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Training Ground Three.
Three wooden posts stood in the center of the clearing, a ring of dense forest surrounding them on all sides.
When Kitahara Kaede and Tsunade arrived, Jiraiya was already there.
Specifically, he was already asleep.
His white-haired head lolled against a post, a thread of drool dangling from his mouth, a small notebook clutched to his chest.
The cover was scrawled in uneven characters: Material Collection: Top Secret.
Tsunade took one look at it.
Her expression went like she’d swallowed a fly.
“That idiot went peeping again last night?”
“Probably.”
“Disgusting.”
She walked over and kicked the post.
The whole thing shuddered.
Jiraiya launched off it like he’d been catapulted, hit the ground on his rear, and his little notebook went spinning into the trees.
“Who!”
He scrambled up, looking wildly left and right.
Then he saw it was Tsunade, and the wariness on his face flipped instantly into a fawning grin.
“Yo, Tsunade, that ponytail today is really—”
“Finish that sentence.
Try it.”
Tsunade’s fist tightened.
Jiraiya wisely shut his mouth.
His eyes slid sideways to Kitahara Kaede.
“You two came together again?”
“Ran into each other on the way.”
“Every time.
‘Ran into each other on the way.'” Jiraiya muttered at a volume carefully calibrated for both of them to hear.
“Tch.
It’s just because he’s good-looking…”
Tsunade ignored him.
She folded her arms and looked toward the training ground entrance.
“Why isn’t the sensei here yet—”
Three shuriken tore through the air.
No warning at all.
Kitahara Kaede’s body moved before his mind caught up.
He sidestepped.
The shuriken grazed his sleeve and buried themselves into the post behind him.
Tsunade dropped at almost the same instant.
The shuriken screamed over her head, her golden ponytail lifting and falling in their wake.
Jiraiya,
“Gah!”
One smacked him squarely in the forehead.
Blunt, unsharpened, but that didn’t matter much when it hit your skull.
Jiraiya clutched his forehead and crumpled to the ground.
Sarutobi Hiruzen stood atop the center post.
No one had seen him arrive.
He jumped down, gaze sweeping across the three of them.
“Reaction speed.” He glanced at Kitahara Kaede, then at Tsunade.
“You two, pass.”
Then he looked at Jiraiya, still crouched on the ground.
“Jiraiya.”
“…Here.”
“Ninja Academy physical assessments.
Most improved student for three consecutive semesters.
Fifth from the bottom, up to seventh from the top.”
Jiraiya rubbed his forehead and looked up.
The corner of his mouth had just started to curl,
“But willpower alone only buys you one extra slash on the battlefield.”
It dropped.
Hiruzen said nothing more.
He reached into his ninja tool pouch and pulled something out.
A bell, tied to a red cord.
It gave a soft chime in the morning light.
Jiraiya stared at it for 2 seconds, then counted heads.
“Sensei, there are three of us.
Why is there only one bell?”
Kitahara Kaede almost laughed.
The bell test.
A classic among classics.
He’d gone through one in reality.
The year he graduated from the Ninja Academy, his jonin instructor had tied two bells to his waist.
He’d gotten one.
Not through strength.
Through reading people.
While his two teammates were locked up trying to outmaneuver each other, he’d slipped in from the side and lifted a bell clean off the man’s belt.
Both of those teammates died in the Third War.
He lived.
Kitahara Kaede pulled his thoughts back.
“Someone gets eliminated.”
Hiruzen glanced at him and nodded.
“Correct.
But also not quite.”
He tied the bell to his belt.
“There are two bells.
One is on me.
One is hidden somewhere in this forest.
Grab a bell and you pass.
If you don’t, ” he paused, “you won’t be sent back to the Ninja Academy.
But for the next month, you train with me alone every day.
Three times the intensity of regular training.”
Jiraiya’s face went pale for a half second.
Tsunade’s brow creased.
Kitahara Kaede’s expression didn’t change.
A full month of one-on-one training from the Third Hokage.
They’re calling that punishment?
Some people would beg for it their whole lives.
“The rules are simple.” Hiruzen patted the bell at his waist.
“One hour.
Any means permitted.”
His gaze moved across the three of them, one by one, and lingered an extra half-beat on Kitahara Kaede.
Jiraiya raised his hand.
“Sensei!”
Hiruzen looked at him.
But Jiraiya wasn’t looking at Hiruzen.
He turned to Tsunade.
“Tsunade, let’s make a bet.”
Tsunade raised an eyebrow.
“If I grab a bell, ” Jiraiya puffed out his chest, grinning wide, “you come eat barbecue with me.
Just the two of us.
A date.”
Half a second of silence.
Tsunade laughed, short and cold.
“Fine.”
Jiraiya blinked.
He hadn’t expected her to agree that fast.
He hadn’t even had time to feel good about it,
“If you don’t grab one,” Tsunade said, arms folding, “stop following me around.
It’s annoying.”
“Deal!” He thumped his chest, completely certain of himself.
Tsunade said nothing more after that.
Her gaze drifted sideways without her meaning it to.
Kitahara Kaede was leaning against a post, head tilted slightly back, like he was watching something in the treetops.
No expression on his face at all.
Not the kind people put on deliberately.
Not performed blankness.
Just genuinely, completely nothing.
As if everything Jiraiya had just said, the barbecue, the date, all of it, had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
Tsunade looked away.
She didn’t know why she’d looked in the first place.
And she didn’t know why, after seeing nothing there, something had caught in her chest.
Just for an instant.
Barely anything.
Like someone had flicked her heart with the tip of a finger, it didn’t hurt, but that spot hummed for a moment afterward.
Tsunade tightened her fist.
She didn’t know what it was.
Kitahara Kaede had noticed her gaze.
He didn’t look back.
“Begin.”
Hiruzen’s voice fell.
Kitahara Kaede moved, sweeping into the forest on the right without a backward glance.
Tsunade broke into motion at almost the same moment.
Half a beat faster than usual, she didn’t notice it herself.
Her body had already decided.
Her golden ponytail flashed between the trees as she followed.
Jiraiya was a full beat behind.
He stood there a moment, looking left, looking right.
Both of them were already gone.
“Hey, wait—”
No response.
He gritted his teeth and strolled off toward the treeline.
The training ground went quiet.
Hiruzen stood between the three posts.
He pulled a pipe from his sleeve, lit it, took a slow drag.
The smoke unraveled in the morning air.
He watched the three directions the children had disappeared into, and something moved in his gaze, scrutiny, yes, but underneath it, something else.
Something that didn’t have a name.
…
➤ Next: Under the Bell