The hall still buzzed with the aftershock of Chiyo's announcement. Voices rose and fell in a chaotic symphony; anxiety from the minor villages, confusion from the smaller teams, excitement from the battle-hungry, and low, muttered complaints from those who had bet everything on a known quantity.
Satoru watched the Suna genin in their clusters; they were calmer, their postures relaxed, their expressions almost bored.
They knew, he realised. They have known for weeks. Perhaps longer. The home advantage is not just the terrain; it is information.
While Chiyo continued speaking in the background, a quieter conversation was unfolding in an elevated corner of the hall. The Konoha jōnin had gathered there. Sayuri stood with her arms crossed, beside her, Uchiha Rina leaned against a pillar. Sarutobi Taeko stood apart, his arms folded, his face unreadable. And beside him, a figure Satoru would have recognised if he had been close enough; Yamanaka Daichi, tall and broad-shouldered, his blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail, his eyes the same pale blue as every Yamanaka.
He had the calm, analytical demeanour of someone who studied people constantly, not with hostility, but with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing specimens.
Rina broke the silence first. "Which teams do you think will win?" Her voice was light, almost casual, but there was an edge beneath it.
Sayuri did not look away from the crowd below. "Konoha teams specifically, or generally?"
"Generally." Rina's lips curved. "All participating teams. Overall winner."
Taeko responded before anyone else could. "I do not know the full capabilities of every participating genin. I cannot confidently predict an overall winner." He paused, his dark eyes flicking toward the floor where Team Two stood in formation.
"However, I fully expect my team to perform exceptionally well. Beyond that, I make no predictions."
Rina's smirk widened. "You should be more confident, Taeko. I could see one of my own genin winning the entire Exams."
Daichi raised a brow, his voice dry. "Are you actually serious, Rina, or are you just provoking us?" The teasing tone was unmistakable; he had known her long enough to recognise the difference between genuine confidence and competitive bluster.
Before Rina could answer, Sayuri spoke. "We spent time training these genins. If we do not believe our students can win, then what was the point of all our effort?"
Taeko's gaze shifted to Sayuri. "Do you genuinely expect Team Five to win the entire thing?"
Sayuri did not answer immediately. The silence stretched; long enough for Rina to raise an eyebrow, long enough for Daichi to uncross his arms.
Rina pushed. "How about a bet? A friendly wager. Whose team performs best. Nothing serious; just pride."
Sayuri sighed; a long, slow exhale that carried the weight of years. "You are exhausting, Rina."
But she did not refuse.
Chiyo's voice cut through the murmurs, drawing the hall back to attention. "The detailed explanations for each phase will be given immediately before the phase begins. The proctor for the first phase will now present the rules. Listen carefully. There will be no repetitions."
A figure stepped out from the shadows behind her. He was a Suna tokubetsu jōnin; his skin was weathered to the texture of old leather, and a long scar ran from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, pulling his lip into a permanent half-snarl. His flak jacket was faded, his equipment worn, and his eyes were the colour of dried blood. He carried himself with the practical brutality of someone who had survived the desert by being harder than the sand.
"I am Soga," he said. His voice was flat, emotionless. "I will supervise the first phase. You will listen. You will not interrupt. You will not ask questions until I am finished."
The hall fell silent.
Soga gestured, and a massive map unfolded behind him; a topographical rendering of the desert surrounding Sunagakure, marked with shifting dunes, rocky outcroppings, and a single red X approximately fifty kilometres from the village.
"Teams of three will be transported by Suna escort units to randomly assigned starting positions throughout the Demon Desert. The Demon Desert is a restricted zone; it contains no civilian settlements, no water sources above ground, and no easy escape routes. Your objective is to reach the checkpoint marked on your maps within seventy-two hours."
He paused, letting the weight of the distance sink in. "You will retain your original scroll. You will also acquire at least one scroll from another team. Each scroll contains coded intelligence snippets; fragments of a false narrative about a bandit incursion. Combined, they create a complete report. You do not need to understand the intelligence; you only need to collect the scrolls."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Soga ignored it.
"Additionally, Suna proctors disguised as desert bandits will actively hunt you throughout the phase. They are jōnin-level operatives. They will not kill you, but they will eliminate you from the Exams if they capture you or if they destroy your scroll. You may engage them. You may evade them. You may not kill them. Killing a proctor results in immediate disqualification and permanent ban from future Exams."
The hall erupted.
Minor village genin looked panicked; their hands trembled, their voices rose in protest. Konoha genin went visibly tense; shoulders squared, jaws tightened, eyes narrowed. Some Suna genin grinned; the home advantage, the familiar terrain, the knowledge that they had trained in conditions that would break outsiders. A few battle-hungry genin, their eyes gleaming, reacted with excitement rather than fear.
Ren's face had gone pale. His hand drifted to his kunai pouch, his fingers tracing the familiar shape of the handle.
Seventy-two hours, he thought. Fifty kilometres. Hostile environment. No water. And jōnin-level operatives hunting us.
He had trained for combat, had prepared for enemy shinobi, and had steeled himself for the possibility of injury or death. But the scale of the first phase; the sheer, brutal wilderness of it; was beyond anything he had imagined.
Mariko's mind was already racing through tactics. Water conservation. Navigation. Scroll acquisition. Engagement protocols.
She began calculating supply weights, travel speeds, rest cycles. The Demon Desert would kill the unprepared long before the proctors did. They would need to move at night, rest during the peak heat, and ration every drop of water.
Satoru stared at the map, his Sharingan flickering to life, cataloging the terrain features, the elevation changes, the potential ambush points. His mind was not on the distance or the heat or the proctors. It was on the structure of the test itself.
This is not the Forest of Death, he thought. There are no walls, no fixed routes, no safety nets. This is a survival exercise designed to simulate wartime reconnaissance behind enemy lines. The scrolls are intelligence. The bandit proctors are enemy patrols. The desert is the battlefield.
He had expected something familiar; a variation on the canon's second test, a forest or a wasteland with fixed boundaries and predictable threats. But this was different. This was harsher. This was designed to break genin who relied on brute force or luck.
Soga rolled up the map. "Maps and scrolls will be distributed at the departure point. You will be transported within the hour. Prepare yourselves." He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
The hall erupted again; louder this time, more chaotic. Genin shouted questions that went unanswered, argued with each other about strategy, and scrambled to regroup with their teams.
Satoru tuned out the noise, his gaze fixed on the space where the map had hung.
Damn, he thought. We are going directly into a survival game. No preliminaries. No warm-up. Just the desert, the scrolls, and the hunters.
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