It was the written exam day. Kaen, Sena, and I walked toward the exam hall with the other Chunin Exam candidates, Shisui moving a few steps ahead of us.
Before we entered, he stopped and turned back. "Be on edge from the moment you walk in. You can never expect what will happen inside. Chunin are expected to be smart, careful, and to have the instincts needed to survive the shinobi world, so consider yourself on a battlefield. Understood?" We all nodded, serious now, fully aware of what was coming. Shisui left us at the door. "Good luck. Do Konoha proud." We smiled. Kaen smiled the brightest, clearly energized by encouragement from his idol, before we finally walked inside.
The hall was a decent size, not cramped like the previous one, but not overly wide either. The examiner stood at the front, a Sunagakure kunoichi with long black hair tied neatly behind her, cool and unusual gray eyes, and well-balanced features. She was tall, and my instincts immediately told me she was a jonin. I kept my sensory abilities inactive. The last thing I wanted was to light up like a beacon in the middle of the hall. The examiner ushered us to our seats, each team sitting together with a small gap separating them from the others. In front of us lay a paper placed face down and a pen. The examiner spoke. "Hold your pen." We all did so without hesitation, ready to start immediately, but to our surprise she continued, "Do not start yet. First, I will explain the rules of the written exam." I raised an eyebrow. Why ask us to hold the pen if we were not starting? Like everyone else, I set it back down.
She turned to the board and began writing with chalk. The sound was irritating, and something about it felt off, but I forced myself to focus on the rules instead of the distraction. "First, the exam will last forty minutes. There will be no extensions or delays once it starts. Is that clear?" We glanced down at the massive paper in front of us, already expecting a brutal number of questions designed to test speed as much as thinking. "Second, you may leave only after receiving my permission, though I would not recommend it given how little time you have to complete this exam. Is that clear?" A faintly mocking tone slipped into her voice mixed with something else, irritating several of the genin, Kaen included. "Third, direct communication is forbidden, and if you are caught attempting indirect communication, you will fail the Chunin Exams. Is that clear?" A visible tension spread through the hall. My unease deepened. Why did she keep repeating the same words, over and over, combined with that constant chalk scraping? "Fourth and final rule. You may use your skills or abilities however you like, but if you are caught, you will fail the exam. Is that clear?" A few people began to grin. Something ugly stirred in the room. I exhaled slowly, thinking to myself that this was going to be a bloodbath. She set the chalk down. "Now that the rules are explained, the exam will start… now."
She fed chakra into the final word, subtle but precise, and it landed like a physical impact in the gut. Every student felt it at the same instant. The moment it left her mouth, the room felt different, as if something unseen had settled over us. Most students immediately rushed to start solving the exam, driven by the limited time we had. I did the same, though a quiet sense of unease washed over me as I put pen to paper.
I shook my head and held the pen ready to start solving, however I froze. I looked strangely at the pen. Something was wrong. It felt much heavier than it did the first time I held it. I narrowed my eyes while looking around, noticing nothing different, but my gut feeling screamed that something was definitely wrong. Then it hit me. Damn it, a genjutsu. I disrupted my chakra immediately and felt my mind clear. The pen returned to feeling normal and that unnatural heaviness vanished. I cursed internally as I looked at the examiner, who noticed me instantly, a frightening grin spreading across her face.
I activated my sensory ability, pushing my chakra control to its limit to restrict it to the small area covering Sena's and Kaen's seats and tables. It was hard, and I would probably lose the sensory field in a couple of seconds, so I acted fast. Kaen's chakra was flowing strangely, uneven in a way that clearly showed he was affected by genjutsu. I was not one hundred percent sure, but just in case, I lightly kicked his leg and injected a small amount of my chakra into him, disrupting his chakra flow. He closed and opened his eyes several times, shook his head, then looked at me in confusion before his eyes widened as he realized he had been under genjutsu. I had broken him out. He nodded at me, wordlessly saying thank you, the first time I think he had ever done that. I smiled and nodded back, then turned to Sena.
She was already smirking, her chakra perfectly normal. She had noticed and broken out of the genjutsu on her own. I chuckled quietly before flipping the paper, finally understanding the perfect trap. The examiner had asked us to hold the pen at the beginning to establish a reference, an anchor for our perception. She then used the chalk as the first auditory anchor to grab our attention. After that, she augmented her voice with chakra, repeating the same words as another layer, another tell meant to hint at what she was doing for the smart ones paying attention. Finally, she sealed the genjutsu with that last chakra-augmented "now," the final chance she gave us. Most people were too worried about the exam and the time limit. They ignored the signs and dove in immediately, driven by habit.
That was a devious trap, cruel but incredibly smart. I flipped the paper and started to solve the exam. At first glance, the questions looked ordinary, almost disappointingly so. Mission reports with missing details, short scenarios asking for recommended actions, fragments of intelligence that needed to be summarized. Nothing flashy. Nothing obviously impossible. The trick revealed itself the longer I read. Every question was built around incomplete information, forcing you to choose between making assumptions or admitting uncertainty. Some scenarios contradicted themselves in small but deliberate ways, testing whether you would notice or blindly commit to an answer anyway. Speed was a liability here. Judgment was the real test. I slowed down, answered only what could be justified, and left the rest alone, trusting that restraint mattered more than filling every line.
I did wonder about Kaen, though. I had never seen him open a book or study anything. How was he managing this. Then I saw it. He was keeping his head down, his hair hanging in front of his face, his Sharingan active as he observed Sena's hands closely, copying her exact movements as she wrote and answering along with her. From his angle and with his hair hiding his eyes, the examiner could not see the Sharingan at work while he stole the effort of others.
I narrowed my eyes, tempted to call him out, but doing that would disqualify our entire team. I let out a quiet sigh instead and focused back on my paper, answering the questions while thinking, if I had a dojutsu, I would not have wasted so much time studying.