Haruki couldn't sleep the night before the exam.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his green scarf folded neatly on the nightstand, his practice sandals lined up like soldiers beside his futon. The room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight casting pale shadows over the paper window.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would finally take the first step toward becoming a real shinobi.
He whispered the Academy's motto to himself, the one Duy had made him memorize weeks ago.
"To endure, to learn, to protect. These are the tenets of the ninja."
He clutched his blanket, heart hammering in his chest. For as long as he could remember, the idea of being a shinobi had been a dream. But now, it was no longer just a dream.
It was a possibility.
Mika adjusted his scarf in the morning, smoothing it gently while Haruki stood still, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Eat first," she said, handing him a rice ball.
"Not hungry," he replied, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"You'll need strength," Kenji said, crouching beside him. "Trust me, you'll feel it halfway through."
Haruki took the rice ball reluctantly and wolfed it down, not even tasting it. His mind was already at the Academy gates.
Mika knelt beside him and took his hand.
"No matter what happens," she said quietly, "we are proud of you."
Kenji nodded. "You already walked further than we ever imagined."
Haruki blinked up at them. "I haven't even started yet."
"You have," Mika whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. "You started the day you believed in yourself."
The Academy courtyard was full of noise, children huddled with parents, some bouncing on their toes, others hiding behind their legs. Shinobi instructors stood along the perimeter, clipboards in hand. The air buzzed with excitement and nerves.
Haruki stepped forward, his green scarf fluttering lightly in the wind. He recognized a few kids from the village, but he didn't approach them. His eyes were on the doors ahead, the threshold.
But someone did catch his eye.
A boy a little older than him stood quietly near the side, away from the crowd. His golden hair caught the morning light like threads of sunlight, and his eyes, deep and blue, were calmly focused on the courtyard. He didn't fidget. He didn't talk. He just watched.
Haruki stared a little longer than he meant to. Something about the boy felt… sharp. Like a kunai balanced on the edge of motion.
"Minato Namikaze," someone murmured nearby. "He's supposed to be really smart."
Haruki turned his gaze back toward the entrance. It didn't matter how talented anyone else was.
Today, he just had to be his best.
A shinobi stepped onto a low platform. His flak vest bore the symbol of the Academy, and his face was stern but not unkind. His voice rang clear over the crowd.
"Welcome to the Hidden Leaf Ninja Academy entrance evaluations," he announced. "Today's test will assess three things: physical ability, focus and coordination, and basic tactical thinking. Chakra is not required. This is about potential, not polish."
A quiet murmur rippled through the children.
The shinobi raised a hand. "We are not here to fail you. We are here to see who's ready to learn. Give your best, and that will be enough."
Haruki felt a deep breath fill his lungs. He was ready.
The physical test came first.
It wasn't a race, exactly, but a timed obstacle course set across the training yard. Climbing walls, crawling under nets, and hopping across wooden posts in sequence. Haruki waited for his turn, eyes narrowing as he studied each part.
When his name was called, he stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides.
"Haruki Arai," the proctor confirmed.
"Yes, sir."
"Ready?"
Haruki nodded.
"Begin!"
He ran.
The wall was easy, he'd done worse scaling tree trunks with Duy. The net crawl scratched his arms, but he didn't slow. The wooden posts tested his balance, but his breathing stayed steady, just like Duy taught him.
At the final turn, he lost a bit of footing, his sandal skidded on gravel, but he threw his weight forward and rolled, coming up in a crouch before sprinting to the finish.
When he crossed the line, he was panting hard but grinning widely.
"Time recorded," the proctor said. "Good recovery."
Haruki bowed quickly and stepped aside, heart soaring.
As he caught his breath on the sidelines, he caught a glimpse of that same blonde boy, Minato, completing the course with a speed and fluidity that drew a few raised eyebrows from the instructors. He didn't trip once.
Haruki watched in silence. That kind of grace couldn't be faked.
But rather than feeling intimidated… he felt challenged.
***
Next was the focus and coordination exam.
Each student was given a set of simple hand-eye challenges—catching tossed rings, stacking moving blocks under pressure, and striking targets in sequence. It wasn't just about accuracy, it was about staying calm under watching eyes.
When Haruki stood before the proctor, he felt the weight of stillness around him.
A kunai clattered to the ground nearby as a nervous child dropped it. Another child behind him started to cry quietly. Haruki closed his eyes and focused on the wind brushing his cheek.
"Begin," the proctor said.
He moved.
Ring—caught. Block—placed. Strike—strike—miss—adjust—strike.
It wasn't perfect. But he didn't panic.
When it ended, he stood tall.
"Well done," the proctor said, scribbling something on his sheet.
The final test was a scenario exercise.
Each child was placed in a small group and given a simple problem to solve: a simulated lost scroll, a blocked path, and two time limits, one personal, one shared.
Haruki was placed with three others. A quiet girl with sharp eyes, a loud boy with a headband too big for his forehead, and a sullen boy who clearly wanted to do it all himself.
"We'll never find the scroll if we all split up!" the loud boy insisted.
"We don't need to. It's probably under the obstacle," Haruki offered.
"No," said the sullen boy. "We dig. Fastest route."
"No, we test the weight on that plank, see if it moves," Haruki said, stepping forward.
The sharp-eyed girl narrowed her gaze. "He's right."
In the end, they used Haruki's idea, testing weight on the pressure plank to reveal the hidden scroll under the stones. They didn't beat the record, but they succeeded as a team.
When the proctor dismissed them, the sharp-eyed girl gave Haruki a curious look.
"You're a civilian, right?"
Haruki nodded, unsure if she was teasing.
"You've trained before."
"Sort of," he said.
She said nothing more, but her glance before turning away wasn't dismissive.
It was curious.
Atop the Hokage's tower, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood with his hands behind his back, gazing through a large viewing orb. Though much of the day's events were routine, a few names stood out—children with bloodlines, families and history.
And one without.
"Arai," Hiruzen murmured. "That's Kenji's boy, isn't it?"
He watched the child with the green scarf moving through the coordination trial. Not the strongest. Not the fastest.
But focused. Composed. Observant.
Beside him, an aide mentioned something about the boy named Minato, how he showed exceptional timing and promise.
"Yes," Hiruzen said. "Keep an eye on both of them."
***
As the sun dipped below the walls of the Hidden Leaf, families gathered again in the courtyard. Results would be posted the next day, but the proctors offered short debriefs to each parent group.
Mika and Kenji waited anxiously.
The proctor who approached them had a calm demeanor and a faint smile.
"Your son performed well," he said. "He has no formal background, but he's clearly been training. Quiet focus. Strong instincts."
Mika blinked. "So he…"
"He impressed us," the proctor confirmed. "He'll be a welcome addition to the new class—assuming you're still enrolling him?"
Kenji reached for Mika's hand and gently squeezed it.
"We are," she said quietly.
When they met Haruki at the gate, he was already smiling.
"I did good, right?"
Kenji ruffled his hair. "You did better than good."
Mika hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.
And as Haruki looked back toward the Academy doors, he felt it in his chest—the beginning of something.
The first step, taken.