Chapter 38 : A Door Closed
The gates of the Konoha Ninja Academy loomed ahead, taller than Ren had imagined. Though modest in design, the very sight of them stirred something deep inside him. This wasn't just a building. It was a symbol—of legitimacy, of purpose, of becoming someone who could shape his future, not be swept away by it.
He adjusted the strap of the worn canvas bag over his shoulder. His shirt, though clean, clung slightly to his back with nervous sweat. Around him, children milled about in groups—some chatting loudly, others whispering with wide eyes. Most wore the insignia or colors of their clan: Aburame, Hyūga, Nara. Others, like Ren, wore plain, practical clothes.
He recognized none of their faces.
But they all looked like they belonged here.
He took a slow breath and stepped toward the open gates. Today marked the beginning. Weeks of physical training, bruised knuckles, long nights meditating, and learning to write like a native—none of it had been easy. But it had given him hope. It had made the dream feel real.
Inside the courtyard, a woman stood beneath the shadow of a tree, clipboard in hand. Her dark hair was tied in a tight bun, and her eyes flicked sharply between her list and the line of waiting children.
"Next," she called.
Ren stepped forward, trying to keep his voice steady. "Ren. Just Ren."
Her pen hovered for a moment. "No surname?"
"No, ma'am."
She frowned slightly, scanning the sheet again. Then again. Her brow creased.
"You're not on the Academy list."
Ren blinked. "There must be some mistake. My guardian—Juro—he told me I'd be starting today."
Her eyes softened slightly at the name but remained firm. "You're not listed for the Academy entrance class."
Ren's heart pounded. "But I've been training. Studying. I met the requirements, didn't I?"
The woman sighed, flipping a page. "You are listed. But not here. You've been assigned to the Civil Support Corps. Orientation is this morning at Building E in the east compound."
"The Support Corps?" The words fell out like ash.
She nodded, voice neutral. "A non-combat track. You'll receive instruction in basic survival, communication, logistics. You may be deployed to assist with supply lines, messenger routes, or emergency relief. Important work."
Important work.
But not a shinobi. Not a ninja. Not what he had been fighting toward.
Ren didn't speak. He stared at the clipboard like it might change if he looked hard enough.
"If you have concerns, I suggest speaking with your guardian." Her tone was softer now, but she was already waving the next child forward. "You should go. They'll be waiting."
Ren turned slowly, the murmurs and laughter of the other children blurring into background noise. He walked away, down the path that had once felt like a road forward.
Now it felt like a dead end.
---
He didn't go straight to Building E.
Instead, he wandered the village's quieter alleys, kicking a small rock down the cobblestone road as the morning sun climbed higher. Konoha felt colder today, despite the warmth.
The quiet was a sharp contrast to the voices in his head.
Juro didn't tell me? Why? Did he know? Did he lie?
Or was it something else?
He thought back to the whispers in the camp. The way Juro had always been careful. The hesitations. And then… the Uchiha name. That had weight. And politics.
Maybe it hadn't been Juro's decision at all.
This village doesn't want you on the front lines, a bitter voice inside him whispered. You're an outsider. They'll use you for errands, then toss you aside.
He clenched his jaw and turned down another street. A patrol of Chūnin passed by, laughing among themselves. One of them glanced at Ren and nodded politely. Ren looked away.
He had to know the truth.
But even more than that, he had to decide what came next.
---
When he finally approached Building E, the banner above the door read: "CIVIL SUPPORT CORPS – ORIENTATION."
No guards. No gate. Just a plain wooden building with open windows and benches outside. Inside, he could hear voices—older teens and young adults, laughing, joking, resigned.
A few glanced at him as he approached. One gave a lazy wave. Another muttered something under their breath.
Ren didn't step in.
He turned on his heel and walked away.
---
By the time he reached the Uchiha district, the sun was overhead.
He found Juro in the courtyard behind the house, kneeling by a wooden box of herbs. The older man looked up, sharing no surprise at the boy's expression.
Ren didn't speak right away. Neither did Juro.
"I went to the Academy," Ren said quietly.
Juro nodded once.
"They told me I'm not in the class. I've been sent to the Support Corps."
Another nod. But no apology. No shock.
"You knew?"
Juro stood slowly, wiping dirt from his hands. His voice was even. "I found out yesterday. I was going to tell you this morning."
"Why didn't you?"
Juro's face tightened faintly. "Because I hoped I'd find a way to change it before you got there."
Ren's chest burned. "But why? Why was I moved?"
Juro didn't answer right away. Then: "Because I vouched for you. And because I'm Uchiha."
Ren frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"There's tension right now," Juro said. "Agreements. Politics. The Uchiha clan made a deal with the Hokage. None of our children under twelve will take war missions, to protect them. It was the only way to keep the clan from being bled dry."
Ren processed that in silence.
"And now," Juro continued, "some believe I used my position to put you ahead. That I gave an outsider special favor. So they blocked your enrollment quietly. Shifted you into the Support Corps."
"So I'm being punished," Ren muttered. "For your kindness."
"No," Juro said. "You're being tested. This village doesn't hand out power to anyone. You want in? Then force their hand."
Ren looked up.
"Prove them wrong," Juro said. "Train. Grow. Show them you belong. Not because someone vouched for you, but because no one can deny it."
Ren stared at the dirt between his feet. The path he had envisioned had been ripped out from under him. But maybe that didn't mean there wasn't a path at all.
Just a harder one.
He nodded.
"Good," Juro said. "Then get to work."
Ren turned and walked back into the village. Not toward the Support Corps building. Not toward the Academy gates.
Toward something else.
Something only he could carve.
- - -
The stone paths of Konoha stretched out ahead of him, familiar yet suddenly distant. Ren walked in silence, his sandals scuffing the ground. The laughter of academy students filtered through the air from somewhere nearby. A few were running down the street, talking about what jutsu they'd learn next, or whose clan was the strongest. He didn't envy them. Not anymore.
His mind was too heavy.
They said he wouldn't be going to the Academy. That he'd been reassigned.
Reassigned.
It was such a neat word for what it really was.
Thrown away.
Even the receptionist hadn't looked him in the eyes. "Ask your guardian," she had said, her voice clipped. Polite but distant. Like she didn't want to get involved. Like she knew.
Juro hadn't said much when Ren had confronted him. The silence between them had been louder than any argument. There had been a tightness in Juro's expression, a hint of fury simmering beneath control—but not directed at Ren. That made it worse. Juro wasn't angry with him. He was angry for him. But powerless to help.
Which meant it wasn't personal.
It was political.
Ren stopped walking. The weight in his chest shifted from confusion to clarity.
This wasn't about his skill. Or his potential.
This was about power.
Juro was an Uchiha. And Juro had vouched for him—a nobody. A war orphan. A kid with no clan name, no bloodline, no influence. That kind of thing might have gone unnoticed in a fair world. But this world wasn't fair.
In this world, someone had noticed. And made sure to respond.
Danzo.
The name came to him like a whisper, but it struck like a hammer.
Danzo, the shadow that lurked behind the Hokage. The one who didn't believe in kindness or mercy. The one who saw the world as a chessboard. And Ren? Ren was just a pawn. A reminder. A lesson.
Juro had dared to protect someone outside the clan. So now, Danzo had ensured that kindness had a cost.
Ren clenched his teeth.
That's why Juro didn't fight back. He couldn't. If he did, Danzo would twist it. Use it as an excuse to force the Uchiha into sending their young into battle again.
He remembered overhearing something once—about a quiet deal between the Uchiha and the Hokage. Children under twelve wouldn't be sent to the front lines. It was a rare protection in this war-torn world, earned through long negotiations. If Juro resisted this decision, Danzo could frame it as rebellion. As the Uchiha overstepping again.
All for him. For Ren.
A kid no one had wanted until now.
He exhaled slowly. The heat in his chest wasn't anger. Not fully. It was something deeper. A bitter understanding.
They didn't care what I could become.
They just cared that someone had believed in him. And that belief had to be punished.
He passed a training field where genin were practicing shuriken throws. A jounin instructor barked corrections. The sun caught the edge of a blade as it spun through the air, hitting a target dead-center. The kids cheered.
Ren kept walking.
He was being sent to a different program. A place for those deemed "unfit" for the Academy. The ones with no future as shinobi. He would be trained to serve the village in other ways—menial tasks, patrols, supply delivery. Not jutsu. Not real missions.
Not the path of a ninja.
His hands curled into fists.
But it wasn't over.
He still had his mind. His will.
They could send him wherever they wanted. But they couldn't decide what he did once he got there.
He would train. He would learn. He would surpass the path they had carved for him.
Even if he had to do it alone.
He stopped on a quiet bridge overlooking a narrow stream. The water ran dark and slow beneath him, reflecting the grey clouds drifting overhead.
I can't trust anybody, he thought.
Not really.
Even good people were limited. Even good people had pressure. And those with power could twist that pressure into chains.
There were many ways to control a person.
Threats. Promises. Guilt.
Or worse: forcing them to choose between someone they care about and something they believe in.
Juro didn't choose this, Ren told himself.
But it didn't change the outcome.
He was on his own.
Again.
He looked up at the sky, and for a moment, all he saw was smoke.
There are a thousand ways to break a person, he thought bitterly.
If I don't want to break… then I can't afford to be blind.
And in that silence, with only the wind in the trees and the water beneath him, Ren made a vow:
He would become strong.
Stronger than they expected. Stronger than they feared.
And when the time came, he would not be a pawn.
He would be the one moving the pieces.
---
He turned from the bridge, the village still bustling behind him, unaware.
But his eyes had changed.
No more illusions.
No more blind trust.
This world wasn't going to protect him. So he would protect himself.
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