Ninja Academy classes were useless to Kitahara Kaede.
The teacher was on the podium explaining the principles of Chakra extraction.
A few children from noble clans in the front row listened intently, but their elders had likely taught them this long ago.
In the back row, Jiraiya was sprawled out on his desk, sleeping soundly with a trail of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Tsunade, on the other hand, was listening seriously.
Kitahara Kaede leaned against the back of his chair, his gaze drifting across the treetops outside the window.
He had already mastered these basics in reality.
His current Chakra extraction speed and control precision far exceeded his fifteen-year-old self from the real world.
Sitting in the classroom listening to “the most common mistakes for beginners” was truly a waste of time.
The moment the teacher turned to write on the blackboard, his hands formed a sign under the desk.
A clone appeared in his seat, maintaining his chin-propped pose with eyes half-closed.
His true body slipped out the window, landing soundlessly.
No one was at the Rear Mountain Training Ground.
He stood twenty meters before a withered tree, formed Hand Signs, and Chakra surged toward his throat—
Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique.
The fireball slammed into the withered tree and exploded with a roar.
It was over two meters in diameter, and the trunk crackled as it burned.
Still not enough.
He adjusted his breathing and tried again.
This routine continued for more than half the semester.
During class, his clone sat in the classroom while his true body trained on the Rear Mountain.
Occasionally, if he returned early, he would wait outside the classroom for the bell to ring.
Most of the time, no one noticed.
Until one day after class, Tsunade cornered him at the bend in the hallway.
With her arms crossed and her back against the wall, her face practically screamed, “You’re done for.”
“Ran off again, didn’t you?”
“I already know everything being taught.
Sitting there is a waste—”
“That clone of yours,” Tsunade interrupted, her voice kept very low.
“It has no physical sensation when touched; it’s like a wooden post.”
Kitahara Kaede paused.
She observed that closely?
“…The teacher didn’t notice.”
“The teacher didn’t notice because he didn’t touch you,” Tsunade stared at him.
“What if he calls on you to stand up and answer a question one day?”
Kitahara Kaede remained silent.
That was indeed a loophole.
Tsunade snorted and turned to leave.
He thought the matter was over.
During class the next day, just as the teacher’s gaze drifted toward him, Tsunade’s hand shot up.
“Teacher, could you explain the relationship between Chakra rotation direction and hand sign sequence again?”
This question had just been covered ten minutes ago.
But since the First Hokage’s granddaughter was asking, he had to answer.
The teacher’s attention was diverted.
The clone remained safe.
When Kitahara Kaede slipped back through the window, Tsunade was flipping through her textbook without looking up.
He glanced at her but said nothing.
The next day, the teacher looked toward them again.
Tsunade’s hand went up once more.
“Teacher, regarding the strengths and weaknesses of Nature Transformations, does Fire beat Wind or does Wind beat Fire?”
That had been taught yesterday.
The third day.
“Teacher, where can I buy Chakra Induction Paper?”
The teacher’s expression finally cracked.
quite a few questions lately.”
“Isn’t a strong thirst for knowledge a good thing?”
The teacher pursed his lips, looked down at his lesson plan, and said no more.
Every class after that was the same.
Whenever the teacher’s gaze drifted toward his seat, Tsunade “just happened” to have a question.
Questions about Chakra, ninja tools, and the curriculum schedule.
Once she even asked, “Do the meal fees for the Ninja Academy cafeteria count as mission expenses?”—even the serious students in the front row turned around to look at her.
The teacher privately told a colleague, “Shodai-sama’s granddaughter certainly has a strong thirst for knowledge, it’s just that her focus is a bit…
off.”
Class ended.
Kitahara Kaede leaned against the hallway railing as Tsunade walked past him.
“Just happened to have questions for several days in a row?”
“Coincidence.”
“Another coincidence tomorrow?”
“Depends on my mood.”
She left after saying that, without looking back.
Kitahara Kaede watched her back, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.
He didn’t say thank you.
And Tsunade didn’t give him the chance to.
That was only right.
In her logic, this probably wasn’t called “helping,” but rather “because I feel like it.”
As for why she felt like it—
She wouldn’t say even if asked.
If pressed, one would likely get punched.
…
End of the semester.
When the teacher entered the classroom, he wasn’t carrying a textbook, but a rolled-up map.
“Combat Exercise.
Location: Rear Mountain.
Teams of three.
Time limit: four hours.”
He unrolled the map and pinned it to the blackboard; the contour lines of the Rear Mountain were densely packed.
“The school has hidden numbered wooden tags throughout the Rear Mountain.
The team with the highest total score wins.”
He paused.
“Plundering is allowed.”
The classroom erupted into chaos, with sounds of people looking for teammates everywhere.
Tsunade turned her head and glanced at Kitahara Kaede.
She didn’t say a word, but her gaze didn’t need translation—You’re with me, no arguments.
Kitahara Kaede nodded.
Still missing one.
“Count me in!”
Jiraiya lunged from the back row and plopped down in front, wearing a punchable grin.
Tsunade frowned.
“Teams of three, and there’s only two of you,” Jiraiya waved his hand.
“If you don’t pick me, who else are you going to pick?”
He tilted his head.
“In this school, who else have you even spoken to besides him?”
Tsunade opened her mouth but couldn’t find a retort.
She turned to look at Kitahara Kaede.
Kitahara Kaede shrugged.
“Fine.”
“You’re a real pal—”
“You’re in charge of the most exhausting work,” Tsunade interrupted.
Jiraiya’s arrogance deflated by half, but he couldn’t suppress the grin on his face.
Being on a team with Tsunade was worth doing the heaviest lifting.
…
Rear Mountain.
The exercise began.
The three advanced along the path at the foot of the mountain while Kitahara Kaede scanned the map as he walked.
Wooden tags were dense in the lower areas but had low point values.
There were fewer tags in the higher areas, but one could be worth several.
He stopped by a stream.
“Let’s split up.
I’ll sweep the upper mountain for the high-value ones.
You two head east along the stream and pick up as many low-value ones as you can.”
He handed the map to Tsunade.
“Two hours.
Meet back here.”
Tsunade took the map, glanced at it, and nodded.
The terrain by the stream was open, so two people would be most efficient there.
The path to the summit was steep, but no one in this class could match Kitahara Kaede’s Taijutsu.
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” she said.
Kitahara Kaede waved his hand, turned to head up the mountain, and vanished into the thicket after a few steps.
Jiraiya watched his back disappear, his brain taking a beat to process the situation.
He’s gone.
It’s just me and Tsunade now.
“What are you dazing off for?
Let’s go.” Tsunade had already started walking.
“Coming, coming!”
Jiraiya jogged to catch up and walked side-by-side with her along the stream.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the canopy, illuminating her blonde ponytail.
He stole a side glance and then quickly looked away.
I have to say something.
“Where do you think the tags are hidden?”
“Under rocks, in tree hollows, in the grass.
Stop asking and start looking.”
Tsunade crouched down and flipped a rock; sure enough, a wooden tag was pressed underneath.
One point.
“Tch.”
Jiraiya began searching too.
His method was much cruder than Tsunade’s—he simply kicked aside piles of debris and rummaged through the grass with his feet.
His movements weren’t graceful, but his efficiency wasn’t bad.
In twenty minutes, he found three.
One point, two points, one point.
“This area is full of junk,” Tsunade said, stuffing the tags into her pocket.
“At least we’re getting something…” Jiraiya tossed the two-point tag in his hand.
“It all adds up—”
Mid-sentence, he suddenly realized something.
Tsunade seemed to be in a good mood.
Usually, when he talked to her at school, she’d roll her eyes within three sentences and leave within five.
Today, they’d already exchanged over a dozen sentences.
Even if every sentence was her snapping at him.
But a back-and-forth was always better than being treated like air.
The corners of Jiraiya’s mouth curled up unconsciously as he pondered what to talk about next—
Tsunade suddenly stopped.
Jiraiya stopped as well, following her gaze.
In the grass by the stream stood a person.