The Rock and Sand delegations rested a few days after arriving—then the Chūnin Exams began.
Konoha's vast exam hall was packed. Most Leaf genin clustered together, watching the out-of-village shinobi with open wariness. The Rock and Sand teams weren't friendly with each other either; both groups kept to opposite corners and minded their own business.
"Tch. So this is Konoha's level?" a Sand genin snorted after one sweep of the room. "They even sent old men to take the exam."
His teammate burst out laughing. "Hanta, don't look down on them—maybe those 'uncles' are Konoha's secret weapons. Hah!"
"Look at that one—pfft!" another jeered. "Green jumpsuit and that hair? Too funny!"
They'd bottled up their resentment all the way here; now they didn't bother hiding it. The loud mockery drew glares from Leaf genin.
"Why would Lord Hokage let those two join?!" a Konoha genin muttered, red-eared with embarrassment. "Might Duy and Maruboshi Kosuke—eternal genin—and we brought them to get laughed at?"
Konoha's two "legends," the so-called eternal genin, needed no introduction. Might Duy: green jumpsuit, pure taijutsu, knew neither ninjutsu nor genjutsu. And Maruboshi Kosuke: fifty-plus, still a genin.
The proctors walked in.
"Quiet down, brats."
The scar-faced chief examiner swept a cold gaze across the room. "One more peep and you're disqualified."
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
"Good. At least you can follow basic orders," the examiner said, satisfied. "Round One is a written exam. Sixty minutes. No whispering, no cheating. Get caught twice and you're out—and so are your teammates. Understood?"
He didn't wait for a reply. Papers were handed out. Rules were rules; if you got it, you got it.
The exam began.
Chūnin proctors prowled the aisles, sharp-eyed, jotting down numbers on their boards.
"Number 28—out."
"Number 12—out."
"Number 47—out."
"Number 52—out."
Before long, the crowded classroom had thinned by two-thirds. Of nearly eighty candidates, fewer than thirty remained. Konoha still held the largest share. Rock had brought over twenty; only nine were left. Sand's carefully selected genin—almost all passed.
"Tch. Konoha's nothing special," Sand's Umezono Chizu said, arms folded, lips curled.
"Don't be like that," his teammate Daigo said mildly—though the look on his face was anything but kind. "They tried. They're just… weak."
By the end of Round One, even the Rock genin were wearing the same contempt.
Too weak.
"At this rate even Grass could beat them," Daigo drawled, kneading his jaw. It was pure insult.
That name—Grass—made Leaf genin bristle.
"Oooh, scary," Chizu sneered. He glanced toward a nearby proctor. "Hey, you. Are our lives in danger here?"
"No fighting in the exam site," the Leaf chunin said tonelessly. "Relax."
"Great." Chizu theatrically exhaled, then raised his voice. "Daigo, we'd better be careful. If these Konoha genin snap and throw a tantrum, we're outnumbered. We'd be in trouble."
"Right, right—so many of them. We'll be careful," Daigo replied, grinning.
"Enough chit-chat," the scar-faced examiner said at last, stepping forward as tension crested. "First, congratulations. You passed Round One."
"Can we start the next round already?" Chizu cut in, chin high. "There's nothing to congratulate. That was trivial."
"Yeah—pointless," Daigo added. "Should've stayed home."
Rock voices joined in approval. They'd been culled hard, but the ones who remained were confident.
"Excellent. Plenty of energy," the examiner said, amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. "Cherish it while you can, little rookies. Soon enough… you'll regret not getting knocked out in Round One."
There was something in his eyes—was that… pity?
Why pity?
A shiver ran down more than a few spines. A bad hunch took root.
"Quit the theatrics," Chizu snapped, forcing bravado into his voice. "Let's see what tricks Konoha is playing."
—
Forest of Death.
Round Two's rules were so simple it set everyone on edge:
Reach the tower at the deepest point of the forest. Take a scroll inside. Pass.
They crept forward expecting traps. None appeared. Step by cautious step, Chizu and his two teammates reached the central tower unscathed.
"What is Konoha playing at?" Chizu muttered, frowning as they pushed open the door—
—and all three stopped dead.
In the dim light, the stone floor was smeared and spattered. Bodies—no, parts of bodies—lay strewn everywhere. The iron reek of blood rolled out and hit them in the gut.
"Ugh—"
Daigo doubled over and retched.
"What… happened here?" Chizu whispered, skin crawling.
A figure staggered toward them—soaked in red, half his head split open, a ruin of a face twisted with terror. He lifted a mangled hand and croaked, each word scraped raw:
"R… run…"
"Report… to the Hokage… someone's invaded—"
"Every candidate… every proctor… he—"
As the man drew close, Chizu and Daigo's terror spiked into blind panic.
"It's him—!"
"That Uchiha—!"
It was Uchiha Sogetsu—the same man who'd killed Sentaro yesterday—now warning them to flee.
"Qui—"
A flash of cold metal cut across the air behind him.
Crack.
Sogetsu's skull caved under a descending hammer. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, a spray of dark red pattering across the stone.
A towering figure loomed into view—nearly two meters, built like a butcher. A blood-red mask hid his face. A stained apron hung from his broad chest. In one hand he held a pitted iron hammer; in the other, an oversized, serrated cleaver.
"…Your turn."
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