Chapter 135: Entering the Twenty-Third Training Hall
Souta looked at them, then unconsciously smiled. There was something oddly calming about seeing the two girls standing side by side — both strong and composed, yet each exuding a completely different kind of aura.
"Well then, let's go, Mama! I'm heading out now!" Makima turned toward Miki and said brightly, her tone carrying that cheerful, carefree lilt that always made the air feel a little lighter.
"Alright, be careful on your way!" Miki replied with a soft smile. "See you again, Souta-kun, Pakura-chan."
Souta and Pakura both bowed their heads slightly in respect. "Yes, Aunt Miki. Thank you."
The three of them then walked away from the house, their figures blending into the bustling street filled with the ebb and flow of people. The golden light of the sun stretched long across the sandstone road, and the faint scent of spices and dry dust swirled in the air — the familiar breath of Sunagakure's daily life.
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After walking for quite a while, they finally arrived in front of a building. It was made of compacted sand, much like most structures in the Village Hidden in the Sand.
However, this one had a certain elegance to it — the hardened sand seemed to have been layered meticulously by skilled hands, forming smooth walls with natural wave-like patterns reminiscent of wind ripples across a dune's surface.
Its facade shimmered gold beneath the afternoon sun that streamed through gaps in the desert clouds. Each grain of drifting dust caught the light and danced in the air, creating the illusion that the entire building was quietly breathing beneath the blazing desert sky.
The heat rolled softly through the air, carrying that distinct scent of dry soil and sunbaked sand. A gentle desert wind brushed against their cloaks with a sound like a whisper, sneaking into the folds of fabric. It made Makima's pale red hair glint beneath the sunlight, while Pakura's brownish-green hair rippled gracefully amidst the floating grains of dust.
Souta lowered his gaze for a moment, watching their fading footprints on the sandy ground being slowly erased by the wind — as if this desert world itself was built to forget all who came and went.
They soon reached the entrance of the building — a large double wooden door that opened inward with a push. The door looked old yet solid, crafted from dark wood rarely seen in the desert regions.
Its surface was adorned with carvings of swirling sun and wind motifs — the iconic emblem of Sunagakure, symbolizing strength and resilience under an unending heat. The iron handles were cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the scorching air outside. Souta pushed them gently, and the hinges let out a creaking sound, like the sigh of an ancient structure that had waited too long to be disturbed.
As the doors groaned open, a wave of cooler air greeted them, the temperature inside markedly lower — as though the sand walls absorbed the outer heat. A faint humidity lingered in the air, a rare comfort in the arid desert.
Upon entering, they were met with the sight of a reception desk and a woman standing behind it. She was beautiful, with long black hair and warm brown eyes. She wore a lovely brown kimono patterned with cherry blossoms — its color nearly blending with the sandy-toned walls. Her hair was neatly arranged, and every movement she made carried a grace that felt like water flowing over smooth stones.
"Excuse me, we've come to take our test with our instructor. Where should we go?" Souta stepped forward and asked politely. His tone was calm, but there was a faint edge of tension beneath it.
He couldn't quite conceal the nervousness that came from knowing who awaited them beyond this test — Masamichi Yaga, a figure whose name alone carried both respect and a weight that pressed against his chest.
Souta's voice echoed softly through the quiet hall, mingling with the faint rustle of the woman's kimono fabric as she turned.
"Ah, I see. You're the ones taking the final graduation test," the woman said kindly, her voice calm and soothing. "Then please, follow this hallway. You'll reach a large chamber at the end. Masamichi is already waiting for you there."
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Chapter 136: Masamichi Was Not Late
The woman's gaze was calm—gentle even—but there was something else behind those eyes. A subtle sorrow, almost imperceptible, that flickered every time she looked at a new participant entering the final examination hall.
It was as if she knew, deep down, that not everyone who walked through that door would leave with the same light in their eyes.
"Thank you." Souta bowed slightly. Then he, Pakura, and Makima began walking down the long corridor.
The hallway stretched far ahead, its walls formed from compacted sand, layered neatly like the patient work of desert winds over millennia. Tall pillars rose on either side—natural sculptures shaped by time itself.
From small openings in the ceiling, sunlight filtered in, cutting through the dusty air like thin blades of gold. The drifting particles shimmered within the beams, painting a quiet dance of light and sand.
Their footsteps echoed softly, the rhythmic sound resonating within the silence of the sandstone corridor—gentle, measured, but heavy with the anticipation of what awaited them.
Each step seemed to tighten the air, winding invisible threads of tension around them. Every echo felt like a countdown—to something monumental, something irreversible.
The light from the ceiling slanted across their faces, sharpening the mood that already hung heavy before the final trial.
Under that golden glow, their expressions told three different stories.
Makima's calm gaze remained unreadable, her composure almost unsettling—an enigma that neither confidence nor indifference could fully explain. Pakura's brows were faintly furrowed, a mixture of focus and excitement flickering within her eyes, like a flame waiting to ignite.
And Souta… though his face appeared serene, his fingers, faintly curled into his palm, betrayed the storm brewing quietly inside him.
In silence, they all understood the same truth—once they passed through the next door, there would be no turning back, and no more room for hesitation.
At last, they arrived at a vast chamber. The entire space—walls, floor, and ceiling—was carved from the same compacted sand, yet it didn't feel lifeless. The air carried weight, dense and still, pressing against their chests with invisible force.
It was the kind of stillness that precedes a battlefield before the first clash of steel.
The walls curved smoothly, as though they had once flowed like waves before hardening into stone mid-motion. The floor beneath their feet was cold and firm, but there was a faint vibration—a living tremor that whispered through the soles of their boots.
It wasn't just the ground that was alive—it was the chakra. Subtle, steady, and everywhere, filling the room like the slow pulse of the earth itself.
Their footsteps echoed once more, then faded into an almost sacred silence. Dust drifted down from the corners of the ceiling, glimmering like tiny spirits in the shafts of light that streamed from above.
And there, waiting for them at the center of the room—stood Masamichi.
He stood tall, arms crossed, his posture sharp yet unforced. His expression was serious, but his eyes—those eyes—were sharp as blades.
Masamichi's gaze pierced through them effortlessly, as though weighing their strength, measuring their resolve, and seeing straight into the hidden flaws each of them carried within.
The light from above cast shadows across his face, accentuating the strong line of his jaw. A faint scar ran along his cheek, long healed but not forgotten—a silent testament to countless battles fought and survived.
The aura surrounding him wasn't loud. It didn't blaze like fire—it pressed like gravity. Heavy, still, inevitable. The calm of the desert before a sandstorm.
Souta, Pakura, and Makima stepped closer, their movements measured now. Each of them could feel the invisible pressure, as though even the air here demanded proof of their worth.
Every step was a test of composure. Every breath felt like a vow.
For a moment, no one spoke. The chamber itself seemed to listen, holding its breath as teacher and students stood face to face.
Then—Souta's eyes widened ever so slightly.
He hadn't expected this.
Masamichi was already here. Waiting.
That simple fact alone caught him off guard. Souta's stride faltered for a heartbeat, his surprise flickering across his otherwise calm face.
He came early?
Somehow, it felt strange—wrong, even. Not because there was anything out of place, but because it defied the image Souta had of how this moment was supposed to be.
A faint, almost amused thought crossed his mind.
In every ninja story Souta had grown up watching, the sensei always arrived late. Always—without fail.
He couldn't help but recall a particular image: in Naruto, Kakashi Hatake showing up long after Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura had already been waiting, his trademark excuse and lazy grin in place. That, to Souta, was the natural order of things.
So to see Masamichi, of all people, standing there ahead of them—composed, ready, punctual—felt oddly wrong.
Souta blinked once, twice. The absurdity of the thought made him want to laugh, but he held it back.
Because this was not a manga panel.
This was real.
And the man waiting before him was not Kakashi. He was Masamichi—calm, grounded, and terrifying in his precision.
Still… Souta couldn't stop the tiny, ironic smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
So, this time... the teacher's not late.
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