CH_4

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For Takuma, the academy had turned into a place of learning, and the classroom was where he learned the most. He looked up at Kibe teaching the class, but Takuma had no idea what was being taught. He had gotten used to tuning out the class. Takuma was years behind the curriculum, and listening to the teaching did no good to him. There were subjects like mathematics, fundamental physics and chemistry, and finance which he knew better than his classmates— but subjects like history, politics, strategy, and war tactics, he had to learn from scratch. He wasn't even mentioning subjects like basic chakra theory, introduction to ninjutsu, introduction to genjutsu, and their subsequent advanced modules taught through the years.

To catch up, he needed to learn faster than his classmates. And that meant learning at his own pace— at an accelerated pace. Sitting in the corner of the home was every book, scroll and resource material the academy had provided the boy (and that he had kept, who knew what he had discarded). Takuma had dug the pile and started at the bottom. Even though the academy was trying to create competent soldiers by age twelve, the material for six and seven years old was still a breeze for Takuma. He aimed to cover the first two years of material in a month or forty-five days before moving on to year three, where chakra was introduced.

As for physical, that was a different ordeal altogether. The academy truly trained its students to be soldiers. Takuma had found that the first year had a lot of physical activity disguised as fun games and exercise. The goal was to lay the foundation for teaching the children to appreciate training for training's sake. In the second year, the physical aspect was phased out a little for classroom time, and with each year, a little more physical time was phased out in favor of theory and practical skill classes. But each year, the students were encouraged to continue physical conditioning and skill training on their own time. The system apparently worked as each year had a certain physical standard that students were expected to meet— and in the last test, most of the class had passed the test. Takuma had, unfortunately, failed the test miserably.

Alas, physical conditioning, taijutsu, and weapon skills weren't the same as theoretical skills. Physical conditioning could be built consistently throughout the year through an arduous process of following the plan given in the academy manuals— but taijutsu and weapon skills like shurikenjutsu and kunai handling had to be mastered through repetition. Takuma wasn't sure he would be able to match the average of his peers in the two-year time he had till graduation.

"That'd be all for today," Kibe said as he rubbed down the blackboard with a duster. "Now, this is your last year in the academy..."

Takuma, who was hunched over his book, suddenly looked up at Kibe with eyes threatening to pop out. Last year of the academy? What was Kibe talking about? Academy cadets graduated at twelve; that was common knowledge.

'Common knowledge,' blood drained from Takuma's face as the thought struck him. Common knowledge... Where did common knowledge come from? Naruto and Co. had graduated at twelve; that must mean the rest must also graduate at the same age...

Takuma's eyes fell down to the history book he was reading. The page was about the third shinobi war a few years back. Takuma closed his eyes. He realized why the academy was graduating students at age eleven. During times of war, the academy would streamline its curriculum and cut it down to as short as a year, getting rid of all fluff like etiquette and proper handling of clients and focusing on creating shinobi ready for war.

But Leaf village wasn't at war. No, they weren't, Takuma sighed. But they had suffered something as terrible as war— they had suffered through the Kyuubi attack.

'The third shinobi war made a deep dent in the shinobi reserve, and before the village could recover, the Kyuubi made the dent even deeper,' Takuma grabbed his head as the thought completed in his head. It was only natural that the village was trying to recover its numbers by pushing more people out of the academy faster.

Takuma felt something bubble in the pit of his stomach— he felt sick and both hot and cold at the same time. He didn't have two years as he had thought. Now apparently, he had one. Just the thought of his time cut in half was almost enough to send him hyperventilating.

"...The graduation test is done thrice in the last six months of the program," Kibe continued. "Passing any one of the three tests will see you passing graduation. But I want all of you to do your best in every test, even if you do pass the first time, because your best grade will be considered in the end, and scoring high is important without me needing to tell... because this is a test. The most important test of your life till now."

Takuma gulped. Three tests meant he had three chances to clear the academy. Wait a minute, Takuma frowned. He looked up at Kibe and raised his hand.

"Yes?" Kibe asked when he saw Takuma.

"What happens if we fail all three tests?" Takuma asked.

One of the students laughed, "We?" Some chuckled along, and some seemed genuinely interested in the question.

"What happens if I fail all three tests?" Takuma asked, reiterating his questions. He couldn't blame his classmates for laughing; he was the worst in the class and would seem more at home with a six-year-old who had just joined the academy— and Takuma couldn't agree more. The thing he wished for the most was returning to his world, but after that, it was to be transmigrated when the boy had just entered the academy.

Kibe narrowed his eyes at Takuma before turning to the class. Takuma learned in his time at the academy that Kibe had no love to spare for him.

"If you fail to pass even a single one of three, you will be held back at the academy, where a committee will decide what to do with you," Kibe announced. "You might have to repeat the year" — Takuma sighed in relief — "or you might be forced to leave the academy outright."

Takuma paled when he heard that, and gasps sounded in the classroom. Takuma had thought that if he failed the graduation tests, he would get one more year, bringing his plan back on track. He had no qualms about repeating a year— yes, it would be humiliating and always be on his record, but that was something he was willing to go through when his safety was concerned. But now, a committee was involved.

Several thoughts went through his head. What would happen if the committee made him leave the academy? Takuma didn't believe he would be allowed to be free after that. The administration wouldn't let someone with shinobi training, even if they weren't incompetent, just go out of their system so easily— what if they were pretending to be incompetent and were simply using the academy as a way to learn or gain how the Leaf village trained their shinobis. Takuma didn't want to go down that future, for he didn't know what lay there.

The class soon ended, and as everyone was getting out of the classroom, Kibe asked Takuma to stay behind.

"You have not been performing well recently," Kibe said with his hands crossed as he looked down at Takuma. "And I'm not talking about your usual bad performance; you have been worse beyond your usual terrible self."

Takuma kept his head down. Again, there wasn't a thing he could say to refute it. If the boy was a lousy student, then Takuma was straight-up illiterate.

"You're not going to pass like this. You haven't won a single spar, hit a single target, or been able to perform a bunshin- not even a fault one- and the only class you answer is maths... If you continue on like this, they won't even let you repeat the year."

Kibe's words realized Takuma's worst fear. Being kicked out of the academy. He would rather be a chakra-wielding shinobi and go into a dangerous situation on his own accord rather than be a civilian and not know if tomorrow was going to be the last day of his life.

"What should I do to get better?" asked Takuma, his head still bowed.

"Study and practice."

Takuma wanted to scream that he had been doing so day in and night out but knew that throwing out his anger wouldn't do anything. Kibe was a strict teacher who took no disobedience against the rules he set. He had regularly kicked students out of classes at the slightest peep out of place, made them run laps or other punishment exercises when they disturbed his class. Takuma barely ever spoke in the classrooms, so he never got into trouble. For when he couldn't perform in the field? The most Kibe could do was to force Takuma to practice at the thing he had failed as there was no parent to complain to.

"Yes, sir," Takuma said. From Kibe's answer of 'study and practice' he knew asking Kibe for guidance wouldn't help him as the militant teacher wasn't going to hold his hand and spoon feed him basics this late in the academy.

As Takuma walked home alone, he finally had a quiet moment on the empty streets. Kibe's classroom was silent, but there was something about the classroom ambiance that made Takuma concentrate better even though he wasn't listening to the lecture, and he used all of that time to catch up on the theoretical knowledge from books and scrolls provided by the academy. He had to wrap his books in old newspapers so no one could tell what he was reading by the cover. It would be embarrassing if his classmates found that he was reading first and second-year material while being in the fifth year— and while he could bear the humiliation, children were particularly mean, so he would rather not attract attention to him.

But things like weapons handling and taijutsu weren't something he could learn on his own. There was no one who would tell him how to properly hold the kunai or correct him when his taijutsu katas weren't correct.

Takuma looked around as he entered the district he lived in. It was a civilian district with negligible shinobi presence. However, it wasn't a good civilian district with clean and flat roads, regularly maintained streetlights, and properly painted walls and buildings, which made an area look and feel like a desirable place to live. No, Takuma's home was in a place with roads filled with potholes, where every other streetlight was shot and those that worked flickered every few seconds, and every building looked like it had been maintained for a decade. It was a place where the bottom dwellers of the society lived— people who worked in unorganized industries with low pay, unemployed workers going through tough times, people who screwed up their finances— anyone who didn't have enough money lived in the district... and that included orphans like Takuma.

The state only had so much money they could spend on orphans like Takuma, especially when there were so many of them after the war and Kyuubi's attack. Every orphan was a drain on the budget, especially orphans like Takuma, who lived independently and required separate housing. Housing in the cheapest district was what the state deemed Takuma worth.

He smiled bitterly. Just like his housing situation, his financial situation looked dire and decrepit. He was provided an allowance every month, but it was only barely enough to cover his meals, which Takuma prioritized over everything else. He wanted to put some muscle and fat on his bones, and it took nutritious meals to accomplish that. He couldn't even eat out as it wrecked his budget, and he had to cook every meal in-house, which was a problem as he didn't know how to cook. He had gone to the academy and public libraries to get recipe books and created the cheapest three-meal menu he repeated daily. Every night, he would cook three meals in meal-prep form, put two in the fridge and eat the third. Take the breakfast out after the morning workout and take lunch with him to the academy.

The rest of his money went towards thrifting and scavenging used tools that he could use after school hours in practice. Tools weren't cheap, and because he wasn't a shinobi, he couldn't use military garrisons where shinobi got supplies at discounted rates. He had to go to blacksmiths who supplied the garrisons and choose from the 'to-be-recycled' piles that shinobi returned for reforging. None of his shuriken and kunai had an edge that wasn't chipped; most of them had cracks of varying degrees.

It hadn't been even a month since Takuma had been in this world, but he was sure he would have no money by the end of the month, and for the foreseeable future, he would be living from allowance cheque to allowance cheque.

Takuma sighed as he showed his hands into his pants pockets. He frowned as he felt a hole big enough for two fingers in his right pocket. He looked up at the sky and wondered if the boy had a sewing kit stashed somewhere in the house and then chuckled— of course, he wouldn't, and it wouldn't help... he didn't know how to stitch.

'Ah... this sucks.'

Absolutely everything… sucked.

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