Time flies, and in the blink of an eye, the end of the second year arrived.
Tetsumaru had thoroughly adapted to his academic life, which mostly consisted of sleeping through lectures. Occasionally, in that half-awake, half-asleep state, he would ponder the intricacies of his meridian adjustments.
The moment the bell rang, however, he became the life of the party. He spent his breaks shooting the breeze with Takeshi, Ame, Mao, and Daidou, swapping snacks and solidifying their status as the tightest-knit group in the class.
This little circle, plus Fueka and Tokuma, formed the "First Tier" of Class A. The gap between them and the rest of the students was becoming increasingly glaring.
In the third month after enrollment, Hyuga Tokuma was branded with the "Caged Bird" seal. From that day on, he became silent, morose, and perpetually wore a dark gray headwrap. He began taking more and more leaves of absence from school, and before long, he had drifted away from the group.
Over the past two years, Tetsumaru focused on four things: practicing clan secret arts, adjusting his meridians, collecting insects, and modifying them.
During this time, he also attempted a few shortcuts to escape the stalemate of his "Swarm Plan." First, he tried making crossbows. However, like the martial arts from his past life, they failed to adapt to the reality of the Shinobi World. A bolt's flight speed was roughly 80 meters per second—virtually the same as a shuriken thrown with Tetsumaru's full strength. Combined with a slow fire rate and bulky ammunition, his prototypes were eventually relegated to being toys for five-year-olds.
Later, he put significant effort into building a short-barreled smoothbore musket. The cost of mixing gunpowder and forging the barrel alone reached 100,000 Ryo. The final "paper stats" weren't bad: muzzle velocity reached 200 meters per second, powerful enough to kill any ninja.
But in practice? At fifteen meters, hitting anything was a matter of pure faith. Beyond thirty meters, the power decayed enough for a ninja to dodge it easily—a fact Tetsumaru verified through personal testing.
He estimated that for a firearm to be viable in this world, it would need to be at least a bolt-action rifle. If used for long-range sniping, Chunin and Genin would find it hard to escape. An automatic rifle would likely pose a lethal threat to Chunin at close range, potentially shaking the very foundations of the shinobi hierarchy.
However, the technology required for integrated brass-cased ammunition was far beyond what Tetsumaru could achieve with his current tools. Rifles and bullets are the products of an industrial revolution—the crystallization of chemistry, metallurgy, and precision machining. With an industrial base, you can churn them out by the millions; without it, you can't make a single one.
Don't point to places like Afghanistan as an example; their workshops don't produce raw materials or key components—they buy them from industrialized nations. The Shinobi World's industrial base was currently a void. It was impossible to "hand-craft" a functioning rifle system.
Besides, the power of ninjutsu didn't stop at rifles. A C-rank jutsu was comparable to a 60mm mortar; an S-rank jutsu rivaled a multi-ton "Mother of All Bombs." As for Tailed Beasts? They were essentially walking tactical nuclear silos. Ninjas weren't fools; they wouldn't tolerate the development of firearms that threatened their status. There was simply no soil for "hot weapons" to grow here.
Unless he could skip every developmental stage and jump straight to the integrated systems of the late WWII era—backed by an industrialized nation and a perfected doctrine—it was impossible to phase out ninjas through attrition. The gap between a musket and a modern war machine was a chasm as wide as the difference between a fresh Genin and Hashirama Senju.
Giving up on modern weaponry, Tetsumaru redoubled his efforts on his "Swarm Plan," deciding to grit his teeth and stick it out with the Kikaichu and his insect modifications.
Domoto Oomono-sensei walked into the classroom with his attendance roster.
"The next period is practical combat. Everyone, assemble at the training grounds."
"Yes, sir!" "Awesome! I love combat class!" "Jiro, I'm definitely beating you this time!"
The classroom erupted in excitement as students chattered and rushed out in groups. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! Three figures blurred as they jumped straight out the window, taking the shortcut.
Surrounded by a swarm of students, Domoto couldn't react in time. Seeing Tetsumaru and Nara Mao follow suit and leap out the window, his lip twitched uncontrollably. He instantly used the Body Flicker Technique (Shunshin) to appear at the window, blocking the other overconfident students. This was the third floor, for heaven's sake.
"You idiots! Three of you broke your legs doing this last year! Have you learned nothing?!"
"Domoto-sensei, I'm not the same person I was last year! Believe in me!" "Exactly, Sensei! You can't just pick on us!"
"Shut up! Everyone use the stairs!"
What could he do? Among the six rule-breaking troublemakers, four were top-tier "honor students" with perfect scores, plus the somber Hyuga Tokuma. They made up the top six of the class—the top ten of the entire grade—and every single one was from a Great Clan.
Led by Tetsumaru, this group had become a pack of shameless, hardened "oil-slick" kids. They were either the cheeky, grinning type or the broody, "I've seen too much" type. It was arguably the most difficult class to manage since the Academy was founded.
Whoosh. Hyuga Tokuma jumped out too.
Domoto Oomono: ┌(.Д.)┐ The other students: (﹁﹁)(﹁﹁)(﹁﹁)
The silence was deafening.
Suddenly, the rest of the students got even more hyped, howling as they charged the window. Domoto's fuse finally blew. Abandoning all reason, he unleashed his "Iron Fists" of discipline.
A dozen students were kicked down the stairs like falling dumplings, while another dozen lay in the classroom with fresh lumps on their heads. Amidst the chaos, a window was shoved off its hinges, shoes were scattered everywhere, and the kids who made it downstairs were a tangled pile of limbs. The screams, cries, and hysterical laughter echoed through the sky, drawing every student and teacher in the school to watch.
Fifteen minutes later, a small army of parents arrived. Shortly after, the Third Hokage arrived as well.
Domoto Oomono felt a sudden, crushing desire to retire.
Ultimately, the results weren't too bad. The students' physical constitutions were much stronger than last year; no one was seriously injured or suffered broken bones—the worst injuries were the lumps from Domoto's fists.
Though delayed, the practical combat class began, now with significantly more spectators. Yamashiro-sensei, another Taijutsu instructor, announced that this would be a joint session between Class A and Class B. The results would be recorded and counted as part of their year-end final grade.
The moment they heard "part of the year-end grade," the students of Class A felt a collective chill.
The seven instigators of the riot were punished by being forced to stand in a separate row outside the training ring. To their left was Class A, to their right was Class B, and in front of them were the teachers. A listless Tetsumaru stood in the center of this row, looking entirely unremarkable.
But the moment he heard "year-end grade," his slacker demeanor vanished. He snapped to attention.
Standing tall, Tetsumaru was significantly taller than the other children. He had experienced a massive growth spurt over the last two years; at eight years old, he was nearly 1.6 meters tall, towering over his classmates who averaged 1.3 meters.
Tetsumaru adjusted his sunglasses, hiding his half-lidded eyes. His classmates, familiar with his patterns, felt a sudden surge of killing intent. Everyone shuddered.
Damn it... the 'Grade Fiend' has awakened.
For two years, Tetsumaru would sleep through written exams, fake illness during cardio, slack off in drills, and zone out during Taijutsu. He openly proclaimed that he detested "flesh-to-flesh" physical combat.
However, the moment a score or a final grade was on the line, Tetsumaru became terrifyingly serious. He was ruthless, lacked any sense of "fair play," and had a floor of zero.
In the first year's evaluation, many Class A students had been treated to a face full of salt. Later, he moved on to chili powder, pepper, and worse. His only "mercy" was that he only used sugar powder against the girls.
This year, Tetsumaru had developed a host of bizarre insects: Paralysis Moths, Itching Butterflies, Sleeping Bugs, Stinging Caterpillars, Drunken Beetles, Glue Slugs, and Stink Bombs...
Thinking of the effects of those "Stink Bombs," the Class A students and Domoto-sensei shared a collective shudder as the memory of that indescribable stench resurfaced. Ugh, I can still taste it.
The combat class proceeded smoothly, with Class A in a state of constant anxiety and Class B in total confusion. Tetsumaru fought twice, dropping "little friends" with a single punch each time.
This year's elite classes didn't have any "Chosen Ones" like Itachi or Minato yet. Everyone's education and training were roughly equal, and no one had mastered powerful ninjutsu. When skills are equal, physique becomes the deciding factor. A 1.6-meter frame versus a 1.3-meter one was just simple math.
Tetsumaru's third opponent was a heavy hitter: Uchiha Shunen from Class B.
"Shunen" sounded a bit like a monk's Buddhist name—perhaps his parents were devout—but the boy was a gifted ninja. The two stood in the ring and formed the Seal of Confrontation.
"Aburame Tetsumaru. The top of our grade, and the second insect-user after Aburame Shige to suppress the Uchiha."
Shunen took a few cool-looking steps to the left, radiating a thick aura of Chunibyo as he laid down his "death flags."
"An Uchiha will not lose to an Aburame. Today, I'll show you what a true Uchiha genius looks like."
With that, Shunen's hands blurred as he began to weave seals.
"Shunen, you idiot! Why are you weaving seals?! Charge him! Close in—wait, what?!"
Uchiha Fueka, shouting from the sidelines, had intended to warn Shunen that the best way to deal with an Aburame was close-quarters combat. But he suddenly realized that after Shunen moved a few steps away to start his Fire Style, the boy had accidentally put his back toward the Class A spectators.
Worse, Fueka saw Tetsumaru reaching into his own shirt to grab something. Tetsumaru was facing Fueka directly, and a sudden chill raced from Fueka's heels to the crown of his head.
"Tetsumaru, you bastard! DON'T YOU DARE!" the six "honor students" of Class A screamed in unison.
The icy, brooding Hyuga Tokuma instantly lost his cool, shouting curses as the group scattered in a panicked frenzy. The students and teachers of Class B were bewildered, while Class A collectively retreated as far as possible. Domoto-sensei instantly leaped in front of his students, weaving seals.
"Earth Style: Barrier!"
In the ring, Shunen finished his seals. His cheeks puffed out as he spat three head-sized fireballs.
"Fire Style: Flame Bullet Volley!"
"Whoa, a D-rank jutsu!" "And it's an improved version of Flame Bullet! It's much stronger!" "As expected of an Uchiha genius, mastering such a jutsu at eight!"
These were the comments from the Class B students and teachers. For Class A, however, the sentiment was a single, unified thought: Idiot Uchiha! Bastard Tetsumaru!
As Shunen spat his first fireball, Tetsumaru drew his secret weapon.
"Mirror Parasite."
Two years of effort had finally yielded a tiny, terrifying result. A palm-sized spider crawled out of his sleeve, its eight legs gripping the back of his left hand. The spider's abdomen was polished to a brilliant, mirror-like sheen.
Facing the three fireballs, Tetsumaru didn't panic. He wove a set of rapid seals.
"Wind Style: Troublesome Wind • Type 11."
A blast of fierce wind erupted from him, screaming forward.
At that moment, the Mirror Parasite on his hand released its grip. It folded its hairy hind legs over its back and began to rub them together at high speed, shedding a cloud of microscopic bristles that were immediately caught and scattered by the wind.
The Wind Style collided with the Fire Style. Infused with a much higher volume of chakra, Tetsumaru's wind overwhelmed the fireballs; one was snuffed out, and the other two were blown wildly off course.
The wind, carrying dust, sparks, and invisible hitchhikers, roared over Uchiha Shunen, knocking him flat.
Troublesome Wind • Type 11 and its sister techniques were all essentially the same: they lacked any "cutting" or "piercing" attributes. The jutsu itself was just a blast of wind with no direct lethality. Its true power lay in what was mixed into the air.
For Type 11, it was the bristles of the Mirror Parasite.
These bristles were protein crystals. When they were large, they were incredibly brittle and easily shattered. But once they broke down into fibers nearly invisible to the naked eye, their properties shifted to become extremely rigid and sharp.
These microscopic needles could easily pierce human skin. Their unique protein structure would violently stimulate the nerves, creating an agonizing sensation of itching. If one succumbed to the urge to scratch, the rigid fibers would use the force of the hand to rupture cells, causing physical damage and a searing, burning pain.
Because the Type 11 fibers were water-soluble, the damage was temporary and caused no long-term harm; hence, Tetsumaru considered it safe for use in "internal sparring."
Types 12 and 13, however, were for enemies. Type 12 was essentially asbestos; anyone who inhaled it would develop chronic lung disease, ensuring their retirement if they didn't receive high-level medical treatment. Type 13 utilized neurotoxic crystal needles that caused such intense, blinding pain that it would trigger immediate unconsciousness or even cardiac arrest.
The toxins acted so quickly that they took full effect within a minute, making antidotes meaningless. They were truly vicious weapons. Unfortunately, he'd never had a chance to test them on a person; his data was based on animal testing, and ninjas were notoriously durable—a neurotoxin that killed a rabbit might not be lethal to a shinobi.
Class A had reacted so quickly because they had personally experienced five other models of the "Troublesome Wind": the "Itchy" Type 1, the "Burning" Type 4, the "Tingly" Type 5, the "Tear-Inducing" Type 7, and the "Sneezing" Type 10. The worst part was the side effects—Type 4, for example, caused severe acne. No girl in class was willing to risk that.
Uchiha Shunen was hit. But he wasn't the only one; the Class B students standing near the left side of the ring were also caught. The Third Hokage, standing further out, was treated to the bizarre sight of over twenty students suddenly collapsing and rolling on the ground in a desperate frenzy.
Tetsumaru was stunned by the result. The effect wasn't supposed to be this intense.
He realized his mistake almost instantly: his experiment had a flaw. His test rabbits had thick fur that blocked most of the needles, and his own "self-test" only used a single bristle. It turned out that "the dose makes the poison." Being hit by a massive cloud of fibers amplified the itching to an unbearable degree.
"Domoto-sensei! Quick! Use a Water Style! Washing them with water will fix it!" Tetsumaru shouted.
"You brat! I don't know Water Style!"
"Does anyone know Water Style?! Help these kids!"
"I'll do it!"
As the other teachers scrambled to weave seals, a massive wall of water surged toward them.
"Water Style: Exploding Water Colliding Wave!"
The Third Hokage, standing in the distance, had intervened. Hiruzen, currently in his prime, acted with terrifying speed. Before the Chunin teachers could even finish their first seal, the slowest elemental nature—Water—was already crashing down.
Just as the wave reached the edge of the training grounds, the Third wove the "Boar" seal: "Release!"
The five-meter-high wave instantly lost its momentum, collapsing into a heavy rain that drenched the field.
As the fibers touched the water, they dissolved instantly. The students stopped rolling, their agony vanishing as quickly as it had begun—though the entirety of Class B was now left looking like drowned rats.
The "instigators" of Class A slunk back to the main group, blending into the crowd as they joined their classmates and Domoto-sensei in a collective, furious verbal assault on Tetsumaru.
Tetsumaru, who looked eight but was fifty inside, was a master of reading the room. He was a model of contrition—bowing his head, admitting his mistakes, and refusing to talk back.
No student dared to actually hit him; they were terrified of the "Combat King's" retaliation. The teachers were too embarrassed to lay a hand on him—striking a student who was so "apologetic" felt over the line.
If they had actually tried, Tetsumaru would have been gone in a blur. He knew when to fold.
In the end, because the B-class students needed to change and the training ground had been turned into a mud pit, the joint combat class was unceremoniously canceled.