Misae, weighed down by the forgotten backpack and a bento box that was rapidly losing its structural integrity, was intercepted at the Academy gates by a middle-aged woman with sharp glasses and an even sharper demeanor.
"Hold it right there, Ma'am. Class assignments are already in progress. No unauthorized entry," the teacher barked, her hand raised like a traffic cop.
"But my son is inside!" Misae pleaded, clutching the strap of the bag.
"Your son?" The teacher adjusted her glasses with a clinical flick and scanned a heavy register. "Name?"
"Nohara Shinchan."
The woman's eyes drifted down the list, then snapped back up to Misae. "He's already been processed into Class A. Please return home."
"But his lunch—"
"The Academy provides standardized nutrition," the teacher interrupted, her tone final. "Pick-up is at four sharp. Have a pleasant afternoon."
The massive iron gates groaned as they swung shut, leaving Misae standing alone on the sidewalk, clutching a small backpack while a stray leaf tumbled past her in the wind.
"So..." Misae whispered to the empty street, "I just ran a marathon... for absolutely nothing?"
Meanwhile, inside the hallowed halls of Class A, a certain five-year-old was blissfully unaware that his mother was currently contemplating a breakdown outside.
The classroom was filled with about a dozen kids, all sitting with the kind of rigid posture that only lasts for the first ten minutes of the first day. Standing at the front was a man in his early twenties wearing round-framed glasses. He had the haggard, weary look of an academic who had replaced sleep with caffeine and old scrolls.
This was Ibuki Toru, a Chunin whose career on the front lines had been sidelined by a nagging injury, leading him to the arguably more dangerous task of teaching children.
"Alright, everyone, settle down," Ibuki-sensei said, clapping his hands for attention. "Let's start with introductions. When I call your name, stand up and tell us a bit about yourself."
He flipped open the ledger. "Kakashi Hatake."
A boy with gravity-defying silver hair and a mask covering half his face stood up. His eyes looked perpetually bored, as if he were already mentally calculating the fastest way out of the room.
"Kakashi Hatake."
He sat back down immediately. The room went silent.
Ibuki-sensei blinked. "That's... that's all we get?"
Kakashi gave a single, curt nod.
"Right. Very... concise," the teacher muttered, checking a box. "Next up, Uchiha Obito."
A boy with spiky black hair practically launched himself out of his chair. "My name is Uchiha Obito! I'm going to be the next Hokage, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it! Glad to be here!"
He bowed so low and with such enthusiasm that his forehead made a resounding crack against the desk in front of him.
"Energy. I like energy," Ibuki-sensei said, rubbing his temples. "Next... Nohara Shinchan."
Shinchan rose sluggishly, as if the act of standing was a major logistical hurdle. "My name is Nohara Shinchan. I'm five years old. I live in the apartment complex behind the Leaf Village hot springs—the one with the good view. I'm currently single and looking for a long-term commitment with someone who appreciates a good nap."
The classroom erupted into a chorus of giggles. Ibuki-sensei's mouth twitched. "Continue... I guess."
"I have a deep, spiritual connection with chocolate bars," Shinchan continued, tilting his head thoughtfully. "On the flip side, I consider green peppers and carrots to be a personal insult. Also, my mom was supposed to bring my lunch, but she's notoriously bad with directions, so she's probably wandering around a forest somewhere. Teacher, if I get hungry, are you willing to go halves on a sandwich?"
Another wave of laughter rolled through the room. Ibuki-sensei felt a headache forming behind his eyes. He turned to the blackboard, chalk screeching as he wrote three large characters.
"Alright, class. Today's first and most vital lesson is about Chakra."
He pushed up his glasses and surveyed the room. "Has anyone heard this term before?"
Obito's hand shot up like a rocket. "I know! The Hokage has tons of it! It's what makes him a total boss!"
"Essentially, yes," Ibuki-sensei nodded. "Chakra is the raw energy a ninja uses to manifest Ninjutsu. It's a delicate cocktail of two specific ingredients."
He scrawled on the board: Physical Energy and Spiritual Energy.
"By mixing and refining these two forces within your own body, you create Chakra," he said, clenching a fist for emphasis. "This is the foundation of everything we do."
Shinchan slumped onto his desk, staring at the board with a look of utter confusion. Physical? Spiritual? Refinement? This sounds like a lot of work.
He leaned over toward Che Uchiha, who was already diligently scribbling notes.
"Hey, Tetsu," Shinchan whispered.
Che didn't look up, his pen flying across the paper. "It's Che. What is it?"
"Is this Chakra thing like the gooey filling inside a chocolate bar?"
Che's pen skipped. He turned to look at Shinchan with a look of pure bewilderment. "No."
"Is it like the sticky strings you get when you stir natto?"
"Not even close."
"Is it the invisible fire that comes out of my mom's ears when I forget to put my socks in the hamper?"
Che was silent for a beat, then sighed. "Just... try to feel if there's a warm power buzzing inside your chest or stomach."
Shinchan squeezed his eyes shut and focused with every ounce of his five-year-old soul. Three seconds passed.
"Nope. Nothing but a faint desire for a nap."
Che shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you. I can just feel it. It's just... there."
Shinchan nodded sagely. "Ah, I see. So it's one of those 'vibes' things. Logic is useless here."
Che opened his mouth to argue, but Ibuki-sensei tapped the board, commanding attention.
"Enough theory. Everyone, close your eyes. We are going to attempt to sense your internal energy. Start with your Physical Energy—think about that lingering soreness in your muscles after a long run. Then, find your Spiritual Energy—that sharp feeling of total concentration. Now, try to swirl them together. Refine them."
The room went quiet as a dozen children squeezed their eyes shut.
Shinchan followed suit. Physical Energy... soreness... He thought about the morning's sprint and how his calves were still throbbing. Check. Spiritual Energy... concentration... He tried to focus on a chocolate bar—the way the foil crinkles, the snap of the cocoa, the creamy finish. He focused so hard he could practically taste it.
Then, he tried to mash the two together. The ache in his legs met the image of the chocolate bar in a dark, swirling void in his belly.
Wait.
A sudden, humming warmth began to bloom in his gut. It felt like he'd swallowed a small, golden sun that was now lazily spinning in circles.
Shinchan's eyes snapped open. He looked down at his palms, expecting them to be glowing. They weren't. But the sensation remained—a steady, warm current flowing through him like a hidden river.
"Teacher," Shinchan said, raising his hand.
Ibuki-sensei, who was patrolling the aisles, stopped at his desk. "Yes, Shinchan? Need a snack break already?"
"I think I found it."
The teacher paused. "Found what?"
"The buzzing warm thing," Shinchan said, tilting his head. "It's doing laps in my stomach."
Ibuki-sensei's eyebrows shot up. He knelt down and placed a hand on Shinchan's shoulder to sense his internal flow. His expression shifted from mild skepticism to absolute shock in less than a second.
"You... you actually refined it?"
Shinchan blinked. "Was I not supposed to? Is it dangerous? Will I explode?"
Ibuki-sensei was speechless. For a five-year-old to sense chakra on the first try was impressive; to actually refine and circulate it within minutes was practically unheard of.
"How?" Ibuki managed to ask. "What was your process?"
Shinchan looked at him with complete sincerity. "Well, I thought about how much my legs hurt from running, then I imagined a really high-quality chocolate bar, and then I just... shook them together like a milkshake. And then—poof—warm tummy."
Ibuki-sensei stared at him, a hollow feeling growing in his chest. I spent three weeks as a kid staring at a leaf just to get a flicker of energy, he thought. And this kid just used sore legs and candy?
"A milkshake," the teacher repeated, his voice faint. "Right. Of course."
If you like it, please give power stones.