Chapter 3: From Ant to Dragon—This Isn’t Scientific

Host: Yoru

Age: 12

Skills:

• Chunin-Level Swordsmanship: Hawk Flash

• Hiding in Mist Technique

• Water Clone Technique

• Genjutsu: Shadow Possession Jutsu

Weapon: Tempered Katana

Rank: Chunin → (Special Jonin, Jonin, Elite Jonin, Kage, Super Kage, Six Paths)

"Chōjūrō, Hōzuki Suigetsu, and Ringo Ameyuri… familiar faces."

Yoru eyed the three standout candidates in the crowd, his blood boiling with anticipation.

How much stronger are they compared to me?

But as he sized them up, someone else was watching him.

A scarred boy with a mark over his right eye sneered. "Yoru, enjoy your last moments of sunlight."

"BEGIN!"

At the proctor’s command, over a hundred examinees stormed into the forest—a deadly arena under full surveillance.

"Mei Terumī, pray your little brother makes it out alive."

A smirking man, Kanta Sen, brushed past Mei with a venomous chuckle.

Her eyes turned glacial. "If you dare pull any underhanded tricks, I’ll make sure you regret it."

Their tense exchange didn’t go unnoticed.

"Oh? Mei and Kanta at each other’s throats? Interesting."

The speaker was a towering figure with red markings around his mouth—Zabuza Momochi, one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen.

Beside him stood Raiga Kurosuki and Fuguki Suikazan, all grinning like sharks scenting blood.

"Wonder how many will survive this year," Fuguki mused.

Raiga licked his lips. "Let’s hope for a good show."

Yoru hadn’t taken ten steps before ambushes rained down on him.

"Heh. Luck’s on my side—I got the dead-last loser!"

This was the third time he’d heard that today.

And just like the others, this attacker now gaped at the blade buried in his chest.

"Im… impossible…"

The light faded from his eyes, disbelief etched on his face.

Since when was Yoru this strong?!

Yoru wiped his blade, smirking. "Guess playing the weakling paid off."

The first kill had shaken him.

The second, less so.

Now, the third? He was adapting.

"Let’s see how many more will feed me points."

Surviving alone was enough to pass—but higher kill counts meant better mentors.

And Yoru aimed high.

The proctors monitoring the forest stiffened.

Three kills in minutes?!

"That’s Yoru? No way. Mei must’ve swapped him with a ringer!"

"That trash? I’ll eat my headband if that’s really him!"

Kanta seized the moment, gloating at Mei. "Substitution’s a capital offense, Mei. You’re finished."

"Fool," she scoffed—but dark-clad ANBU already surrounded her.

Until Yoru’s identity was verified, she’d be detained.

"Heh. Prey delivered right to me."

A scarred boy, Banshō, licked his lips as Yoru walked into his trap.

"Sorry, kid. Blame your bad luck—and pissing off the wrong people."

Hands flew into seals.

"Hiding in Mist Technique!"

Thick fog swallowed Yoru whole—Banshō’s domain.

"Here, I’m the hunter. You’re just meat."

A whisper. A flash of steel.

"GOT YOU."

Banshō’s kunai pierced Yoru’s throat—or so he thought.

The body collapsed… then dissolved into water.

"Wha—?!"

Before he could react, Yoru’s blade punctured his lung from behind.

"You killed a clone. Pathetic."

Banshō choked. "But… no hand signs…!"

Yoru twisted the blade. "If you’d seen them, I’d be ashamed."

"Who sent you?"

No answer came—just a corpse hitting the dirt.

Elsewhere, Suigetsu and Ameyuri carved through examinees like wheat.

"Weak! So weak! Can’t any of you fight back?!"

Their victims cursed internally. "Freaks!"

Meanwhile, Chōjūrō was cornered—nine enemies hacking at him.

"Die already! The village doesn’t need monsters like you!"

Bleeding and outnumbered, he teetered on the edge of death…