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

The bell finally rang, its sharp chime sounding like salvation to Iruka.

He all but staggered out of the classroom, his back soaked in cold sweat. No sooner had he stepped into the corridor than a broad-shouldered, stern-faced senior instructor beckoned him over.

The two exchanged a few low, urgent words. Then Iruka, head lowered and expression pale, followed the man down the hallway and vanished from sight.

The moment he left, the heavy pressure hanging over the classroom evaporated.

Noise rushed in to fill the void.

Naruto watched his classmates burst into excited chatter, their voices overlapping in animated speculation. Over the past two years, more adults in the Village had begun treating him kindly, and the outright hostility had faded—but the unspoken pressure from grown-ups still made him uneasy.

Here, surrounded by kids his own age, he could finally breathe.

Even the occasional wary or disgusted glance from classmates felt easier to bear than the suffocating expectations of adults.

”Hey, hey—who was that black-haired Nii-san?” Naruto asked the student beside him, unable to hold back his curiosity.

”Dunno,” Akimichi Chōji replied, already tearing open a bag of potato chips.

From the back row, Nara Shikamaru propped his chin on his hand and drawled lazily, ”Someone important from the Village, probably. That’s why Iruka-sensei was so tense.”

He yawned. ”He’s getting chewed out right now, for sure.”

”What important person?” Sasuke said flatly, eyes still closed. ”Just a troublesome guy.”

The instant the words left his mouth, a rush of movement cut into his space.

Sasuke opened his eyes to a blaze of fiery red hair right in front of him.

The red-haired girl leaned over his desk, palms pressed hard against the wood. Behind her glasses, her eyes burned with unmistakable anger.

Before Sasuke could react, sharp, indignant voices erupted behind her.

”What the heck?! Why are you suddenly so close to Sasuke-kun?!”

”That’s right! It’s not decided yet who gets to be near him!”

”Who gave you permission?! Move away from Sasuke-kun!”

Several small hands shot forward, tugging at Karin’s sleeves and arms.

She shook them off violently, never taking her glare off Sasuke’s startled face.

”Someone like you—!” she snapped. ”You’ll never understand how incredible Captain Roshi is! You arrogant jerk!”

”You don’t know anything!”

Sasuke frowned, irritation flickering across his face. This girl was completely unreasonable. And Roshi was his brother’s captain—what did that have to do with her?

”…Who are you?” he asked.

”Karin!” she shouted, as if daring the room to forget it.

”Ah—! You’re doing this on purpose so Sasuke-kun remembers you, aren’t you?!”

”How sneaky!”

”Red-haired weirdo! That’s cheating!”

As Karin announced her name, the shoving intensified. Someone yanked her arm; her elbow slammed into the corner of a desk.

Pain flared. Her patience snapped.

She spun around and lunged at the girls behind her.

”As if I want this arrogant jerk to remember me!”

Fists and fingernails answered before words could. Screams, curses, and shrill cries collided as the scuffle exploded. Textbooks and stationery scattered across the floor. Desks scraped and chairs toppled, the classroom plunging into utter chaos.

Chōji hugged his chips and edged safely away from the fray.

Shikamaru sighed deeply and retreated to the corner.

”…What a drag,” he muttered.

Naruto stared at the sudden brawl with eyes wide as saucers.

”So… so awesome…”

”Hey. If you don’t move, you’re going to get dragged into it.”

A lazy voice cut in beside him.

Naruto blinked, glanced left and right, then pointed at himself. ”Me?”

”Who else?” Shikamaru shot him a sideways look. ”You were the one asking questions earlier, weren’t you? Standing there, you’re an easy target. If they lash out, you’ll get hit for sure—and that won’t be fun.”

Naruto’s eyes lit up. He hurried over, grinning. ”I’m Uzumaki Naruto! And you guys are?”

”Tch… Nara Shikamaru,” he replied. ”And that’s Chōji. Akimichi Chōji.”

Naruto nodded enthusiastically, then leaned in conspiratorially. ”Hey, Shikamaru—do you know who that black-haired nii-san was? I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember where.”

”My dad’s mentioned him,” Shikamaru said. ”His name’s Roshi.”

”Roshi?” Naruto echoed. ”Is he really important?”

”…Yeah,” Shikamaru said after a pause. ”I guess you could say that.”

—

”I sent you to the Ninja Academy to observe, not to traumatize people,” Tsunade grumbled, arms crossed as she watched Roshi examine the vitality of the preserved tree branch. ”When the Old Man went to check on things, Iruka was practically ready to hand in his resignation.”

Roshi chuckled softly. He genuinely hadn’t expected his presence to have that much impact—but for a brand-new teacher, having a Jonin push open the door and silently observe their very first class was bound to be overwhelming.

Still, once he’d already sat down, it would have been strange to leave immediately.

”Before I left, I told Iruka not to take it personally,” Roshi said calmly.

”Hmph.” Tsunade snorted. ”So, besides giving Iruka heart palpitations, what did you think of the Ninja Academy?”

”The overall structure and teaching flow are solid,” Roshi replied. ”But some of the content is clearly lagging behind the Village’s actual needs.”

Tsunade’s expression sharpened. ”Lagging?”

”Yes. The graduation age at the Ninja Academy has always fluctuated with circumstances,” Roshi explained. ”By the fifth or sixth year, aside from cultural subjects, the amount of new Ninja-related knowledge students can acquire drops sharply—almost to a standstill.”

”At the same time, the Academy’s standards for cultural subjects are low. Older students lose motivation, because they’re neither challenged academically nor meaningfully advancing as Ninja.”

Tsunade exhaled slowly. ”There’s no easy solution. The academy has many civilian children and orphans. They don’t have access to proper training before enrollment, so their starting line is far behind that of Clan children.”

”If we simply raise the difficulty now, those kids will be the first to fall behind. That would only deepen inequality.”

Roshi nodded. ”Which is exactly why the current six-year Academy system isn’t enough.”

He continued evenly, ”Even among Ninja families, parents are often too busy with missions to properly support early education.”

Tsunade looked at him. ”So what are you proposing?”

”Preschool education,” Roshi said without hesitation.

Tsunade frowned. ”That’s not just funding—it’s a long-term financial commitment.”

”It’s a necessary investment,” Roshi replied calmly. ”For the Village’s long-term stability.”

”Clan children can rely on family resources and internal training environments to build a foundation before enrollment—even if their parents are absent. Civilian families don’t have that luxury.”

”That gap can’t be bridged by individual effort alone.”

He paused, then met Tsunade’s gaze directly.

”If this gap persists, ordinary Ninja will increasingly depend on their ’Clan’ for resources and protection—because as individuals, they can’t break through the barrier.”

”But,” Roshi continued, his tone shifting slightly, ”for Clans like the Uchiha, the advantage isn’t as absolute as it seems.”

”For members who don’t awaken the Sharingan, the Clan’s support is often weaker than what systematic Village-led preschool education could provide.”

”And for those who do awaken it,” he added, ”many Sharingan techniques don’t require structured instruction at all—they manifest instinctively through bloodline.”

”The Clan’s monopoly on Ninjutsu education isn’t as ironclad as people believe.”

He let the words settle before finishing quietly:

”Even the most closely guarded Clan techniques…”

”The Village already possesses some of them.”

Just like the Izanagi once used by Danzo—mastered while the Uchiha Clan still stood.

”This reform isn’t just about education,” Roshi concluded. ”It’s about preserving balance between the Village and the Clans—and weakening the excessive hold Clans have over individual Ninja.”

—

In the test tube resting in his hand, a single eye floated in preservation fluid. Danzō stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether he should laugh—or grind his teeth in fury.

”Only one?”

With so few usable subordinates remaining, he did not vent his anger on the Kyu.

After claiming inconvenience last year, vanishing without a trace for so long… and now suddenly sending back an eye.

Orochimaru—what game are you playing?

”Where is he now?” Danzō asked coldly.

”Orochimaru left only the eye and a method of contact,” Kyū replied, head lowered.

”…Go find him.”

”Yes!”

—

Handsome, academically gifted, exceptional at taijutsu, and born into a prestigious clan.

Almost every trait that made someone popular was concentrated in Uchiha Sasuke. It was only natural that a self-organized ”fan club” had formed around him.

Ino Yamanaka and Sakura Haruno joined almost immediately, quickly becoming the group’s most vocal members.

On the rooftop during lunch break, early autumn wind brushed past with a faint dryness. Karin stood alone by the railing, opening her bento.

”I’m talking to you.”

The voice came from above. Karin looked up to see Ino standing there, hands clasped behind her back, sunlight outlining her pale golden hair.

”Why don’t you like Sasuke-kun?” Ino asked. ”Is it really just because of that one sentence?”

Karin’s chopsticks paused.

Among the girls in the class, she was an anomaly.

Not only was she not part of the fan club, but after the chaotic fight on the first day—once suspicions about her ”trying to attract attention” were cleared—what remained was pure isolation.

Someone like Ino, one of the most popular girls, had no reason to approach an outcast.

Yet here she was.

”He lives in a completely different world,” Karin said flatly.

”Compared to Sasuke-kun… he’s far older.”

She shot Ino a sharp glare. ”You wouldn’t understand.”

Ino sighed. ”Still… are you really going to keep going like this? At least try not to make everyone hate you.”

Karin tightened her grip on the chopsticks, said nothing, and took another mouthful of rice.

Seeing her stubborn silence, Ino shook her head. ”Fine. Do whatever you want.”

—

The preschool proposal still required extensive discussion. In theory, the investment wouldn’t be large.

Preschool education involved only basic literacy and numeracy, at most supplemented by guided physical games to build age-appropriate foundations.

Even before the Village gained new revenue streams, this level of spending was manageable—let alone now.

However, because it required the creation of permanent positions and long-term staffing, the proposal Roshi submitted remained a preliminary draft, pending formal review.

By contrast, the Genin training class initiative was far easier to push forward.

Fees were mandatory.

This was one point Roshi refused to compromise on. People rarely valued what they received for free.

The current batch of Genin—those who had grown up through hardship—might appreciate guidance given freely. But what about future generations?

How would they regard Chunin instructors who took time away from missions to train them?

Only by paying a price—even a symbolic one—would they learn to value the opportunity. It would also naturally filter out those without genuine motivation.

After refining both the preschool draft and the training class plan, Roshi returned to the Ninja Academy once more.

However, the information Iruka brought him this time was unexpected.

”Fighting?” Roshi repeated.

Iruka looked uneasy. ”Y-yes. That is… Karin and some of the girls still seem to have unresolved misunderstandings. The cause appears to be… Sasuke-kun.”

Roshi paused.

”…And Naruto?”

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