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Ninja Academy classes were useless to Kaede Kitahara.
The teacher lectured on Chakra Extraction Principles at the podium.
A few clan kids in the front row listened with genuine attention, though their elders had probably covered all of this years ago.
In the back row, Jiraiya was sprawled across his desk, dead asleep, a thin string of drool dangling from the corner of his mouth.
Tsunade, at least, was paying attention.
Kaede leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting out the window to the treetops beyond.
He’d mastered this material a long time ago.
In reality.
His chakra extraction speed and control precision already far outpaced his fifteen-year-old self back home.
Sitting in a classroom listening to “the most common mistakes beginners make” was a waste of time he wasn’t willing to give.
The moment the teacher turned to write on the blackboard, Kaede’s hands moved under the desk.
A shadow clone materialized in his seat, chin propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded.
His real body slipped out the window.
He landed without a sound.
The Rear Mountain training ground was empty.
He stopped twenty meters from a dead tree, hands rising into a seal, chakra surging to his throat,
Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique.
The fireball slammed into the trunk and exploded with a roar.
Over two meters across.
The wood burned and crackled, bark splitting in the heat.
Still not enough.
He steadied his breathing and went again.
This became his routine for most of the semester.
Shadow clone in the classroom.
Real body on the Rear Mountain.
On the rare days he got back early, he’d wait outside in the hallway until the bell rang.
Most of the time, nobody noticed.
Until the day Tsunade cornered him at the bend in the hallway after class.
Arms crossed.
Back against the wall.
Her face might as well have had the words you’re done stamped across it.
“Ran off again.”
“I already know everything they’re teaching.
Sitting there’s a waste of—”
“That shadow clone of yours.” She cut him off, voice dropped low.
“Brush against its arm and there’s nothing there.
No sensation at all.
Like bumping into a wooden post.”
Kaede paused.
She’d been watching that closely?
“…The teacher didn’t notice.”
“The teacher didn’t notice because the teacher never touched you.” Tsunade kept her eyes fixed on him.
“What happens when they call on you to answer a question?”
He said nothing.
She had a point.
Tsunade snorted and turned away.
He figured that was the end of it.
The next day, the moment the teacher’s gaze began to drift toward his side of the room, Tsunade’s hand went up.
“Teacher, could you go over the relationship between Chakra Rotation Direction and hand seal order one more time?”
That question had been answered ten minutes ago.
But when the First Hokage’s granddaughter asked, you answered.
The teacher’s attention swung away.
The shadow clone sat undisturbed.
When Kaede climbed back through the window, Tsunade was flipping through her textbook without looking up.
He glanced at her.
Said nothing.
The next day, the teacher’s eyes started drifting toward his seat again.
Tsunade’s hand went up again.
“Teacher, for Nature Transformation—does fire beat wind, or does wind beat fire?”
That had been covered yesterday.
Third day.
“Teacher, where can Chakra Induction Paper be purchased?”
The teacher’s expression finally cracked.
“Tsunade, your questions lately have been…
quite numerous.”
“Is being eager to learn a problem?”
He pressed his lips together, looked down at his lesson plan, and let it go.
After that, it was the same every class.
The teacher’s gaze drifted toward his seat, and Tsunade just happened to have a question.
Questions about chakra.
Questions about Ninja Tools.
Questions about the curriculum.
Once, she asked whether the Ninja Academy cafeteria meal allowance counted as mission funding.
Even the serious kids in the front row turned around.
The teacher mentioned to a colleague afterward: “The First Hokage’s granddaughter really does have an impressive thirst for knowledge.
The direction is just a bit…
inconsistent.”
After the bell.
Kaede leaned against the hallway railing.
Tsunade walked past.
“Several days running, and you just happened to have a question every single time?”
“Coincidence.”
“Tomorrow too?”
“Depends on my mood.”
She kept walking.
Didn’t look back.
Kaede watched her go.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
He didn’t say thanks.
Tsunade never gave him the opening to.
That was fine.
In her logic, this probably wasn’t called helping.
It was called I felt like it.
As for why she felt like it, ask her and she wouldn’t tell.
Push too hard and you’d most likely eat a fist.
…
End of semester.
The teacher walked in without a textbook.
He was carrying a rolled map.
“Practical Training Exercise.
Location: Rear Mountain.
Teams of three.
Time limit: two hours.”
He unrolled the map and pinned it to the blackboard.
The Rear Mountain’s contour lines packed dense across the paper.
“The school has hidden numbered Wooden Tags throughout the mountain.
The team that collects the highest total score wins.”
He paused.
“Seizing from other teams is permitted.”
The classroom erupted.
Everyone started grabbing at whoever was nearby.
Tsunade turned her head and looked at Kaede.
She didn’t say a word.
She didn’t need to.
That look had one meaning: you and me, no argument.
Kaede nodded.
They still needed one more.
“Count me in!”
Jiraiya launched himself over from the back row, dropped into a seat in front of them, and grinned like it was his birthday.
Tsunade frowned.
“Teams of three, and you’ve only got two.” Jiraiya spread his hands.
“If you don’t pick me, who are you going to pick?”
He tilted his head.
“Who else at this school have you even talked to?
Besides him?”
Tsunade opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
She looked at Kaede.
Kaede shrugged.
“Fine.”
“Now we’re talk—”
“You get the hardest jobs,” Tsunade cut in.
“…Fine.”
Half the swagger drained out of him, but he couldn’t kill the grin.
Teaming up with Tsunade was worth whatever they threw at him.
…
Rear Mountain.
Exercise begins.
The three of them moved along the footpath at the base of the slope.
Kaede scanned the map as he walked.
Lower elevation: Wooden Tags were dense, but worth next to nothing.
Higher up: fewer tags, each worth several of the low ones.
He stopped at a stream.
“We split up.
I’ll sweep the upper slope for the high-value ones.
You two follow the stream east and collect whatever low-value tags you can find.” He handed the map to Tsunade.
“One hour.
Meet back here.”
Tsunade took it, glanced it over, and nodded.
The terrain along the stream was open.
Two people would cover it fastest.
The upper path was steep, but Kaede’s taijutsu wasn’t something anyone else in their year could match.
“Don’t overdo it,” she said.
He lifted a hand in a loose wave, turned, and headed up the mountain.
A few steps, and the trees swallowed him whole.
Jiraiya stared at the spot where he’d disappeared.
His brain took a beat to catch up.
He’s gone.
Just me and Tsunade.
“What are you spacing out for?
Move.” Tsunade was already walking.
“Yeah, yeah, coming!”
He jogged to catch up, falling into step beside her along the stream.
Sunlight broke through the canopy in patches and caught the gold of her ponytail.
He stole a quick sideways glance, then snapped his eyes straight ahead.
Say something.
“So, where do you think the tags are hidden?”
“Under rocks.
Tree hollows.
Grass.
Stop asking and start looking.”
Tsunade crouched, lifted a stone.
A Wooden Tag sat underneath, pressed flat in the dirt.
One point.
“Tsk.”
Jiraiya started searching too.
His method was considerably less refined than hers, booting aside gravel, tearing through underbrush with both hands.
Not pretty.
Not slow, either.
20 minutes.
3 tags.
1 point, 2 points, 1 point.
“It’s all low-value junk out here.” Tsunade shoved the tags into her pocket.
“Hey, it’s something…” Jiraiya tossed the two-pointer and caught it.
“Lots of little things add up, ”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Tsunade seemed like she was in a good mood.
At school, if he tried talking to her, she’d roll her eyes by the third sentence and be gone by the fifth.
Today they’d gone back and forth a dozen times or more.
Sure, every single thing out of her mouth had been a correction or a dismissal.
But back-and-forth beat invisible.
The corner of Jiraiya’s mouth crept up.
He started turning over what to say next,
Tsunade stopped.
He stopped too, following her line of sight.
In the grass along the stream bank, someone was standing there.
…
➤ Next: Encountering the Enemy