Ibiki let the silence sit on our shoulders for a good, suffocating minute before he smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"You've all done… admirably," he said, voice dry as chalk dust. "But now we move on to the main event. The tenth question."
Pens stopped scratching. A couple of kids choked on air.
I straightened a little in my seat, fingers tight around my pen. The paper in front of me was mostly full—ink lines, seal-doodles tucked into margins, actual answers somewhere in there. Behind me, Naruto's chakra fluttered like a trapped bird over what I suspected was still a mostly blank exam.
Ibiki held up a single sheet of paper.
"The rules for this question," he went on, "are different."
The air shifted. Even the proctors on the walls seemed to lean in.
"First," he said, "you may choose whether or not to take it. Each of you, individually. However…"
He let that hang, because of course he did.
"If any one member of a three-man cell chooses not to take the tenth question," he continued, "the entire team fails and is dismissed."
A ripple went through the room. Chairs creaked. Someone hissed under their breath.
Team-based trap. Classic.
"And second," Ibiki said, eyes sweeping over us, "if you choose to take the tenth question… and fail… you will never be allowed to take the Chunin Exams again. For as long as you live, you will remain at your current rank. Genin, forever."
The whole room went very, very still.
My stomach dropped like a rock.
Genin forever. No promotion. No chance at better mission assignments, more say in tactics, more authority to push back when a client lied. Just… stuck. Running errands and getting thrown at low-level bandits until something eventually killed you.
Harsh villages would eat their "failed" kids alive for that.
"Those are your options," Ibiki said calmly. "You have thirty minutes before the question is given. During that time, you may raise your hand if you wish to withdraw. Your team will be escorted out and you will be free to try again another year."
He tapped the blank sheet of paper with one gloved finger.
"Or," he added, "you can stay, take the risk, and see if you have what it takes to become Chunin now."
A buzz of whispered panic rose immediately.
I didn't need my chakra sense to see it, but it didn't shut up either.
On my left, a pair of Grass genin were shaking, their chakra flickering in and out of control like bad fluorescent lights. One of them had scars around his wrists that were older than I was. The idea of "no promotion ever" hit him like a punch; I felt the way his resolve cracked.
Two rows over, Hinata hunched in on herself, fingers curled tight around her pen. Her chakra trembled, not just with fear for herself but for Naruto. She glanced his way, then ducked her head when he stared stubbornly at his paper.
Other tables: a Rain team arguing in hoarse whispers; a Sound team unnervingly calm; Sand genin radiating that sandstorm chill like this was just another day in the desert.
The proctors did nothing. They watched.
My own heart thudded against my ribs.
Logically, I knew what this was. The written questions were too advanced for most of us; that part had been about information-gathering and cheating under surveillance. This part? Psychological pressure. Command decisions.
Was it smarter to cut your losses and try again later? Or to gamble everything on one throw?
A hand went up near the back.
"I… I withdraw," a boy muttered.
"Team number forty-one, dismissed," Ibiki said without blinking.
Two more hands followed immediately—different tables, different villages. More mutters. Some looked angry. Some looked relieved and empty, like they'd already decided they'd never be good enough anyway.
Chakra flashed and guttered in little bursts as teams argued under their breath.
"This is stupid."
"Don't you dare risk my career on—"
"We can't fail now—"
I closed my eyes for half a second, not to shut it out but to sort it.
Fear. Regret. Shame. A few sharp, stubborn cores that refused to move no matter how ugly the options got.
Behind me, Naruto's chakra jittered like a live wire.
Not the sharp stab of "I'm going to fail this question." That was almost an afterthought—he already knew his paper was a train wreck. No, what vibrated through the air was the raw, nauseating terror of losing the path ahead entirely.
No Chunin meant no higher rank.
No higher rank meant no Hokage.
He was too loud to miss. If I could feel him from here, Ibiki probably could too, even without my weird sense.
"Teams that withdraw now avoid the risk of permanent failure," Ibiki went on. "There is no shame in recognizing your limits. Being a Chunin means knowing when to retreat."
More hands went up. A whole team from the Hidden Rain. One from Grass. Then another. The proctors moved like vultures, swooping in to collect test papers and escort kids out whose dreams had just been told "later… maybe."
Logical brain: We already proved we can gather information, I thought, fingers dug into my pen hard enough to hurt. We know what this exam is really about. Strategic withdrawal, regroup, try again next year. It's sensible.
My heart threw that plan out the window.
Year after year of staying down at the bottom rank meant more missions like Wave, where kids with no authority were thrown at threats way over their pay grade with no backup. It meant more Haku, more nameless tools bleeding out in places no one would remember.
And Naruto—
I remembered him on the swing, small and furious and absolutely alone. Remembered the raging look in his eyes on that bridge as he screamed at Zabuza about Haku being human, not a tool. That kid did not survive to be told "sit quietly and accept your limits" by a man with scars and a clipboard.
I could tell him to quit. Turn around in my chair, whisper "Naruto, just withdraw, we'll try again next time." He might even listen. He trusted me, stupidly.
But that would be me deciding I knew better than he did what his dream was worth.
Exactly the kind of "for your own good" manipulation I hated.
So I stayed quiet. My hand stayed down.
If he was going to jump off that cliff, it had to be his decision.
Another team withdrew. The room felt thinner every time the door clicked shut. Ibiki stood at the front, unmoved, the weight of his chakra pressing down like a storm front.
"If you lack the courage to face this risk," he said mildly, "leave now. There are always D-rank missions that need doing."
Something in the back of my skull flared—resentment, the urge to throw my pen at him, the bitter knowledge that kids like us would keep getting thrown at D-ranks with A-rank consequences.
The seconds ticked by.
"Last call," Ibiki said. "Anyone else wish to leave? Once we begin, there is no going back."
My pen shook in my fingers.
Behind me, Naruto's chair creaked.
Naruto stared at his test paper like it had personally declared war on him.
The questions all blurred together now. Strategies, infiltration scenarios, coded nonsense. He'd answered—maybe—one. The rest of it was white space and panic sweat.
The words never become Chunin burned in his head like they'd been carved there.
"Genin forever," he muttered under his breath. "No way. No way…"
Everyone around him was talking, whispering, arguing. Chairs scraped as teams left; proctors posted on the walls watched, still as stone.
He heard snatches.
"Just quit—"
"Are you crazy, this is our only—"
"We can try again next year!"
Next year.
He pictured himself sitting in another classroom just like this one a year from now—same orange jacket, same dumb headband, same blank test, while everyone else moved on without him. Sasuke, climbing ahead. Sylvie, painting new seals on new missions. Him, stuck.
His hands clenched.
He hadn't become a ninja to stay at the bottom of the pile and run errands until he died. He hadn't endured the looks, the whispers, the empty apartment, the way everyone treated him like a walking curse, just to give up because some scarred guy said so.
He thought of the bridge in Wave—wind screaming, Haku's body falling, Zabuza dying on his feet with blood on his teeth. He thought of Inari, tiny and shaking, still stepping forward anyway. He thought of the Great Naruto Bridge, named after a loud, stupid kid who wouldn't shut up about changing the world.
His chest hurt. His throat burned.
If I back down here, he thought, what right do I have to shout about being Hokage?
Another team got up to quit. A girl started crying. Ibiki's eyes swept the room, bored and sharp at the same time.
Naruto's fingers dug into the desk so hard it creaked.
He was scared. He wasn't stupid enough to pretend he wasn't. The idea of being stuck as a genin forever made his stomach flip. The idea of losing the chance to stand on that mountain—of never being able to keep his promise to himself—hurt worse.
His heart pounded.
If I quit now, he thought, I'll have to live with it. Every time I say 'I'll be Hokage,' I'll know I ran away here.
The thought made him feel sick.
His body moved before he could talk himself out of it.
He slammed his hands down on the desk and shot to his feet.
"I'm not quitting!" he yelled.
Every head in the room jerked toward him. Pens froze. The proctors went tense. Sylvie flinched in her seat, but didn't turn around.
Naruto swallowed and kept going, because if he stopped now his knees might give out.
"I don't care what your stupid question is!" he shouted, pointing straight at Ibiki. "I'm not gonna back down just 'cause you're trying to scare us!"
A few nervous laughs, a hissed "shut up, idiot"—he ignored them.
"Even if I stay a genin forever, I'll still find a way to become Hokage!" he went on, voice cracking but loud. "I don't care how many times I fail! I'll keep going and going and going until you all have to notice me! That's my ninja way, dattebayo!"
The words tumbled out raw and messy, nothing like the speeches grown-ups gave.
They still landed.
Ibiki's dark eyes fixed on him. The proctor's chakra felt like a wall—steady, immovable, weirdly… interested. He didn't interrupt. He didn't tell Naruto to sit down. He just watched.
Naruto's whole body trembled. He could feel sweat running down his back, feel his classmates' stares prickling against his skin.
But he'd said it. Out loud. In front of everyone.
He wasn't taking it back.
"I'm not afraid of your dumb question!" he finished, breathing hard. "So just give it already!"
Silence crashed over the room like a wave.
The second Naruto stood up, the emotional temperature in the room changed.
Fear didn't vanish. It didn't magically evaporate under the power of one idiot's declaration. But it… shifted.
Resolve flared up in pockets, bright and stubborn.
The Hidden Leaf kids first—Hinata's chakra trembling but brightening, Shikamaru's lazy river current speeding up, Kiba's energy igniting like someone had poured oil on a fire. Across the room, I could feel other sparks catch: a Sand genin who hated backing down, a Rain team determined not to be shown up, a Sound trio whose aura of smug didn't so much brighten as coil tighter in interest.
Naruto himself felt like sunlight forced through a jagged hole—blinding and a little painful, but undeniably real.
He didn't look at me once. He didn't look at Sasuke. He stared straight ahead like the only thing in the world worth seeing was the man behind the desk trying to crush his dream with words.
"That's my ninja way," he finished, voice rough.
My throat felt tight.
"This," I thought, not sure if I was amused or terrified, "is what he's for."
Not just punching things until they stopped being a problem. Not just stupid bravery. He walked right up to the edge of his own worst fear, yelled at it, and somehow dragged other people's courage back from the drop with him.
Ibiki studied him, expression unreadable.
A bead of sweat crawled down my spine.
Then, finally, the proctor smiled.
It was small. Crooked. Dangerous. And, for the first time all exam, not completely awful.
"Well," he said. "Looks like we've still got some interesting candidates after all."
He let his gaze sweep the room.
"No one else is withdrawing?" he asked. "Last chance."
Silence.
Nobody moved.
A few people were shaking. Some stared down at their desks like the wood had turned fascinating. But no one raised their hand.
"All right," Ibiki said. "Decision made."
He set his clipboard aside.
"In that case," he continued, "I suppose there's no need for the tenth question after all."
Half the room made a noise at once.
"What?!"
"You've got to be kidding—"
"Then what were we—"
My jaw actually dropped.
"Allow me to explain," Ibiki said, hands clasped behind his back. "This test was never about whether you could answer these questions. Most of you can't." He said it like a compliment. "It was about whether you could gather information without being caught… and whether you had the resolve to face harsh conditions without abandoning your mission."
He nodded toward the proctors on the walls.
"Those who were caught cheating too obviously failed," he said. "Those who quit under pressure also failed. But those who stayed—who found ways to get the answers, or chose to trust their comrades' abilities, and refused to give up despite the risk…"
He spread his hands.
"Pass."
The word echoed.
For a heartbeat, no one reacted. Then relief hit in a wave so strong my head spun.
Chairs scraped. Someone laughed hysterically. A boy from Cloud actually punched the air. Hinata slumped forward, head thunking softly onto her desk, chakra flaring with shaky joy. Shikamaru muttered something about "what a drag" but his energy loosened at the edges.
Behind me, Naruto collapsed back into his seat like someone had cut his strings.
"I… passed?" he croaked.
"You passed," I said weakly, letting my forehead drop to the desk. My glasses slid askew. "Mostly by screaming at a war criminal. But yes."
He laughed, a little too high-pitched, then kept laughing until it turned into wheezing.
Ibiki's gaze flicked to him, the corner of his mouth twitching again.
"That outburst of yours," he said, "helped some of your comrades decide. That kind of determination, in the face of permanent consequences… is exactly the kind of thing a Chunin needs."
Naruto blinked like he couldn't quite process being complimented by a man whose scalp looked like a topographical map of bad decisions.
"Uh," he said. "Thanks?"
"Don't get used to it," I muttered.
Ibiki's voice rose over the babble.
"Congratulations to all of you," he said. "You have passed the first exam of the Chunin Selection Trials."
Cheers this time. Real ones. Tired but real.
My shoulders finally unclenched. My hand ached from gripping the pen; my fingers were cramped around half-finished seals in the margins. I flexed them slowly and felt the tremor in my chakra settle.
Across the room, Sasuke sat back with that cool, faintly irritated look of his, like he'd known all along and was just annoyed it had taken everyone else so long to catch up. His chakra told a different story—tension easing, a sharp little spike of satisfaction when Naruto had stood up that he'd probably never admit to.
I drew a tiny spiral on the corner of my exam paper, more habit than jutsu.
"In our first big test," I thought, "I played it safe, cheated politely, and analyzed the system. Naruto yelled at it until it told us what it was really measuring."
We needed both of those things. I hated that, but I also didn't.
Ibiki opened his mouth to continue—probably to lay out what horror show came next.
He didn't get the chance.
The windows exploded.
Glass rained inward as something fast and purple and insane screamed through the opening, trailing a banner.
Several people yelped. I flinched so hard my seat skidded. Naruto was halfway into a defensive crouch before he realized the "attack" was actually a person.
Kunoichi, technically. Maybe. Allegedly.
She landed on the proctor's desk in a low crouch, trench coat flaring, short skirt and fishnet catching the light. A long tongue of a dango stick jutted from her mouth, which was curled into a grin that was at least sixty percent murder and forty percent fun.
"Yo!" she yelled. "Hope you maggots enjoyed the warm-up!"
Naruto's eyes lit up like he'd just discovered a new type of chaos.
The newcomer yanked the pinned banner so it rolled down behind her, smacking Ibiki in the head. He didn't even flinch, which said alarming things about his life.
Big, sloppy brushstrokes spelled out: SECOND EXAM – FOREST OF DEATH.
"I'm Mitarashi Anko," she announced, hands on her hips, grin widening. "Your next proctor. Try not to die, yeah?"
A low, uneasy murmur rolled through the room.
Her chakra hit me a second later—sharp and wild, coiled around something ugly and old. It tasted like knives and snakebite and sugar on the air before a storm.
My heart did a very stupid, very specific little flip.
"That woman," I thought, pushing my glasses back up with ink-stained fingers, "is either my future mentor… or the reason I'll need one."
Possibly both.
Around me, genin swallowed hard, stared at the banner, thought about the words "Forest of Death" and then very obviously tried not to think about them.
Naruto leaned forward, practically vibrating.
"Forest of Death?" he whispered, delighted.
I put my head back down on the desk.
"I was wrong," I muttered. "The tenth question everyone should be asking is: why did I sign up for this."
No one had an answer.
But as Anko grinned like a wolf who'd just been handed a flock of particularly crunchy sheep, and Naruto's chakra flared eager and bright beside me, I felt something else under the nerves.
Anticipation. Fear and hope, tangled together.
Phase three of this ridiculous, lethal exam was starting.
And I was still here. With ink on my hands, a headache behind my eyes, and two idiots beside me I'd decided were worth betting my future on.
Honestly? That felt like the right kind of wrong.