Sasuke Chunin Exam Novels & Stories

On the third day after our divorce was finalized, my ex-wife, Georgie Anderson, sent me a text message. [Why haven’t you transferred your salary from this month to me?] I thought she was joking. [We’re already divorced.] [So? What does it matter if we’re divorced? You should transfer nineteen thousand dollars from your twenty-thousand-dollar income, just like you did before. The remaining one thousand dollars will be your pocket money. When you were unemployed, I was the one who took care of you. Now that we’re divorced, you’re turning your back on me?] I stared at her text messages and fell silent for a really long time. Throughout our three-year marriage, I gave her nineteen thousand dollars out of my twenty-thousand-dollar salary. She was responsible for "budgeting" our household expenses. However, she spent my money on her civil service exam, afternoon teas with her besties, and even on her study partner, whom I’d never met. As for me, I handled all the house chores—cooking dinner, mopping the floors and doing the laundry. But when I took a little time after work to game, she would yell at me for being lazy. She was demanding money from me even after we were divorced. Her reason was that I might spend the money without thinking. I blocked her number. Three seconds later, she sent me a text message from another phone number. [You’ll regret this. I’m trying to help you one last time.] I laughed. ‘Helping me?’ I thought. Nobody had ever helped me in the past three years.

The day my wealthy biological parents finally took me home, my eight godmothers stood at the gate with tears in their eyes as they watched me leave. I had barely been back for two days when everything changed. It was all because I scored one hundred points higher than the fake heir on our final exam mock test. My own parents took me to an underground black market hospital. They were going to cut out my brain and transplant it into the fake heir. "You've already taken Braxton's place as the center of the family," my mother said coldly. "Giving him your brilliant brain is the least you can do to make it up to him." "Don't worry," my father added with a smile. "We'll find you an ordinary brain afterward. We'll take care of you for the rest of your life." Braxton grinned as he leaned close. "Let me tell you a little secret. I bribed the surgeon. The brain they're putting in your head belongs to an idiot. "Your life is over." I struggled with everything I had, refusing to give up. Then they dragged me out of the car. The moment I looked up at the building, I almost laughed. Was this not the hospital owned by my eight godmothers? When I left home, my eldest godmother — the CEO — had sent me off with red-rimmed eyes. She vowed back then, "If anyone in the Long family dares lay a finger on you, I'll bankrupt them before they know what hit them." My second godmother, a renowned surgeon, had said nothing at all. She had simply continued wiping down her scalpel. It seemed like Braxton and the Long family had walked straight into a trap they would never escape from.

Mom is always very strict with both my elder sisters, Esther and Emily Kingston. She always wakes them up at 5:00 am to make them study. And if they refuse to wake up, Mom will grab an embroidery needle and stab it into my arm. When fresh blood spills out, Esther and Emily will both get a fright and scramble to their desks at once to begin studying. Sometime during the year-end exam, Esther gets one easy question wrong, and I receive ten lashes with Mom's belt. Emily gets only the second-highest score in class, and I am forced to kneel on glass until my knees turn bloodied and torn. Esther and Emily feel sorry for me and fall to their knees, begging Mom to have mercy on me and promising that they will study hard and make her proud of them. Mom smiles happily and says that this teaching method works very well. However, after the SATs, Esther applies for a college out of state, and Emily tells Mom that she is eloping with a young man whom she has fallen in love with. Mom is so angry that she yanks me over and stuffs me into a huge fish tank before beginning to fill it up with water. She then takes a video of me, threatening to drown me alive if they don't listen to her and do exactly as she says. The water keeps rising in the tank. I feel scared, but I don't struggle because Mom always tells me that the only reason for my existence is to be made an example out of for Esther and Emily. She often quotes Shakespeare's "Othello", telling me about how I am the "sacrificial" dog one beats to scare a lion and teach it obedience. I think that I am considered quite a qualified dog after all, right?

My mom is a pathological liar who enjoys making herself seem like the victim. Unfortunately, I'm always the scapegoat. When I was little, there was one time when she went out to play poker with her friends. As a result, she forgot to go home and prepare dinner on time. After that, she slapped me in front of the entire family. "This brat ran off to god knows where earlier! I went out looking for her, which is why dinner got delayed!" Because of that lie, I had to kneel in the courtyard throughout the night. When I was studying, I had to take an extremely important exam. My teacher repeatedly reminded the parents to prepare all materials required for their children. But my mom didn't even prepare anything for me. After that, she even said in front of everyone, "I've already prepared the materials for her. She was the one who threw them away when she was on her way to school because she didn't want to take the exam at all!" Since then, all of my classmates ostracized me throughout my entire school life. After I came of age, my mom kept crying to me in the middle of the night. "Your father has been abusing me for so many years. I had to endure everything for your sake, you know!" I advised her to get a divorce, only for her to tell an exaggerated version of what I said to my father. "Your daughter egged me on to divorce you! She said she doesn't need a useless father like you! I couldn't stand it anymore, so I'm telling you this!" He flew into a fit of rage on the spot, which led to him accidentally pushing me down the stairs. I died on the spot from the fall. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day my mom cries to me about my dad for the first time.

At the celebration, the pampered heiress in Crownridge, Aveline Sage, confessed her love for me in front of the entire school. I turned her down flat. I was one of the Sage family's candidates—handpicked top students from every state—to improve their next generation's genes. In a few days, when the exam results came out, whoever earned the highest national score would become her fiance. For three years straight, I had been ranked first in the country. In my previous life, I achieved that top score. I got engaged to Aveline and became the envy of everyone—the son-in-law of Crownridge's most powerful family. But on the day of our engagement, her first love, Caspian Lorne, jumped off the top of the Sage Group building. His body was shattered beyond recognition. Aveline hired the best mortician to restore his face and placed him in a crystal coffin, where she slept beside him every night. During our honeymoon, she brought Caspian's body along, then kissed and clung to him right in front of me. When I confronted her, she looked at me with disgust. "The Sage family sponsored your education for twelve years. You knew Caspian and I were in love. Couldn't you let him win just once? You've been in first place for twelve years. What would it have cost you to lose? You ruined his future, ruined our love. You deserve to die." She drugged me, turned me into a fool with the mind of a three-year-old. I couldn't recognize my parents. I lost control of my own body. And I died in agony. … Then, I opened my eyes again, back on the morning of the exam. Last time, I beat Caspian by a single point. This time, I left an answer blank. Let him be the top scorer. Let him marry her. I hoped they grew old together, with plenty of children to match their love.

As the price of gold soars, my late mother, Eleanor Hutchinson, appears to me in my dream. She tells me she has left a gold bangle on my nightstand. If I wear them, they'll bring me wealth and bless the child I'm carrying. But after I find the bangle, I give it to the rabid dog the neighbors keep locked up. In my previous life, my younger sister, Irene Owens, and I marry two brothers and become pregnant at the same time. During a prenatal checkup, the doctor says Irene's baby appears to have severe birth defects and recommends terminating the pregnancy. She doesn't take it seriously at all. That very day, Mom comes to me in my dream, and I find the gold bangle on my bedside table. After I tell Irene about it, she slips the bangle onto my wrists. She says, "You always say Mom favors me. But after she dies, you're the first person she thinks of and approaches. Just wear them." I do exactly as she says and never take the bangle off. But on the day we give birth, Irene delivers a healthy baby boy with rosy cheeks and a loud, vigorous cry. My baby, however, is born with two sets of reproductive organs. The child isn't breathing the moment it's delivered. Before this, every prenatal exam has shown that my baby is healthy. I realize Irene and the bangle must have something to do with it. The sight of my horribly deformed baby drives me insane. In a fit of rage, I dig up Mom's grave and confront Irene. "Why does Mom keep paving the way for you even after she's dead?" She has me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I waste away in despair until I die. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Mom first appears in my dream.

At ten years old, my parents divorce, each remarry, and abandon me to be raised by Grandma. When we see each other again, it's the summer after the College Entrance Exam. Mom and Dad both walk into the restaurant to book private dining rooms, and it just so happens to be my turn to seat the guests. Mom links arms with her stepdaughter, Alesha Callen, and smiles proudly as she instructs, "My daughter scored a 625 in the College Entrance Exam. We'll take your biggest room." Dad, holding his son Robby's hand, claims the room right next door. "It's my son's seventh birthday. We'll need a large room, too." They lock eyes for a brief moment before quickly looking away. Mom chuckles. "Throwing such a big birthday party for someone so young? You certainly spoil him." "Your daughter's the impressive one," Dad replies politely. "She's got a bright future ahead of her." And yet, neither of them recognizes me—their biological daughter and Jethroville's top scorer in this year's College Entrance Exam. I wipe the grease from my hands and carefully note down their requests. Mom orders a table full of seafood, saying that it's Alesha's favorite. Dad hands over a birthday cake he baked himself, instructing me to place it in the fridge. Just before they walk off, Mom asks offhandedly, "What about the other one? I haven't heard anything from her at all. Did she fail the exam?" Dad blinks. "I have no idea. She hasn't contacted me." I don't bother looking up. I just continue replying to a message from the real estate agent. Once I sell the old apartment Grandma left me, I'll finally be able to go somewhere far, far away with absolutely nothing holding me back.

On the day the SAT test results were released, my younger brother, who had always been an average student, turned out to be a perfect scorer. Meanwhile, I, the straight-A student, had my results voided because my answers were deemed poorly structured. During a reporter's interview, my brother suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me and slammed his head against the ground. "Henry, I was wrong! "I shouldn't have scored so high! I really didn't mean to refuse to take the exam for you! "Please don't send me back to the fighting ring! "Don't worry! I swear I'll never tell anyone about what you do with men at bars! Please just let me go!" My parents were heartbroken for him. They slapped me over and over while shouting. "It's one thing for you to fool around out there, but how could you bully your brother too? "Thank goodness this was the SAT test, so you couldn't force him to take it for you! Otherwise, you would've ruined his entire future!" My girlfriend immediately dumped me and got together with him instead. She said she wanted to make it up to him on my behalf. As soon as the interview aired, videos of me fooling around with other men in bars spread everywhere online. Before long, all my personal information was exposed. Enraged netizens lured me into a remote forest in the hills. "Are you this desperate? Stay here and reflect on yourself!" I was coiled by a lethally venomous snake. The pain was unbearable. My parents clearly knew what had happened, yet they refused to save me. "It's just a small snake. You're not going to die! "You're not allowed to come home until your brother starts college!" On the day of our high school graduation party, my brother and his girlfriend received acceptance letters from the country's best college, along with a notebook I had sent them.

Before we submitted our college applications, the popular girl in our class, the billionaire’s daughter, suddenly said she could get all of us into Harvard or Yale. “My parents donated several buildings to those schools. Getting you all admitted is nothing.” Most of my classmates’ college entrance exam scores were still a long way from those schools, but they believed her. They gave up submitting their own applications and counted on her to pull strings so they could get into college. In my last life, I realized her promise was unreliable. I immediately urged them not to give up on their applications, to keep a backup plan, and I called their parents one by one. But that infuriated the popular girl. She mocked me for being poor and said I did not understand how the upper class worked. She claimed I had ruined everyone’s future. My boyfriend also snapped at me for being jealous. “You’re just jealous that Lissy’s family is rich. You can’t stand the thought of all of us going to Harvard or Yale. So what if you have good grades? You could work your whole life and still never catch up to what her family built over three generations.” For the sake of our three years as classmates, I did not argue with them. But before the deadline, when I found out they still had not submitted their applications, I called the police and exposed the popular girl’s fake identity. The popular girl was condemned by everyone. In despair, she jumped into a river and killed herself. My classmates all said she deserved it and thanked me for saving their futures. But at our class farewell dinner, my boyfriend poisoned my drink, and the entire class watched coldly as I writhed in pain. “At worst, we would have lost our chance at college. Lissy lost her life!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the popular girl claimed she could pull strings for us.

I couldn’t cum ,not once in two years with him nor with someone. Then Sophie,my best friend….slid a card across the table. Dr. Vincent Kane; Specialist in women’s sexual dysfunction. The man who could fix what felt permanently broken. She didn’t mention he was her ex-husband Or that his “program” meant thirty locked days at his private estate. No sterile exam rooms, Just silk-draped suites, candlelit treatment spaces, and a discreet staff who vanished when he entered. In our first session he asked me to undress behind a screen and i did. When I stepped out in the thin robe, his gaze dragged down my body,slow, deliberate,before snapping back to my face. His throat worked. “Lie back,” he said, voice rougher than the day before. His gloved fingers parted with me for the exam. Clinical and professional until they lingered, circling my clit with the lightest pressure, testing responses I didn’t know I had. My hips jerked. A gasp tore from my throat. He froze, knuckles white on the table edge, breathing hard through his nose. He didn’t stop….Night after night the sessions grew bolder. His mouth replaced fingers, tongue stroking in slow, deliberate circles until my thighs shook and my back bowed off the massage table. When I finally shattered, clenching, crying out, soaking his chin, he pulled back, lips glistening, eyes black with something feral. He pinned my wrists above my head one evening, cock hard against my thigh through his trousers. “This is still therapy,” he growled, grinding once, twice. “Tell me to stop.” I arched into him instead, nails digging into his shoulders. My ex is threatening to leak photos, ruin us... Sophie keeps texting: How’s the retreat? He’s helping, right?