Chapter 6: Academy Entrance Examination

The enrollment requirements for the Konoha Ninja Academy were, in truth, not nearly as demanding as outsiders imagined.

Even someone like Rock Lee, entirely incapable of utilizing ninjutsu or genjutsu, could still study at the Academy.

The true difficulty had never been getting admitted, but rather whether one could successfully graduate and survive within the harsh reality of the shinobi world.

Children like Nohara Shinichi who failed to gain admission weren't rejected because they lacked merit.

Rather, they completely lacked the fundamental prerequisites to become a ninja.

Either their internal chakra reserves were far too meager to complete even the most basic chakra refinement, or, even if they could extract it, the quantity was so negligible that it could never sustain combat against another ninja.

The testing grounds featured two distinct evaluations.

The first was a physical examination.

The second was a practical combat assessment.

The physical exam was handled by several Academy instructors with medical training, assisted by two medical ninja dispatched from Konoha Hospital.

The scope of the inspection was straightforward.

Muscles, skeletal structure, chakra reserves, and whether any abnormalities existed within the internal chakra pathways.

Shingo removed his outer coat, stood before the examination table, and allowed a medical ninja to press hands firmly against his shoulders, neck, wrists, torso, and abdomen.

Pale green chakra flared across the medic's palms.

A moment later, the medical ninja raised an eyebrow, a faint, good-natured smile breaking across the corners of his mouth.

"Your name is... Shingo, right? You clearly don't slack off on your training."

Glancing sideways at the application form lying on the table, the medic addressed Shingo directly.

"It's genuinely rare to see a kid your age show this level of self-discipline."

Unable to resist, the medical ninja gave Shingo's arm another firm squeeze, marveling at the dense, well-defined muscle beneath the skin.

Shingo offered a polite, returning smile and stood quietly while the assessment concluded.

He could feel the medic's chakra meticulously sweeping through his muscle fibers, bone structure, and chakra networks.

Then, the man patted Shingo on the shoulder.

"Good shape, no issues at all. Looks like you've been careful with your conditioning. No lingering hidden injuries. Go on over to the next section for your practical test. Hang in there, kid!"

Shingo accepted his coat back, slipped it on, and gave the medic a slight bow.

"Thank you. I'll do my best."

The medical ninja lowered his gaze, jotted down notes on Shingo's profile sheet, and placed the document directly atop the stack of passing applicants.

The physical examination served as the core hurdle of the Academy entrance test.

As long as an applicant possessed no glaring physical deficiencies and their chakra levels met the baseline standard, enrollment was guaranteed.

The practical combat test, on the other hand, functioned more like an optional bonus evaluation.

While the vast majority of applicants had never studied any formal ninjutsu yet, metrics like raw physical conditioning, reflex speed, psychological composure under pressure, tactical intellect, and combat intuition...

Whether these traits stood out determined whether a student would merely grow into expendable frontline cannon fodder as a genin, or possess the potential to rise higher and become a pillar of the village.

Particularly promising students were flagged in advance, ensuring that Academy instructors would pay closer attention and provide tailored guidance following formal enrollment.

When Shingo arrived at the adjacent testing area, the previous practical combat evaluation had concluded a short while earlier.

The proctor overseeing the combat trials stood at the edge of the arena, looking somewhat helpless as he attempted to soothe a young child who had been terrified out of his wits and was currently bawling uncontrollably.

The boy had refused to stop crying despite minutes of coaxing, his wails only growing louder, which was beginning to test the proctor's patience.

Noticing that the next applicant had already arrived while the previous child was still in tears, the proctor could only sigh, wave a hand at a fellow instructor, and ask him to escort the distraught child outside.

"Take him out first, let his family calm him down. I've got another student here. I need to get on with the assessment."

The instructor nodded, took the weeping child by the hand, and led him out of the testing zone.

Listening to the fading cries, the proctor finally let out an exhausted breath.

When he turned back around, a warm, affable smile was already plastered back onto his face.

The proctor was lean of build, carrying an air of bookish scholar-like refinement.

Were it not for the standard shinobi flak jacket he wore, a casual glance might have mistaken him for a paperwork administrator rather than a ninja.

He pulled a small notepad from his robes, made a quick checkmark, and scanned down to the next entry.

"Two hundred... twenty-seven."

"Shingo, right? Don't be nervous. The entrance test isn't asking you to beat me in a fight."

Shingo nodded, loosening his arms and legs as he stood in the center of the ring, offering a calm reply.

"Sensei, I'm not nervous."

The proctor's smile deepened.

"I can see that. Good psychological composure, Shingo."

Most kids arriving here were either dangerously overexcited or stiff with panic.

Some reacted like the previous boy, bursting into tears from mere routine pressure even before any killing intent was applied.

"Let me outline the flow of the practical combat test first."

"We start with ninja tool throwing: five kunai, five shuriken."

"After that, you'll engage in a short spar against me."

"Don't put any psychological pressure on yourself; the fact that you've reached the combat phase means your physical stats already meet the standard for enrollment."

"No matter how you perform in this spar, it won't affect your admission."

Shingo nodded.

"Understood, sensei."

"Good, let's start with the weapon throwing."

With that, the proctor reached into his ninja pouch, drew out five kunai and five shuriken, and handed them over to Shingo.

Shingo took them and inspected the gear. The kunai and shuriken were brand new, likely pulled straight from the armory that morning. Their edges were ground thin, though not yet fully sharpened.

The cold, metallic weight felt completely different from the wooden kunai he carved himself.

Shingo gripped a kunai, weighed it in his palm, and looped his index finger through the ring at the base, spinning it a few times to get a feel for the center of gravity.

It wasn't nearly as awkward as he had anticipated.

The next instant, he flicked his wrist.

Thunk!

The kunai drove dead-center into the target.

Shingo didn't pause, launching projectile after projectile in rapid succession.

He didn't employ any flashy Uchiha-style trick throwing techniques.

It was purely about speed, accuracy, and lethal intent.

Bolstered by sheer brute force.

A dull series of metallic thuds echoed across the training ground.

Even unsharpened, the sheer velocity and kinetic power drove every single ninja tool deep into the wooden targets.

Looking from a distance, exactly one weapon was embedded dead-center in each of the ten lined-up wooden bulls-eyes.

Throughout the entire morning, this was the first time the proctor had witnessed an applicant hit every single throw, and with enough force behind them to inflict serious lethal damage.

Walking up to the targets, the proctor pulled the kunai and shuriken free, slipping them back into his pouch.

Returning to stand before Shingo, he nodded in satisfaction and spoke:

"Not bad at all. Next up is the sparring phase."

"The rules are simple: use whatever moves you have, and try to display your full strength."

"Any questions?"

"None."

Hearing the concise reply, the proctor raised his right hand, gesturing for Shingo to initiate the assault.

"Come on."

Just as the proctor assumed Shingo would behave like the previous children, cautious, hesitant to launch the first attack, forcing the instructor to step forward and pressure him into moving, the moment his voice finished trailing off, Shingo's entire posture exploded with dynamic tension.

His muscles locked taut, transforming him into a starving hunting leopard that lunged straight toward the proctor with ferocious speed.

Though he hadn't practiced the Gentle Fist in months and intended to abandon it altogether, years of ingrained muscle memory still caused Shingo to instinctively adopt the opening stance of the Gentle Fist.

Pushing off the ground with the balls of his feet, his waist and core twisted in unison.

Shingo coiled and unspooled like a compressed spring released to its absolute limit, crashing straight into the chūnin instructor's personal guard.

The proctor reacted instantly.

He smoothly side-stepped to evade Shingo's leading strike, moving to hook Shingo's wrist in passing, only to discover that the punch had been a feint lacking full commitment.

Utilizing the momentum, Shingo dropped low, his left leg sweeping horizontally across the ground straight toward the instructor's ankle.

The proctor tapped his toe on the turf, executing a swift backward leap to clear the sweep.

Yet the moment his feet cleared the ground, Shingo's body readjusted with fluid speed, surging forward to press the attack.

A palm strike lanced out.

Instinctively, Shingo aimed for the acupoint on the proctor's chest.

The moment the strike initiated, however, realization struck him: he no longer possessed a Byakugan; he couldn't precisely locate the exact coordinates of the target's tenketsu.

Mid-motion, the blindingly fast palm strike had to abruptly alter its trajectory, redirecting toward the proctor's right ribs instead.

Such speed, such reflexes!

A flicker of surprise crossed the proctor's mind.

The boy's physical stats and combat instincts were absurdly exceptional!

Yet embedded within such an outstanding attack was an unnatural stutter of hesitation, a jarring contrast that left him perplexed.

Deciding against ending the test immediately, he wanted to see just how far the boy could push himself.

The proctor ceased simply dodging.

He began deliberately leaking small openings, guiding Shingo to correct and refine his offensive patterns.

Three moves...

Ten moves...

Twenty moves...

The duration of their exchange far exceeded any previous practical test of the day.

So long, in fact, that several applicants who had already passed their physical exams and were anxiously waiting for their turn had gathered along the edge of the training area to watch.

Within the ring, under the proctor's subtle guidance, the lingering traces of the Gentle Fist were being steadily shaved away from Shingo's movements.

He stopped relying strictly on palm strikes, abandoning his obsession with closing in to target pressure points.

Instead, he transitioned toward simpler, more direct offensive mechanics.

Fists, elbows, knees, kicks, utilizing every facet of his frame.

Transforming his entire body into a weapon targeting the human body's most vulnerable zones.

While still lacking a formalized martial arts kata, it was infinitely more fluid than his previous hesitant strikes.

His stellar physical baseline, combined with a learning capacity far surpassing ordinary peers...

Layered atop an almost instinctive combat intuition and tactical judgment.

This overflowing, monstrous talent convinced the proctor of one absolute truth: Shingo's future achievements would undoubtedly equal or surpass a standard jōnin.

Following another exchange, feeling that Shingo's attacks had shed every trace of hesitation, the proctor applied a fraction more force, using a single palm strike to push Shingo back a few paces.

"Alright, that's enough for today."

The proctor withdrew his small notepad, scribbling a few notes down.

"Passed."

"Return to the Academy in a month. Class assignments will be posted on the front gate bulletin board. Don't forget."

"Understood."

Shingo was even more aware than the proctor of how his taijutsu had evolved through that exchange.

He bowed respectfully to the instructor.

"Thank you, sensei."

The proctor waved a hand without further comment, turning his attention to resume testing the children who had been waiting through the morning.

By the time Shingo stepped out of the Ninja Academy grounds, the sun had climbed high into the sky.

Standing at the gates, Shingo cast one final glance back at the ancient tree.

Registration was concluded; a full month remained until classes officially commenced.

Reviewing his schedule, Shingo realized he didn't have any pressing obligations to fill in the interim.

Time to keep training, then. Hard work never leads you astray.

Shingo stretched his limbs slightly, his mind still savoring the lingering sensations from his recent spar.

The run from the Ninja Academy back to his private training ground was no short distance.

For Shingo, however, it served as the ideal warm-up before his physical conditioning regimen.

Breathing steady and steps light, this kind of unweighted endurance running no longer placed any real strain on his physique.

As Shingo pressed forward, the human figures along the street gradually grew sparse.

Just as he was about to turn onto the narrow path leading toward the forest, a resonant, full-bodied voice rang out from ahead.

"Young man!"

Shingo paused his steps slightly.

The next second, a man clad in a bright green spandex bodysuit came hurtling down the path, handstanding.

Literally handstanding.

He supported his weight entirely on his palms, his slightly bent legs adjusting his center of gravity with the rhythm of his upper body.

While a handstand was a standard training exercise in its own right, executing it at such a terrifying speed gave it a distinctly eccentric visual flair.

With a powerful shove of his palms, the man engaged his core and executed a fluid aerial flip, landing solidly on his feet right in front of Shingo.

He possessed rugged, chiseled features, prominent thick eyebrows that made him instantly recognizable, and a smile radiant enough to practically gleam in the daylight.

"Are you headed out to train as well?"

Might Duy flashed Shingo a brilliant thumbs-up, his teeth sparkling against the sunlight.

"Running and training under a blazing sun like this, that is the true, burning flame of youth!"