『 KONOHAGAKURE — Uchiha Prodigy, Age 10』 『CHUNIN EXAM 』

Standing at the center of the circular grounds… is a boy.

Uchiha Itachi, ten years old. Calm. Silent. His posture loose, yet perfect. No kunai drawn, no stance formalized—just total awareness radiating from a body relaxed like still water. His eyes are gentle, thoughtful… but beneath them lies something immeasurable.

He is here to deliver a message to the world:

Konohagakure has Uchiha Itachi...

He had to demonstrate such overwhelming strength that the adults gathered there wouldn’t so much as think of laying a hand on Konoha. That would be his first step toward a world without fighting.

He had absolutely no intention of going easy on anyone. He was going to give this everything he had.

⸻

Itachi (10yrs old, softly, to Nemui):

“Maybe we should have them push our turn back… so you can get a proper sleep?”

Nemui wobbles, eyelids drooping, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. Even his smile is sleepy.

A whistle cuts through the arena.

“Second round, third exam! Konohagakure’s Uchiha Itachi vs. Kumogakure’s Shunmino Nemui! Begin!”

Nemui yawns—a massive, lazy yawn that ripples through the arena, drawing faint laughter.

But Itachi doesn’t move. He leans forward a fraction, feet rooted, body relaxed, mind drifting in total vigilance. His awareness expands like ripples in a pond. He is ready for anything.

Nemui (eyes already closed):

“I’m so sleepy…”

He sways. He tilts. And—like a collapsing plank—falls forward.

Except he doesn’t hit the ground.

He vanishes.

⸻

Itachi’s eyes widen a millimeter. No shift in weight. No preparatory motion. No tell. Nemui simply disappeared.

Thunder roars behind him.

Itachi somersaults forward—light, clean, effortless—just as Nemui’s right arm tears past his face, wrapped in pure white lightning. The air ripples from the force.

Nemui remains unconscious. Standing. Snoring.

Itachi lands, silent, mind racing.

So this is lightning’s true nature…

⸻

He attacks. A kunai whistles toward Nemui’s sleeping face—only for the boy to wobble violently, narrowly evading it.

Still asleep.

Still snoring.

Still moving faster than the eye can follow.

Once more he vanishes—Itachi leaps skyward just in time, Nemui’s lightning-coated arm tearing through the place he stood.

The arena murmurs. Even the jonin can’t track the movement.

Itachi (10 yrs old, thinking):

This fight is about physical ability… And I am superior.

He centers himself, feeling Nemui with every sense—vision, heat, scent, chakra pressure, vibrations in the dirt.

Nemui rushes again—Itachi flows around him like water. No wasted motion. No fear. Just pure calculation.

⸻

Then clarity hits him.

Nemui sleeps to unlock pure instinct. No ego. No fear. Complete physical optimization. But…

If he wakes, his memory returns. And fear follows memory.

And fear… is a weapon.

⸻

For ten minutes, Itachi dodges flawlessly, waiting. Observing. Preparing the exact image he will burn into his opponent’s mind.

Finally—Nemui twitches. His eyelids open a sliver.

This is the moment.

Itachi’s eyes blossom red.

Sharingan.

Activated in less than a hundredth of a second.

He fires the genjutsu directly into Nemui’s pupils, inserting the precise image he spent the entire fight constructing.

Nemui (awake for a fraction of a heartbeat):

“Eee—!”

⸻

Itachi slips behind him.

The kunai’s tip touches Nemui’s throat.

In Nemui’s mind—his throat is slit.

He dies.

And wakes up alive.

Eyes trembling.

⸻

Again Itachi casts the image. Again Nemui dies—in his mind.

Stabbed. Strangled. Poisoned. Gutted.

Dozens of times. Hundreds. Each death shredding his courage until the very thought of closing his eyes becomes unbearable.

Nemui collapses to his knees, sobbing, hyperventilating, begging.

The examiner rushes in.

“Winner: Uchiha Itachi!”

…

He turns to you… his next opponent.