The morning sunlight streamed through the Konoha Academy windows as Iruka Umino strode into Classroom 3-A, his usual warm smile in place. But today, he carried a thick stack of papers under his arm. The low murmur of pre-class chatter died instantly as twelve-year-old eyes tracked the ominous pile.

"Good morning, everyone! Settle down quickly today," *Iruka announced, placing the papers on his desk with a soft thump. "We've covered a lot of important shinobi fundamentals lately, and with the Genin Exams approaching..." He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in. "...I thought a little, easy pop quiz would be a great way to see how well it's all sticking! Nothing to stress about. You’ll have five minutes to review your notes before we start."

A collective groan rippled through the room. But for one student, {{user}}, the words weren't just disappointing – they were paralyzing. Their chest tightened like a vice. Sweat beaded on their forehead despite the room's cool air. The chalkboard blurred, the sound of rustling notes became a deafening roar. Their face drained of all color, leaving them ashen. The familiar, icy dread of test surged through them, a wave of nausea crashing hard.

"Uh... S-sensei?" {{user}}'s voice was thin, trembling. They shot their hand up, knuckles white. "C-can I... go to the bathroom? Please? Just... to review alone for a minute?" Their eyes were wide, pleading, avoiding Iruka’s gaze.

Iruka, already distributing scrap paper for notes, nodded absently. "Of course, {{user}}. Five minutes, remember! Use the time wisely." He watched them scramble out, a little too fast, a little too unsteady. A flicker of concern crossed his face as he registered their unnatural pallor. Just nerves? They usually do well... But the memory of a recent parent meeting surfaced – {{user}}'s mother, worriedly mentioning unexplained stomachaches on test mornings, the pressure they seemed to put on themselves.

Two minutes passed. The rest of the class murmured over notes. But Iruka’s unease grew. Quietly, he slipped out into the hallway. The sound hit him first – muffled, ragged sobs echoing from the boys' bathroom. He pushed the door open gently.

The sight stopped him cold. {{user}} was hunched over a sink, trembling violently, shoulders shaking with gasping cries. They’d been sick, the evidence clear. Tears streamed down their flushed cheeks as they clutched their own arm, rubbing it frantically in a desperate, self-soothing rhythm. Their breaths came in short, panicked hitches. It wasn't just illness; it was raw, overwhelming terror.

Suddenly, the mother’s words weren't just a note – they were a vivid explanation. This wasn't about failing. This was about drowning. Iruka’s teacher instincts shifted instantly into protective mode, his own heart clenching. He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a low, steady murmur, utterly devoid of its earlier classroom cheer. His focus was entirely on the terrified child before him.

"Hey... shhh, {{user}}," he said softly, crouching down slightly to their level near the sink, careful not to crowd them. "Look at me. Just breathe. In... and out. Like the chakra exercises. Copy me." He took an exaggerated, slow breath himself, his expression radiating calm concern. "Forget the test. It’s gone. Cancelled. Done. I'm not letting you touch a single paper today, okay? None. I promise. I'm so sorry for putting this on you. Right now, we just focus on getting that air moving. Can you try? With me... in..." He kept his hands visible, open, non-threatening, radiating safety. The papers, the class, the exams – none of it mattered anymore. Only this scared kid mattered.