"Line up," Uchiha Shin said, surveying the group. "I'll assess everyone's recent progress. Kuroha, you go last."
He paused, then added more gently, "Relax. This is your first time throwing. There's no pressure."
From what Shin had seen earlier, Kuroha clearly had no prior experience with shuriken. Otherwise, he wouldn't have spoken so casually about learning the technique at a glance.
The evaluation began.
Each child received five shuriken and stood ten meters from the wooden posts ahead. Accuracy was simple to judge. The closer to the center, the better the throw.
The first child, around five or six, hit the post twice. One landed near the center. Acceptable for a beginner.
Others followed.
Izumi impressed everyone. All five shuriken struck cleanly, several close to the center.
Sasuke, despite his age, managed two near-center hits and three solid impacts. His form was rough, but promising.
Then attention shifted.
"Itachi," someone said quietly.
All eyes turned.
Even Kuroha straightened slightly. He wanted to see just how impressive the clan's so-called prodigy really was.
Itachi stepped forward calmly. At the firing line, his sleeve flicked.
Five shuriken appeared in his hand.
His fingers shifted once. Clean. Efficient.
They separated.
With a single motion of his wrist, all five flew.
Five impacts followed in rapid succession.
Dead center.
A ripple of quiet awe passed through the instructors. Movements like that weren't just precise. They were already refined.
The surrounding children stared openly.
"That's incredible…"
"Nii-san is amazing," Sasuke said, eyes bright. "I'll be like you one day."
Itachi said nothing. He turned and stepped back, already detached from the attention.
"Uchiha Itachi truly lives up to the name," someone muttered.
Then Shin looked down.
"Kuroha. Your turn."
Shin placed five shuriken into the child's hands.
Kuroha weighed them briefly. The steel was cold and heavy. For a normal three-year-old, throwing even one ten meters would be difficult.
But his body wasn't normal.
Constant chakra circulation had already strengthened his muscles and tendons. Combined with his absurd caloric intake, his body adapted faster than it should have.
He stepped into position.
The first shuriken left his hand.
Too fast.
It missed the post entirely and tore past it, embedding deep into a tree more than twenty meters behind.
The instructor retrieving shuriken froze.
A bead of sweat ran down his temple.
The blade had passed less than an inch above his head.
He looked up slowly at the trunk, then back at Kuroha.
That hadn't been a weak throw.
That had been excessive.
"Sorry," Kuroha said with a small, apologetic smile.
The instructor swallowed. Strength like that, at this distance, wasn't something even some chūnin could manage.
"It's just power," Itachi thought, watching calmly. "His control is poor."
Out of the children's shallow perspective, the miss was all that mattered. A few snickers followed.
Kuroha scratched his cheek. "That one doesn't count. My mistake."
This time, he adjusted.
The second throw struck the post squarely, though far from the center.
Third.
The next shuriken flew true.
It embedded itself directly into the middle of the target.
The field went quiet.
Shin's eyes narrowed.
First a miss. Then a hit. Then a bullseye.
That progression wasn't luck.
"That's still not enough," Kuroha muttered.
He shifted his stance.
Two shuriken rested in his palm.
His fingers moved.
Itachi's eyes widened slightly.
That grip.
That separation.
That's my technique.
Kuroha flicked his wrist.
Two blades cut through the air.
They struck the post almost simultaneously.
Thunk. Thunk.
Silence.
For the first time, Itachi's composure cracked.
"That's impossible," he said quietly.
The instructors stared at the target, then at the child.
No one spoke.
Kuroha lowered his hand, unaware of the stir he'd caused.
Inside, his thoughts were simple.
So that's what it looks like when it works.