Graduation day smelled like chalk dust and high-stakes desperation.
Iruka-sensei had lined us up outside the classroom, clipboard in hand, expression set to "stern but please don't make me fail you." One by one, kids went in, performed the jutsu, and came out wearing either a shiny new forehead protector or a look that said "well, there's always next year."
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness out.
The energy under my skin—chakra—hummed. It felt thin but sharp today, like a wire pulled tight. I'd been drilling the Clone Jutsu for weeks. My control was good because I treated it like math: input A plus hand sign B equals Result C. My stamina, however, was trash. If I messed up the equation, I didn't have the battery life to run it again.
"Inuzuka Kiba," Iruka called.
Kiba swaggered in with his puppy perched on his head like a judgmental hat. A moment later we heard Iruka's approving, "Good, next!" and Kiba came out grinning with a metal plate hanging around his neck.
Show-off.
"Yamanaka Ino."
Ino took a breath, squared her shoulders, and went in. She emerged a minute later, hair swishing, looking terrifyingly competent. She caught my eye and flashed her forehead protector.
Told you, she mouthed.
I smiled back and tried not to think about the fact that my stomach felt like it was full of bees.
"Uzumaki Naruto."
Naruto jerked like he'd been poked, then puffed up his chest.
"Watch this," he whispered to no one in particular, then marched inside.
The door slid shut behind him.
Even through the wall, his energy was impossible to miss. It was loud, jittery, bouncing off the edges of the room. I couldn't hear the words, but I could feel the pattern through my weird synesthesia sense. Iruka's steady, solid presence. The other teacher, Mizuki, who felt smoother, cooler. And Naruto's wild excitement.
Then, I felt Naruto try to mold the energy.
I winced.
His energy didn't flow; it surged. It was like watching someone try to fill a water balloon with a firehose. It spiked, chaotic and massive, and then… collapsed.
A beat later, Iruka's voice floated through, tight and forced. "Next time, try to make it look less… dead."
My turn was coming up fast.
"Sylvie," Iruka called.
My feet moved before my brain caught up. The classroom felt smaller than usual, like the walls had inched in just to watch.
Iruka stood at the front with the clipboard. Mizuki lounged nearby with an easy smile and eyes that didn't quite match it.
Naruto's "clone" lay on the floor beside him. It was a disaster. Pale, squashed, half-formed. It looked like someone had tried to make a person out of melting wax and gave up halfway through.
"Okay, Naruto, step aside," Iruka said, rubbing his temples. "Sylvie, you're up. Show us the Clone Jutsu."
Naruto shuffled to the side, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking between me and the puddle-person on the floor. His energy buzzed with embarrassment, anger, and that familiar burn of I really tried, why wasn't it enough?
I swallowed, moved to the center of the room, and brought my hands up.
Ram. Snake. Tiger.
My fingers moved through the signs, muscle memory carrying them. I pulled my chakra up, careful and controlled. I didn't try to force it. I treated it like a chemical reaction—precise measurements only.
The world narrowed to breath and shapes and the feel of energy pushing against the edges of my skin.
"Clone Jutsu," I said, and released.
There was a pop and a brief, dizzy lurch in my head.
Then another me stood at my side—slightly fuzzy around the edges, but upright. It blinked once, swayed, and held.
My legs, on the other hand, immediately filed a formal complaint.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
If this were only about math, I thought, as black spots danced at the edge of my vision, I'd be valedictorian. But no, it has to be about not passing out, too.
Iruka stepped forward, examining the clone. He prodded it once, then nodded.
"Good. Solid enough for Academy standards," he said. "You pass."
Relief washed down my spine, hot and cold all at once.
Iruka clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You always notice what other people miss, Sylvie. That's a skill, too. Don't undersell it." He motioned for me to go, but I hesitated.
Behind him, Mizuki smiled at me—polite, professional.
His energy felt... weird. Smooth. Slick. Like oil floating on top of water. It wasn't hostile, exactly, but it made the hair on my arms stand up in a way I didn't like. I ignored the little twist in my gut.
Iruka scribbled something on his clipboard, then looked at Naruto.
The change in his expression hurt to see. He didn't want to say what he had to say. But he said it anyway.
"Naruto," Iruka began, voice softening. "You put in a lot of effort. But your clone… it's not up to standard. I can't pass you like this."
Naruto's hand clenched around the edge of his desk. His eyes went wide, then dropped to the floor.
"What?" he said. "But—I tried! I—"
Iruka flinched, just a little. "You'll have another chance next year."
Next year. In a room full of kids already wearing forehead protectors, that sentence might as well have been a death sentence.
Naruto laughed. It was a brittle, cracking sound.
"Yeah," he said. "Next year. Sure."
His energy flickered wildly, then flattened. Not calm. Not fine. Just… numbed out.
I wanted to say something. Anything. I also wanted to stay very, very quiet and not draw any more attention to myself than I already had.
"Iruka, maybe—" Mizuki started, his voice smooth.
Iruka shook his head. "We'll talk about it later. For now… Sylvie, you may go. Naruto, wait outside until we're done."
I bowed and backed out of the room, my clone dissolving into smoke as my concentration slipped.
In the hallway, kids clustered in little celebratory knots, comparing metal plates and making big plans. Some wore theirs proudly on their heads. Others had them tied around necks or arms, experimenting.
I ducked past them and out the back door.
The old swing set creaked softly in the breeze.
Naruto was already there, of course.
He sat hunched on the swing, rope gripped tight in both hands, forehead bare. The late-afternoon light cut sharp lines across his face. From a distance, he looked… quiet. Too quiet.
Naruto, alone on that swing, looked like a crime scene.
It hit me sideways: last time I was in a forest, I'd died alone. Before that, I'd just practiced for it—long walks to get away from shouting, sitting under trees until the sky went dark and nobody came looking.
This village had a hero die to save it, and their response was to make his kid practice being alone for twelve years.
I walked over and plopped down on the swing next to his. The chains rattled.
He didn't look at me.
"Congratulations," he muttered. "You did it. Bet you're happy to finally get away from this place."
"Ecstatic," I said. "Can't wait to trade these desks for life-threatening missions and probable trauma."
He snorted, but it was half-hearted.
Up close, his energy felt… wrong. Not the usual loud chaos. More like it had imploded, all the color sucked to the center.
No kid in this world gets left in the metaphorical woods again, I decided. Not if I can reach them in time.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out the little paper bag I'd been saving from lunch. The dango inside had cooled and stuck together, but sugar was sugar.
"Here," I said, holding it out.
Naruto eyed the bag like it might explode.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Poison," I said. "Obviously. Eat it."
He rolled his eyes but took the bag. When he opened it and saw the skewers, his expression cracked just a little.
"You saved this?" he asked.
"Yeah. I wasn't hungry."
"Liar."
"Maybe," I said. "Shut up and eat."
He did, shoulders curling in slightly as he bit off a piece. For a moment we just sat there, chewing in silence.
Around us, the Academy yard buzzed with distant noise. Laughter, footsteps, the occasional shout. None of it seemed to touch the little bubble around the swing.
"So," Naruto said eventually, voice low. "You passed because you're smart, huh?"
I blinked. "That what you think?"
He shrugged, not looking at me.
"You always get good scores. Iruka's always talking about your neat chakra control, and your weird seals, and how you actually listen to the lectures." His mouth twisted. "I'm just… me."
Just the kid the village decided to hate for no reason I could figure out, I thought, but didn't say.
Instead, I leaned back, letting the swing creak.
"You're not wrong," I said. "I am smart. And my chakra control is good. And it still almost knocked me on my ass to make that clone."
He glanced at me, suspicious.
"I get tired faster than you," I went on. "I knew exactly what I was doing and it still felt like someone reached into my chest and squeezed. If this test was only about control? I'd ace it. But it's not. It's about control on fumes. That's a different game."
He made a face. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"
"Kind of?" I picked at a splinter on the swing's seat. "Look. The Academy tests don't measure everything. They're good at catching kids like me—people who can follow instructions, who can mold chakra carefully, who know how to take notes."
I glanced at him, meeting his eyes.
"They're not great at grading 'refuses to stay down,'" I said. "Or 'will run into danger anyway.' Or 'has enough stubbornness to punch fate in the face.'"
Naruto blinked.
"You're strong in ways I'm not," I said, feeling the words settle between us. "They just haven't figured out how to put that on paper yet."
He stared at me for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if I was messing with him.
"…That's dumb," he said finally.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It is."
We swung gently for a bit. The dango bag crinkled as he fished out another skewer.
"If I'm so 'strong,'" he said around a mouthful, "how come I still failed?"
"Because the Clone Jutsu sucks," I said promptly. "And because no one bothered to teach you a version that matches how your energy works."
He frowned, confused.
"Some people are better at big tricks," I said. "Some are better at precise ones. You're a big trick person trying to fit into a precise trick box. That's on them, not you."
He chewed slower, thinking.
"…So what, I'm just supposed to wait around until someone gives me a test I'm good at?" he grumbled. "That sounds stupid too."
"It is," I said. "Or—and hear me out—you could keep being annoying until someone notices they're using the wrong ruler on you."
A little spark lit in his eyes.
"Annoying is my specialty," he said.
"I know," I said. "Tragically."
He laughed, really laughed this time, and the tight, flat feeling around his energy loosened. Color seeped back in around the edges.
The sun slipped lower, turning the monument on the mountain gold in the distance. From here, you could still see faint smudges where paint had once been.
Naruto finished the last of the dango and licked his fingers.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"For the sugar? Or the pep talk?" I asked.
"Both," he said. "But mostly the sugar."
"Obviously."
He kicked off the ground, making his swing sway higher.
"I'm still gonna be Hokage," he said suddenly, like daring the world to argue. "Even if I have to repeat a stupid year. Even if everyone thinks I'm an idiot. I'll show them."
I looked at him—the scuffed clothes, the bandaged cheek, the grin that refused to stay dead—and believed him. Not because of a prophecy or a story, but because he was the kind of person who would drag himself up out of any crater just to yell at the sky.
"Yeah," I said softly. "You will."
And when he did, maybe I'd be there too—ink on my fingers, seal tags in my pouch, doing my best to make sure we both survived long enough to see it.