The exam hall buzzed with tension, full of restless murmurs and uneasy glances. The tension snapped when one candidate suddenly pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
"I… I don't understand!" he said anxiously. His team, like several others, had chosen to skip the ninth question in favor of safety. Yet now, according to Nara Shikaku, their entire squad had been eliminated.
"We don't understand either!" another voice joined in from the back. More and more candidates—those who had either skipped the last question or failed to reach the passing score—stood, demanding an explanation.
Shikaku raised his hand, palm open, commanding silence. The formerly intimidating, almost merciless aura he carried during the test had softened, but his voice was still sharp enough to cut the noise.
"Don't understand?" he said. "Then I'll explain this one last time."
He began pacing slowly across the front of the room, his words calm but firm.
"From questions one through eight, each correct answer was worth ten points, for a maximum of eighty. The ninth question was worth twenty points. If you answered all nine correctly, your score was one hundred. To pass, you needed more than sixty points in total."
Pausing, his gaze swept across the rows of exhausted, anxious faces.
"The key detail is this: if you chose to skip the ninth question, you failed automatically, no matter what your score was. That was your team's choice."
His words hardened slightly. "The moment you wrote 'no' on your papers, the sub-examiner didn't even bother tallying your scores. He didn't mark the sheets, didn't issue red knowledge cards. That's why, as of now, anyone who avoided the ninth problem has failed this stage."
The room erupted again. Shigure sat silently in his squad's row, his Byakugan activated to discreetly check on his teammates. His pale eyes flicked toward Kusuo Hatake, who was stiff with shock. A glowing green "60" shimmered faintly on Kusuo's palm. Just barely enough to scrape through.
"That idiot," Shigure thought, his pulse spiking. If he'd gotten even one more wrong, our whole team would have been dragged under with him. Relief washed through him. That was way too close.
He shifted his gaze to Hyūga Akane, whose number gleamed a steady and reassuring "90" in bright green. Shigure allowed himself a shallow exhale before turning his focus back to the arguments.
"Why?" one stubborn candidate shouted. "We answered all eight correctly! We skipped the ninth only to stay safe. What's wrong with that?" His voice was sharp, defiant, as though trying to claw back his pride.
Shikaku chuckled humorlessly, his eyebrows lowering.
"Ridiculous. Even Academy students fresh out of the classroom could handle the first eight. What's worth bragging about in solving review questions? And before you get too cocky—let's be honest—almost all of you got the eighth question wrong."
A ripple of shock moved through the students.
"These were basic textbook problems from the Ninja Academy. Yet you treated them like some great achievement. To be blunt, this entire exam disappointed me. Only one among you managed a perfect score." His eyes flicked briefly toward Shigure, almost as if by accident, but the meaning was clear.
A heavy silence rolled across the room as faces went red with embarrassment. All their boasting seemed hollow now in the examiner's shadow.
"But you said we didn't have to answer the ninth!" someone protested again. "If I'd known there was risk involved, I wouldn't have skipped it!"
Shikaku's expression darkened, his voice sharp as a kunai's edge.
"When you're certain of success, you don't dare to fight. What about when you aren't certain? Do you run away? Hide? A shinobi who avoids risk can never stand on the battlefield."
The room went still.
"During the Second Shinobi World War, the Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju-sama, sacrificed himself," Shikaku continued. His tone grew heavy as the weight of history settled in the room. "He dragged Kumogakure's elite—the Kinkaku and Ginkaku brothers—away so his team could escape. Among that team was the Third Hokage. Without Tobirama's sacrifice, our village's history would be very different today."
Shigure felt a shiver pass through him. The story was familiar, but told here, in the silence of an exam hall filled with aspirant shinobi, it struck deeper.
"A real battlefield isn't a place for safety," Shikaku pressed. "It's life or death—not just for you, but for everyone beside you. Even Hokage face that reality. A ninja's greatness doesn't come from clinging to safety."
He straightened, inhaling sharply, then let the words thunder across the room.
"To be a shinobi is to be prepared to fight when every calculation says you should run. It is to stand, even when victory isn't certain."
He swept his hand outward, encompassing them all.
"You were told the higher your score, the better your chances in later trials. Yet many of you ignored this. You chased only the minimum. You came here only to pass an exam… and that's not enough."
His voice softened but carried even more weight.
"The Will of Fire—it's not just a phrase. It's our village's lifeblood. The old generation sets themselves ablaze so that the new may sprout from the ashes, like fresh leaves under the sun. That is why Konoha endures. That is why we survive every storm."
The hall was hushed. Every word pressed into them like the point of a blade.
"Konoha's Genin, Chunin, Jonin, Hokage—we are all dancing leaves, caught in the wind. Without inheriting that will, you are unworthy of becoming Chunin."
Finally, he gestured toward the doors.
"Those who failed… leave. Return only when you understand the meaning of the Will of Fire. Perhaps then, you'll be ready."
One by one, the failed teams gathered their belongings. Some carried themselves with quiet shame, others with frustration or even anger. But all of them left, and the silence that lingered behind them seemed purer, sharper, as though the air itself recognized the difference.
Shigure leaned back, relief warming his chest. His team had survived. Against the odds, they had passed.
"Candidates who passed," Shikaku announced, "remain here. The successful examinees from other rooms will now gather in this hall."
Moments later, familiar figures trickled in—faces Shigure knew from countless days at the Academy. Obito Uchiha, grinning like always. Might Guy, fists practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Others from Konoha, equally familiar, equally proud.
"Well, of course they made it," Shigure thought. "The written portion was practically child's play for anyone serious about being a shinobi."
Shikaku nodded in satisfaction, his gaze moving toward the hall's entrance as the atmosphere shifted yet again.
The doors opened, and silence fell. Every candidate sat up straighter, eyes fixed on the figure stepping inside.
A man with snow-white hair stood framed against the light. His presence was overwhelming. His eyes cut straight through the room's tension.
Kakashi's sharp intake of breath broke the silence. Even he looked shaken. "Uncle…?"
Beside him, Kusuo's eyes widened nearly as much as Kakashi's. "Uncle?!"
For it was none other than the legendary Konoha White Fang, Hatake Sakumo. His reputation was legendary, his presence undeniable.
Shikaku inclined his head respectfully, his normally calm demeanor humbled. "Lord White Fang… now that you're here, we can begin."
Sakumo strode to the stage. His flak jacket bore the Jōnin's mark, but his left shoulder carried something more striking: half an armband reserved only for the Hokage. The hall's air grew electric.
"How many teams remain?" he asked in a low, commanding tone.
"Forty, sir," Shikaku answered quickly. "Sixty percent of candidates failed at the written stage."
Sakumo simply nodded. "As expected."
Stepping forward, his voice shifted, resonant and calm, filling every corner of the room.
"Congratulations on clearing the first gate. I am Hatake Sakumo—Konoha's White Fang. I will serve as your chief examiner for the second stage of this Chunin Selection Exams."
Candidates held their breath, hanging on every syllable. Even his son, Kakashi, stood stiff, offering nothing but attention.
"When we reach the second examination site," Sakumo continued, "the order of entry will be determined by score. The highest-scoring team will be admitted first. When scores tie, lots will be drawn."
He paused, sharp eyes scanning the crowd.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes!" the hall roared back, every ninja's voice filled with a sudden, fierce energy.
A faint smile tugged at Sakumo's lips. He turned gracefully, his cloak whispering against the floor.
"Good. Then come with me."
One hundred and twenty chosen Genin rose as one, following the White Fang. A sense of destiny hung thick in the air.
Shigure stepped in line with his squad, heart pounding, as the weight of what was to come coiled tightly in his chest. The true trial—the one that would decide futures—was about to begin.
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