Bully Lord In the Chunin Exam (NarutoVerse)

"He is the guy who passed the exam without writing a single answer, if he was on earth the student would have worshiped him," Kuro whispered under his breath, though his tone lacked cruelty. If anything, it was almost fond. Naruto's determination, however clumsy, was admirable in its own right. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kuro noticed Reika shift slightly. She turned her head just enough to catch his gaze and quirked an eyebrow, her expression poised and calm. It was a silent question: *What's so funny?* 

Kuro's smirk widened. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely over his chest as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Just admiring the chaos," he whispered, his voice low enough to go unheard by the prowling proctors. 

Reika's lips curved into a small, knowing smile before she returned to her paper, her focus as razor-sharp as ever. 

The room, for all its stillness, buzzed with invisible tension. The proctors roamed like wolves through a field of trembling sheep, their presence a constant threat to anyone foolish enough to slip up. Kuro noticed Ibiki himself halt briefly to scrutinize a boy two seats away, his heavy boots echoing ominously against the floor. The boy froze under the interrogator's gaze, his trembling hand betraying his guilt. 

"You're out!" Ibiki barked, slamming his hand on the boy's desk with the force of a thunderclap. The sound reverberated through the room like a death knell, followed by the slow scrape of a chair as the student stood and left, head bowed. 

Kuro didn't flinch. Instead, his grin grew more lopsided as he surveyed the fallout—the ripple of unease that passed through the participants. *Fear is the real test,* he mused. *The questions are just the bait.* 

He leaned forward again, his pencil lazily tapping against the edge of his desk. The true game, Kuro realized, wasn't just about finding answers—it was about maintaining composure, about proving you could perform under pressure without losing your nerve. 

He scanned the room one last time, his gaze lingering on Naruto. Despite his obvious struggles, there was no give-up in the boy's posture. Kuro shook his head with a small chuckle. 

*He's not going to crack,* Kuro thought. *Stubborn idiot.* 

But as his eyes flicked back to Reika and then to Sasuke, he knew one thing for certain: everyone had their own way of surviving this test. The smart ones would adapt, the brave ones would endure, and the foolish ones would be swept away. 

And Kuro? 

He smirked once more, his pencil finally moving across the paper. *I'm just here to enjoy the show.* 

---

The silent thrum of anxiety in the room intensified, spreading like ripples across a still pond. Each disqualification landed like a stone in the collective psyche of the participants, their nerves fraying thread by thread. Those who remained grew quieter, their breaths measured, their movements stiff and deliberate, as though afraid the slightest twitch might summon Ibiki or one of his prowling proctors. 

Kuro's pencil twirled idly between his fingers as he leaned back just enough to give the impression of relaxed indifference. But his sharp eyes missed nothing. Each attempt to cheat was more ingenious than the last—born from desperation and the quiet knowledge that failure was not an option. 

To his left, a boy scratched his ear, seemingly fidgeting nervously. Kuro almost missed it until he noticed the minuscule mirror concealed in the boy's palm. From his angle, it caught just enough reflection to show his teammate's paper two rows away. Clever, Kuro admitted silently, but crude. Mirrors were risky; too much shine, too much movement. Sure enough, a proctor's sharp gaze zeroed in. Within moments, the boy was hauled out by his collar, his chair clattering noisily behind him. 

"You're out," the proctor barked, his voice a whip crack that made the remaining participants flinch. 

Kuro smirked faintly. *Amateur.* 

His gaze drifted further across the room, settling on a pair of twins positioned diagonally from each other. They communicated in ways so subtle it was almost artistic—silent taps of their pencils, synchronized coughs, shifts in posture that somehow conveyed entire sentences. One twin scribbled furiously while the other mimicked, their answers exchanged through some unspoken twin code. 

Kuro arched an eyebrow. *Not bad.* 

But Ibiki, that relentless hound, already had them in his sights. His heavy footsteps thudded ominously as he approached. The closer he got, the slower the twins' movements became, their calm cracking like glass under the weight of his gaze. When he finally stopped between their desks, they froze completely. 

Ibiki's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Do you two think I'm blind?" 

Neither twin dared to speak. 

"Out." 

The twins shared a look of quiet defeat as they stood, gathering their papers with trembling hands before shuffling out. Their departure left a chill in the air. 

Kuro bit back a chuckle. *He's ruthless.* 

It wasn't long before his attention was drawn to the girl with the chakra thread. Now *that* was impressive. From across the room, her teammate barely moved, whispering the tiniest syllables that only her finely tuned chakra thread could translate into movement. Her pen moved without her even touching it, dancing across the paper with eerie precision. 

Kuro watched with genuine interest, his lips curling into a small smile. The technique was subtle, refined—a masterful blend of skill and ingenuity. *She must have practiced that for months.* 

But as flawless as her execution was, her mistake was in her confidence. Ibiki noticed her almost immediately. His steps were quiet—impossibly so for a man of his build—and before anyone else realized it, he was standing right behind her. 

"Nice try." 

His voice slithered through the air like a snake, sending a cold shiver down the girl's spine. The chakra thread snapped with an audible *pop*, her pen clattering uselessly onto the desk. Her wide eyes darted up to Ibiki's face as if hoping to plead her case, but there was no mercy to be found there. 

She was gone moments later, her chair left eerily empty. 

Kuro exhaled softly, his smile lingering as he shook his head. *The arrogant ones always overplay their hand.* 

All around him, the pressure mounted. Cheating attempts dwindled as fear rooted itself deeper. Even those with clever methods grew hesitant, their hands shaking, their foreheads glistening with sweat. The air felt thick, stifling, like the room itself was suffocating them.