The academy’s training grounds buzzed with anticipation. The cool morning air carried the chatter of eager students and the occasional clang of metal as instructors prepared the tournament rings. Rows of spectators—parents, older students, and even some clan members—gathered around the arena, their curious eyes fixed on the field below.
The biannual academy tournament was finally here, and for the youngest students, it marked a day they’d been preparing for since their first lesson.
At the heart of it all stood Shimamoto Kin, the academy chairman. His silver hair gleamed under the sunlight, and his sharp, calm features radiated both authority and warmth. He raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that rippled through the crowd.
"Welcome," he began, his voice carrying across the grounds. "Today marks the beginning of our academy tournament—a tradition that stands as a testament to your growth, determination, and potential. This event is more than a test of skill. It is a chance to earn resources, academy points, and valuable items, yes, but above all, it is a stage to push your limits, learn from one another, and celebrate your progress."
He paused, letting his words sink in to the ears of the young group of students gathered on the field. "The low-level tournament is yours to claim, first years. Show us what you’ve learned. Show us your resolve. Step forward, and let the games begin!"
With that, a cheer erupted from the crowd, and the low-level tournament officially began. Parents watched with quiet anticipation, their expressions a blend of mild concern and pride as they hoped to see their children’s efforts shine. Older students, many of whom had once stood on the same field, observed with a mix of nostalgia and amusement, occasionally exchanging whispered bets. Some clan members studied the young competitors with sharp, calculating eyes, assessing potential recruits or future rivals. Meanwhile, a few village civilians, drawn by the promise of an exciting spectacle, chatted animatedly about the matchups, eager to glimpse the raw talent and potential of the academy’s next generation.
Standing among the first years, Ando appeared calm, unfazed by the hum of chatter from the spectators or the charged tension that rippled through his peers. He had grown accustomed to the watchful gazes and quiet murmurs, the kind that followed him daily at the academy.
A confident grin tugged at his lips as he stepped forward to draw his lot. The tournament followed a straightforward format: eight divisions, each functioning as its own self-contained bracket. A container held shuffled slips of paper, each bearing a unique number from 1 to 15, and students drew their numbers to determine their placement. The division system ensured a manageable and fair competition, avoiding chaos and allowing students to progress methodically.
After drawing his number, Ando glanced at the slip—7—and handed it to the supervising instructor without a word. He then retreated into the cluster of participants, his brown eyes scanning the crowd as he quietly sized up his potential opponents.
It didn’t take long for the matchups to be posted and the rings to come alive with action. Four matches ran concurrently, their intensity drawing gasps and murmurs from the gathered crowd. Ando's attention, however, lingered on the stark disparity in skill levels among the participants.
The eldest students in the tournament were no more than 9 years old, so everyone should have been in a similar developmental stage. Yet, the gap between the fighters was glaringly wide. Ando's gaze fell on the orphans, many of whom barely lasted beyond the first exchange of moves. They were dismantled with almost casual ease by their opponents, who executed techniques with a precision and confidence that spoke of superior training and resources.
For the orphans, the matches weren’t just losses—they were humiliations. Each defeat was a clear indication of the vast gap between them and the clan-born students, whose superior training and resources made them nearly unbeatable.
The civilians didn’t fare any better in the tournament. In fact, some of them performed even worse than the orphans. Only a handful managed to hold their own, but their struggles highlighted the glaring reality: this event was never just about the students’ skills or progression. It was a stage for the clans to display their dominance.
The presence of spectators, allowed to observe every match, further cemented that speculation. It was a show of power, an unspoken declaration that clan-born children held a natural edge in skill, training, and resources.
Sitting on the sidelines, Ando watched his roommate, Makoto, get unceremoniously thrown out of the ring by an Akimichi boy. The sheer force of the throw elicited gasps from the crowd, but Ando just sighed. He leaned back and let his thoughts wander, no longer interested in the matches.
Half a year had passed since his reincarnation into this world, and four months since his first victory. The memories came flooding back as he daydreamed about his time at the academy.
> [Ando Yoshio]
>
> Level: 13 [58%]
>
> Age: 8
>
> HP: 655/655 [33/30mn]
>
> CP: 641.7/641.7 [32.2/30mn]
>
> Vitality: 33
>
> Stamina: 35
>
> Agility: 30
>
> Spirit: 36
>
> Intellect: 25
>
> [Available status points: 22]
In just four months, Ando’s stats had surged far beyond what anyone might expect for someone his age or level at the academy. His daily training sessions with Chika had honed his strategy and adaptability in combat. The taijutsu spars during class tempered his raw skill with practical experience. While his personal study time added depth to his understanding of chakra control, jutsu mechanics, and combat theory.
The result was clear. His stats surpassed the typical first-year, and his level of 13 felt misleading. Ando knew his abilities far outpaced his level, and he doubted anyone in his year could match him, pound-for-pound.
His introspection was cut short when the referee called his number. It was time. Rising to his feet, Ando walked toward the ring. He felt the stares of the crowd, some curious, others dismissive. None of it mattered.
His opponent was a small framed boy with short brown hair. With small glimpse at the information hanging above his head, Ando quickly formulated a plan to fight the kid.
> Yamada [LVL 8]
>
> Age 8
>
> Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"Fight!"
As soon as the referee signaled, Ando launched forward with a burst of speed, his fist raised for a dramatic superman punch. The move was bold and telegraphed, intentionally so. His opponent, quick to react, sidestepped in an attempt to evade the apparent attack.
But the next moment, the boy found himself staring up at the sky, lying flat on his back just outside the ring. His mind scrambled to understand what had happened.
Ando, standing on the edge of the ring with an air of nonchalance, offered no explanation. The referee, however, had seen it all. The punch was nothing more than a feint—a bait to force his opponent into action. The moment the boy moved, Ando had seamlessly transitioned into a roll, slipping behind him and using a burst of strength to flip him out of the ring.
"Winner, Ando Yoshio!"
The announcement drew scattered applause from the crowd, though most were still processing what they’d just witnessed. At the academy, Ando’s infamy as a troublemaker and his penchant for violence were well-known among his peers. But for many in the audience, this was their first glimpse of the orphan—and he’d left a mark.
The tournament pressed on without incident. Matches unfolded one after another, with the spectators cheering for their favorites.
When the first round concluded, the results were hardly surprising. Nearly two-thirds of the remaining participants were clan children. The orphans and civilians had been almost entirely eliminated, their losses swift and decisive.
The only reason the number wasn’t higher was due to unavoidable matchups between clan kids. Even so, the message was clear: this tournament was the clans' battlefield.
After a brief interlude, the tournament resumed for Ando. On his second match, he has faced a civilian born. And he continued to steamroll his way up into the round of sixteen. For him, it did not matter if he faced clan born or civilians, he simply made quick work of them.
That is, until the round of sixteen, where he found himself facing Hamada Yutaka.
> Hamada Yutaka [Level 14]
>
> Age: 8
>
> HP [508/510]
>
> CP [423/423]
>
> Vitality: 26
>
> Stamina: 29
>
> Agility: 24
>
> Spirit: 20
>
> Intellect: 18
As the pair stood against each other, and invisible tension settled into the ring. The air was heavy, charged with anticipation. Hamada’s fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles pale. Ando, in contrast, stood relaxed, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. But beneath that calm façade, Ando was studying Hamada’s stats. He could tell that the boy has been training hard. His stats were much more impressive than those who stood in the same level.
Ever since his loss against the orphan. Hamada has been throwing himself into training. Trying to his best to get ahead of his peers, and surpass Ando. With the help of his clan’s resources, and his recently returned father, Hamada has made some progress that put him among the best of his year.
In the crowd, murmurs rippled. Clan kids whispered among themselves, and a few civilian-born students exchanged worried glances. Hamada, the pride of his family, had earned a reputation for his relentless dedication. Ando’s infamous prowess in the ring only made the stakes higher.
“Fight!” the instructor called.
Hamada lunged first, his movements sharp and controlled. He zoomed straight into Ando, only to stop and feint for a punch, and then transitioning into a leg sweep. Ando saw though the feint and jumped to dodge the attack. He put up a hasty cross guard to block the following kick, and allowed his momentum to drag him backwards.
As soon as he landed, he mounted a counter while Hamada had yet to regain his stance. With a heavy stomp on the ground, Ando took into the air and delivered an axe kick. Hamada rolled to the side just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow, and quickly retaliated with a swift punch from his lowered position.
Ando, refusing to be forced on the defensive, met the incoming strike with a punch of his own. The two punches collided with a jarring force, both boys gritting their teeth as the impact reverberated through their bodies.
“You’ve gotten stronger, Hamada,” Ando commented, pushing back against his opponent.
The clash continued, the sound of their strikes echoing through the arena. Hamada’s movements were deliberate, his attacks relentless. He was faster, stronger, more determined than when they had last fought. But Ando had grown too—not just in skill, but in strategy.
As Hamada aimed a kick at Ando’s midsection, Ando pivoted, swiftly catching his leg and twisting just enough to throw Hamada off balance. Hamada recovered quickly, but the slight stumble didn’t go unnoticed.
“But… you’re never going to be able to beat me,” Ando declared, his voice steady. To him, it was an undeniable truth. Once he surpassed Hamada, he knew the gap would only widen, and there would be no catching up.
Ando seized the opportunity, pressing Hamada further off balance. He unleashed a rapid series of punches and kicks, each one landing with precision, leaving Hamada reeling.
The attacks hurt, but it was Ando’s words that stung the most. Hamada’s frustration flared, memories of past losses flooding his mind—his father’s stern gaze, his mother’s quiet reassurance, the mocking looks of his peers. He couldn’t lose again.
With a sharp exhale, Hamada pushed forward, ignoring the pain and meeting Ando with a fierce barrage of strikes. Ando countered with precision, forcing Hamada to adapt. For every move Hamada made, Ando was right there, reading him, responding.
It was a battle of wills—neither willing to back down. Hamada landed a solid punch to Ando’s shoulder, and the crowd erupted in cheers. But Ando barely flinched, a grin creeping onto his face as if the hit had only fueled his resolve.
“Tired?” Ando taunted, stepping back to reassess.
“Just shut up and fight!” Hamada snapped, his breath ragged and shallow. His stamina was running low, but his determination burned brighter. He couldn’t keep up with the relentless pace of the fight, but surrender wasn’t an option.
Hamada charged with a roar, forming quick seals as chakra surged through his body. His movements became sharper, faster—almost a blur. Ando’s eyes narrowed, his grin fading as he adjusted his stance. When Hamada closed in, he unleashed a rapid flurry of strikes, forcing Ando onto the defensive for the first time in the match. The crowd leaned forward, gasping as Hamada’s punches and kicks came in quick succession.
Ando blocked and parried, each strike grazing closer than the last. He could feel the intensity behind Hamada’s attacks, the sheer desperation that drove them. A punch grazed his cheek, drawing a faint line of blood.
“Not bad,” Ando muttered, stepping back to create space. Hamada didn’t let up. He pressed forward, chakra still fueling his speed. His next punch was a feint, followed by a spinning kick aimed at Ando’s ribs. Ando ducked under it, barely missing the strike, and retaliated with a swift jab to Hamada’s side.
The blow landed, but Hamada gritted his teeth and twisted, using the momentum to drive his elbow toward Ando’s chest. Ando sidestepped, countering with a sweeping kick that forced Hamada to leap back. Both fighters paused, reassessing the situation.
“You’re burning out.” Ando declared. Watching as Hamada struggled to catch his breath. Whatever enhancement technique the boy was using, it was draining him. Hamada’s reserves were running out. While his injuries piled up.
> Hamada Yutaka [Level 14]
>
> HP [211/510]
>
> CP [95/423]
Hamada didn’t reply. Instead, he darted forward again, this time aiming low. Ando anticipated the move, but Hamada’s faint smile told him he’d miscalculated. At the last second, Hamada shifted, delivering a spinning backhand aimed at Ando’s temple.
The strike connected with a hasty block, forcing Ando to absorb the impact. He stumbled back a step, his balance momentarily disrupted. The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps, caught off guard by Hamada’s ingenuity. Hamada pressed forward immediately, unleashing another flurry of chakra-enhanced strikes.
Ando, however, wasn’t finished. He adjusted quickly, weaving through the attacks with precision. His sharp eyes tracked every movement, reading Hamada’s patterns even as the boy tried to overwhelm him. When a high kick came close, Ando ducked low, pivoting on his heel to slip behind Hamada’s guard.
With a sharp exhale, Ando drove his knee into Hamada’s stomach. The blow landed clean, forcing the air from Hamada’s lungs and making him stagger. The crowd quieted for a moment, watching as Hamada doubled over, coughing, his face tight with pain.
But even as his knees threatened to buckle, Hamada managed to backpedal, refusing to go down. His breathing was ragged, his chakra flickering like a flame about to burn out. Yet his determination was unyielding. He straightened slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and glared at Ando with fire in his eyes.
Hamada took a shaky step forward, his fists clenched tightly. “I’m not done yet!” he roared, charging again.
Ando watched him come, his stance shifting subtly. He respected Hamada’s resolve, but the outcome of this match was already decided. As Hamada lunged, Ando sidestepped effortlessly, using his opponent’s momentum to push him off balance.
Hamada twisted to recover, but Ando was faster. In one fluid motion, Ando swept Hamada’s legs out from under him with a low, precise kick. The larger boy hit the ground with a heavy thud, the force reverberating through the ring.
AN: Thanks for reading! And checkout PatreON / RP741 for more