The air in the classroom seemed to solidify; only the scratch of pens on paper and the occasional fidget broke the silence.
At some point Tenten had fixed a mirror to the ceiling, guiding it with threads so Lee could glimpse his answers.
All around, the ragged breathing of panicking examinees grew louder.
Morino Ibiki stood immovable at the lectern, hawk-sharp eyes sweeping every would-be cheater below.
He had already disqualified plenty caught in clumsy attempts.
Hinata sat at her desk, pale Byakugan eyes calmly skimming the test.
To an ordinary Genin the questions were devilish, yet she could solve them without ever turning her gaze to the "model-answer" proctors.
Still, she felt no urge to write.
These questions… are meaningless.
Her heart was unruffled.
The final rule is all that matters; a perfect score and a blank sheet are the same under Ibiki's law.
She glanced at the blond boy next door who was tugging his hair in frustration.
That golden head drooped over a sheet empty except for his crooked name.
Same as always.
Boredom seeped in. Why waste time on useless questions when she could do something else?
Hey, I've got an idea.
She lifted her brush, but instead of filling the answer boxes she let the tip dance across the margin as though this were private sketch-time.
Heh, I did study drawing once.
First came a spare mountain-and-stream landscape in ancient style.
The strokes were simple, the Concept profound.
In the center she drew a figure—Shisui came to mind—added a mustache, then wrote.
Her calligraphy was airy.
"Strive to cross, strive to cross—flip the wrist, Body-Flick and hold."
Poem finished, she set the brush down and admired her handiwork.
She added several more sketches, each with its own "ancient verse."
"First hand, reverse hand—both need Susanoo; even a fool can show a trick or two."
"Low in rank yet daring to worry for the land—substitute and flip the Great Shinra."
Hmm, can't leave out Super-guy; let's add an alien.
"Clouds drift lightly round my form; double water-gliding goes ding."
"Collar hiked to the top—that's how you know we're hardcore."
(with a chubby doodle)
At last she pondered, then appended:
"Jiang's my surname, handsome's my disease; I'm Jiang Shuai and I've got surname-sickness."
Hahahaha—art, pure art.
Hinata beamed at her paper now blooming with drawings and doggerel.
She made no effort to hide it; the pictures and poems sat brazenly where answers should be, a stark contrast to the frantic scribbling around her.
Hokage Office
The Crystal Ball's view zeroed in on Hinata's sheet.
When the sketch and verses sharpened into view, Hiruzen Sarutobi's pipe-hand froze, the smoke wavering.
His deep eyes locked on the lines as he murmured:
"Strive to cross, strive to cross—flip the wrist and Body-Flick hold?"
The Third was baffled. What did it mean, and why did the portrait look like Shisui?
And this "substitute and flip the Great Shinra"—he knew substitution, but what in the world was Great Shinra?
"…Keep watching."
After a pause Hiruzen ordered, gaze still fixed on the placid white-eyed girl.
"When the first exam ends, bring me her original paper."
He instructed the shadows.
He had to decipher this oddity.
Several Jonin instructors waited in a room.
Kakashi Hatake lounged as lazily as ever.
Kurenai Yuhi cradled a teacup, a trace of worry in her eyes, while Asuma Sarutobi puffed a lit cigarette.
"Ah… without my team around, life's so dull," Kakashi drawled.
"Won't stay dull for long," Asuma replied calmly.
"Why's that?"
"Word is the first proctor is Morino Ibiki."
Kakashi: …Crap, even the written section is doomed.
"Why him of all people…"
Kurenai looked puzzled.
"Ibiki?"
Asuma explained patiently.
"Red, you're newly promoted; you wouldn't know. The man's a specialist."
"Specialist?"
Kakashi sighed and took over.
"He's the torture-and-interrogation ace. His specialty is crushing minds, not bodies. If he's running the first test, they want to pile on pressure from the start."
"Right—no physical pain, just mental. He heads the Anbu's interrogation unit."
Asuma tapped ash into a tray.
Kakashi pictured the scene: Ibiki's scarred face, that gravel voice, his crafted rules—enough to make fragile Genin fold before the fight began.
"That knucklehead Naruto…" Kakashi could already see his loud Disciple wilting.
"And Sasuke—cool, yes, but a proud heart is meat and drink to a seasoned breaker. Sakura's book-smart, yet nerves…"
Kurenai fell silent.
Asuma inhaled.
"Let's hope the kids endure."
Kakashi's gaze seemed to bore through the wall toward the exam hall.
Inside, minutes crawled.
Ibiki announced the merciless Tenth Question; pressure rolled through the room like a tide.
His low voice, scarred visage, dead eyes—every inch the pitiless judge—drove a steady stream of candidates to raise trembling hands and walk out in shame or despair.
Naruto clenched his fists, sweat soaking his hitai-ate.
The crushing weight swept the classroom.
More hands shot up; more aspirants left under the glare of teammates or their own broken hopes.
At the peak of tension Naruto's arm shot skyward.
"Naruto!" Sakura gasped; Sasuke tensed.
Everyone thought he was quitting—until his fist slammed the desk and his declaration rang out.
"Don't underestimate me! I won't run! I'll take the tenth question! Even if I stay a Genin for life, I'm marching toward Hokage—scared of nothing!"
He dropped back into his seat, arms folded, daring anyone to challenge him.
His words fanned fresh courage through the room.
Even Sasuke smiled, grudging respect in his eyes.
Morino Ibiki watched the boy whose gaze burned with fire, and at last a grin creased that fearsome face.