Knowing Aoba as well as she did, Kurenai could easily tell he was just brushing her off.
Yet whether it came to height or raw strength, she was simply no match for him.
Whenever she tried running to her parents to complain, her father and mother would invariably take Aoba’s side.
More often than not, she ended up surrendering completely to the sweet temptation of Aoba’s candy anyway.
Deep down, Kurenai resolved to learn incredible ninjutsu, defeat Aoba, and seize all his candy for herself.
“All right, hurry up and eat your breakfast.
You don’t want to be late on your very first day.”
Aunt Nadeshiko brought out the breakfast dishes.
After finishing their meal, the three of them stepped out the door and made their way toward the Ninja Academy.
Since it was the first day of school, parents traditionally accompanied their children.
As for Shinku Yuhi, he naturally had to return to his duties.
Even if it was a shinobi academy, it was still a school.
Stepping through the gates as a student once again felt undeniably surreal.
The first day of the semester naturally called for an entrance ceremony.
The so-called ceremony consisted of two to three hundred new students lined up by height in the schoolyard, listening to Lord Hokage deliver a speech.
“Where tree leaves dance, one shall find flames flickering…”
Although this was Aoba’s first time seeing the Hokage in the flesh, he had to admit that Hiruzen Sarutobi, clad in his ceremonial robes, possessed a commanding charisma.
His gentle, approachable smile felt like a warm spring breeze.
A consummate leader through and through.
Standing on stage delivering a speech for two full hours without a single break—Aoba couldn’t help but admire that level of stamina from a man of his age.
Because shinobi spent years extracting chakra and waging battle, most aged prematurely, their strength declining rapidly once past their physical peak.
Aoba was among the older kids in this incoming class.
Combined with never skimping on his meals, he was quite tall for his age, placing him squarely near the back of the line.
Even standing in the rear, Aoba listened attentively.
He didn’t use his chip to slack off or daydream; there was no reason to.
While it wasn’t a private audience, it was still his first time before the village leader, and there were bound to be plenty of Anbu stationed around the grounds.
Listening attentively might not earn him special recognition, but failing to pay attention could very well get him flagged by an operative—especially given that he was already under “observation.”
After all, ninja possessed all sorts of bizarre sensory methods, and who knew what an Anbu might pick up?
By virtue of his circumstances, he was naturally aligned with the Hokage’s faction; there was no point leaving a bad impression over something so trivial.
Besides, the “Will of Fire” was a mandatory subject tested at the Academy.
Hearing it directly from the Hokage was bound to be far more illuminating than whatever the teachers lectured on—and achieving a perfect score was Shinku Yuhi’s only requirement for Aoba.
Once the entrance ceremony concluded, the students filed out in orderly fashion under the guidance of the faculty and headed to their assigned classrooms.
Only then did Aoba realize he had been placed in the same class as Kurenai.
Since he had been accepted through the supplementary roster, his class assignment hadn’t been finalized until registration day.
To think that after everything, he still ended up in her class—the true elite class.
Nearly every major figure in Konoha’s next twenty years would emerge from this very room.
*Is this just a coincidence, or the inertia of the original plot?*
If it was the former, fine.
If it was the latter, he might have to make a few adjustments to his plans.
The classroom matched the stepped amphitheater layout from the anime, with each desk seating three students.
Having been near the back of the line outside, Aoba happened to be the first one to walk through the door.
Glancing around, the desks were empty, devoid of name tags or assigned markers.
Evidently, seating was first-come, first-served for now.
Wanting to keep a low profile rather than stand out, Aoba headed straight for the second-to-last row, saving an adjacent seat for Kurenai while he was at it.
As for why he hadn’t picked the absolute back row, it was simply because the last row had no backrests.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
A young boy with a strip of red cloth tied across his nose approached the desk and asked.
*Hmm, not bad.
Polite.
Good deskmate material.*
Toward the front, squabbles had already broken out over the front-row seats; after all, sitting closer to the podium made it easier to hear the lecture clearly.
“There’s still an open spot.
Help yourself.”
“Thanks!
My name is Raido Namiashi.
Nice to meet you.”
Hearing the name Raido Namiashi, Aoba’s eyes lit up.
If he remembered correctly, Raido would be placed on the exact same genin squad as him upon graduation.
In the original work, the two of them even possessed a remarkably coordinated combination technique.
“Don’t mention it.
I’m Aoba Yamashiro,” he replied with an easy smile.
Before long, Kurenai Yuhi walked into the classroom, naturally slipping into the empty seat beside Aoba.
Aoba then introduced Raido to Kurenai, considering they were now deskmates.
“Hello…
I’m Kurenai Yuhi.”
“I’m Raido Namiashi!
Great to meet you, Kurenai!”
At the moment, Kurenai seemed shy and timid, lacking all of her usual spunk.
Aoba knew she simply hadn’t adjusted to the new environment yet; once she settled into school life, she would be just as wild as any boy.
As more students filed in, the seats filled up quickly.
With assistant teachers stepping in to mediate, any seating squabbles were swiftly resolved.
As the school chime rang, a middle-aged man in his thirties or forties appeared in the classroom doorway.
He bore a grim expression, and a scar slashed across his face, giving him an exceptionally fierce demeanor.
The moment he stepped inside, the entire classroom fell deathly silent, as if a mute button had been pressed.
He strode up to the podium and cast a sweeping gaze over the students.
That predatory stare caused more than a few kids to duck their heads, terrified to look him in the eye.
The man rapped his knuckles against the chalkboard, pulling everyone’s wandering attention back to him.
Under the collective gaze of the class, he picked up a piece of chalk, scrawled a name across the board, and introduced himself.
“Hello, everyone.
My name is Araki Ishihara, and I will be the homeroom teacher for Class 1.
As an educator, I am gentle and kind, and I dislike corporal punishment.
Should any of you step out of line, I will instruct you with a mild demeanor and pleasant words.
I dislike criticizing students, so I hope we can cooperate smoothly.”
Saying this, he flashed the class what was supposed to be a “gentle” smile, sending a collective chill down the students’ spines.
*Hey, hey, hey, isn’t this a bit much…?*
Aoba was somewhat speechless.
If his senses weren’t mistaken, that had definitely been bloodlust.
He had felt that sensation from Uncle Shinku before; for the first few days after returning from certain missions, a faint trace of killing intent would linger around him.
Whenever Aoba got close to him during those periods, the auxiliary chip would beep alarmingly in his mind.
Teacher Araki’s killing intent was more like an aura released in tandem with his chakra—untargeted, which was why it hadn’t triggered an alert from the chip.
But having experienced it before, Aoba could pick it up intuitively.
Those who had never experienced it, however, were in for a rough time.
A prime example would be Sasuke facing Orochimaru during the Chunin Exams in the original series, frozen stiff in sheer terror under the weight of raw bloodlust.
Teacher Araki had definitely seen real battle.
He had likely retired from active duty due to injury before taking up teaching at the Academy; when he had walked in just now, Aoba noticed a slight irregularity in his gait, suggesting a prosthetic limb.
*It looks like the Third Hokage places a lot of importance on this class.
Sending a battle-hardened veteran as our homeroom teacher…
is he worried someone won’t be able to keep us in line?*
…