Ebisu had no final name, no proud clan history to boast about. Just Ebisu. One of the countless orphans churned out by the Shinobi world. He liked to think he had made something of his life. To the outside world, he was the very image of discipline—a stickler for rules and textbook perfection. But behind closed doors? His apartment told a different story.

He groaned as he woke up, his head pounding slightly from another late night of… reading. It wasn't something he could brag about. In fact, his taste in literature would have made him blush if anyone ever found out. But it wasn't as if anyone was going to. Ebisu was a private man. Nothing to be proud of, sure, but nothing to be ashamed of either. Probably.

He sat up on the futon that doubled as his bed and glanced around at the mess that surrounded him. Clothes were strewn across the floor, empty takeout boxes were stacked precariously on the kitchen counter, and a framed photo of his old genin team sat crooked on the windowsill, gathering dust.

Genma. Guy. Himself.

What had he done with his life? Genma had been part of the Hokage's personal guard before moving on to becoming a Tokubetsu Jōnin. Guy was… well, Guy. Already a jōnin, carving out his own legend with pure insanity and youth. And him? Still a chūnin after half a decade. Sure, he called himself a specialist in training, but when he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the same thought always lingered: You're just a nobody, Ebisu.

With a sigh, he got to his feet, running a hand through his dark hair. His sunglasses, ever-present and perfectly polished, sat on the counter next to a pile of unfolded laundry. He grabbed them, slipping them on as he shuffled toward the kitchen.

The day began as it always did: lukewarm coffee, a stale rice ball from the market down the road, and an overwhelming sense of mediocrity.

But his routine was interrupted by a knock at the door.

His eyebrows shot up. Visitors were rare. Usually, the only knocks he heard came from his landlord, and he'd already paid rent this month. Curious—and mildly annoyed—he crossed the room, carefully stepping over a kunai pouch left on the floor.

When he opened the door, he froze.

Standing in the doorway was an ANBU operative. The porcelain mask—a hawk design with sharp, angular lines—revealed nothing, but the silent authority of the ANBU was unmistakable. Their presence at his doorstep immediately sent his thoughts racing.

"Greetings, ANBU-san," Ebisu said, straightening instinctively. "What can I do for you?"

"The Hokage has asked to see you. Five minutes."

"Understood."

The operative vanished in a blur, and Ebisu quickly grabbed his forehead protector, securing it like a bandanna. Without wasting another moment, he activated the Body Flicker Technique and arrived at the Hokage Tower's entrance in seconds.

The Hokage's secretary barely glanced up as Ebisu announced himself. "Chūnin Ebisu," he said, "here to see the Hokage."

She nodded, motioning for him to proceed. He adjusted his sunglasses and made his way inside, his nerves tightening as the heavy doors opened.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage, sat at his desk, the picture of calm authority. The Professor. The God of Shinobi.

"Chūnin Ebisu, reporting," he said with a bow, keeping his tone steady.

"At ease, Ebisu," the Hokage said, raising a hand.

Ebisu straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. Hiruzen studied him from behind the desk, his sharp eyes gleaming beneath the brim of his hat. Even in his old age, his presence was overwhelming—a reminder of the power and wisdom he carried as Konoha's leader.

"Ebisu," Hiruzen began, "you've built quite a reputation for yourself."

Ebisu puffed his chest out slightly, pleased by the compliment. "Thank you, Hokage-sama. I've worked hard to—"

The Hokage held up a hand, cutting him off. "Your knowledge is extensive, and your skills as an instructor are commendable. I've received letters of recommendation from ten jōnin, all praising your ability to help others perfect their techniques. That alone is impressive."

"I am honored, Hokage-sama. I've always believed that a shinobi's strength lies not only in their own abilities but in their capacity to nurture the next generation."

Hiruzen's lips quirked slightly, as though suppressing a smile. "Well said. However, letters of recommendation alone are not enough to promote a chūnin to Tokubetsu Jōnin. Practical proof of your abilities is required."

"Practical proof?"

"You may have the theoretical knowledge, Ebisu, but I must see that knowledge applied. To put it plainly, you will need to complete a task of my choosing to prove you are worthy of the promotion."

Ebisu kept his face neutral, though his mind was racing. This wasn't what he had expected. "Hokage-sama, with all due respect, I believe the recommendations themselves demonstrate the practicality of my work—"

"Yes, they are impressive," Hiruzen interrupted, "but not conclusive. Consider this a final test."

The tone left no room for argument. "Understood, Lord Third. What would you have me do?"

The Hokage exhaled a cloud of smoke from his pipe. "Naruto Uzumaki."

Ebisu stiffened slightly. The name alone was enough to make anyone in Konoha pause.

"Naruto Uzumaki?" he repeated cautiously.

"His previous teachers have been… a little too bitter to teach him properly," Hiruzen said, sliding a report across the desk toward him. "I'm trusting you to correct their failures."

Hiruzen Sarutobi had laid out the situation in painstaking detail—Naruto Uzumaki's sabotaged education, the systemic failures of the Academy, and the personal vendettas of the instructors. It was a disgrace, to be sure, but as the explanation unfolded, Ebisu's thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Truthfully, he wasn't particularly fond of the boy. Or the beast. If he could avoid Naruto, he did, though he harbored no ill will. The boy was a nuisance, a whirlwind of chaos, and his connection to the Nine-Tails was… troubling. Still, it wasn't Ebisu's place to hate him. He simply preferred to keep his distance.

And now, here he was, handed a direct order from the Hokage himself—a command that came with the tantalizing possibility of a promotion. But…

"Hokage-sama," Ebisu said cautiously, "am I truly the right person for this mission? I mean no disrespect, but I fear I may not be suited for such a task."

It was a polite attempt to decline, though he knew even as he spoke that it was futile. Hiruzen Sarutobi wasn't a man who took no for an answer when his mind was made up.

"Why wouldn't you be?" Hiruzen's voice was calm, his eyes studying Ebisu like an insect under a magnifying glass. "You have tutored numerous shinobi, many of whom have excelled under your guidance. Your academic scores in the Academy remain among the highest in Konoha's history, surpassed only by Minato Namikaze and Itachi Uchiha. You possess both the knowledge and the experience required to teach. What better teacher could I ask for?"

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then, with a faint frown, he added, "But if you are experiencing doubts, that does disappoint me."

Ebisu stiffened at that, feeling the subtle pressure behind the Hokage's words. Hiruzen was strong-arming him, and they both knew it.

"What exactly are my parameters for this mission?"

"Simple. You are to teach Naruto Uzumaki from a kindergarten level to that of a competent genin. If he is able to qualify as a genin, you will have proven your capability as a Tokubetsu Jōnin."

"And what is the time frame for this mission, Hokage-sama?"

"Let's say five years," Hiruzen replied, tapping the ash from his pipe. "But given the praise you've received from your colleagues, I'm confident you'll be able to do it in less."

Five years. Five years to mold the most chaotic, undisciplined, and academically underperforming student in the village into a passable genin. It wasn't impossible, but it wasn't going to be easy, either.

"Understood, Hokage-sama."

"Oh, and one more thing," Hiruzen added as if it was an afterthought. "Naruto will be under the protection of an ANBU operative for the foreseeable future. You know how it is… protection."

Ebisu understood the implication immediately. The ANBU wasn't just there to protect Naruto. They were there to monitor him. To ensure he was performing his duties. To remind him of what happened to those who failed.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Hokage-sama. I will ensure that Naruto Uzumaki receives the training he needs to become an exceptional shinobi."

Hiruzen nodded. "I have high expectations, Ebisu. Do not disappoint me. And may the Will of Fire guide you."

Mornings were always the same for Naruto Uzumaki. Quiet. Too quiet.

He woke up to the sound of nothing. No birds chirping, no calls from someone telling him to get up before he missed breakfast. Just the faint hum of the pipes in the walls of his apartment.

His place? It was huge. Way too big for one kid, but that's what you got when they stuck you in an old complex built for families and forgot to check how much space you actually needed. The walls were bare, the floors creaked in weird places, and cobwebs clung to corners he hadn't bothered to clean yet. It didn't feel like home—it was just where he slept.

Naruto kicked the blanket off and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. His hair stuck out in all directions, and he had to squint against the sunlight sneaking through the blinds.

"Alright, time to start the day! Believe it!" he said aloud, trying to pump himself up. But his voice only echoed back at him, reminding him how empty the place was.

He got up and shuffled to the kitchen. Breakfast wasn't much—instant ramen again. He had a whole cabinet stuffed with it. Chicken flavor today. Fancy, right? While the water boiled, Naruto leaned against the counter, staring at the scuffed tile floor.

Some mornings, he told himself the quiet didn't bother him. But most days? Yeah, it kind of did.

The streets of Konoha were already busy when Naruto left his apartment. Shopkeepers were opening their doors, ninjas darted across rooftops, and civilians bustled around carrying baskets of groceries or kids in their arms.

Naruto walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, keeping his head down as he passed people. He could feel their eyes on him. He didn't need to look to know some of them were whispering.

"That's him, right?"

"Yeah. That kid."

"It's always him."

He pretended not to hear them. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten used to it. But even if he told himself it didn't matter, there was this tight feeling in his chest every time it happened. Like he was carrying something heavy he couldn't put down.

The Academy wasn't far. By the time he got there, most of the other kids were already inside. He hesitated at the entrance, staring up at the building. The place looked huge—like it was daring him to try again after yesterday's disaster.

The classroom was loud, as always. Kids shouted over each other, their voices bouncing off the walls as they laughed, bragged, and showed off little tricks they'd learned. Naruto walked in, head held high, pretending not to notice the looks some of them threw his way. He knew what was coming—same as always. Still, he made his way to his seat near the back, sliding into it like he didn't have a care in the world.

It didn't take long.

"Oi, Naruto!" Kiba's voice cut through the noise, and Naruto groaned, slouching lower in his chair. Kiba was already leaning back in his seat, that smirk plastered on his face, Akamaru perched comfortably on his head like a little white hat. "Heard you tried to graduate early. What, you think you're some kinda prodigy now?"

"Tch. What's it to you, dog breath? At least I've got the guts to try!" Naruto shot back, crossing his arms.

Kiba barked out a laugh, and Akamaru let out a soft yip as if agreeing with him. "Yeah, try and fail. You can't even pass a normal exam! What made you think you could skip ahead?"

The words hit hard, but Naruto wasn't about to let him see it. He jabbed a finger in Kiba's direction. "Oh, like you're some kind of genius, huh? You only passed because Akamaru probably helped you cheat!"

"Say that again!" Kiba growled, half-standing from his seat. Akamaru barked in protest as he nearly fell off.

"Oh, I'll say it as many times as I want!" Naruto shot back, slamming his hands on the desk and standing up. "At least I'm not sitting around waiting for handouts like you!"

That got the attention of the whole room. Chōji stopped mid-chew, his hand hovering over his bag of chips. Ino turned away from whatever she and Sakura had been arguing about. Even Shikamaru lifted his head from his folded arms, glancing at Naruto with that bored, half-lidded look of his.

The classroom fell into a tense silence as the door slid open. Iruka-sensei walked in, flanked by the principal and a few other shinobi. The sudden presence of authority was enough to make everyone settle into their seats without a word.

Iruka moved to the front of the class, clearing his throat. His face was set in that serious yet patient expression he always wore when something important was about to happen.

"Yesterday," Iruka began, "one of your classmates took the early graduation exam."

Whispers broke out instantly, most of them paired with quick glances at Naruto. Iruka held up a hand, silencing the chatter.

"While we initially determined that Naruto Uzumaki had failed," he continued, looking directly at Naruto now, "upon further investigation, we discovered errors in the grading. After carefully reviewing his performance, the results have changed."

The room went dead silent.

"Congratulations, Naruto Uzumaki," the principal said, "you are now a genin."

She opened a small box, revealing the unmistakable glint of a Konoha forehead protector.

Naruto sat there, frozen, his mind completely blank. This had to be some kind of mistake. Or a dream. Yeah, that made sense—a dream. He pinched his arm, hard, just to make sure.

It hurt.

"This isn't a dream," he whispered, his voice shaky. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring everything except the headband in the principal's hands.

"Come to the front, Naruto," Iruka said, motioning toward him with a warm smile.

Naruto pushed himself out of his seat, his legs moving on their own. The entire class was staring, but for once, he didn't care. He walked to the front, every step feeling heavier than the last, until he was standing in front of the principal.

She cleared her throat. "Naruto Uzumaki, as a genin of Konohagakure, you carry the responsibility of representing this village. This is not an easy path. You will face challenges that require strength, discipline, and courage. But I believe that you have the potential to uphold the honor of the Hidden Leaf with the will of fire in your heart."

Naruto barely heard her words. His eyes were locked on the headband. The iron plate gleamed in the light, and the leaf symbol etched into it seemed larger than life. His hands shook as he reached out, fingers brushing against the cloth band.

"A forehead protector," Iruka said softly. "It's more than just a piece of gear, Naruto. It's a symbol of who you are and what you stand for as a shinobi of this village."

Naruto nodded, swallowing hard as he took it. His hands felt clumsy as he tied it around his forehead.

He did it. He actually did it.

"If I may," a new voice said.

Naruto turned to see a man stepping forward. He carried himself with a rigid, almost formal air, and his expression was unreadable behind those dark lenses.

"I am Ebisu," the man introduced himself. "Naruto Uzumaki, as of today, you are under my direct supervision."

"Wait, what?" Naruto asked, confused.

"Normally," Ebisu continued, "genin are placed in three-man teams under the guidance of a jōnin. However, since you have graduated early and there are currently no team placements available, the Hokage has assigned me as your personal instructor."

"Wait, wait—so, are you super strong?"

Ebisu paused, visibly taken aback by the question. "I am a shinobi specializing in training the elites of Konoha," he said after a moment. "And I have heard that your dream is to become Hokage."

"You bet it is!" Naruto exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Then I will make sure you become a shinobi capable of achieving that goal," Ebisu said firmly.

A grin stretched across Naruto's face, the biggest one he'd ever worn. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"Let's go," Ebisu said, turning on his heel and heading toward the door.

Naruto followed him, pausing just long enough to look back at the classroom. Everyone was still staring, their expressions a mix of shock, confusion, and—yeah, a little jealousy.

Naruto couldn't help himself. "See you around, academy students," he said, putting extra emphasis on the last two words. Then, just because he could, he flipped them the bird and turned to leave.

He didn't even get two steps before he bumped into Ebisu, who had stopped just outside the door.

"Is something wrong, Ebisu-sensei?" Naruto asked, tilting his head.

Ebisu stood still for a moment before turning to face him, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Do you expect to become Hokage behaving like that?"

Naruto opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Ebisu raised a hand. "Naruto," he said in a calm, even tone, gesturing back toward the classroom, "becoming Hokage means earning the respect of every single shinobi in this village. That includes your classmates. Would they follow a Hokage who mocks them?"

Naruto blinked, his grin fading as he looked down. Ebisu was right, wasn't he?

Taking a deep breath, Naruto turned back to the class, rubbing the back of his head. "Uh… sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "It was… something to study alongside you all. I hope you all become awesome ninja too. So… yeah, bye."

Iruka couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at Naruto's words. In that moment, all of his fears and doubts seemed to fade. The Hokage had chosen well—Ebisu would be a good teacher for Naruto, perhaps even the one he needed most.

Still, a pang of sadness lingered in Iruka's chest. Guilt gnawed at him for not being able to protect Naruto better, especially when someone like Mizuki had been so close to hurting him. But as he watched the boy wave at him, a bright grin on his face, and then dart off after Ebisu with all the energy in the world, Iruka let himself smile.

"Go on, Naruto," he murmured softly, his voice carrying a warmth that only grew as the boy disappeared from sight. "Become a shinobi worthy of being Hokage."

The classroom felt more tense than usual, and Iruka wasn't surprised. He had been watching the clock, counting down the minutes until the inevitable happened. It wasn't a question of if the rest of the class would want to take the early graduation exam, but when.

Naruto had passed, and if there was one thing Iruka knew about kids, it was that they fed off each other's confidence—or, in this case, the illusion of it.

Sure enough, the first one to come up was Sasuke Uchiha. Of course it was him. Who else?

Sasuke stood by Iruka's desk, looking exactly the same as he always did—black eyes, spiky hair, navy-blue shirt with that high collar, white shorts, and his usual air of superiority.

"Well then," Iruka said, handing him the form, "just fill this out, and the test will be conducted in the evening if you're ready."

"Hn." That was all Sasuke said as he grabbed the paper and walked off.

Iruka wasn't even fazed. That reaction was as predictable as the sunrise. The principal had already given them, the homeroom teachers, strict instructions: if any student asked for early graduation, they were to allow it.

Not that it meant they'd get it. Naruto's case was special. The rest of them? They'd be lucky to pass the cafeteria on their way to a diploma.

By the time the first period ended, more students had lined up. Kiba was next, swaggering up to Iruka's desk like he had something to prove.

"If Naruto can do it, then so can I!"

"Sure you can," Iruka muttered, handing him the form.

Then came Sakura and Ino. And of course, it wasn't because they genuinely wanted to graduate early. No, they did it because of Sasuke. The way they bickered over who would outperform the other on the exam was proof enough of that. Iruka handed them their forms without much thought, already predicting the chaos they'd cause.

A few confident civilian students followed, their faces full of determination. Iruka admired their courage, even if they had no idea what they were signing up for.

Then came the one surprise of the day—Hinata Hyuga.

She approached him quietly, her gaze flickering down to the floor before meeting his. Iruka wasn't shocked that she was there, though. He had been her homeroom teacher long enough to notice how often she glanced toward Naruto during class. He had seen it in her eyes—the way she looked at him like he was her hero.

Naruto inspired her. It wasn't just admiration; it was something deeper, something that made her want to be better.

As Iruka handed her the form, he smiled. "Do your best," he said gently.

Hinata nodded shyly, clutching the paper as she turned and walked away.

When second period ended, Iruka headed to the teacher's lounge, where the real news hit him. Neji Hyuga and a few upperclassmen had signed up for early graduation as well.

Naruto, if only you could see it—you're the talk of the entire school.

He let out a small sigh, imagining the chaos that would follow. He had barely settled into a chair when—

"Chūnin Umino Iruka."

Iruka froze.

The voice was calm, but he recognized it instantly. He turned, and there she was—death in the form of purple hair and a cat ANBU mask. Neko. The same woman who had executed Mizuki.

Was she here for me?

His heart jumped to his throat. He made a long, tired sigh. Without another word, he dropped to his knees and bent his head low.

"My only request," he said, voice steady despite the panic clawing at his chest, "is that you make it quick and painless."

He kneeled there, waiting. Any second now, he expected the cold steel of a blade to slice through his neck. Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, and when nothing happened, he cautiously lifted his head.

Neko was standing there, perfectly still, her posture relaxed. He couldn't see her face behind the mask, but he knew she was amused.

"Are you finished?"

Iruka blinked. Once. Twice. Then the realization hit him—she wasn't there to kill him for some reason. Heat flooded his face as he scrambled to his feet, coughing awkwardly.

"Ah—of course—ANBU-san, I—er—I was just… practicing. For a recital. A play. Or a musical. About the honorable death of a samurai. Ha… ha…"

I want to crawl into a hole and die.

"You have been selected by the Hokage to host the early graduation," she said, her tone cool and professional.

Iruka straightened up immediately, grabbing the scroll she handed him. "Shouldn't this be delivered to the principal?"

"A shinobi looks beneath the underneath, Umino-san," she said smoothly, her voice cutting through him like a kunai. "I'm sure even just a chūnin can figure it out."

And just like that, she flickered away, vanishing into thin air as if she were nothing but a bad dream. Iruka stared at the spot where she had been, the weight of her words pressing down on his chest. Slowly, he looked down at the scroll in his hand.

Just a chūnin?!

He had never felt his rank sting like that before. He'd heard those words in passing before, sure—some jōnin laughing at the expense of the "mid-tier" shinobi, but he'd brushed it off. This time, though, it hit different. Maybe because it came from someone like her, someone with enough authority to execute someone without blinking.

He shoved the thought aside. He had a job to do.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the hall was packed with students. There were kids from every corner of the Academy—some older, some younger—all buzzing with excitement, nerves, or a dangerous combination of both. The news had spread like wildfire. Naruto Uzumaki had passed the early graduation exam, and now every kid in the school was convinced they could do the same.

The room echoed with chatter and restless energy, but Iruka's mind wasn't fully there. He kept thinking back to what the ANBU had said. Beneath the underneath. Just a chūnin. The words circled in his head, twisting into something heavier than they had any right to be.

He didn't even notice the vice principal standing next to him until he nudged his arm.

"Huh, what?"

"We need a word from the head examiner," the vice principal said, giving him a look that told him he'd already been zoned out for longer than he should've been.

Right. He stood up and took a deep breath, channeling chakra into his vocal cords. The sensation was familiar but always strange—like a soft hum vibrating at the base of his throat, pushing the sound forward and amplifying it without straining. His mind cleared as he focused on what needed to be said. The Hokage had been very clear about the message he was supposed to deliver.

"I know why you're all here," Iruka said, his voice echoing throughout the hall. The chatter died down, replaced by expectant silence. "You've all heard the news—Naruto Uzumaki has graduated early. Some of you think that if he could do it, then it should be easy, right?" He paused, watching as a few kids shifted awkwardly in their seats. "Well, here's the truth. If you have what it takes, you'll be given the exact same exam that Naruto was given. If you pass, congratulations—you're a genin. If not, I'll see you back in class tomorrow."

Iruka sat down as the teachers began handing out the exams, his face calm, but inside, he felt like he'd just told the biggest lie of his life.

Because the truth was, they weren't getting the same exam Naruto had taken.

Naruto had been given a standard genin exam. It wasn't easy for him, sure, but it was fair. What these kids were holding in their hands was something completely different. The Hokage himself had designed this test, and when Iruka had skimmed through it earlier, he'd nearly shivered at how brutal it was.

The Hokage wasn't just testing these students. He was protecting the illusion that Naruto's graduation had been earned the hard way, making sure no one could accuse the boy of getting special treatment.

Maybe that's why I was chosen to be the head examiner, Iruka realized. To help sell the illusion that this was the same exam, that Naruto's path to genin was no different from anyone else's.

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as the students hunched over their papers, some already looking like they regretted signing up for this. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Guess I did look beneath the underneath, huh? Maybe he wasn't just some "fucking chūnin" after all.

Still, he couldn't shake the restless energy coursing through him. He wanted to get up, head to the training ground, and push himself until the doubt in his chest burned away.

Perhaps, Iruka thought, this was a bad idea.

It wasn't like him to get riled up like this. He wasn't the kind of man to grit his teeth, squeeze his fists, and declare that he was going to get stronger out of sheer frustration. It wasn't like him to feel discontent with his role as a teacher—a role he'd worked so hard to earn, a role he thought defined him.

The world needed teachers. It was a necessity.

Teachers built foundations, passed down knowledge, and shaped the future. They ensured that students not only survived but thrived. Iruka had always wanted to be a teacher. He achieved that goal, and for a long time, he was happy.

Then came the next question.

Now what?

It was a question he'd never needed to ask himself before. He had always been content with his place at the Academy, guiding young, fragile minds and nurturing their dreams of becoming shinobi. He had even entertained the idea that one day he might become a principal or help expand the school. It was a simple dream, but it had been enough.

"Just a chūnin."

Those words hit him harder than they should have. They stripped his dream bare, leaving it hollow and unsatisfying.

He couldn't hate the ANBU operative for saying it. He understood the life she lived—the horrors she had seen and the brutal choices she had made to protect people like him. People who lived comfortably outside of risk. The statistics didn't lie: shinobi in administrative roles lived longer, safer lives. Most active-duty shinobi never made it to retirement, but teachers like him had a chance.

Still, her words lit a spark inside him. A stubborn, burning flame that refused to die. He had thought about rushing out to the training grounds, pushing his body to its limit, and becoming a jōnin out of sheer spite. Prove her wrong. Show her that he wasn't just anything.

But he wasn't jōnin material, and he knew it.

Jōnin were the village's elite—their best and brightest. War heroes, specialists, geniuses. People like Kakashi Hatake, Asuma Sarutobi, and Guy. What was he compared to them?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was average. Average chakra reserves. Average hand seal speed. Average in genjutsu, taijutsu, and ninjutsu. The very definition of what a jōnin was not. There was no secret technique or hidden power that would suddenly elevate him to their level.

Did he even want to stand among them?

He shook his head. It had been a fun thought to entertain, but it was just that—a thought. Nothing more.

The sound of sniffles pulled him from his musings, and he turned his attention back to the students sitting for the exam.

A girl from one of the older classes stood up abruptly, her face red and blotchy, tears streaming down her cheeks. She mumbled an apology to the proctors before bolting for the door, her sobs echoing through the hall.

She wasn't the first.

More and more students were breaking down. Some sat frozen in their seats, staring at their exams as if the papers were taunting them. Others clutched their heads in frustration, whispering to themselves as they tried to make sense of the questions. A few were openly crying, their shoulders shaking as they scribbled furiously, only to cross out their answers moments later.

A boy from the civilian class slammed his pen down, muttering curses under his breath before storming out. Another girl followed soon after, tears falling as she clutched her unfinished test.

Iruka watched them leave, one by one.

The few who remained were struggling just as much. He could see it in their faces—the panic, the confusion, the frustration.

He couldn't blame them. This exam was cruel.

Then who do you blame? a voice whispered in his mind. The students? Or the system that failed them?

He didn't have an answer.

Part of him wanted to stand up and call the whole thing off, to tell the kids that this test wasn't a reflection of their worth. But he knew he couldn't. The Hokage had set this in motion, and he had his role to play. Naruto's graduation needed to look legitimate. This exam was part of that illusion.

Still, watching these kids—kids who had come in confident, maybe even a little arrogant—crumble under the weight of this test left a sour taste in his mouth.

Iruka stared down at the exam in front of him, the hum of the room fading as his focus sharpened. He had picked it up to distract himself, to get away from the heaviness of watching the students crumble under its weight. But as he worked through the questions, he quickly understood why they were struggling.

The problem wasn't that the material was beyond them—it wasn't. Every question was based on topics covered in the Academy. But the context? The context was missing, hidden behind layers that these kids weren't prepared for.

His pencil hovered over the page as he reread one of the questions:

When utilizing a chakra-enhanced substitution during pursuit, what is the optimal positioning to ensure tactical recovery without exposing your flank?

It was a perfectly reasonable question—for a genin who'd already done a few C-rank missions. But to a student who had only practiced the basics of substitution in a controlled environment, the question would feel like a trap. They wouldn't have the frame of reference to know what "tactical recovery" or "pursuit" meant in the heat of a real mission. And the way the Hokage had worded it, every choice seemed like the wrong one unless you knew the practical application.

The more Iruka went through the exam, the more obvious it became. Every question was designed to test knowledge the students didn't have, couldn't have. Their education at the Academy wasn't supposed to cover this yet. These were the kinds of things they would learn after they became genin, when real missions and jōnin instructors filled in the gaps.

It was genius, in a cruel sort of way.

He leaned back in his chair, his mind racing.

The gears in his brain churned to life, slow at first, like an old rusty engine that hadn't been used in years but was finally getting the oil and care it needed. And for the first time in a long while, Iruka was thinking—really thinking—about the way they taught at the Academy.

The syllabus hadn't changed much since the era of the Second Hokage. Sure, they'd made some adjustments, like raising the graduation age to prevent another child prodigy from cracking under pressure, but the core of the curriculum was the same. The same subjects. The same drills. The same routines. Year after year.

It had become so monotonous that even the teachers saw it as a chore. Most of the students viewed the Academy as a stepping stone, a waste of time before they could do the real work of being shinobi.

Iruka's heart thumped heavily in his chest.

For so long, he'd thought of himself as someone who would never become a jōnin. He didn't have the raw talent, the elite skills, or the burning desire to be on the front lines. Sure, he could probably push himself to make it to the rank of Tokubetsu Jōnin someday, but then what? What would that get him?

A better paycheck? A few harder missions? The thrill of adventure?

No. None of that mattered to him.

Money wasn't an issue. Danger wasn't his calling. Adventure wasn't his dream.

He would never be a jōnin.

He was a teacher.

But maybe—just maybe—he had been looking at it the wrong way all this time.

Maybe wanting to become more didn't have to mean chasing a promotion. Maybe becoming more meant becoming a better teacher. A teacher who did more than just follow the syllabus. A teacher who created something greater.

What if he could sharpen his students' wits, hone their instincts, and push their minds and bodies beyond what anyone expected of them? What if they didn't just survive their first missions—they dominated them? What if, upon graduation, their jōnin instructors saw them perform and couldn't hide their shock as the words slipped from their mouths:

"Who the hell taught you that?"

And their answer would be simple:

"Umino-fucking-Iruka, that's who."

He imagined it for a moment, the way their success would ripple through the ranks. Jōnin whispering about this mysterious Academy teacher whose students excelled beyond expectation. A teacher who went beyond the standard drills and lectures, giving his students a foundation that even the Hokage would be proud of.

And then, one day, when word reached the ANBU who had dismissed him as "just a chūnin," she wouldn't understand how he'd earned that level of respect. She wouldn't know why his name carried weight among shinobi who outranked him.

He'd smile at her confusion and say:

"Of course you wouldn't understand. You're just an ANBU."

Author's Note:
Hey guys! First off, I just want to say a huge thank you for the amazing response to Chapter 1. It really means a lot! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2 just as much. Don't forget to drop your thoughts in the reviews—I'd love to hear what you think and what stood out to you. Now, let's address a couple of things.

On the Inspiration for the Last Part of This Chapter:

The last section of this chapter isn't an idea I can take full credit for. It was inspired by a fanfic called "Within Interest" by Silent Songbird. Seriously, go check it out—it's a short but brilliant story, and I highly recommend it. In Within Interest, an Anbu and Naruto influences Iruka to reform the education system, while in First Try, I went a different route: Iruka comes to this realization on his own, driven by his experiences and observations.

I did reach out to Silent Songbird through a PM asking for permission to adopt this specific plot point, but after waiting over a month with no reply, I decided to move forward. If they ever reach out and ask me to take it down, I promise to give you all a heads-up before deleting that section of the story. I want to be respectful of their work.

Why I Added This Plotline:

First Try isn't just about Naruto; it's about how changing one person's story creates a ripple effect that impacts everyone around him. I don't like fics where only Naruto's life changes while the rest of the cast stays exactly the same as they were in canon. That's boring. If Naruto graduates early and shakes things up, then everyone around him should grow and change too—that's the butterfly effect, and it's a core theme of this story.

Why I Chose Ebisu as Naruto's Teacher:

I know a lot of you might be wondering, "Why Ebisu of all people? Why not someone more obvious like Anko or Kakashi?" Well, the answer lies in the kind of story I want to tell. Ebisu offers a different and, in my opinion, underexplored dynamic. At the start, he's a reluctant teacher—he takes on the role of training Naruto out of duty and obligation. But as the story progresses, he'll grow into someone who genuinely believes in Naruto and becomes a real mentor to him.

In canon, Ebisu's often treated as a joke. But let's not forget, he's a Tokubetsu Jōnin who specializes in training elite shinobi. That fact alone gives him plenty of untapped potential. This story is about giving him the depth and growth he deserves, showing how even someone who seems unlikely at first can become a key figure in Naruto's life.

So, give Ebisu a chance. I promise, by the time this arc is over, you'll respect him in ways you probably never expected.

Thanks again for reading, and I hope you stick around for what's to come!