The graduation exam for the Ninja Academy arrived as scheduled.
The air was thick with tension and anticipation.
Unlike previous years, there were several seasoned jonin standing outside the exam venue.
Some leaned against trees, others stood with arms crossed in the shadows, looking casual, but the scrutinizing gazes they cast made every soon-to-graduate student feel an invisible pressure.
They were here to scout talent early.
During wartime, any promising new recruit was a valuable asset.
The first exam was a written test.
The content covered tactics, codes, geography, and various other subjects, and it was quite challenging.
This posed no difficulty for Roy.
He didn't rush, finishing the questions with an above-average but measured efficiency.
His handwriting was neat, but he deliberately retained some amateurish edges to avoid appearing too mature.
He never slacked on such details.
The first to submit was Kakashi; he answered the paper as if transcribing answers, unnervingly fast.
The second exam was ninjutsu assessment, covering the basic Three Techniques.
Obito Uchiha nearly failed the Clone Technique, his clones flickering unsteadily and drawing laughter from the crowd.
But driven by sheer stubbornness, he barely scraped by at the last moment, drenched in sweat.
Roy's performance, meanwhile, was precisely calibrated to the "excellent" threshold.
"Clone Technique!"
Poof. Three solid, distinct clones appeared on the field—neither more nor less, just meeting the assessment's standard for excellence.
He could certainly produce more, but that would be pointless and only attract unwanted attention.
"Good," the lead chunin examiner nodded. "Your chakra control is very stable."
Roy gave a slight bow and dispelled the clones.
He sensed the jonin on the sidelines pause their gaze on him for a moment before shifting it away without interest.
This reaction was exactly what he wanted: solid, reliable fundamentals, but nothing flashy.
The final event was the sparring match.
This was the crucial part that would determine their results and their future.
A shinobi who could fight was far more favored by jonin than one who could merely test well.
Standing here, Roy faced his final choice before graduation.
Should he continue to hide his abilities, graduate with mediocre results, be assigned to a regular squad, perform the safest D-rank missions, and stay as far from the war as possible?
Or should he reveal a bit of his edge, catch an elite jonin's attention, gain access to more resources, higher-level techniques, and faster growth?
The former was safe but slow, causing him to miss the heart of this world.
The latter was efficient but meant danger would arrive earlier.
His gaze swept over the jonin by the field.
Among them, one man with brilliant blond hair smiled gently, standing in stark contrast to the other shinobi whose auras were cold.
Minato Namikaze.
Roy had his answer in an instant.
He needed a powerful enough protector, and ideally, that protector would be an upright, open person who wouldn't pry into the background of an ordinary student. Minato Namikaze, the future Fourth Hokage, was the best candidate.
Therefore, in this spar, he had to demonstrate something that would spark interest in the Yellow Flash. Not raw strength, not speed, but… intelligence.
"Next match: Roy vs. Tokuma Hyūga."
His opponent was a branch member of the Hyūga Clan—a quiet, taciturn boy with sharp eyes.
"Please guide me," Tokuma Hyūga said, assuming the Gentle Fist stance. The veins around his eyes bulged slightly.
Byakugan.
Roy knew this would be a tough fight.
Under the Byakugan's insight, every subtle movement was laid bare, and even internal chakra flow was clearly visible.
For someone accustomed to hiding and scheming, it was a natural counter.
The match began.
Tokuma Hyūga didn't attack immediately. He circled Roy with a distinctive rhythm, seeking the optimal angle.
Roy remained still.
He decided not to rely on his mental sensory network.
Under the Byakugan, any mental probe might be detected, risking exposure of his greatest secret.
He would rely solely on his eyes and the battle instincts honed through two years of relentless training.
Tokuma moved first.
His figure flickered, closing in instantly.
No flashy moves—just a single, precise palm strike aimed directly at the tenketsu on Roy's left shoulder.
Roy sidestepped to evade while drawing a kunai to block.
Clink.
Tokuma's finger precisely deflected the kunai, a subtle force transmitting through the weapon and numbing Roy's wrist.
Tokuma's other hand had already breached his defense, touching his arm.
A faint but sharp sting—the chakra flow in his left arm momentarily stalled.
Within a single exchange, Roy was at a disadvantage.
What followed was nearly a one-sided affair.
Roy kept retreating, evading, blocking.
Tokuma Hyūga's Gentle Fist was relentless, leaving Roy no chance to counter.
His body was struck repeatedly at non-vital tenketsu, his chakra circulation growing increasingly sluggish.
It looked like he was destined to lose.
By the sidelines, Minato Namikaze watched the match with a contemplative look.
"That kid, Roy, is about to lose," a jonin beside him asserted.
"Not necessarily," Minato shook his head. "Look at his defense."
At his remark, the others noticed that while Roy seemed overwhelmed, his retreats and blocks were eerily precise.
He avoided all the vital points that would end the match instantly, only being hit in places that disrupted chakra flow without hindering movement. He was exchanging minimal cost for data on his opponent's attacks.
In the field, Roy's breathing remained steady.
His mind was working at full speed. Through sustained contact, he had fully mapped out Tokuma's attack rhythm, power habits, and the subtle micro-expressions before his strikes.
That was enough.
When he was forced into a corner again, Roy's foot seemed to stumble—a misstep that looked like a failure to dodge.
It was an opening.
A gleam flashed in Tokuma Hyūga's eyes. He wouldn't let this decisive opportunity pass.
He immediately stepped forward, unleashing a decisive Eight Trigrams Air Palm aimed at Roy's chest.
Just before his palm made contact, Roy's stumbling body twisted half an inch in an unnatural manner.
At the same time, the tip of his foot precisely kicked up a small stone from the ground.
Tokuma's focus was entirely on the vital point of Roy's chest; he never noticed the tiny pebble.
The stone struck his supporting ankle squarely.
A minuscule impact—but it destabilized his center of gravity for a split second during his high-speed advance.
In a contest between experts, victory or defeat was determined in that instant.
That momentary imbalance was fatal.
Roy used no ninjutsu.
He simply seized the opening he had crafted, leaning forward. Before Tokuma could react, his kunai was silently pressed against his throat.
Silence fell over the entire venue.
Tokuma Hyūga remained frozen in his attacking stance, his Byakugan wide with disbelief.
"Winner: Roy," the lead examiner's voice broke the stillness.
Roy withdrew his kunai, stepped back, and immediately began panting heavily, sweat beading on his forehead—a flawless portrayal of an exhausted victor.
He looked toward the jonin seating area.
His gaze met Minato Namikaze's for a brief moment.
In the other man's eyes, he saw undisguised approval and keen interest.
That impression should be enough.
Step one: mission accomplished.
---