The kunai felt wrong in Jin Kohinata's hand.
Not physically—the weight was familiar, the grip worn smooth by countless practice sessions. But as he turned the weapon over in his palm, watching the morning light catch its edge, the familiarity felt wrong.
His fingers knew exactly how to grip it, how to balance the weight, yet he remembered a life where he'd never held anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife—where weapons were things other people used, not tools he carried every day.
He'd been feeling this disconnect for three days now, ever since waking up in a body that wasn't his own.
With a quiet sigh, Jin slipped the kunai back into his pouch and pushed through the Academy's front doors, the familiar creak of old hinges somehow both comforting and alien.
Students streamed past him, their chatter echoing off the corridor walls, but their voices seemed muted compared to the chaos in his head.
Three days and it still feels like living someone else's life he thought, climbing the stairs toward his classroom.
But then Kiba's distinctive laugh boomed from somewhere ahead, and Jin's steps faltered.
The sound was familiar in a way that made no sense—he knew that laugh, knew the person behind it, yet couldn't remember ever hearing it before.
Like everything else in this borrowed life, it felt both known and foreign at once.
"Oi, Jin!"
He turned to find Shikamaru approaching, hands shoved deep in his pockets and wearing his perpetual expression of mild annoyance. "You look like someone stole your breakfast. Troublesome."
"Just tired," Jin replied, surprised by how normal his voice sounded.
"Aren't we all," Shikamaru muttered, falling into step beside him. "Iruka-sensei's been extra intense lately. Something about graduation exams."
Jin nodded absently, his attention caught by a flash of orange ahead. Naruto stood near their classroom door, gesticulating wildly as he spoke to anyone who'd listen. "—and then I'm gonna be the strongest Hokage ever! Even stronger than the First! Believe it!"
The other students rolled their eyes or snickered, but Jin knew there was more to it.
Fragmented memories from the Naruto series told him about the boy's deeper struggle for acknowledgment and acceptance.
Poor kid Jin thought.
They entered the tiered classroom, and Jin automatically headed for his usual spot at the back corner by the window. The elevated desk gave him a perfect view of everyone—a habit from his original life, though now it felt more necessary than ever.
As he settled into his seat, a familiar shimmer caught his peripheral vision. Translucent text materialised in the air before him, visible only to his eyes:
[Daily Quest: Stength Training]
[Weakness will not be tolerated.]
[Reward: +2 Stats]
[Punishment: ???]
Reading the notification, his heart rate quickened, and his fingers unconsciously clenched as he recalled what happened the last time he ignored the daily quest—something he'd rather forget.
At least the rewards brought benefits he could feel—increased strength and chakra that made the fear bearable.
He dismissed the notification with a mental command just as the classroom door slid open.
"Alright, settle down!" Iruka-sensei's voice cut through the chatter like a blade. The scarred chunin strode to the front of the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.
Students scrambled to their seats, though Naruto was still muttering something about ramen.
"Good morning, sensei!" the class chorused, with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Iruka set a thick stack of papers on his desk and turned to face them, his expression more serious than usual. "I hope you all got plenty of rest over the weekend, because today we're discussing something that will determine the rest of your lives."
The room fell silent. Even Naruto stopped fidgeting.
"The graduation exam is exactly three weeks away," Iruka continued, his gaze sweeping across the students. "Three weeks to prove you're ready to call yourselves shinobi of the Hidden Leaf."
A few nervous gulps echoed from the front rows. Jin noticed Hinata's shoulders tense, while Sasuke went perfectly still.
"To help you prepare," Iruka said, his voice softening slightly, "I'll be conducting surprise mock exams over the next couple weeks. They won't affect your final grades, but they'll show you exactly where you stand."
His eyes found Naruto's. "Some of you need to understand that becoming a ninja isn't about dreams and determination alone. It requires skill, discipline, and the ability to follow orders even when your life depends on it."
Naruto's face reddened, but before he could retort, another notification blazed across Jin's vision—this one outlined in ominous crimson:
[Story Quest: Full-Fledged Ninja]
[Pass the graduation exam and officially become a ninja. Your survival depends on it.]
[Reward: Stealth Skill, +5 Stats]
[Punishment: Death]
Jin's blood ran cold, his breath catching audibly in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of his desk hard enough to make the wood creak, and for a moment, the classroom seemed to tilt sideways.
Death. Not failure, not embarrassment—death.
"Jin?" Iruka's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Are you alright? You look pale."
Every eye in the classroom turned toward him. Jin could feel their stares, could practically hear their thoughts: What's wrong with Kohinata? He looks like he's seen a ghost.
If only they knew.
"I'm fine, sensei," Jin managed, his voice hoarse. "Just... thinking about the exam."
Iruka studied him for a long moment, concern flickering in his dark eyes. "The graduation exam is serious, but it's not a death sentence. You've been training for six years—have some confidence in yourselves."
Not a death sentence, Jin thought grimly, staring at the quest notification that only he could see. Speak for yourself.
"Now then," Iruka continued, seemingly satisfied that Jin wasn't about to collapse, "let's begin today's lesson with a review of the transformation jutsu. Naruto, since you're so eager to become Hokage, why don't you demonstrate?"
As Naruto bounded to the front of the classroom with characteristic enthusiasm, Jin forced himself to focus on the present moment.
Whatever this system wanted from him, whatever game he'd been dragged into, one thing was crystal clear: Failure wasn't an option.
Not when his life literally depended on it.