but a disservice to the village."
He met the eyes of the Academy board members. "I recommend that Murakami be double-promoted once again, placing him among the fourth-years for his next term."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
One of the third-year instructors scoffed. "Matsuda, do you realize what you're suggesting? The difference between second-years and fourth-years isn't just technical, it's a fundamental gap in development. He's only eight years old."
Matsuda met the instructor's gaze evenly. "Yes. And when he entered the Academy, he was seven. That didn't stop him from surpassing his peers."
Another instructor frowned. "This isn't just about skill. Socially, he's still a child, if we push him too fast, we risk isolating him."
Matsuda sighed and shook his head. "With all due respect, isolation is hardly an issue for him. If anything, he operates better when left to his own methods. And let's be realistic, the war is changing things. The first of its kind. Do you honestly think we can afford to treat this as a normal Academy cycle? If he can handle the curriculum, there's no reason to hold him back."
One of the board members finally spoke, an older man who had remained silent until now. "You've made a compelling case, Matsuda. However, your recommendation would set a precedent. We don't make double promotions lightly, especially not twice in a row."
Matsuda inclined his head. "I understand. That's why I suggest a compromise. Place him in a third-year class for one term as a transition. If he adapts well, he should be moved to fourth-year before the end of the academic cycle."
The room fell into thought.
A younger instructor muttered under his breath, "An eight-year-old taking fourth-year lessons… absurd."
But Matsuda did not waver.
The board members exchanged glances before one of them finally nodded. "Very well. Murakami will be moved to a third-year class next term. His progress will be closely monitored, and if he meets expectations, we will reassess the fourth-year promotion before year's end."
Matsuda inclined his head in respect. "A fair decision."
The meeting continued with discussions about other students, but the shift in mood was noticeable. Not everyone agreed with the decision, but none could deny the reality, Konoha was changing. The Academy had to change with it.
And Murakami was proof that some students would have no choice but to adapt faster than the rest.
…
Murakami POV
The village had changed.
It wasn't something that most kids my age noticed, but I did.
Ever since the news of Hashirama Senju's passing spread, a heavy weight had settled over the village. At first, it was mourning. The adults spoke in hushed tones about his legacy, about how he had built this village from nothing and secured an era of peace. But peace was a fragile thing, and Hashirama's death cracked the foundation he had built.
It had nothing to do with me though. Even during the time of peace, there were still skirmishes around the borders with spies shuttling from one village to another to acquire intelligence and shinobis being deployed to address them.
One such skirmish led to the death of my parents after all. So whether it's wartime or peacetime, it has nothing to do with me.
Anyways, we orphans hadn't attended the funeral. We weren't clan heirs or children of prominent shinobi. Our mourning wasn't the kind that was acknowledged. The instructors at the orphanage had simply told us about his passing, and that was that.
But even without attending, I could feel the loss.
Kids of my generation didn't really feel it since they didn't know the level of power Hashirama commanded and only knew he was the one who put an end to the warring era.
The older generation however, had witnessed his majesty and felt the loss more acutely.
Sigh. The village wasn't the same anymore.
The market streets were just as crowded, the academy halls just as noisy, but beneath it all, there was tension.
It was subtle at first, more ANBU in the streets, more shinobi moving in groups instead of alone, more hushed conversations in the corners of tea shops and dango stalls.
It became more obvious as time passed. Clans held more private meetings, merchants grew wary, and even the civilians who had no ties to the shinobi world walked with a bit more caution.
I had no access to direct information, but I didn't need it. The patterns spoke for themselves. Konoha was preparing for something.
The First Shinobi War.
According to what I knew from the anime, it was all caused by a lack of land and resources.
I wasn't naïve enough to think it wouldn't affect me. It was only a matter of time before the war escalated to the point that the Academy started pushing students toward early graduation and into the battlefield.
That wasn't something I wanted, not to mention, isn't wartime the best time to acquire wealth? Why would I waste my time participating in a fruitless war?
It made me think about the people who would one day become legends.
The Sannin—Orochimaru, Tsunade, Jiraiya.
They were probably older than me or we were of the same age, but still students.
Were they already showing signs of the greatness that would one day define them?
And then there was Hiruko, a name I recalled from vague future knowledge. A man who would experiment with his own body in a bid for power. I think he acquired…what was it again?
I can't remember and I don't care. I probably won't have a run-in with him.
Right now, though, he was just another shinobi of this generation.
I wondered—what paths were they walking right now?
I had no plans of following theirs.
I was not looking for war. I was looking for control.
And that control wouldn't come from just training. Strength alone wouldn't keep me safe. Power was multifaceted, and I had long since chosen my second weapon.
Wealth.
And that was why I was here, standing outside a small store on the eastern side of the village.
It wasn't the biggest shop in the area, nor the most successful. If anything, it was struggling. That was precisely why I had chosen it.
I exhaled and pushed the door open.
The scent of parchment, ink, and a faint tinge of dust greeted me. Stacks of papers lined the walls, scrolls placed haphazardly in baskets, and a counter with a single elderly man sitting behind it.
He looked up, eyes narrowed slightly.
"A bit young to be shopping alone, aren't you?"
I stepped inside fully, letting the door shut behind me. "I was hoping to discuss a business proposition."
The old man blinked. Then he let out a short, dry laugh. "A business proposition? From a child?"
I walked forward, ignoring his skepticism. "You own this store, correct?"
He leaned back, still amused. "That's right."
"And your business isn't doing well."
The amusement vanished. "Watch your mouth, brat."
I didn't flinch. "I'm not insulting you. I'm stating a fact." I glanced at the shelves. "You sell general supplies, ink, parchment, storage scrolls, but your prices are slightly higher than the market average. That would be fine if you had high-quality imports, but everything here is standard-grade. That means your customers are mostly civilians, not shinobi. And civilians can get their supplies cheaper elsewhere."
His jaw tightened. I could tell he wanted to throw me out, but I wasn't done.
"You have competition from the west market district, where there's a larger supply chain and more foot traffic. Your location means fewer people pass by, and your inventory isn't enough to attract a dedicated base. You're running at a loss, aren't you?"
The silence stretched.
Then, slowly, the old man sighed. "And what? You came to rub salt in my wounds?"
"No," I said simply. "I came with a solution."
He snorted. "A kid like you?"
I met his gaze evenly. "I know how money moves in this village. I know what sells and what doesn't. You can keep trying to compete with other supply stores and lose, or you can change your business model."
He raised a brow. "And you're suggesting…?"
"Specialization." I gestured at the scrolls behind him. "You sell storage scrolls, but they're the same ones every other shop carries. Instead of competing with larger stores, why not offer something they don't? Custom-made scrolls, personally sealed."
His brow furrowed. "That's not as easy as you make it sound, boy."
I knew that. Fuinjutsu wasn't something that just anyone could do. It required skill, knowledge, and precision. But it was also something I had already begun studying.
"I'm not asking you to do it alone," I said. "I want to invest."
He scoffed. "With what money?"
I pulled out a small pouch. It wasn't much, but it was enough for a start. "This is an initial offer. I don't expect to own the store outright. I just want a stake."
His eyes flicked to the pouch, then back to me. "And in return?"
"I help you restructure. We'll focus on acquiring unique scrolls, possibly even hiring a fuinjutsu expert if necessary. We'll start small, basic security seals, minor reinforcement seals, things that aren't too costly but are still useful."
He rubbed his chin. "And what makes you think you can do all that?"
"I don't think," I said simply. "I plan."
He studied me for a long moment. Then, with another sigh, he shook his head. "You're a strange one, kid."
I shrugged. "I've been called worse."
Another pause. Then he extended a hand.
"Fine. Let's see if you're as smart as you think you are."
I took his hand, shaking it firmly.
"Once again, I don't think. I know."
This wasn't just a store.
This was the foundation of something far greater.
...
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