Well, since he was there, and everyone was here, the second part of the exam was getting started. Hm, this couldn't be good.
Their instructor was undoubtedly a Chunin.
He was a lean man with messy grey hair tied into a short, lazy ponytail, a permanent slouch in his posture, and the kind of tired eyes that said, "I've seen war, and worse—Genin paperwork."
"Alright, you little bundles of chakra and dreams," he drawled, voice carrying that perfectly unimpressed tone that all mid-level shinobi masters somehow develop after supervising one too many firecracker accidents. "Written test's over. Now it's time to see if your legs work as well as your brains."
Chunin. Ex-Taijutsu specialist. Eternal coffee addict. Currently questioning why he was assigned to children.
"First part's simple. We run," Renji said, waving one hand lazily like he was shooing a fly. "No sprinting unless you want to throw up your breakfast by round three. You run until your body says stop. And if you stop early to look cool, guess what? You fail."
He didn't spell it out—but Seijuro picked up the rhythm in his tone, the slight upturn at the end.
There's more than one test today. The way he phrased "first part" gave it away.
Ah. So this wasn't just endurance. There was agility. And then combat.
Yeah, Seijuro got it.
He cracked his neck. Alright then. Let's get sweaty.
Some civilian kid with too much energy and not enough brains blasted out the gate like he was trying to unlock Ultra Instinct in the first ten seconds.
Seijuro, meanwhile, just jogged, keeping a casual pace—nothing too fast, but nothing too slow either.
Something to keep him in the middle of the pack. If he could get top 10, that would be great, considering the Kurama Clan is quite known for a weak physique... which Seijuro didn't have. He had a normal physique.
So while he was lightly jogging, some other kids were running.
Nawaki, of course, took off like his ancestors were watching. That damn boy moved with reckless confidence, and worse, he wasn't even slowing down.
Seijuro blinked at him from the corner of his eye. 'What the hell is this stamina cheat code?
You got a chakra battery in your kidneys or something?'
By round 15, the early sprinters were toast. Collapsing like broken chairs. Seijuro could hear the panting, the wheezing, the "I-thought-this-was-an-academy-not-a-death-camp" noises.
By round 30, only clan kids remained.
And Seijuro was still going.
His legs were burning, sweat clung to his hair like guilt after stealing snacks, and every breath felt like a debt he had to pay with interest.
Still—his form? Flawless.
He ran like a shinobi should: efficient, tight, and without drama.
Nawaki though? Bouncing like a damn boxer. Still smiling. Still vibing. The Uzumaki-Senju DNA was cooking like ramen broth in that body. Pure vitality.
It was as if that man had drugs in his veins, like he was made purely out of Hashirama cells or something... well, the Senju were known for their wood... and vitality, so he guessed Nawaki inherited that.
Behind Nawaki were Kaito and Takeshi Uchiha—those two moved like mirror images, precise and serious. Mikoto was ahead of them somehow. That girl was built different.
The Hyuga twins, Hiashi and Hizashi, floated through the course like they were gliding on chakra rails. Elegant. Controlled. Deadly.
Seijuro felt like he was watching an early draft of the next Great Ninja War.
Konoha's Clan Olympics: Pain Now, Brag Forever.
By round 60, it was down to five.
No clones. No tricks. Just muscle and madness.
Not because he collapsed.
Not because he gave up. He chose to stop.
Right when his body was about to rebel and throw him down.
He stopped with a controlled exhale. He had gotten the spot he wanted. Leaving now meant getting fifth place—and having enough stamina for what came next.
He needed some stamina for the hand-to-hand fight and the agility parkour that would most likely happen later. After all, he was a gentleman.
Mikoto came in shortly after him, legs shaky but still proud.
Seijuro stretched. Arms up, back bent, breath slowing. His body ached in the way that said you survived, but barely.
Then he headed over to the water stand, gulping down a cup like it was sacred chakra nectar.
His muscles slowly relaxed, the cold water working magic on his overheated nerves.
So he thought that Shuriken throwing would be next or something like that. There had to be multiple tests after this to assess their aptitude to become a ninja—simply running around wouldn't do shit.
Seijuro sighed a bit and walked toward a nearby tree, accepting the shade it offered. He hummed a bit.
Thirty minutes later, the scores were in.
He didn't bother reading the rest—just a bunch of clan kid names.
Though number 10 did get his attention.
He didn't remember a Namikaze clan. This guy must also be from a civilian background.
Well, he hoped that the Uchiha, Hyuga, and Senju had their fun at first...
They would not touch that spot again.
That was his rightful place. Googlᴇ search novęlfire.net