Chapter 5: Ninja Academy Enrollment

The registration location for the Konoha Ninja Academy was set up right outside the main gates.

A temporary awning had been erected to the left of the entrance, beneath which sat two long tables. Two Academy instructors were stationed there distributing application forms, while a chūnin stood nearby to maintain order.

Shingo hadn't bothered to rush over and join the queue early.

It had to be said that once training becomes a habit, it is remarkably easy to lose oneself in it.

The previous day, he had unconsciously trained late into the night, only remembering that he needed to register for the Ninja Academy today once the bright moon hung high in the sky.

Consequently, Shingo simply slept in naturally as usual, allowing his body to recover from exhaustion and return to peak physical condition.

Then, after enjoying a leisurely breakfast, he finally set out.

Besides, even if he missed out today, there were still two more days of registration remaining, so he was in no particular hurry.

Sure enough, by the time Shingo arrived, a long queue had already formed.

Shingo hadn't expected there to be quite so many people, and for a moment he found the bustling scene somewhat unexpected; a quick sweep of his gaze revealed anywhere from one to two hundred people waiting.

And this was just the morning of the first day of registration.

Yet despite the large crowd, how many would ultimately make the cut?

In terms of raw strength, Konoha currently stood vastly superior to the Konoha of the years following the Fourth Hokage's passing.

However, when it came to people's livelihood, education, economy...

Every other aspect fell short by a considerable margin.

Even during Naruto's generation, out of all those who actually enrolled, how many truly made it through to graduation?

Shingo silently took his place at the tail end of the line, using his Mind's Eye to observe the slightly chaotic registration grounds.

There were mothers crouching down to straighten their children's collars over and over again.

There were fathers wearing stern expressions, warning their offspring not to be nervous, even while their hands rested reassuringly on the children's shoulders.

Then there were grandmothers pressing wrapped rice balls into their grandchildren's arms, torn between fear that the kids would eat too much and sluggishly affect their performance, and fear that they would enter the tests with empty stomachs.

Such scenes were common enough in his past life.

Yet for Shingo, who had spent the last six years cooped up inside the Hyūga compound and had long since missed out on this kind of vibrant human warmth, the atmosphere felt refreshingly novel.

Observing his surroundings, Shingo noted that everyone around him hailed from ordinary civilian backgrounds.

Some wore coarse cloth garments washed to a pale gray with patches sewn neatly at the hems, while others from slightly better-off households sported clean, well-kept attire.

Without exception, however, none of their clothes bore any clan crests.

The children hailing from prominent shinobi clans didn't need to line up here like commoners.

Every year, the elders of those clans compiled enrollment rosters directly and coordinated straight with the relevant Academy officials.

For children born into the shinobi system, entering the Academy was simply a natural, foreordained step.

Yet for civilians, this single step held the power to alter the destiny of an entire family.

In this world, the ability to become a ninja represented the widest chasm imaginable, even greater than the gulf separating elite jōnin from genin.

To say nothing of the civilians outside the village who were constantly battered by the flames of war or casually slaughtered by rogue ninja.

Even within the inner borders of Konoha, a glaring, unmistakable dividing line was drawn between civilians and shinobi.

The exact same infraction handled by a ninja versus a regular person often yielded completely contrasting verdicts and consequences.

Even the village's imperfect legal code naturally leaned closer to those who wielded power.

Precisely for this reason, these commoners were willing to risk everything to give their children a chance to become shinobi.

Standing near the back of the crowd, Shingo swept his gaze across the gathering without spotting any familiar faces.

Which was entirely normal.

Among the children of Kitaki Street, he was the only one who happened to be six years old, perfectly timed for the Academy's enrollment age.

The rest were either a few years older like Nohara Shinichi or still far too young, requiring at least another two or three years before they stood a chance of coming here.

Although the crowd was large, the line moved at a brisk pace.

In just over half an hour, it was Shingo's turn to collect an application form.

After filling out his basic information, like name, age, and address, he was led over by an instructor to have his photograph taken and pasted onto the upper-right corner of the form.

The instructor responsible for reviewing the application forms paused, casting a curious secondary glance at the blank space where a surname should have been.

In Konoha, individuals without surnames were relatively rare, though not entirely unheard of.

Take the Hokage's three legendary disciples, for instance, Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Orochimaru, all of whom went strictly by their given names without family monikers.

"Applicant number two hundred twenty-seven, Shingo."

"Wait over there; you'll be called when it's your turn to go inside."

"Understood."

Shingo took the form and walked over in the direction indicated by the instructor.

In the waiting area, students were continuously called away, while others emerged from the testing grounds.

Some beamed with radiant smiles, while others hung their heads in dejection.

Finding a newly vacated bench, Shingo sat down and waited in silence.

Every child around him was accompanied by family.

He alone had come entirely by his lonesome.

This stark isolation, coupled with his striking and refined features, quickly drew a wave of curious glances.

A lively little boy nearby made several attempts to waddle over and strike up a conversation, only to be firmly reined in by his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"You're almost up next, sweetie, stop running around."

The little boy muttered a reluctant protest, but dutifully shrank back into place.

Shingo showed little reaction to the attention.

He simply sat quietly on the bench, acting as though entirely detached from everything happening around him.

In reality, his focus had already drifted to the massive tree standing directly behind the seating area.

It was an immense tree.

Its trunk was so thick that four or five grown adults linking hands would struggle to wrap around it.

Its sprawling canopy fanned out, casting shade over a good portion of the waiting section.

Its leaves rustled gently in the breeze, sending dappled patches of sunlight dancing through the air.

Legend had it that this tree had been growing on the spot long before Konoha was even founded.

Others whispered that the tree had originally flourished deep within the Konoha forest, personally hand-picked and transplanted here by the First Hokage himself.

Countless similar tales circulated, making it impossible to separate fact from fiction.

Within Konoha, rumors tied to the First Hokage were dime a dozen.

Some were genuine history, others were distorted versions exaggerated across generations of village folklore, while a great deal amounted to baseless fabrications.

Most of the older generation in modern Konoha had personally witnessed the majestic prowess of the First Hokage.

Back during the legendary Battle at the Valley of the End, even those tucked far away inside the village had felt the earth-shaking concussions and crushing pressure radiating through the air.

In their minds, the First Hokage was practically a symbol of omnipotence.

Consequently, anything of mysterious origins within the village was instinctively linked back to him by default.

Shingo had once considered many of these rumors utterly ridiculous. Did the First Hokage really need to go out shopping for trees in the forest?

Wasn't that just a matter of clapping his hands together and making whatever he wanted appear out of thin air?

This tree likely had nothing to do with the First Hokage; people were simply forcing a connection.

Yet, after sensing the deep vitality throbbing within the trunk, Shingo began to think the legends might not be entirely fabricated.

While the notion of the First Hokage personally strolling out to pick a sapling still sounded absurd, this tree was unquestionably linked to him.

Through the perception of his Mind's Eye, its life force was overwhelmingly, frighteningly dense.

Even the ancient, massive trees deep within the primeval forests paled in comparison, looking like mere fireflies next to a blazing full moon.

This surging vitality was deep, gentle, and ceaselessly enduring.

Shingo closed his eyes, letting his consciousness sink bit by bit into that resonant frequency.

Ever since mastering Attunement with Nature, his perception of the natural world had grown sharper by the day.

Right now, sitting beneath the canopy of this ancient tree, he could faintly feel an extremely subtle connection establishing itself between himself and the flora.

A gust of wind stirred, and a few leaves drifted downward, grazing the top of Shingo's head.

The contact was feather-light, like some form of silent acknowledgment.

Shingo opened his eyes and looked up. The branches swayed, sunlight filtering down through the gaps to catch in his gaze.

A sudden, illusory sensation washed over him.

The tree was looking back at him.

After an indeterminate stretch of time, an instructor's voice rang out from the front.

"Applicant number two hundred twenty-seven, Shingo."

Shingo snapped out of his reverie and rose to his feet.

Before leaving, he glanced back once more at the ancient tree.

Its wind-swept branches swayed gently, as though bidding him farewell.

Withdrawing his gaze, Shingo turned and strode toward the testing grounds.