[Chūnin Exam – Phase Two: The Tag Hunt]
So of course, after getting a perfect score in the written exam, it was time for the practical part of the exam—after all, it would count for nearly 80% of their grade and all that good stuff.
"Oi, you brat. You passed the first test, now on to the second part," a jōnin instructor could be heard saying. He looked semi-pissed for some odd reason, as if someone had told him that his pullout game was, in fact, not as strong as he initially thought it was.
Meanwhile, the female chūnin looked quite giddy about herself, as if she had accomplished something quite significant in her life.
And thus, they Shunshined away. Of course, they had to follow the teacher. Seijuro had no problem chasing after them—he even had time to roughly guess the game. He saw a bag of tags, ranging from 1 to 50, and a timer, so he could roughly guess what the exam would be about. Googlᴇ search novel⸺fire.net
He also felt the presence of 20 or so jōnin following them, making sure no one tried some slick shit. His gaze landed on the Kumo shinobi. Seemed about right.
As they arrived near the entrance to a training ground, the jōnin stopped.
"OY! Listen to me, brats!" Hm, man truly seemed pissed.
"This is the second half of the Chūnin Exam. All of you will be given a tag, ranging from 1 to 50. You will be given 6 hours. In those 6 hours, it will be a free-for-all. Your job is simple: steal tags. Each individual only needs 5 tags to pass. Meaning, if you are in a squad of 3, you will need 15 tags."
The math didn't add up. How could they possibly spread this evenly, even among teams?
"I know what you must be thinking. There are 50 of you, not all of you will receive a tag. There are points all over the forest—items worth points if you find them give you more points. Eliminating someone also gives you a point."
"So killing is allowed?" a shinobi from Kumo asked.
"If you die, that simply means you weren't cut out for this."
"I ," the Kumo-nin said excitedly.
Seijuro sighed. As long as he didn't have a target on his back, he would be fine.
They began to hand out the tags—not before making people sign some death waiver stating that Konoha would not be blamed if they did die.
Seijuro walked up and took his thing. He got number 13. Oh, neat.
"Oh, and I forgot to add: if anyone manages to take the number 13 and gets it to the tower in town, they automatically win."
'Wow, Hiruzen...' Seijuro could see the trap waiting for him. He already felt the gaze of so many participants, seeing him as easy prey. He didn't look that strong.
As the forest training ground swallowed them all, it didn't take long.
A group of four Kumo-nin cornered Seijuro near a clearing, each one looking like they'd just won the lottery.
"Yo, kid," the tallest sneered, spinning a kunai in his hand. "You're alone. Just hand over your tag, and we won't put you in the hospital."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "You might actually get outta here with your limbs still attached."
Seijuro didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly reached for his blade, drawing it halfway from its scabbard with a smooth, deliberate grace. The soft shiiink of metal whispered through the wind.
His gaze didn't even meet theirs directly.
"...How quaint," he said softly, a smirk forming on his lips. "You came all this way thinking I'm the prey."
He fully unsheathed the blade. And then—
"Shatter—Kyōka Suigetsu."
[Observation Point – Proctor's Tent]
Three chūnin guards sat beneath a shaded canopy near the edge of the forest, sipping tea and playing cards. A radio buzzed quietly nearby, untouched. They'd expected chaos and screams, maybe a few early dropouts.
But the silence was... unnatural.
"...You guys hear anything?" one finally asked, frowning.
"Nah," the other waved a hand. "It's only been forty minutes. These kids will be chasing each other in circles for hours. We can nap."
"Right, right. We designed this phase to drag on. Illusions, traps, backstabbing—should take the whole day."
Bootsteps on dead leaves.
Standing at the forest's edge was a bloodstained figure, pale white and composed like a ghost from a battlefield. Not a scratch on him. His uniform was clean, aside from the red dripping down his sleeves.
His expression? Calm. Detached. Almost... bored.
"Y-You're back already?" one asked, rising to his feet.
Seijuro said nothing.
He simply reached into a cloth sack tied to his hip.
And dumped 50 numbered tags onto the table. Alongside all the extra point materials.
One by one, they clattered against the wooden surface, echoing like funeral bells. 1. 2. 3. ... 50.
"...W-Where's everyone else?" one proctor asked, eyes wide.
Seijuro slowly looked at him, and with all the emotion of a drifting shadow, answered:
"Sleeping. The illusion is merciful."
That day, not a single other genin passed.
Not because they failed.
But because Seijuro Kurama never gave them the chance to try.
That day... the Phantom of Konoha was born.