Combat class at the Ninja Academy had always been a stage where youthful aggression and vanity ran rampant.
Dust rolled across the training ground as the shouts of the boys rose and fell in waves.
“Next—Kazama Ryū versus Nakajima Shouta!” The instructor’s voice carried a trace of routine indifference.
Ryū rose from his seat in the corner, his expression still quiet and unremarkable.
His opponent, Nakajima Shouta—a civilian boy built half a head taller than him—grinned broadly, confidence shining in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Ryū.
I’ll go easy on you!” The match began.
Nakajima lunged forward like a starving tiger, his movements broad and aggressive, full of reckless momentum.
To the spectators, Ryū’s response looked almost… clumsy.
He seemed startled, stumbling backward and barely avoiding a straight punch.
Losing his balance, he staggered awkwardly, nearly falling over, looking completely flustered.
“Hahaha!
He really hasn’t changed at all!” “Pure luck—must be nothing but luck!” Unrestrained laughter burst out from the sidelines.
Yet in a quiet corner of the field, the Uchiha girl who always kept her distance from the crowd—Uchiha Nain—slightly furrowed her brows.
Her dark eyes were fixed on the seemingly disordered figure in the arena.
Something was off.
Ryū’s retreat looked messy, but every step landed precisely in the blind spot of Nakajima’s attacks.
The angle at which his body tilted when he “lost balance” allowed him to evade Nakajima’s sweeping kick with the smallest possible movement.
That wasn’t clumsiness.
That was absolute control over his own body.
On the field, Nakajima was already panting heavily, having failed to land a single solid hit despite his nonstop assault.
“Damn it!” He roared and threw a punch with all his strength.
Ryū “panicked” again and dodged to the side—but this time, he seemed to trip over his own feet, pitching forward.
And the direction he fell happened to align perfectly with Nakajima’s unstoppable forward charge.
Bang!
Nakajima crashed face-first into the dirt, while Ryū “coincidentally” landed on his back, a practice kunai already pressed lightly against the back of Nakajima’s neck.
The entire training ground went dead silent.
Then an even louder wave of laughter exploded.
“No way—did that actually work?!” “Is Nakajima an idiot?
Did he just hand him the win?” The instructor announced helplessly, “The winner—Kazama Ryū.” Ryū climbed to his feet, brushed the dust from his clothes, and offered Nakajima an embarrassed, apologetic smile before returning to his usual quiet demeanor and walking back to his corner.
It was as though the strange victory had truly been nothing more than an accident.
Only Uchiha Nain, watching his retreating back, wore a deep, thoughtful expression.
There was definitely something unusual about him.
Next, Asuma Sarutobi stepped onto the field.
He jumped down with high spirits, his gaze subtly drifting toward Kurenai Yuhi.
“Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!” Though only a simplified version, the blazing fireball still drew a chorus of gasps.
His opponent struggled just to dodge and was quickly overwhelmed by Asuma’s clean, forceful taijutsu.
“Well done, Asuma!” “As expected of the Hokage’s son!” Bathed in praise, Asuma lifted his chin proudly.
Then, as if remembering something, he turned toward Ryū in the corner and spoke loudly enough for most of the field to hear.
“Hmph.
Some people only know how to rely on cheap tricks and luck.
Real fights are decided by strength!” Kurenai frowned slightly, feeling his words went too far.
Ryū, openly mocked, didn’t even lift his eyes.
He sat calmly, completely ignoring Asuma’s provocation.
That indifference hit harder than any angry retort.
Asuma’s face flushed red in an instant.
Combat class ended, and the students dispersed in small groups.
Ryū noticed several children from well-off families gathering nearby, handing out snacks and loose change based on the outcomes of the matches.
“Here—your guess was right.
The chips are yours.” “Tch.
If Nakajima hadn’t tripped, those ten ryō would’ve been mine!” Ryū stopped walking.
It was as if a string deep in his mind had been plucked.
The instincts of his former life as a corporate worker stirred awake.
He glanced at the students arguing over snacks and a few ryō, then at Asuma standing off to the side, clearly disgruntled.
A bold—perhaps even unconventional—business idea rapidly took shape.
“Hey!
You—stop right there!” An angry shout cut off his thoughts.
In the corridor, Asuma Sarutobi blocked his path, flanked by two lackeys.
“Kazama Ryū, what was that attitude earlier?” Asuma sneered, looking down his nose at him.
“Are you looking down on me?” Ryū stopped and finally met his gaze.
For someone like Asuma, who had grown up surrounded by praise, Ryū’s complete lack of concern was infuriating.
“You want to fight me to prove you’re stronger?” Ryū asked calmly, as if stating an unrelated fact.
Asuma froze, then sneered.
“At least you know your place!
Kneel and apologize right now, and I might let you off!” “We can fight,” Ryū said, nodding and cutting him off.
Before Asuma’s grin could widen, Ryū continued.
“However, my time is valuable.” His eyes held neither fear nor anger—only the calm detachment of a merchant.
“I don’t waste it on meaningless things.
Unless… it becomes meaningful.” Asuma and his two followers stared blankly.
Meaningful?
Ryū slowly raised one finger.
“One thousand ryō.
For a fight.” The corridor fell deathly silent.
Students who hadn’t gone far yet stopped and turned back in disbelief.
One thousand ryō?
That was the reward for several D-rank missions for an ordinary Genin.
A six-year-old asking for that much—just like that?
Was he insane?
Ryū ignored the commotion, his gaze locked onto Asuma as he stated the terms clearly.
“If you win, I’ll apologize publicly and admit I’m nothing but trash who relies on luck.” “If I win, the money is mine.” “So—how about it?” Ryū said evenly.
“Son of the Hokage… do you dare to bet?” His voice wasn’t loud, but the air in the corridor froze instantly.
Especially the words son of the Hokage—like a precisely aimed poisoned needle, piercing straight into Asuma’s most sensitive nerve.
He hated that title more than anything.
It reduced all his efforts to nothing more than the shadow of his father.
Asuma’s arrogance drained away, his face turning ashen as his fists clenched with a sharp creak.
At the far end of the corridor, Uchiha Nain—who had been watching silently—finally showed a ripple of emotion in her dark, still eyes.
Leaning against the wall, she observed the thin, seemingly fragile boy who had forced the Hokage’s proud son into such a corner.
Her tightly pressed lips curved upward, tracing a faint but meaningful smile.
This Kazama Ryū… was far more interesting than she had expected.