Jiro, like most children, had been spared the terrors of [i]bureaucracy[/i] growing up. The closest he'd come to real administrative struggle was redeeming his Genin-level information access, and that had been resolved with a quick trip to the Hokage's Tower, all issues cleared within an hour. Until this morning, Jiro had thought that hour to be the most execrable 60 minutes of his life.

He had been forced to radically shift his view on the world. The perdition had began at dawn, when he received an accidental summons to the Hokage's office. It finally seemed to end, near enough to eight hours later, with his team assignment being handed out twenty minutes after the academy would let out his peers. In that time, he had been mistaken for a criminal-of-war executed during the First Ninja War, assigned to an entirely fictitious team of ninja leftover from the Fourth War, and recommended to ANBU for immediate recruitment following an unfortunate misspelling on the part of a clerk within the Logistics Division. It had been eight hours of running to and fro, brandishing identification passes, testimonies from parents and ninja, and one rather unforeseen bribe to a waitress in a disreputable bar just outside the walls.

Jiro was exhausted, at least mentally. The long wait in the Registry Department had given him time to rest, but he had been thinking fast for hours, been constantly under stress for hours. He'd had to give sensitive information to extremely powerful individuals, some of whom no doubt suspected him a spy from a foreign village. The thought of strenuous training for which he was [i]late when he left the last office[/i] was almost too much to bear. A voice in the back of Jiro's mind prated that he could not be expected to participate in ninja training after such an ordeal, and that he would be justified in taking the day off and browsing that scroll he had spotted in the library over the weekend.

The larger part of Jiro's brain told him to stop being a child and do his duty. His frenzied rush across town to "Training Ground 11" evidenced which course of action he followed. With the delay at the Records Department, he had at least managed to learn who his teammates were. He knew them both, though could not call himself friends with either. Both were significantly older than him, and likely more skilled. It was daunting in a way, but at least he would have good advice when he needed it. He hoped he would not be a hindrance at first: he would not normally have questioned the leadership of the Leaf, but with the experience of the last few hours had done wonders to disillusion Jiro with his superior officers. Idly, he wondered if this was part of the training; if all his fellow students had to wrestle the mechanisms of the most powerful military in the world before they could earn assignment.

The sight of his teammates standing at the training grounds, looking fresh and excited, disproved this notion. He had been the only one: just his luck. He wouldn't let it get in the way of things. He had only caught sight of the training grounds for a moment before re-submerging into the dense canopy of trees in which he was travelling. He slowed to walking pace a score of meters before the edge of the foliage. Skidding to a halt without precedent was a good way to make a terrible, bizarre, first impression, Jiro thought. He dropped from the trees, absentmindedly checking his bandoleer of scrolls and his various sacks of miscellaneous tools, straightening his brown-and-olive camouflage outfit, focusing on slowing his breathing and wiping the thin skin of sweat that covered his head, his only exposed extremity.

Jiro emerged from the trees at a light jog, wanting to look like he had made an effort to arrive on time without appearing a madman. He greeted his two teammates with slight bows, and offered his new commanding officer an official scroll detailing his reason for being so late. Jiro was glad he had asked for it: he doubted anyone would believe the trouble he had gone through on word alone.

He resumed a polite distance from his teacher and his teammates. No doubt they were waiting on him impatiently, as eager to start as he was. Idle conversation would only delay things further. His retreat from his teacher, accompanied by a polite bow, was more to placate the jounin: Jiro did not know which rumors to believe regarding the man, but if half of them were correct politeness and deference was likely the best opening gambit. He could always change his approach later.

Jiro ended his bow and stood patiently, excitement finally overpowering fatigue and pessimism in his mind, as he waited for his teacher to begin.