Bully Lord In the Chunin Exam (NarutoVerse)

Xero let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. *"Too close,"* he thought, wiping his forehead. 

He leaned back again, tapping the pencil idly against his chin as he surveyed the chaos he'd left on his test sheet. It was a masterpiece of bluff and nonsense—a true testament to his ability to wing it under pressure. 

*"If Kuro's right, I'll pass. If he's wrong…"* 

Xero's eyes drifted toward the window, where the sun hung high in the sky, promising freedom just beyond the walls of the exam room. He grinned lazily to himself. 

"…well, there's always next year." 

---

Two rows ahead, Reika's pencil glided across the paper with effortless precision, the faint scratching sound a testament to her focus. Her answers came swiftly, as though the questions had been tailor-made for her sharp mind. Each stroke of her pencil carved solutions into existence—clean, direct, and unshakably confident. 

Her keen eyes skimmed the text, breaking down problems into their essential parts before piecing them back together like a master tactician commanding a battlefield. A quick flick of her wrist added a final stroke to her current answer, and she moved on, unbothered by the stress radiating from the others. If anything, Reika was thriving under the pressure. 

*"Focus is a ninja's greatest weapon,"* her sensei's voice echoed in her mind. 

She adjusted her grip, her back straight as a blade, shoulders unyielding. Failure was not in her vocabulary. 

Beside her, Kuro was a contrast—a picture of relaxed composure, yet with something far more calculating lurking beneath the surface. While his calm demeanor mimicked indifference, his mind was already ten steps ahead of the rest. 

He glanced sideways at Reika's paper—*of course, she's perfect*—and then back at his own, where the blank page seemed to hum with silent accusation. He had intended to do nothing. After all, his strategy for passing was far less reliant on ink and far more reliant on instinct, on how he would shine later in the exam's more practical tests. 

But as he casually surveyed the room, taking in the chaos brewing in subtle waves, his sharp eyes landed on Xero slouched in the back, doodling devil horns on what was *definitely not* a test answer. Then his gaze slid to Naruto, whose frantic glances at the clock and muttered curses painted a picture of total despair. 

Kuro frowned slightly. *Three blank papers.* It wasn't a good look. 

*"Sometimes survival isn't about your ability—it's about playing the game,"* he reminded himself. 

With a barely audible sigh, Kuro picked up his pencil. His movements were slow at first, like a painter considering a blank canvas. He wasn't aiming for perfection—no, that would be too obvious. Instead, he started filling in answers with just enough precision to avoid suspicion. An easy question here, a cleverly disguised guess there. Each response was deliberate, straddling the line between "capable" and "average." 

Kuro's strategy was clear: don't shine too brightly, don't sink too low. Be forgettable. 

But while his pencil moved, his mind wandered freely, scanning for any unusual behavior. His eyes flicked up, and he noted how Ibiki's eagle-like gaze swept the room, searching for the slightest twitch or suspicious glance. Kuro avoided eye contact like a seasoned pro, keeping his head bowed just enough to appear absorbed in his work. 

A row back, someone dropped their eraser, the soft thud echoing louder than it should have. Half the room flinched. Kuro didn't move—he didn't need to. His peripheral vision had already captured it. Someone to his left was using a mirror to reflect answers off another student's paper. Clever, but risky. 

Kuro smirked faintly. *Amateurs.* 

Meanwhile, Reika didn't spare anyone a glance. Her focus was absolute, her pencil moving with the rhythm of someone who'd rehearsed this moment in her mind a thousand times over. Her answers were flawless, precise, and unyielding—a reflection of her own drive to succeed. Reika wasn't just here to pass; she was here to dominate. 

Kuro's pencil stopped for a moment as his eyes flitted back to Naruto, whose loud sighs were growing increasingly frequent. The blond ninja had now begun scribbling random symbols that looked suspiciously like ramen bowls. Kuro suppressed a snicker. *Hopeless.* 

Then there was Xero—calm, unbothered, his doodles growing more elaborate by the second. If Xero's plan was to fail gloriously, he was certainly excelling. 

Kuro shook his head with amusement and returned to his work, his answers scattered in varying degrees of correctness. He left the hardest questions blank, just enough to make it believable. In the game of subtlety, it wasn't about being the best—it was about slipping through unnoticed. 

Satisfied, Kuro leaned back slightly, his pencil spinning lazily between his fingers as he scanned the room one final time. Reika, still relentless. Naruto, sinking further into despair. Xero, now drawing what looked like a fire-breathing dragon version of Ibiki. 

*"Good,"* Kuro thought, smirking to himself. *"Keep acting, Xero.."* 

He sat up straighter, added a single line to one of his answers for effect, and placed his pencil neatly on the desk. The clock ticked on, and Kuro waited—unshakable, unbothered, and already three steps ahead. 

---

The tension in the room thickened like a fog, heavy and suffocating. Naruto could hear the faint tremble of a chair leg dragging against the floor as another participant stood up, their spirit shattered, and shuffled out of the room. The soft thuds of their retreating footsteps echoed like funeral drums. Each sound chipped away at the already-frayed nerves of the remaining candidates, a cruel reminder that the unforgiving rules of the exam were designed to break them. 

Ibiki Morino stood motionless at the front of the room, his towering figure casting a long shadow that seemed to stretch across the walls like a phantom of despair. His cold, calculating gaze swept over the participants like a blade, lingering just long enough to make even the most confident ninja squirm. It wasn't just his reputation as an interrogator that unsettled them; it was the way his presence alone seemed to strip away their resolve, exposing the raw fear beneath. 

"The weak will leave," Ibiki said, his voice low and deliberate, as though each word was a stone sinking into their hearts. "The strong will remain." 

Naruto's fists tightened until his knuckles turned white, the blood draining from his hands as if to fuel the fire burning inside him. *I'm not leaving,* he repeated to himself. *I won't quit.*