The air grew still when Rei finally looked up from her clipboard.
"Alright," she said, her tone measured and clear; the kind of voice that carried without needing to raise volume. "You've seen the setup. The rules are simple; I want you to extend your chakra as far as you can, gently and evenly. Don't focus on strength; focus on clarity."
A few heads nodded nervously. One student whispered to another, earning a quick shh from Rei's sharp glance.
The first student, a boy with brown hair and a nervous smile, stepped into the circle. His chakra flared abruptly; there was a faint hum — brrrmm — as two of the metallic orbs began to glow weakly. Rei's pen moved across the clipboard.
"Too much force," she said evenly. "You're treating it like ninjutsu, not perception. Ease into it; don't shove."
"Yes, sensei," the boy muttered, cheeks flushed, retreating back into the line.
The next student managed four, then five. A ripple of excitement ran through the class when a tall girl with the Aburame crest on her collar reached six before her field faltered. The faint blue of the metal shimmered beautifully under the sun, each pulse syncing with her breath. Rei gave her a rare approving nod.
"Well done. Smooth control. Keep refining your pacing."
As each student took their turn, the rhythm of the test settled into a quiet, steady tempo; footsteps crunching against sand, the low hummm of reacting orbs, Rei's calm notes scribbling onto the clipboard, the whisper of relieved exhalations when results were decent.
Satoru watched carefully, gaze flicking between the students and the chakra metal's responses.
'Most of them are pushing from the chest,' he observed silently. 'Forcing the chakra outward like a burst. But Rei said 'extend,' not 'project.' The difference is subtle but important.' He could feel his fingers twitch slightly at his side; he wanted to test his own theory already, but he waited patiently, absorbing every clue.
"Next," Rei's voice called, clear against the murmuring breeze. "Satoru."
The murmurs quieted.
Satoru blinked once, then stepped forward, each footfall measured and light. He could feel eyes on him; not hostile exactly, but curious.
He was the "orphan with a Sharingan," the boy who had caught the instructors' attention more than once.
He stopped at the centre of the field. The metallic orbs gleamed around him like watchful eyes.
'Alright. Let's do this.'
He pressed his hands together, inhaled deeply, and began to mould his chakra. The familiar warmth coiled within his chest; it felt natural, smooth, alive. But as he tried to let it seep outward, to expand instead of emit, it resisted; sluggish and uneven, as though his chakra didn't yet understand what he wanted from it.
He furrowed his brow slightly, trying to focus past the discomfort. The faint hum of the first orb reached his ears — vrrrnnn — followed by a weaker second and a flickering third.
Then, silence.
The remaining orbs stayed dull and unresponsive.
Satoru exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.
Rei watched quietly, her face impassive as she wrote down the number three on her clipboard. The faintest flicker of disappointment crossed her expression; not a sneer, not disdain; simply the mild frown of someone who had expected more.
"Three," she said calmly. "Thank you, Satoru. Step back."
He gave a short nod, masking the frustration that clawed at him.
'Three. Just three. That's barely above average… and she noticed.'
He could feel Rei's eyes on him for a brief moment before she turned to the next student. There was something unreadable in her gaze; a hint of calculation, perhaps even regret.
Rei watched the boy retreat to the line, his expression controlled but tight. There was pride in his posture; a quiet, stubborn kind of pride, and that caught her attention as much as his result.
'Only three… I'd hoped he'd inherited the Yamanaka sensitivity to chakra flow. His chakra feels balanced, deliberate — but his perception is tethered, restrained. He's thinking too much. And yet…'
Her pen paused mid-note.
'He carries both Uchiha and Yamanaka lineage; a rare mixture of focus and empathy. Theoretically, that could make him an exceptional sensor, once he learns to listen instead of force.'
She sighed softly, more to herself than anyone else, and straightened the clipboard. Outwardly, she betrayed nothing; her composure remained absolute.
"Next," she called.
From the line, a soft tsk escaped one of the students.
Yamanaka Airi stepped forward.
Satoru hadn't noticed her much before; pale hair neatly tied back, sharp green eyes that held a trace of quiet confidence. She didn't move like the others; there was precision in every step, a rhythm to her breathing.
Rei's expression softened slightly when she saw her. "Yamanaka Airi. When you're ready."
"Yes, sensei."
Airi closed her eyes, and her hands came together; not tightly, but gently, fingertips resting just barely against one another. The change in the air was immediate. Her chakra flowed outward in smooth, concentric ripples; subtle, seamless, graceful. The metallic orbs began to vibrate one after another — vrrm… vrrrmm… vrrrrmmm — until six of them sang in soft harmony.
The hum carried through the field, resonant and controlled; not overpowering, but balanced, as though she had simply asked the air to listen rather than command it.
The other students murmured, impressed.
"Six." Rei's voice carried a note of satisfaction. "Excellent control, Airi. Your awareness extends smoothly; very good work."
Airi opened her eyes, calm and unflustered. She inclined her head politely. "Thank you, sensei."
As she walked back toward the line, her gaze flicked briefly toward Satoru; not long, just a sidelong glance. Then, with a faint exhale that might have been a snicker, she passed him without a word.
Satoru blinked. 'What was that?'
It wasn't open mockery; more like mild amusement, the kind that said 'I expected more from you.'
Something cold and unfamiliar stirred in his chest; irritation, yes, but mixed with curiosity.
'So she's from the main Yamanaka line… must've been training in sensory work since she could walk. Makes sense that she's ahead.' He exhaled through his nose. 'Still, that look… I'll remember it.'
The rest of the test moved quickly. A few more students scored four or five; one reached six as well, though his field wavered by the end. Rei's pen tapped rhythmically — tok, tok, tok — as she filled the final line of notes.
When the last student finished, she stepped forward, tucking the clipboard under her arm. The metallic orbs continued to glint faintly in the sunlight, still humming softly with residual chakra.
"That concludes today's assessment," she said, her voice carrying that same even authority. "From tomorrow, we'll begin structured sensory drills. Remember, range can be trained, but awareness must be cultivated. Most of you have raw reach; few of you have clarity. Focus on feeling rather than forcing."
The students bowed, murmuring polite acknowledgments before breaking into smaller groups, excitement already bubbling again. Some compared numbers; others boasted or sulked in equal measure.
Satoru lingered.
He stood near the edge of the field, watching as the chakra orbs dimmed one by one. The hum faded until only silence remained. The setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, painting everything in amber and rust tones.
He flexed his fingers absently, feeling the faint warmth of lingering chakra in his palms.
'Only three. Not great. He stared at the orbs a moment longer, lips tightening into a thin line. But I'll fix that. If I can't rely on clan gifts, I'll just have to surpass them my own way.'
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