The Academy's training ground at dawn was empty except for Shingen, who'd arrived thirty minutes before the scheduled class time. He stood in the center of the dirt yard, eyes closed, feeling the morning air against his skin, cataloguing every sensation.
Combat Precognition wasn't passive—it required active engagement, constant observation, building a database of movements and patterns. So Shingen had spent the last three days doing exactly that: watching people move, analyzing their gaits, their weight distribution, the micro-expressions that preceded action.
His mother thought he'd developed a staring problem. His father suggested he might need glasses.
Neither understood he was learning to read human movement like a language.
"You're here early."
Shingen's eyes snapped open. Uchiha Sasuke stood at the training ground entrance, hands in his pockets, that perpetual look of disdain fixed on his face. He wore the standard Academy uniform but somehow made it look like designer clothing—probably the unconscious arrogance of someone who'd never questioned their place in the world.
"Could say the same about you, Sasuke-kun," Shingen replied, deploying Smile Configuration Three—polite with an undercurrent of mockery. "Couldn't sleep? Or just that eager to prove you're better than everyone else?"
Sasuke's eyes narrowed. "I don't need to *prove* anything. My clan has produced some of the strongest shinobi in village history. The Uchiha name speaks for itself."
"Ah yes, the Uchiha." Shingen tilted his head, that manic energy bleeding into his posture. "The clan so legendary that you need to constantly remind everyone about it. Funny how the truly strong never need to announce their strength—it just *is*. But I guess when you're coasting on your ancestors' accomplishments, you need the verbal reinforcement."
The temperature dropped. Sasuke's chakra spiked—not much, the kid was only six and hadn't awakened his Sharingan yet, but enough that Shingen's Enhanced Perception caught it like a flare.
*There*, his new Combat Precognition whispered. *Left foot shifting forward. Weight transferring to the balls of his feet. Right hand twitching toward weapon pouch. He's going to attack.*
"You talk too much," Sasuke said, and moved.
Fast—faster than Tokuma had been, faster than any Academy student should be. The Uchiha clan didn't just coast on reputation; they trained their children brutally from birth. Sasuke's fist drove toward Shingen's face with precision that spoke of hundreds of hours of practice.
But Shingen *saw* it coming. Not the punch itself—that was too fast for his five-year-old eyes to fully track—but the *intent*. The way Sasuke's shoulder dipped a fraction of a second before the strike. The minute shift in his center of gravity. The chakra flow pattern that preceded physical movement.
Shingen swayed left, and the punch whistled past his ear by inches.
Sasuke's eyes widened—surprise, quickly masked—and he followed with a low kick aimed at Shingen's legs.
*Right leg extending. Hip rotation. Sweeping motion. He's trying to take my foundation.*
Shingen jumped, barely clearing the kick, and threw a handful of dirt into Sasuke's face while he was off-balance.
The Uchiha ducked—expected that, clan training would've drilled in defense against dirty tactics—but it bought Shingen the half-second he needed to create distance.
"See, this is what I mean," Shingen said cheerfully, backing away with his hands spread in mock innocence. "You've got all that natural talent, all that clan training, and you still fell for the oldest trick in the book. Maybe—"
Sasuke blurred forward again, and this time he was *angry*. Anger made people sloppy, made their movements less controlled, more predictable.
Combat Precognition sang in Shingen's mind: *Three-strike combination. High, low, middle. He's going for overwhelming speed rather than precision.*
Shingen ducked the first punch, blocked the second with his forearm (pain shot through his arm—Sasuke hit *hard*), and twisted away from the third. Then, as Sasuke's momentum carried him forward, Shingen stuck out his leg.
Sasuke tripped, stumbled, and caught himself before face-planting, but the damage to his dignity was catastrophic.
"You know what your problem is, Sasuke-kun?" Shingen said, still grinning that insufferable grin despite his throbbing arm. "You fight like someone who's never lost. That makes you predictable. You assume superiority, you commit fully, and you don't plan for someone being smarter than you are strong."
Sasuke straightened, his face flushed, chakra crackling around him in visible wisps. "You—"
"Morning, boys!"
Iruka-sensei's voice cut through the tension like a blade. The chunin instructor stood at the entrance, arms crossed, expression caught between exasperation and concern. "Care to explain why you're sparring without supervision?"
"Just getting some extra practice in, sensei," Shingen said immediately, bowing with perfect contrition. "I know I'm behind everyone else in taijutsu, so I asked Sasuke-kun if he'd help me train. He was kind enough to agree."
Sasuke's head snapped toward Shingen, murder in his eyes. But what could he say? That he'd attacked a five-year-old who'd insulted his clan? That would look worse.
"That so, Sasuke?" Iruka asked, voice neutral.
Sasuke's jaw clenched. "…Yes, sensei."
"Well, that's very generous of you. But next time, wait for an instructor to supervise. Understood?"
"Yes, sensei," they chorused.
As Iruka moved to set up training equipment, Sasuke leaned close and whispered: "You're going to regret this."
"Probably," Shingen agreed cheerfully. "But it'll be fun watching you try to make that happen."
-----
By the time the rest of Class A arrived, Shingen had established himself as either the bravest or stupidest kid in their year—opinions were split.
Kiba thought it was hilarious. "Dude, you just made an Uchiha look like an idiot. I didn't know that was physically possible!"
Sakura looked worried. "Shingen-kun, you shouldn't antagonize clan members. They have… influence."
Shino said nothing, but his insects buzzed with what might have been approval or curiosity—hard to tell with Aburame.
And Shikamaru, previously asleep at his desk, cracked one eye open and studied Shingen with sudden interest.
*There*, Shingen thought with satisfaction. *Now the smart one is paying attention.*
The morning lesson covered chakra theory—the relationship between spiritual and physical energy, how the two combined to create chakra, the importance of balance. Shingen already knew this from five years of practice, so he spent the time watching his classmates.
Sasuke sat ramrod straight, taking meticulous notes, occasionally shooting Shingen glares that promised future retribution. His handwriting was precise, controlled—everything about him screamed discipline and high standards.
*Pride and perfectionism*, Shingen catalogued. *He's been praised his entire life. Any failure hits harder because he's not used to it. Exploitable.*
Sakura sat beside him, also taking notes but constantly glancing at Sasuke. Her chakra control was actually quite good—she'd performed the leaf exercise perfectly on the first try during yesterday's practical. Intelligence without confidence was a dangerous combination; she'd either develop into something formidable or collapse under pressure.
*She needs a mentor figure*, Shingen noted. *Someone who believes in her before she believes in herself. Could be useful if positioned correctly.*
Kiba was fidgeting, clearly bored, scratching Akamaru behind the ears. The Inuzuka learning style favored practical application over theory—no surprise there. Loyal, straightforward, probably easy to befriend.
*Low cunning, high loyalty. Good for a meat shield if cultivated correctly.*
Shino appeared to be listening intently, though his high collar and sunglasses made it hard to tell. The Aburame were always enigmas—their insects gave them capabilities that were difficult to counter, and their training emphasized logic over emotion.
*Potential threat. Too smart to manipulate easily. File under 'avoid antagonizing unless necessary.'*
And Shikamaru… Shikamaru was watching Shingen with the same analytical focus Shingen was applying to everyone else.
Their eyes met.
Shikamaru's gaze said: *I see you. I know what you're doing.*
Shingen's smile said: *Good. Let's see if you can keep up.*
Shikamaru closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Interesting.
-----
**Lunch Period**
The Academy cafeteria was a study in social dynamics. Clan kids clustered together—Hyuuga with Hyuuga, Inuzuka with Inuzuka, though some mixing occurred between allied clans. Civilian kids formed their own groups, generally more fluid and less structured.
And then there were the outliers.
Shingen bought his lunch—rice, grilled fish, miso soup—and surveyed the landscape. He could sit with the civilian kids, establish himself as their representative. He could try to infiltrate a clan table, though that would be presumptuous. Or—
"Oi, Shingen!" Kiba waved from a table where he sat with Shino and Choji. "Over here!"
A table with the Ino-Shika-Cho formation's next generation, plus an Inuzuka. Not quite clan hierarchy, not quite civilian chaos.
*Perfect middle ground.*
Shingen joined them, setting his tray down between Kiba and Shino. "Thanks for the save. Was worried I'd have to sit with the try-hards or the quitters."
"The what now?" Kiba asked around a mouthful of beef.
"Try-hards—clan kids who take themselves too seriously. Quitters—civilian kids who've already decided they can't compete." Shingen picked up his chopsticks. "Present company excluded, obviously."
Choji paused mid-chip. "You talk weird. But I like it. Want some chips?"
"Sure." Shingen accepted the offered bag—establishing small bonds of reciprocity was important. "So, Shino-kun, I've been curious. Your insects—do they have individual personalities, or are they more like a hive mind?"
Shino turned slightly, his collar shifting. "…Why do you ask?"
"Because understanding how they think might explain how you think. The Aburame symbiosis isn't just physical, right? It's psychological. You're never truly alone, which means your decision-making process probably factors in input from thousands of consciousnesses. That's fascinating from a tactical standpoint."
Silence fell over the table. Kiba stopped chewing. Choji's hand froze halfway to his mouth. Even Shino's insects seemed to pause their buzzing.
"What?" Shingen asked innocently. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Shino said slowly. "That's… surprisingly insightful for someone our age."
"I read a lot," Shingen lied. In truth, his previous life's experience analyzing criminal organizations had taught him to identify power structures and information networks. The Aburame insects were just a biological version of the same thing.
"Troublesome," a new voice drawled.
Shikamaru dropped into the seat across from Shingen, his lunch tray landing with a clatter. He fixed Shingen with a look of profound annoyance. "You're going to be one of *those* people, aren't you?"
"What people?"
"The ones who make everything complicated. Who can't just do the assignment and move on. Who have to *think* about everything and drag everyone else into their weird thought spirals." Shikamaru sighed dramatically. "Troublesome."
Shingen's grin widened. "Shikamaru-kun, if you think I'm troublesome now, just wait until we're on missions together. I'm going to make your life *fascinating*."
"I don't want fascinating. I want naps."
"Then you chose the wrong career path. Shinobi work is inherently un-nap-friendly."
"Which is why I'm going to be the laziest shinobi in village history," Shikamaru said, closing his eyes. "Minimal effort, maximum results. Don't make me waste brain cells on you."
But he'd sat at their table. That meant something.
The conversation drifted to Academy gossip—who'd failed which exercise, which instructor was the harshest, speculation about when they'd start learning real jutsu. Shingen contributed just enough to seem engaged without dominating, all while his mind worked on deeper calculations.
Kiba: Future Team Eight with Hinata and Shino. Tracking specialists, search and rescue.
Shino: Same team. Tactical support and reconnaissance.
Choji: Future Team Ten with Shikamaru and Ino. Heavy assault and support.
Shikamaru: Team Ten. Tactical genius, probable future jonin commander.
None of them were Team Seven—the protagonist's team. But they were all valuable in their own right, and more importantly, they were *stable*. Team Seven would attract chaos and danger like a magnet. These teams would handle important but less protagonist-adjacent missions.
Safer. Saner. Smarter.
*But less opportunity for explosive growth*, his instincts whispered. *Less chance to exploit main character plot armor.*
A problem for future Shingen to solve.
He was finishing his fish when a commotion erupted near the cafeteria entrance. Shingen turned to see Uzumaki Naruto being "escorted" out by two older students—probably third-years based on their size—while Naruto protested loudly.
"I didn't do anything! I just wanted to eat lunch!"
"Class B eats in the other section, demon brat. Learn to read."
"But there's plenty of space here—"
One of the older students shoved Naruto, hard enough to send him stumbling. The cafeteria had gone silent, everyone watching, no one intervening.
Shingen felt something cold and calculating slot into place in his mind.
*Opportunity.*
He stood, picking up his tray, and walked toward the entrance. Behind him, Kiba hissed: "Dude, don't—"
Shingen ignored him.
"Excuse me," he said politely to the older students. "Is there a problem?"
The larger of the two—easily four years older, probably eight or nine—looked down at Shingen with the disdain of someone used to intimidating people. "Mind your business, squirt. This doesn't concern you."
"Well, that's where you're wrong." Shingen's smile was all teeth, all manic energy. "See, I'm trying to enjoy my lunch, and you're causing a disturbance. So either you let Naruto-kun eat in peace, or I'm going to have to file a complaint with Iruka-sensei about upperclassmen bullying first-years. Which would be embarrassing for you. Very embarrassing. The kind of embarrassing that gets repeated at dinner tables across the village."
The older student's face reddened. "You threatening me?"
"Threatening? No, no." Shingen's voice dripped with false innocence. "Just explaining the logical consequences of your actions. See, I'm very good at explaining things. Very detailed. Very specific. And I happen to know that Iruka-sensei takes bullying very seriously, especially bullying that might reflect poorly on the Academy's reputation. But hey, your choice."
Naruto stared at Shingen like he'd grown a second head.
The older students exchanged glances. They could push this—start a fight with a five-year-old, which would look pathetic regardless of outcome. Or they could back down, which would also look bad but less spectacularly so.
"Whatever," the larger one muttered. "Not worth the trouble."
They left.
Naruto blinked, then broke into a massive grin—genuine, unguarded, the smile of someone unused to people standing up for him. "That was awesome! Thanks, uh…"
"Yamazaki Shingen." Shingen stuck out his hand. "And you're Uzumaki Naruto, right? Class B?"
"Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess. You're pretty memorable." Shingen gestured toward his table. "Want to sit with us? I promise we don't bite. Well, Kiba might, but he's usually friendly."
"HEY!" came Kiba's indignant shout from across the cafeteria.
Naruto's grin somehow got wider. "Really? You sure?"
"Wouldn't have offered otherwise. Come on."
As they walked back, Shingen's mind was already spinning with implications. Befriending Naruto—the future Hokage, the Nine-Tails jinchuriki, the center of every major conflict for the next fifteen years—was a calculated risk. It would draw attention, possibly unwanted attention. The village elders wouldn't appreciate civilian kids getting close to their "weapon."
But it would also position him perfectly to exploit every piece of protagonist plot armor that came Naruto's way.
High risk, high reward.
His favorite kind of bet.
They reached the table, where Kiba, Shino, Choji, and Shikamaru all stared with varying degrees of disbelief.
"Everyone, this is Naruto," Shingen announced cheerfully. "Naruto, this is everyone. Now we're all friends. Friendship is beautiful. Let's eat."
Shikamaru rubbed his temples. "Troublesome. So, so troublesome."
But he didn't object when Naruto sat down.
And when Shingen caught Sasuke's gaze from across the cafeteria—saw the contempt in those dark eyes at seeing someone associate with the "demon brat"—he just smiled wider.
Because every enemy Shingen made was someone who would underestimate him.
Every friend he cultivated was a piece on the board.
And the game was just beginning.
**[Significant Action Completed: Befriend Future Protagonist]**
**[Reward: 1,000 GP]**
**[Achievement Unlocked: Against the Grain]**
**[Reward: 500 GP]**
**[Total GP: 2,650]**
Shingen's smile didn't change, but internally, he was cackling.
The system approved.
That was all the confirmation he needed that he'd made the right choice.