Silence.
That was the first test.
Not the papers, not the rules. The silence.
Hinata sat at her desk, pencil resting on the sheet in front of her, her quarterstaff laid across her lap under the table, her eyes fixed and steady.
Kuro was curled by her feet, still as stone.
All around them, genin hunched over identical exam sheets. Some scribbled, others fidgeted. A few glanced nervously at the intimidating figure at the front of the room—Ibiki Morino.
He hadn't moved much since giving the instructions. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes scanning like twin daggers across every movement.
Michel hovered above Hinata's left shoulder. His form was silent, watching the web of chakra threads and emotions ripple around the room.
"Ten questions," Ibiki had said. "Answer what you can. But remember… if you're caught cheating, you lose points. And if your team fails? All three are disqualified."
No pressure, of course.
<<<< o >>>>
From Michel's perspective, the room was a shifting sea of tension.
Chakra flaring, dimming, spiking in bursts.
Some students had already begun to panic internally. He could see it in the way their hands trembled. In how their chakra leaked without control.
But not Hinata.
Her soul glowed steady, like silver through mist. Not bright. Not loud. But there.
Michel observed Ibiki's energy: not aggressive, but crushing. A calculated pressure, designed to test the mind more than the skill. It reminded him of an old technique used by interrogators in his own world—wear down the will with silence, and let the subject defeat themselves.
<<<< o >>>>
Hinata glanced at the first question.
She blinked.
Then again.
The words didn't make sense. Or rather, they did—but not to her. These weren't questions for genin. These were for chūnin… maybe even jōnin.
She swallowed.
A flicker of panic pressed at her ribs.
Kurenai-sensei never taught us this, she thought.
Michel noticed the tightness in her shoulders. He didn't speak—but he leaned in with his presence. Not pushing. Just there.
Reassuring.
Hinata exhaled slowly.
She glanced sideways—Shino, calm and precise, already writing. Kiba looked… unsure. Akamaru twitched nervously under his desk.
And then there was Naruto.
Naruto sat beside her. Not a single mark on his paper. His face was set in a scowl of complete confusion.
But he wasn't panicking.
He was furious.
His pencil gripped so tightly it might snap, his body practically vibrating with intensity.
Michel followed Hinata's gaze and saw it too.
Not fear.
Defiance.
Hinata felt her spine straighten.
He's not giving up, she thought. He doesn't even understand the rules… and still, he stays.
Something warm stirred in her chest.
She smiled faintly.
Michel could feel it.
She wasn't going to quit.
She didn't need to. Shino, calm and reliable, had already sent a silent signal—his insects would carry the answers to her desk, carefully, discretely. And Hinata wasn't someone to reject help when it came from her teammates. Not anymore.
She even offered to give Naruto some answers, which he bravely refused.
<<<< o >>>>
Minutes passed.
The tension thickened.
One by one, examiners called out cheaters. One by one, seats emptied. Gasps. Silent tears. Angry muttering.
Kiba flinched when one team from Kusa vanished completely.
Hinata didn't move.
Kuro didn't move.
Michel saw students drop from mental fatigue, not even caught—just broken.
Then came the tenth question.
Ibiki's voice rose, commanding.
"This one's different. You can choose not to answer it. But if you do, and get it wrong… you fail. Entire team disqualified."
The air froze.
Gasps.
"What kind of rule is that?" someone shouted.
"It's not fair!" another said.
Ibiki stared them down. "Life isn't fair. Welcome to the shinobi world."
Michel narrowed his eyes. He saw the purpose immediately. This wasn't a test of knowledge—it never had been. This was about pressure. About who breaks first.
Hinata's hands trembled.
Just slightly.
Then, she looked at Naruto again.
And his voice rang out.
"I don't care what kind of test this is! I'm not quitting!"
Michel almost laughed. The boy had no plan. No finesse. Just fire. And sometimes, fire is enough.
And Hinata, quietly, pressed her pencil to the paper.
"I'll stay," she whispered.
Kuro lifted her head, ears alert.
Michel closed his eyes.
That's my girl.
<<<< o >>>>
Ibiki's voice boomed again, but this time it was softer. "You all pass."
A wave of confusion hit the room.
"What?!"
"The test… was to see who could endure. Who wouldn't break. The real mission starts when you think there's no path left."
Some students cheered. Others slumped in their chairs.
Hinata didn't smile.
But the weight lifted from her shoulders.
<<<< o >>>>
Outside, under the midday sun, Hinata stepped out with her team. Kiba punched the air. "We did it!"
Shino nodded. "Phase one complete."
Hinata crouched and scratched behind Kuro's ears. "You stayed with me the whole time."
Kuro gave a proud wag of her tail. Of course I did.
Michel remained above, watching the sunlight fall across the village.
But then, a new presence approached.
A swirl of smoke.
A voice that cut through the haze.
"Not bad, little brats."
She stepped forward—Anko Mitarashi. Smirking. Wild eyes. Twirling a kunai around her finger.
"You passed the written. Let's see how you handle something real."
Michel's perception snapped into focus.
Something about her chakra was… chaotic. Not evil, not broken—just unchained.
Anko's eyes swept across the crowd.
"Tomorrow morning, we begin the second test," she said. "Survival. In a place we like to call…"
She pointed behind her to a massive forest surrounded by high walls and barbed fences.
"…the Forest of Death."
Whispers. Tension rose again.
Hinata stiffened slightly.
Michel felt it.
This would be different.
<<<< o >>>>
That night, in the Silver World, Hinata stood before a replica of the forest.
She trained alongside Michel, their movements weaving in sync. Her quarterstaff danced in swift arcs while Michel demonstrated a sequence of steps—open-handed techniques with precise footwork, meant to deflect and disable.
"Focus your center," Michel said, sidestepping her blow and gently redirecting her stance. "Don't overpower—redirect."
Hinata nodded, adjusting, sweat glistening on her brow.
Their rhythm was steady. A quiet harmony born from countless nights in this space.
After several exchanges, they paused.
"You're not afraid," Michel said.
Hinata didn't respond at first. Then: "I am. But I want to protect the people I care about more than I want to run."
Michel smiled faintly.