Ichigo focused on the instructor, a dark-skinned man with fiery red hair, wearing the typical black and white uniform of a Cloud Village shinobi.
"I am your Instructor Akihito," the man announced, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned ninja. "I will be your first-year teacher."
The class began with introductions, a mandatory ritual Ichigo endured, before Akihito dove into the curriculum. The subjects included History, Strategy and Tracking, and basic STEM concepts—the foundational knowledge required of every shinobi.
These classes are a serious overload compared to my college curriculum, Ichigo thought, observing the sheer volume of material. No wonder these guys mature so early in life. They're being molded into weapons from childhood.
Finally, the lunch break arrived. As an orphan, Ichigo received a standard meal set: a bowl of rice with savory fish curry and pickles. He quickly claimed a quiet spot under a large, shady tree away from the main rush of students. He needed the solitude to process the morning's information.
No sooner had he sat down than Yasu, Akira, and Saori found him.
"Dude, you didn't call us to sit here," Akira complained, a playful pout on his face.
"Well," Ichigo replied, already digging into his meal, "I only just found this new spot myself. I was too hungry to wait."
Yasu, usually the silent observer, spoke up, his tone serious. "Seriously, next time, wait for us. You're not alone, you know. Sometimes, it feels like you don't think you belong with us."
Because I don't, Ichigo thought, a pang of guilt hitting him. I belong to a different world. He simply nodded, acknowledging the concern. "Got it. Next time."
The four of them unpacked their lunches, the small feast spreading out on the grass. As they ate, Saori, ever the planner, asked, "So, guys, what are we doing after class?"
"Well, I'm planning to rejoin the Weapon Manufacturing unit again," Ichigo said. "I left it just before the Academy started, mostly because of Amanai-san's request."
Yasu immediately frowned. "Amanai-san is right. If you attend the Academy and work at the Weapon Manufacturing plant, you'll burn out. You need rest. Why are you so keen on working there anyway?"
"I've been working on my swordsmanship with Arata-san," Ichigo explained. "He can't teach me outside the factory because he's too busy." I've already mastered the exercises for stability and accuracy, and I picked up the basic styles incredibly fast, he thought. But now I'm blocked.
Through his brief training with Arata, Ichigo had a sudden, profound realization about his inner potential: the core of the original Ichigo Kurosaki's strength was his astonishing fast learning and growth rate. Arata had been so stunned by his rapid progress that he had simply told Ichigo to diligently practice the same foundational movements until the Academy began. But now, Ichigo craved actual sword styles and advanced techniques.
"Maybe we can consult with the teachers, you know," Saori suggested logically.
Why haven't I thought of that? Ichigo realized. He'd been so focused on Arata and the factory that he'd forgotten the Academy was literally full of shinobi.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Let me consult with them." He finished his lunch quickly.
After Ichigo left, the others continued their conversation.
"The rate at which he proceeds," Yasu sighed, "he might leave us in the dust."
"We might wanna train with him," Akira agreed with newfound seriousness.
"For that," Saori retorted, glaring at her brother, "you need to stop slacking off in class."
"Hey," Akira protested, "that history class is so boring!"
Ichigo went straight to Instructor Akihito after the break. He explained his situation and his need for further Kenjutsu instruction.
Akihito listened patiently but was noncommittal. "For now, just continue practicing the foundational techniques your mentor taught you until next year," he advised. "I'll make some inquiries with other shinobi, but I can't promise anything right now."
Disappointed but not defeated, Ichigo accepted the instruction. The rest of the classes blurred together, and soon, the day was over.
He walked toward the area where the orphans who had started the Academy were allocated their own small housing units. Ichigo stopped in front of his new space, a simple, clean, one-room apartment.
He smiled faintly. "It's a step up from Naruto's first house, at least," he murmured, a hint of his past world easing his mind. It was small, but it was his. The path to becoming a powerful shinobi had officially begun