Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

There was no infiltration, no long-anticipated catastrophe.

From the preliminary rounds in August to the official opening of the main tournament in September, the joint Chunin Exams hosted by Konoha progressed with unsettling smoothness.

Konoha’s overt and covert sentries were deployed throughout the Village. Patrol units, personally overseen by Hiruzen, moved constantly through the perimeter. Even those responsible for reception and outer security—Roshi among them—never encountered the powerful enemies they had prepared for.

Only a handful of insignificant troublemakers surfaced, and they were dealt with swiftly.

Inside the arena, however, the atmosphere was anything but quiet.

The stands were packed to the brim. Merchants, nobles, and ninjas from across the continent watched the battles below with rapt attention. Cheers, gasps, and heated discussion surged in waves, pounding against the senses.

On the field, a wall of Earth Release erupted beneath Tenzo’s feet, neatly sealing off the torrent of flames his opponent unleashed.

He wasn’t used to fighting beneath countless gazes.

The noise itself wasn’t the problem—it was the reactions.

Each exchange of ninjutsu drew roaring approval. Even simple taijutsu prompted shouts and applause, as though the battle were no longer a test of survival but a carefully staged performance.

Tenzo caught sight of a banner in the stands bearing the name he now used.

The discovery made his stomach tighten.

Raised in Root, then dispatched on missions as Anbu, he had spent his life operating in shadows. Standing beneath the sun, stripped of anonymity and scrutinized by thousands of eyes, was profoundly unfamiliar.

In the viewing area reserved for the Hidden Mist, Zabuza Momochi watched in silence.

That man called Tenzo was nothing like the other Konoha Genin.

His movements were precise, economical, and lethal—an efficiency born of real combat, not wishy-washy training. This was someone specially trained… or deliberately placed into the competition.

Zabuza’s gaze flicked briefly toward the Hidden Cloud delegation, then withdrew just as quickly.

Their Jonin leader stood far too close to Konoha’s people, frequently acting in concert with them. Whatever objections he might have had were clearly irrelevant.

Turning instead to Baki of Sunagakure, Zabuza found the man’s expression equally unreadable.

”No objections there either…” he thought grimly.

”So the hosts are using extra measures to guarantee results.”

”A joint exam in name only.”

”A tedious spectacle.”

Disinterest settling in, Zabuza closed his eyes.

How far any team advanced depended entirely on Konoha’s disposition.

There was nothing left worth watching.

”Is Tenzo’s situation similar to Darui’s?” Samui asked calmly, her eyes fixed on the arena as she stood beside Roshi.

”No,” Roshi replied, resting his hands against the railing. ”The nature of it is different.”

”He’s never participated in any formal promotion exams. You can tell from the audience’s reactions—and from the way even Konoha’s own Genin look at him.”

”With his strength, if he had gone through the standard process, their attitude would be very different.”

Samui nodded slowly, then raised another concern.

”Roshi-san, regarding the combat exchange planned between our two villages next year… will there be similar special cases?”

The framework for the event had already been agreed upon: Genin and Chunin divisions, clearly separated. The unspoken understanding was that combatants of equal standing would face one another—no underhanded maneuvering.

But Tenzo’s presence complicated that assumption.

If he were merely a public showpiece like Darui, that was one thing. If he were a prodigy on the level of Itachi, that was another.

But a ninja of his age and ability who had never taken a rank examination?

That was… irregular.

In the past, when Chunin Exams carried less weight, exceptional Genin advanced within a year of graduation—sometimes even sooner. Average talents followed in their late teens. Only the truly unremarkable lingered into their twenties.

By every measure, Tenzo should have belonged to the first group.

If not…

”Roshi,” Samui said evenly, ”then the criteria for next year’s participants will require far more detailed clarification between our two sides.”

The political game, it seemed, was only just beginning.

”The exchange competition will be held in Kumo next year anyway,” Tsunade said, waving her hand casually. ”You can handle the follow-up negotiations on how to proceed.”

After Samui raised concerns about revisiting the participant criteria due to Tenzo’s situation, the Fifth Hokage showed no intention of intervening further. This year’s results were already satisfactory. Since Kumogakure would be hosting next year, whether Konoha ultimately won or lost mattered far less—so long as they didn’t lose face.

Roshi, however, did not immediately accept the order and withdraw. He remained standing before the desk.

”I believe this is an opportunity to try something new.”

”Oh?” Tsunade raised an eyebrow. ”What kind of new?”

”By establishing clear, verifiable standards for exam participants,” Roshi replied evenly, ”we can strengthen mutual trust, reduce speculation and internal friction caused by ambiguity, and—more importantly—lay a solid foundation for long-term cooperation.”

—

Inside the Hokage Building’s meeting room.

”Regarding the issue of participants,” Samui said calmly, ”Kumo hopes for clearer boundaries.”

If Konoha could field more ’Genin’ like Tenzo—individuals who had never gone through the public examination process—then next year’s Genin-tier competition would be fundamentally flawed.

Even treating the exchange as a commercial event, if Kumogakure’s Genin were crushed too thoroughly, the reputational damage would be real.

One option would be to mirror Konoha’s approach this year and discreetly expand their own definition of ’Genin.’

But doing so would invalidate every agreement already reached regarding participant scope.

Even if cooperation could be maintained for a year under such conditions, how could it possibly continue afterward? Kumogakure was not seeking short-term profits—it was looking for stability.

”How, exactly, does Kumo wish to define this boundary?” Roshi asked calmly, meeting her gaze.

”Roshi-san,” Samui replied, her eyes sharpening slightly, ”this is not merely Kumogakure making unilateral demands. This is a decisive factor in whether this cooperation can develop in a healthy, long-term manner.”

”Vague rules breed distrust.”

”Then may I understand,” Roshi said after a brief pause, ”that you are here today as a representative seeking a long-term cooperative relationship with Konoha?”

Samui nodded without hesitation. ”I represent the Raikage’s will. If I were only concerned with immediate gains, I would not be sitting here discussing details.”

”Very well.” Roshi inclined his head slightly. ”Then the participant boundaries can be refined.”

”For the Genin division: participants must be active Genin who have officially graduated from the Ninja Academy, with their graduation occurring within the past three years.”

”For the Chunin division: participants must be active Chunin who were promoted through formal Chunin Selection Exams, with their promotion also occurring within the past three years.”

He paused, his gaze settling on Samui.

”Samui-san—do you consider these standards sufficiently clear?”

Her brows knit faintly.

The three-year limit was reasonable. The division itself was precise. After a moment, she replied carefully, ”Roshi-san, I don’t quite understand the implication of your question. The standards themselves are clear.”

Roshi shook his head lightly, tapping the table with one finger.

”The true question is not how clear the standards are on paper,” he said softly, ”but how we ensure that every participant submitted by either side actually meets them.”

”Can verbal assurances at the negotiation table—or even a signed agreement—truly prevent problems in practice?”

”Even if both parties intend to follow the rules, without effective verification, the moment an unusually outstanding participant appears, suspicion will take root.”

”And once that happens, every carefully crafted rule we discuss today becomes meaningless.”

Samui fell silent, her expression thoughtful as the weight of his words settled in.

Roshi watched her closely and continued to press the point.

”To truly implement these standards and minimize future disputes,” he said calmly, ”we need a matching, reliable verification system.”

He then laid out a concrete proposal.

”When submitting the final participant lists, both sides should simultaneously provide basic résumé documentation for each Ninja.”

”For those entering the Genin division, this would include a copy of their Ninja Academy graduation record. For the Chunin division, in addition to the graduation record, they would submit their Chunin promotion file and proof of participation in a Chunin Selection Exam.”

”Of course,” he added, ”all such materials must undergo strict anonymization. Any sensitive information involving mission details, signature techniques, bloodline abilities, or classified capabilities would be removed.”

When Roshi finished, silence settled over the meeting room.

Submitting résumés—even anonymized ones—was theoretically feasible. Yet doing so would still expose baseline information: training timelines, promotion windows, and career progression. Even if the intelligence value was limited, the risks were difficult to quantify.

After a brief pause, Samui spoke, her voice measured as she identified the core flaw.

”Roshi-san, résumés can be falsified.”

Roshi did not hesitate.

”Samui-san, if there is no intent to cooperate and a determination to deceive,” he replied evenly, ”then anything can be falsified.”

”What matters is raising the threshold for deception—making it costly, both materially and reputationally, if discovered. That, in itself, becomes a form of restraint.”

”This proposal is Konoha’s considered response to the reasonable concerns raised by Kumo.”

Samui studied him for a long moment before finally nodding.

”I will need to report these details to the Raikage.”

”As you should,” Roshi replied.

—

In Konoha Year 56, following the successful conclusion of the joint Chunin Exams, Konoha and Kumo entered several rounds of in-depth negotiations concerning participant standards for the following year’s exchange event.

Within Konoha, the proposal was also debated.

Tsunade expressed her clear support, and the Sandaime Hokage likewise approved.

The decisive factor was control.

Anyone whose identity could not even be disclosed at a basic level would naturally be excluded from such exchanges. As for exceptional individuals whose abilities required a higher degree of secrecy, Samui’s concern was valid—résumés could be adjusted. The key lay in the extent and necessity of such adjustments.

For the vast majority of ordinary ninja—especially Genin—knowing only a name and graduation year held minimal intelligence value. The same largely applied to Chunin-level participants.

More importantly, this framework was widely seen as a meaningful signal: the cooperative relationship between Konoha and Kumo was beginning to move beyond superficial collaboration and toward structured mutual trust.

Recognizing this, Hiruzen personally intervened, ultimately persuading Advisors Koharu and Homura, who had initially expressed reservations.

On the Kumo side, after intense internal discussions and repeated deliberation, a preliminary consensus was finally reached with Konoha near the end of Konoha Year 56.

Both parties agreed to initiate a small-scale, experimental information-sharing and mutual verification process for the first batch of participants in the coming year.

A new stage—built upon tentative rules, cautious trust, and mutual probing—quietly began.

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