“Ding-dong—ding-dong—”
The moment the bell rang to end class, Linbei felt like he had never been more agile in his life.
He scooped up Tom, who was crouching at his feet, and ignored the sight of his crushed desk and the curious gazes of his classmates.
Benind his back hunched, he slipped out the back door of the classroom.
“Linbei-kun—”
Uchiha Izumi’s voice drifted faintly from behind him, but Linbei didn’t look back.
Right now, his mind was consumed by one question—a question that made his heart pound so hard it felt like it might leap out of his throat.
Was this cat really *that* Tom?
If it was…
Clutching Tom to his chest, Linbei sprinted down the corridor, took the stairs two at a time, rounded the school building, and ran all the way to the easternmost corner of the playground.
There was a row of abandoned storage sheds here where no one usually went.
After confirming they were alone, Linbei set Tom on the ground and crouched down, facing the grey-blue cat eye-to-eye.
The afternoon sun slanted down from the eaves of the storage shed, falling across Tom’s tuxedo and making the red bowtie look exceptionally bright.
Tom sat on the ground with his hind legs crossed and one paw leaning on a miniature cane.
His expression was as composed as if he were attending a high-society tea party.
Linbei took a deep breath.
“Can you talk?”
Tom tilted his head, raised a paw, and drew a circle in the air.
Then—he nodded.
Linbei’s heart skipped a beat.
“Then why didn’t you say anything just now?”
Tom stroked his chin with a paw, wearing an expression that said, “That’s a very good question.” He reached behind his back with the miniature cane—Linbei couldn’t even see how he did it before the cane vanished.
In its place was a blackboard half the height of a person.
No, to be precise, it was a standard classroom greenboard with a wooden frame, and there was even an eraser hanging in the top right corner.
The board was larger than Tom’s entire body, but he held it as effortlessly as if it were a sheet of A4 paper.
Linbei’s eye twitched.
Where did he pull that from?
From a pocket in the tuxedo—a pocket that clearly couldn’t fit a piece of chalk—Tom produced a stick of white chalk and began to write rapidly on the board.
The handwriting was neat and written in perfect copperplate script.
[Tom does not like to speak.
Writing is more elegant.]
Linbei stared at the words for three seconds, then looked up at Tom with the kind of gaze one reserved for a deity.
“Forget about the talking for a second.” Linbei stood up, grabbed Tom’s front paws, and lifted him into the air.
“First, tell me—where the hell did you get that blackboard?”
Held in mid-air, Tom’s expression remained calm.
He blinked and tilted his head as if contemplating how to answer.
Linbei held Tom up to his eyes, looking him over from left to right.
Tuxedo, normal.
Bowtie, normal.
Fur, normal.
Tail, normal.
He flipped Tom over to check his back.
Nothing.
Refusing to give up, Linbei gripped Tom’s paws and started shaking him.
Three times left, three times right, three times up, three times down.
Tom’s body swayed with the rhythm of the shaking, his head lolling like a pellet drum.
His eyes first turned into two spirals, then into two capital “X”s, and finally, he simply rolled his eyes back.
Linbei stopped and put Tom back on the ground.
Tom stood wobbling for two seconds before falling face-first onto the ground, a string of star-shaped bubbles drifting from his mouth.
“…”
Linbei crouched down and stared at the downed Tom for a long time.
“I can’t try to apply logic to a cartoon character,” he finally concluded.
“If I do, I’ve already lost.”
Tom lay on the ground for about five seconds before snapping back to his feet as if nothing had happened.
He straightened his crooked bowtie, brushed the dust off his tuxedo, and resumed his elegant, composed posture.
Linbei decided to give up on questioning the spatial storage.
He pivoted to a more practical question.
“Fine, I won’t ask about the blackboard.” He sat cross-legged on the ground, level with Tom.
“Then tell me, what abilities do you have?”
Hearing this, Tom’s eyes suddenly lit up.
He pointed a paw at Linbei, then at himself, and finally held up one finger—as if to say, “Watch this.”
In the next second, Tom grabbed the lapel of his tuxedo with his left hand and yanked it open!
Linbei almost thought he was about to witness some R-rated display.
But when the tuxedo opened, it didn’t reveal a cat’s belly.
Instead, it revealed a neat row of—
Medals.
Gold, silver, and bronze, large and small, packed densely from Tom’s neck down to his waist.
Every medal was polished to a high shine, reflecting the bright sunlight.
Linbei leaned in for a closer look.
The first: Champion Mouse Catcher.
It featured the silhouette of a mouse with “TOP MOUSE CATCHER” engraved beneath it.
The second: International Piano Competition Gold Medal.
The design featured a grand piano surrounded by musical notes.
The third: Michelin Three-Star Chef Certification.
The design was a crossed chef’s hat and spoon.
The fourth: Golf Championship Winner.
The design was a club and a golf ball.
The fifth: Boxing Gold Belt.
A tiny golden belt hung conspicuously among the pile of medals.
The sixth, seventh, eighth…
Linbei’s head spun.
He did a rough count; there were at least twenty medals covering fields like music, cooking, sports, combat, art, and engineering.
“You won all of these?”
Tom nodded and closed his tuxedo, re-securing his bowtie.
His nonchalant expression seemed to say: *Not worth mentioning, it was nothing.*
But a second later, Tom produced a trophy from somewhere—Linbei had already stopped trying to figure out “from where.”
It was a golden trophy nearly half his height, with an inscription on the base: [All-Around Pet Competition · Lifetime Achievement Award].
Tom hoisted the trophy over his head, striking a classic podium pose with his chin tilted up and a slight smirk, his eyes screaming, “Hurry up and praise me.”
The sunlight hit the trophy, reflecting a golden glow that seemed to coat Tom’s grey-blue fur in a layer of gold.
Watching this, Linbei couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a smile.
He remembered a meme he had seen in his previous life: Tom was a cat who had reached the pinnacle of human achievement in every field; his only flaw was that he couldn’t catch that one mouse.
But in this world, there was no Jerry.
A Tom without Jerry was an invincible cat.
“So,” Linbei said slowly as he stood up, looking down at Tom, “you really can do anything?”
Tom put the trophy away—this time Linbei saw clearly: he simply moved it behind his back and the trophy vanished into thin air.
Then Tom brushed the dust off his paws and pointed a claw at Linbei.
He pointed to Linbei’s eyes, then his own.
Then he balled his paw into a fist and thumped his chest.
Though he couldn’t speak, Linbei understood the meaning.
*From now on, I’ve got your back.*
Linbei stood in the afternoon sun, looking at the grey-blue cat in the tuxedo before him.
A six-year-old body, four years since his transmigration, two years of despair, and countless prayers—all the anxiety, fear, and insecurity became insignificant in this moment.
He had a golden finger.
His golden finger was a blue cat who would never die, could do anything, and could frustrate any opponent to death.
Linbei took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“Tom,” he said, his voice carrying a firmness he hadn’t even noticed, “I’m counting on you from now on.”
Tom nodded and extended a paw.
Linbei hesitated for a moment, then reached out and shook the furry cat paw.
One person and one cat officially formed an alliance next to the abandoned storage sheds of the Konoha Ninja Academy.
In the distance, the school bell rang again, signaling the students to return to their classrooms.
Linbei bent down to pick Tom up and turned to head back.
Tom crouched in his arms, straightening his bowtie with a paw as his gaze drifted over Linbei’s shoulder toward the school building.
His eyes remained calm, but if one looked closely, his pupils contracted slightly—as if he were sizing something up.
Behind a window on the third-floor corridor of the school building, a boy with a ponytail stood watching.
His gaze crossed the playground and landed on Linbei and Tom.
Uchiha Itachi’s expression was peaceful, but his hand rested on the windowsill, his five fingers unconsciously and lightly tapping against the edge.
One, two, three.
Like a timer.
Or perhaps, like a calculation.
Linbei didn’t notice the gaze.
He hurried back to the classroom with Tom in his arms and ran right into Yamato Nakajima at the door.
“Linbei-kun,” Yamato Nakajima looked down at Tom in his arms, hesitating, “This summoned beast…”
“Teacher,” Linbei looked up, his expression obedient and sincere, “I don’t know what happened either.
Maybe I’m just exceptionally gifted?”
Yamato Nakajima: “…”
Tom let out a “Meow” in coordination, sounding as innocent as could be.
Yamato Nakajima rubbed his temples and finally waved a hand.
“Go back to your seat for now.
I will report this to the higher-ups.”
Linbei nodded and walked into the classroom with Tom.
He didn’t notice that as he passed by Itachi, the genius boy looked up and spared him a glance.
There was no hostility in that look, nor was there curiosity.
There was only a quiet scrutiny.
Like a chess player discovering an unexpected variable on the board.
Six-year-old Itachi had already begun to think.