The Heavens: From Naruto to sign in

Unfolding the test paper.

Yoruha sat quietly at his desk, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He had taken college entrance exams in his previous life—the ultimate boss battle of standardized testing. Compared to that brutal gauntlet, the Chūnin Exams' written portion felt like child's play.

Back in his past life, before university, he was knee-deep in calculus, physics, chemistry, and biology. He could solve complex mechanical systems, track planetary motion, map genetic sequences, and even calculate satellite trajectories.

Peak student form.

Human calculator.

Academic demigod.

Granted, he had returned most of that knowledge to the teachers post-graduation, but the ability to learn—honed under the merciless regime of exam-oriented education—still remained. And for something like the Chūnin Exam?

Cakewalk.

But not everyone was so calm.

Around the room, nervous candidates began to sweat. The rules were strict, and cheating detection was relentless. Several teams were already being eliminated—dragged out one by one as their crude tricks got exposed.

Yet even with those disqualifications, the number of remaining examinees was still way above expectation.

Morino Ibiki, seated at the front, wore a neutral expression, but in his heart, he sighed.

Too many were passing.

In previous years, the first and second layers of psychological filtering would've eliminated most of the unqualified. But this year?

Stubborn. Quietly skilled. Maybe even... smarter than usual.

Which meant it was time.

Time for the final card: Question Ten.

There were nine standard questions on the test.

Normally, if the screening had gone well, the tenth question was a mere formality—a final test of nerve, not knowledge.

But with so many still seated?

Ibiki decided to go all in.

He leaned forward, voice sharp but steady, and delivered the challenge:

"Question Ten begins now."

The invisible pressure he unleashed rolled over the room like a storm.

The rules were simple—but terrifying.

Anyone could choose to forfeit now.

But if you stayed and answered... and failed?

You'd never be allowed to take the Chūnin Exams again.

Ever.

It was a soul-crushing dilemma.

And sure enough, one by one, more candidates cracked—raising their hands in surrender, some trembling as they walked out the door.

Ibiki watched with a small nod of satisfaction.

Finally. Progress.

But still… too many remained.

Just as he was preparing to escalate the psychological pressure again—

Naruto stood up.

"Even if I stay a genin forever—I'll still become Hokage someday! Just give me the damn question! I'm not afraid of you!"

The entire room jolted as if hit by lightning.

The raw determination in Naruto's voice pierced through the fear and doubt. The ripple effect was immediate.

Every remaining candidate suddenly sat a little straighter. Faces that had been on the verge of collapse lit up with fresh resolve.

Ibiki's strategy… failed.

Again.

He waited a few more moments, but no one else gave up.

He sighed deeply.

At this rate, the second phase examiner was going to have his head.

As expected.

The moment he officially announced the end of the test and explained the "real" meaning behind the tenth question…

CRASH!

Two kunai smashed through the window, followed by a black cloth unfurling dramatically to cover the space behind him.

A sultry, energetic voice rang out:

"Tch. You guys sure look happy. Don't you think it's a bit too early for that?"

Mitarashi Anko made her trademark flashy entrance, leaping into the room in her usual fishnet bodysuit and trench coat.

With one hand on her hip and the other tossing a kunai casually in the air, she grinned wildly.

"Hmph. Ibiki, why are there so many people still left? What kind of lame filtering was that? Looks like you've gone soft."

"But it's fine."

"Leave it to me."

"In the second phase, I'll cut that number in half."

"Or more."

Her voice carried a teasing edge as she licked the corner of her mouth in that slightly unhinged way of hers.

The candidates all visibly stiffened.

Even the bravest of them gulped.

From his seat, Yoruha narrowed his eyes, watching Anko closely.

He'd intended to meet her eyes, maybe give her a small nod—a silent "good to see you again."

But she didn't look at him.

Not once.

Her gaze swept past him deliberately, as if avoiding him on purpose.

Strange.

What happened?

Did something go down while we weren't in contact?

Why's she acting like this?

Yoruha tilted his head slightly, puzzled.

Typical woman.

Never try to guess what they're thinking. You'll only confuse yourself.